“Shut up, Bea,” Peyton muttered, though there was no way her sister could hear. “Wanna start talking now, Nylen, or wait until you have a bigger audience?”
“Nothing to say.”
“Oh, I can guess.” Peyton stared at the house for a moment. “Looking for something you left behind when I fired you?”
He stayed silent.
“Or did you just miss us that much? Miss being paid for doing nothing while skimming money from the business?” Peyton shook her head. “Sorry for you, but you wouldn’t have found the books anyway. I warned you, didn’t I? You piss me off, and I’ll take everything I know to the police. Leave quietly and it will all be forgotten. Guess what option I’m going with now?”
Nylen replied, but his words were lost beneath the sound of a siren in the quiet night.
“Ah, here’s your ride now.” Peyton headed to the front of the house to greet whichever responder had made it to them first.
“Man to man, let’s have a quick chat,” Red said casually. “Was it you that planted the idea in my father’s head about Peyton and me?”
Nylen snickered and wheezed. “Your father’s a gullible idiot.”
“No argument there.”
“He grabbed at the idea of searching your place for cash, maybe even soaking you for more. Then he had to go and blow it and let the story loose too soon. Damn man couldn’t even be a proper scapegoat.” He spat once more, glaring at Red like he was the one in the wrong. “She should have hired me back.”
Red shook his head sadly. “You don’t give her enough credit. That’s your problem, Nylen. Assuming Peyton’s just like her mama. She’s smart, she’s gutsy, and she’s got discerning taste.”
“She’s rocking the bed frame with you. Can’t be too discerning.”
That snide comment earned him a bounce from Tiny’s large body. “Just keep digging your hole deeper, Nylen. Just keep digging.” Tiny patted his head.
Peyton’s voice sounded. “They’re around here. Hard to see but . . . there.”
A bright light swept the area, momentarily blinding Red. Holding a hand up to shield his eyes, he saw Peyton standing with a sheriff’s deputy, pointing in their direction. He gave a little wave, then stood up.
“What do we have here?” The deputy walked up and squatted down next to Nylen’s body.
“Finally. Took you long enough.” Nylen spit out a bit of dirt. “These men attacked me, held me hostage. They need to be arrested.”
The deputy glanced between Red and Bill, now holding a bandana to his nose, and Tiny who was brushing dirt from his hands with an innocent who, me? look on his face. “Yeah. They sure look ferocious. How about you tell me why you’re on private property when you weren’t invited first? Then I’ll get to your so-called attackers.”
Nylen sputtered and sat up, but the deputy quickly cuffed him and hauled him up onto his feet.
“Uh huh, okay, sure.” The man led him to his car, which was parked with its light still flashing in front of the main house. “So you’re going with the fact that you drove out here, intoxicated, and attempted to enter a residence you never lived in. By accident.” He laughed. “That’s a new one. I’ll have to write that down.”
After assisting Nylen—whose low mutters sounded suspiciously like the words “entrapment” and “assault”—into the back of the car, he set up a time to come by the next morning and get statements from Billy, Red, and Peyton.
Red’s turn was last, and he knew he had a choice to make. Cover up for his father—again—and let the pattern of his childhood chase him into the future. Or put his boot down and stop playing into it and give his future a fighting chance.
No contest. He chose the future.
Chapter Twenty-two
As the deputy’s car drove down the gravel drive to the main road, Red’s phone buzzed in his pocket and he checked. Trace. “What’s up?”
“Is it safe to come out yet?” he asked, voice harsh with frustration.
“Yeah, yeah. Sorry. Bring the kid. It’s fine.” In the confusion and action, Red had forgotten he’d all but ditched Trace back at his place. “Head over to the main house, we’re all here now. I’ll explain when you get here.”
He hung up and watched as Bea took Billy into the house, rubbing his back with a soothing hand.
“Let’s get that nose cleaned up in the kitchen. We can make sure you don’t need to see the doctor.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Even with a bloody nose, the kid looked like he was in heaven with her tender care and attention focused on him. A regular Florence Nightingale come to life. Red shook his head, amused. What were the teen years without a few unrealistic crushes and heartbreaks along the way?