Page 18 of Moros

Ryanne was the kind of woman who was used to working for anything she had—and should I bring my thoughts to her, she’d definitely light my shit on fire.

Irritated, I reluctantly left the neighbourhood and went back to my bar. The moment I handed Boswell his keys, he kissed the side of my head and headed for the door.

“Eh!” I called. “You’re just gonna leave?”

“I need to get back to the station.” Boswell waved over a shoulder. “Watch your six.”

Grunting, I bid him farewell and set to work cleaning up after our lunch.

Ryanne had been right.

I’d closed the bar down to meet with her and Boswell.

Usually, it would have been opened for lunch and stayed that way until three in the morning—Wednesday through Saturday. The other days were closed to give my people some time to recuperate.

The weekends were hell on them.

By the time my first bartender wandered in, I was exhausted and sitting in my office on the phone with Dude.

“There has to be more,” Dude said.

“That’s what I was thinking.” I replied. “There has to be some kind of bloodline, someone who could have taken her.”

“You have to understand.” Dude pointed out. “These searches aren’t usually deep. They look for next of kin that’s—well local. These systems don’t have the reach we do. Why don’t you talk to Tex—see what he can pull up. You still have a bad feeling, don’t you?”

“And it gets worse every hour.”

Dude sighed. “Alright, let me work. Call Tex. And let me know if you need anything.”

“Let me ask you this—how well do you know Ryanne?”

“Not very.” Dude replied. “We were on an off the books thing when she helped us out. She will tell you that we rescued her—that’s not it. If she didn’t distract a bunch of really bad people, I don’t know what would have happened to us.”

“Maybe they have something to do with this?”

“Naw.” Dude answered. “Those people all wound up with toe-tags.”

“All of them?”

“Yeah.”

“You sure?” I pushed.

“Positive.” Dude answered. “Trust me, this is something else.”

The moment I was off the phone with Dude, I gave John Keegan a video call.

When he answered, he leaned forward with a quirked brown.

“As I live and breathe.” Tex drawled. “The harbinger of doom himself. What’s good, brother!”

I laughed.

His greetings never ceased to leave me with a full heart and a smile. But I knew, while Tex was friendly and loyal, he was never a man to be crossed.

“I need your help.”

“Oh?” He shifted so he could sit on a chair behind him. “Talk to me.”