it.”
“Oh?”
God. Kane felt the blush wash over his face. “He, uh, I have his number.”
“I just bet you do.” Rafe’s lips twitched. Kane wished he was in the room so he could punch him, rearrange that smirk.
“Don’t you have a drawing to finish?”
“For your information, it’s my day off.” Rafe grimaced. “Gabe decreed it when I went up to bed at sunrise the other morning.”
“Where is my brother?”
Rafe’s gaze lifted off the computer screen and drifted off. “Getting dressed, we’re going out for breakfast.” He did not look happy.
“Another one of Gabe’s decrees?”
“Yeah, something about making friends and meeting our neighbors.” He looked about ready to throw up.
Kane chuckled. “Poor sucker, you’re so whipped.”
“Shut it, Marshal. Don’t you have someone to call?” Rafe waved. “Later.” He logged off before Kane could tell him to go fuck himself.
Rafe was right though. He did have a call to make and for some reason his palms had gone all sweaty. He dialed the number and remained hunched over the counter, eyes squeezed shut.
“Marshal, you’re a great way to wake up.”
Damn it. The pulse in Kane’s throat actually leapt then sped up. “Where are you?”
“LA, Why?”
“When can you get to the East Coast?”
Faro paused for a beat. “Why would I be coming to the East Coast?”
“You and I need to talk, get some things straight.” Kane swallowed a gulp of coffee. “The sooner the better.”
“Ah-hah.” Faro stretched the word out. “Is there no way to do this over the phone?”
“I think you’ve hidden behind phones long enough, don’t you?”
A sharp intake of breath. “Wow. You hit hard, dude.”
Kane gave him the address of The Aldrich Contemporary Art Museum in Ridgefield. “Meet me there tomorrow at around noon.”
“I’ll be there.”
Chapter Four
Kane stood with his hands jammed into his pockets, staring at his favorite painting in the museum. Simply titled Sunset , the painting was awash in gorgeous colors, a purple sky streaked with pink and fiery orange where it sank into a lake of vivid blue. A man stood at the edge of the lake in jeans and a plaid shirt, his back to the audience as he wiped his brow. A beat-up Ford F-150 sat off to the side of the frame, a collie hanging out the driver’s side door.
Bailey had introduced him to the museum, insisting Kane needed culture. He’d groaned but gone along and fallen in love with the painting. Bailey had teased him about it mercilessly.
Now, as he stared at that same painting, Kane couldn’t help remember those times. The reason he was back at the museum at all came rushing back. Not that it ever left; the tension in his shoulders and the knot in his stomach could attest to that.
Why was this the first place that came to mind when he spoke to Faro? This was his place, his and Bailey’s, and suddenly a stranger was intruding. A stranger he’d invited in.
Maybe he wouldn’t show. Kane glanced at his watch. Faro was fifteen minutes late, maybe he wasn’t coming. Maybe a face-to-face was too much and he decided to leave Kane alone.
Good. That would be good. It meant he could breathe again because he didn’t think he’d done so since the phone call yesterday.
The two women next to him, quiet since he came in, started a frenzied whispering. Kane glanced over at them, then to the direction both were trying hard not to look.
Faro stood at the entrance with a phone to his ear, dressed in a dark tailored suit with a shirt almost matching his hair color, one hand in his pocket.
Jesus. Kane stared at him as their gazes met and locked. The left corner of Faro’s mouth tipped up and he ended the call, shoving the phone into his pocket as he strode across the floor and up to Kane.
Trouble. He’d been trained to recognize and stop it, so Kane knew in his gut trouble headed his way. Problem was, he wasn’t sure if he should duck for cover or embrace it with open arms.
“Marshal.”
The women’s
“Oh?”
God. Kane felt the blush wash over his face. “He, uh, I have his number.”
“I just bet you do.” Rafe’s lips twitched. Kane wished he was in the room so he could punch him, rearrange that smirk.
“Don’t you have a drawing to finish?”
“For your information, it’s my day off.” Rafe grimaced. “Gabe decreed it when I went up to bed at sunrise the other morning.”
“Where is my brother?”
Rafe’s gaze lifted off the computer screen and drifted off. “Getting dressed, we’re going out for breakfast.” He did not look happy.
“Another one of Gabe’s decrees?”
“Yeah, something about making friends and meeting our neighbors.” He looked about ready to throw up.
Kane chuckled. “Poor sucker, you’re so whipped.”
“Shut it, Marshal. Don’t you have someone to call?” Rafe waved. “Later.” He logged off before Kane could tell him to go fuck himself.
Rafe was right though. He did have a call to make and for some reason his palms had gone all sweaty. He dialed the number and remained hunched over the counter, eyes squeezed shut.
“Marshal, you’re a great way to wake up.”
Damn it. The pulse in Kane’s throat actually leapt then sped up. “Where are you?”
“LA, Why?”
“When can you get to the East Coast?”
Faro paused for a beat. “Why would I be coming to the East Coast?”
“You and I need to talk, get some things straight.” Kane swallowed a gulp of coffee. “The sooner the better.”
“Ah-hah.” Faro stretched the word out. “Is there no way to do this over the phone?”
“I think you’ve hidden behind phones long enough, don’t you?”
A sharp intake of breath. “Wow. You hit hard, dude.”
Kane gave him the address of The Aldrich Contemporary Art Museum in Ridgefield. “Meet me there tomorrow at around noon.”
“I’ll be there.”
Chapter Four
Kane stood with his hands jammed into his pockets, staring at his favorite painting in the museum. Simply titled Sunset , the painting was awash in gorgeous colors, a purple sky streaked with pink and fiery orange where it sank into a lake of vivid blue. A man stood at the edge of the lake in jeans and a plaid shirt, his back to the audience as he wiped his brow. A beat-up Ford F-150 sat off to the side of the frame, a collie hanging out the driver’s side door.
Bailey had introduced him to the museum, insisting Kane needed culture. He’d groaned but gone along and fallen in love with the painting. Bailey had teased him about it mercilessly.
Now, as he stared at that same painting, Kane couldn’t help remember those times. The reason he was back at the museum at all came rushing back. Not that it ever left; the tension in his shoulders and the knot in his stomach could attest to that.
Why was this the first place that came to mind when he spoke to Faro? This was his place, his and Bailey’s, and suddenly a stranger was intruding. A stranger he’d invited in.
Maybe he wouldn’t show. Kane glanced at his watch. Faro was fifteen minutes late, maybe he wasn’t coming. Maybe a face-to-face was too much and he decided to leave Kane alone.
Good. That would be good. It meant he could breathe again because he didn’t think he’d done so since the phone call yesterday.
The two women next to him, quiet since he came in, started a frenzied whispering. Kane glanced over at them, then to the direction both were trying hard not to look.
Faro stood at the entrance with a phone to his ear, dressed in a dark tailored suit with a shirt almost matching his hair color, one hand in his pocket.
Jesus. Kane stared at him as their gazes met and locked. The left corner of Faro’s mouth tipped up and he ended the call, shoving the phone into his pocket as he strode across the floor and up to Kane.
Trouble. He’d been trained to recognize and stop it, so Kane knew in his gut trouble headed his way. Problem was, he wasn’t sure if he should duck for cover or embrace it with open arms.
“Marshal.”
The women’s
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