now, Ike was telling her that Ricky’s death wasn’t just a random, unfortunate event. That someone had wanted him out of the way and had probably paid handsomely to make sure his wishes were carried out.
Horrified, she searched Ike’s expression. “Who ordered this, Ike? Who wanted Ricky dead?”
“I don’t know. Yesterday, I spoke to the narc who arrested him. He thinks Rick was hooked up with a new supplier—someone small, who’s now getting bigger, but still so far underground they don’t have a clue to his identity.”
“You should have let Tank bring him in,” she said shakily, not for the first time. “Tank had the fugitive contract on Ricky, not you.”
A glimmer of the compassionate man she’d once loved broke through his strong exterior. “I’ve explained my reasons a thousand times. Do I have to do it again?”
Shaking her head, she moved to her bay window to look out at the deepening dusk. Tank was a friend, but he tended to strong-arm skips who balked, a trait Ike was aware of since they both did legwork for the same bail bond company. And they all knew Ricky would resist—even her mother knew it—because that’s the kind of person her baby brother had become. That’s why Ike had insisted that he be the one to track Ricky down when Ricky missed his court date—no matter how hard Lindsay had pleaded for him to stay out of it. Even Tank had argued that Ricky was family and picking him up would cause more bad blood than Ike could handle. But all of their warnings had fallen on deaf ears. When Ike got something in his head—when he was convinced that he was right—nothing dissuaded him.
Deep inside, she knew Ricky would be just as dead if Tank had picked him up. But Ike’s involvement had made it so much worse because she’d begged him—and he’d said no. Her wishes had been summarily dismissed.
If Ricky had lived and her mother hadn’t fallen ill, maybe they could’ve put it all behind them. But that’s not what happened.
How tragic that he hadn’t wanted Ricky hurt…yet he’d ended up hurting all of them.
His deep voice came from behind her. “All of Rick’s things—everything from his apartment—were taken to your mother’s house and stored in his old room after his death. Unless something’s changed, we both know that nothing’s been touched since then. If there was a link to the man who ordered the hit in his effects two years ago, it’s still there. We need to find it.”
Suddenly realizing what he wanted to do, Lindsay whirled from the window and shook her head emphatically. “No. Absolutely not. My mother is well now. Dredging it all up again could—”
“Don’t you want to know?”
“Of course I want to know!” she shot back, her tears close now. “But she’s already had one heart attack. She was lucky that it was mild, but I won’t put her at risk, even on the outside chance that you’re right about this. Just—just stay out of it. Ricky is still dead, and nothing has changed. If the police aren’t interested in reopening the case, let it go. And who says this Decker kid even knew what he was talking about anyway? Ike, you know what happened the last time you decided to do someone else’s job.”
It was a low blow, but he was so set on getting what he wanted, he seemed impervious to it. “Yes, I do. And if I need a reminder, I get one every time I walk into my apartment and you’re not there.”
Before Lindsay could reply, Ike released a ragged blast of air, ambled a few steps away, then came back to her. His gaze passed over her T-shirt and cutoffs again, then returned to her face, his eyes betraying the gentler emotions he kept hidden from the dark and dangerous people he did business with.
“I failed Ricky,” he said quietly. “I tried from the time we met to straighten him out, and I couldn’t do it. If by returning him to jail, I delivered him to a killer, I need to know, and the person behind it has to pay.” He paused. “Talk to your mother. Ask her if I can look through his things. I swear I’ll leave everything exactly as I found it.”
God, he made her ache. “How can you ask me to do this? You know how she feels. She’s never gotten past the sight of you handcuffing Ricky in her backyard.”
“I tried talking first. Your mother knows that. And so do you.”
But when talking hadn’t worked, her mother had expected Ike to look the other way. She hadn’t cared about losing the bail money— She’d expected him to let his brother-in-law go.
“Lindsay, he was twenty-three years old. It was time for him to grow up and take some responsibility for the lousy choices he’d made—not run to his mother like he always did, hitting her up for traveling money—and worse, making her an accessory to a crime. Skipping out on a drug possession charge was just plain stupid. Ricky knew the narc who nailed him was interested in bigger fish—and the narc knew Rick had some useful information. It was a foregone conclusion that they’d offer him a deal. He wasn’t going to spend any time in jail.”
“Exactly,” she said, leveling her gaze on him. “Just like the dead skip from yesterday.”
For a moment, Ike didn’t move a muscle, guilt and bad memories overtaking him again. As always, Lindsay’s words cut to the bone. Then he nodded slowly. “At least think about it.” If he knew anything about her at all, he knew they’d taken this discussion as far as they could tonight. “If you change your mind, I’ll be at the Drifter.”
Ike saw her eyes grow wary and uncertain. “You’re staying in town? It’s only a forty-five minute drive back to Portland.”
“Just overnight.” He hesitated, wondering if he should push for what he wanted using a different approach, then did. “I hoped you might want some justice for your brother so I booked a room with the intention of looking through his things in the morning.” He ascended the landing steps. “Apparently, I was wrong.”
Lindsay stormed up the steps after him. “Don’t you dare dump this on me! My refusal has nothing to do with my lack of caring, and you know it. So stop trying to manipulate me. I won’t put my mother at risk.”
“She can stand right there while I search.”
“And have all her pain dredged up again? No.”
“All right. I’ll find another way to get it done.”
Furious, Ike started to leave, then stopped. He was entitled to his bitterness, but Lindsay had adored her brother from infancy, no matter what kind of trouble he’d dragged home, and she was hurting now—because of him. He couldn’t leave her like this.
“I smelled varnish when I came in,” he said quietly. “I guess you’ve started another project.”
Even during their short time together, she’d always been working on something. If it hadn’t been refinishing a table or chest of drawers, it had been creating beautiful pinecone wreaths for Christmas gifts. “Idle hands are the devil’s workshop,” she’d laughed a million years ago, and tugging her into his arms, he’d chuckled that there were at least a dozen other uses for idle hands.
She took a deep breath, appearing to have noticed his change in demeanor. “I got a good price on the house because there was a lot to do. I’m refinishing the original woodwork—tackling one room at a time to keep my sanity. I have an enclosed back porch that works pretty well as a work space.”
“It’s
