Which meant Colt had had occasion to brush up with him, and not just when Ryan came to Ethan’s birthday parties or when I had everyone over to watch a game.

To Colt’s question about Ryan being there, I jerked an agitated finger to my face and asked, “Pissed off look?” Then I answered myself, “Ryker and also Ryan.”

Colt sighed audibly again.

“I’m handlin’ it,” I declared.

Colt’s attention on me deepened even as his mouth warned, “This better be shit you can handle without Merry gettin’ a pissed off look, Cher. ’Cause you pissed off gives me a quiver. Merry pissed off might mean I’m in the dark with a shovel and a flashlight, coverin’ a brother’s ass by buryin’ bodies.”

That gave me a quiver.

I ignored the quiver, nodded to Colt, and called to Feb, “Got somethin’ to sort. Be right back.”

“We’re slow. Take your time,” Feb returned.

I didn’t take my time.

I marched quickly to the pool table area where, as Colt said, Ryan was around the wall, sitting at a back corner table that was not even close to being visible from the bar.

I went right to him, stopped, and planted my hands on my hips, glaring down at his pale face, which had luckily lost the pimples he used to have when I’d met him, though some of them had left marks.

“Have you lost your mind?” I hissed.

He leaned toward me but kept his seat, “Cher, it’s a big job and the guy who hired me trusts me to do it right.”

I.

Was.

Gonna.

Kill.

Ryker!

“Is the guy who hired you gonna console your momma when you get dead doin’ this big job for him?” I asked.

His face got even paler, but he didn’t answer.

I read this to mean he knew the danger.

I didn’t know the danger.

But I knew it was significant.

And I knew that if Lissa and Alexis wouldn’t be upset that daddy didn’t come home, I’d go to the nearest gun store, buy a baton, find Ryker, and beat him unconscious.

I threw out my hands, leaned toward him, and repeated, “Ryan, have you lost your mind?”

Suddenly, his head twitched and his brows shot together. “Do you know what the job is?”

“I know I don’t want you doin’ it,” I returned.

He seemed to relax before he replied, “I’m a big boy, Cher.”

“You’re my friend, Ryan. You’ve had my back a lot over a lotta years. It’s not about you bein’ a big boy. It’s about me givin’ a shit about you. And part of that givin’ a shit about you is wantin’ you to be safely sellin’ extension cords at Radio Shack and not sittin’ in your car outside a house two doors down from mine where I know a dickhead lives and is likely into dickhead shit that makes you unsafe. And part of this unsafe is that you’re surveilling a house two doors down from mine, doin’ it stupid by,” I leaned deeper, “sitting in your car outside that house.”