Chapter 6

As she strode out of sight, Wyatt dropped his car keys on the table and allowed himself the luxury of swearing under his breath. Hell. Nothing like heaping more public humiliation onto her already overflowing plate.

But it had to be done.

He tightened his grip on the well-worn lines of restraint that had been placed in his hands at birth, even as he cursed his genetic predilection to callously milk every possible advantage from a situation.

The server cautiously approached with the check in one hand and a coffeepot in the other. “Can I get you anything else?”

“A refill, please. I could also use a piece of paper and a pen.” Wyatt very deliberately set a stack of bills beside his cup. “And your name.”

The boy’s eyes widened, darting from Wyatt’s face to the cash. “What for?”

“You were listening.” Wyatt made it a statement, leaving no room for denial. “You and the two waitresses.”

“Yes,” the boy admitted reluctantly.

“That makes you witnesses. I need to know how to find all of you…just in case. You heard that guy. He was furious. There’s no saying what he might do.” When the server still hesitated, Wyatt tapped the bills with one finger. “I am a very good tipper.”

The boy stared at the money for a beat, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed his reservations. “Okay.”

He hurried off, and Wyatt turned his attention to his next target, three twentysomethings at the table directly across from them. The smile he turned on them had been getting Darringtons whatever they wanted for generations. The nearest, a narrow-faced blond with dark roots and bad highlights, blinked, then offered a dazzled smile in return.

Wyatt nodded at the phone next to her plate. “You recorded most of that.”

“I…uh.” Her cheeks reddened. “Maybe.”

Wyatt turned the full force of his intense blue gaze on her. “I’m worried about my friend. She may need protection—a restraining order or something—but the cops won’t listen to us without some kind of proof. If you wouldn’t mind sharing your video…”

“Oh!” She blinked again and put the phone on the palm he extended. “Of course. Anything I can do.”

“Thanks. You have no idea how much I appreciate this.” He turned slightly so she couldn’t see the screen while he located the video and uploaded it to his cloud storage, then deleted the original from both the album file and the recycle bin before handing the phone back. At least he could save Melanie the embarrassment of having that show up on social media.

He flashed another blinding smile. “If you all wouldn’t mind giving me your names and signing off on a statement about what you saw and heard—” He turned to the server, who had returned with a few sheets of blank copy paper and a pen. “Perfect. And bring me the check for the ladies, too.”

Ten minutes later, he walked out of the restaurant with all the evidence he would need if Michael Miller was stupid enough to try to cause Melanie any more trouble. Instead of climbing into the car, Wyatt propped his hips against the hood and pulled a phone number up from his contacts. He dug a roll of antacids out of his pocket and thumbed two into his mouth, crunching them between his teeth as he listened to the phone ring one, two, three…

Gil Sanchez picked up and said, “I assume this isn’t good news.”

“I talked to Melanie. She hasn’t heard from Hank, either…and she’s worried enough to consider letting me help her find him.”

Gil responded with a string of curses as another phone began to ring in the background. He ignored it. “Has it occurred to anyone that it’d be a lot less trouble to let him stay gone?”

“For us, maybe. Not for his sister.”

Gil swore again. The second phone stopped ringing, only to immediately begin again. Without bothering to cover the mouthpiece, Gil yelled, “Dad! I’m on my cell. Could you pick up the damn phone?”

Obviously, Wyatt had caught him in the dispatcher’s office at Sanchez Trucking.

“We have a deal,” Wyatt reminded him. “You got me into this mess, and you said you’d handle Hank if I took care of the rest.”

“The way you handled Melanie? Geezus. You were supposed to stop her, not drive the getaway car.”

Wyatt nearly dropped his phone. “How do you know—”

“Spies. We have them everywhere. Did you give her a bag of cash and a ticket to the Bahamas, too?”

“No,” Wyatt snapped, unnerved. “I offered her a job. In Oregon.”

Silence. Then a low, amused whistle. “You get points for guts. I assume she turned you down flat?”

“Not yet.”

There was a telling pause. Then, “Well, shit. That could make things interesting.”

“No kidding.” Which was something Wyatt should have given a lot more thought to before blurting out the fabulous idea that had popped into his head. But dammit, he couldn’t just sit there and do nothing.

“If I know Melanie, she’s just messing with your head,” Gil said. “She’ll let you stew for a few days before she says no. But on the off chance that she actually accepts, try not to let this turn into a complete clusterfuck. I’ll spread the word among my drivers and have them ask around. Unless Hank’s sleeping in a box under a bridge or has a sugar mama, he’s gotta be working at something. With his commercial driver’s license, he could’ve got on with someone I know.”

Or one of thousands of other jobs that required a CDL and were outside Gil’s network.

But not Wyatt’s. He knew a guy…

Not yet. He’d run through every other possible option twice before he’d make that call.

“Keep in touch,” he said brusquely.

“Bet yer ass. If Melanie does come to work for you, I’ll call every night to see if you’re still alive.”

Wyatt hung up and turned to brace his elbows on the roof of the car, digging the heels of his hands into aching temples. This was Joe’s fault. He had married into what Gil acidly referred to as the Earnest Brat Pack—the Brookman siblings, the Sanchez brothers, the Jacobs sisters and their cousin, Cole—and dragged Wyatt in with him. How in the hell had Wyatt ended up in cahoots with the most maddening and unpredictable of the whole damn bunch?

He heaved a sigh and climbed into the car. The temptation to turn north and track Melanie down was huge, but he fought it off. She wouldn’t accept a ride any more than she was going to accept his ill-conceived job offer, but that didn’t mean he was off the hook.

He still had to find Hank—and not just for Melanie’s sake.

As he started the car, his mind snagged on something Melanie had said about Leachman. Now there was a matter that could provide serious leverage. He grabbed his phone and hit Redial.

Gil picked up before the first ring. “What—”

“Tell me everything you know about truck-stop prostitutes.”

Gil was remarkably quick on the uptake. “Would this have something to do with Melanie’s sleazebag boss?”

“It would.”

Wyatt could picture Gil’s savage grin as he said, “Just leave that to us.”