Page 22 of Unbound

Walker

Of all the shit I expected to see on Sybil’s computer, a shirtless photo of me helping Tucker build Toby’s pool house never even crossed my mind. But there I am. Filthy. Sweating my ass off. Wrestling one of the roof support beams into place.

“I was hot because it was fucking miserable outside that day.” I choose to take Sybil’s explanation in its most literal sense, because I don’t know what the fuck to do with it any other way. “Now show us something relevant.”

Tucker takes a deep breath, brows lifting. “I don’t know, Walker. This seems pretty fucking relevant to me.”

I shoot my youngest cousin a glare, knowing damn well it won’t shut him up, but I gotta try something. We don’t have time for his bullshit right now. I need to know what the fuck Sybil is up to. Why she’s here. Whether or not she was the one being targeted yesterday by the gunman who still hasn’t been identified.

And if she was, what in the hell I’m going to do about it. Because I can’t just leave Sybil to face this shit on her own. There’s no telling what kind of trouble she’ll get in.

Probably the kind that ends up with a team of masked men searching her hotel room.

“Well…” Sybil glances up at me before reaching for the mouse Titus has connected to her laptop. “I could show you what I found out about the shooter, if you want.”

Titus’s gaze is so intense I’m surprised it doesn’t begin drilling a hole in the side of Sybil’s head. “How in the hell could you have found information about the shooter? The police haven’t been able to identify him.”

Sybil snorts, the sound filled with derision. “In case you haven’t noticed, you can trust the police around here about as far as you can throw them.” Her eyes drift my way, moving up and down my frame. “Well, maybe as far as I can throw them.”

My cousins’ eyes come to me—every fucking one of them. And I ignore every fucking one of them, because they’re focusing on the wrong thing right now. I lean down, looking over Sybil’s shoulder, because at least one of us has to have their head in the game. “What makes you say that?”

“Are you being serious?” Sybil’s head swivels toward me, bringing her face exceptionally close to mine. “Have you not noticed how lacking the information on your mother’s accident is?”

I have. It’s one of many issues I’ve been facing while trying to find the truth of her death. What I don’t understand is… “How have you noticed how lacking the information on my mother’s accident is?”

Sybil’s lips press together, flattening into a thin line. Like she’s said more than she intended. Not shocking. She’s a talker. I didn’t mind it before when I thought she was going to be my new warehouse manager, and I really don’t mind it now when I’m trying to figure out what the fuck is going on.

My assumption she’s trying to keep secrets is modified when she leans close, her voice meant only for me when she asks, “Is that something you want to talk about in front of everyone?”

“What the fuck?” Trevor throws both hands out where he sits on the settee. “What’s she saying?”

Sybil’s eyes snap to Trevor, narrowing. “None of your business, fancy-pants.”

Trevor’s head tips back in surprise. There aren’t many people who go toe-to-toe with him, but that number has started racking up recently. Thankfully, he’s already found his match, otherwise there’s a good chance he’d end up trying to fuck Sybil. And then I’d have to kick his ass. Because she doesn’t need him complicating what’s starting to look like an already messy life.

And Trevor would complicate it. He’s high-strung and tightly wound. The man can’t stand a hair being out of place. And after seeing the inside of Sybil’s suitcase, I feel pretty confident she would drive him up a fucking wall.

“I know we’re supposed to still be on the fence about her,” Tucker looks around the room, “but she’s pretty fucking funny.”

Sybil flashes him a smile. “Thanks.”

I scoot closer to her, propping an arm across the back of her chair. “Stop letting them distract you.”

Sybil turns back to her computer, blinking at the screen. “What was I doing?”

“You were going to tell us what you found out about the shooter,” I remind her.

“That’s right.” Sybil begins clicking the cursor across her screen, pulling up photographs that make me swallow hard. “I was able to hack into the medical examiner’s system last night. They haven’t done the autopsy on him yet, but there were some intake photographs of his face.”

I take in the slack jaw and mottled skin of the man who tried to take out half my family yesterday. “Does he look familiar to you?”

Sybil shakes her head. “No. I was hoping one of you might recognize him.”

Everyone but Trevor comes to stand behind her chair, staring at the prick on a slab. I wait while they study the image, then ask, “Anyone?”

One by one, my cousins shake their heads. It’s what I expected, but still disappointing.

“Let me see.” Trevor leans forward as Sybil turns her screen toward him. His expression tightens as he drops back against the cushions. “Never seen him before.”