Free Headed for Trouble (The McKay Family #1) by Shiloh Walker Page B

bare, like she was parading naked in front of a classroom.
    A few more miles passed in silence. She caught sight of the familiar sign, W ELCOME TO M C K AY’S T REASURE … A T THE H EART OF I T A LL . Neve had to fight to keep the sigh of relief trapped inside.
    Brannon said softly, “You’re in trouble.”
    Her heart lurched, then slammed hard against her ribs. In her lap, her hands twisted, then curled into fists. Licking her lips, she struggled to find words to explain. How had he figured out—
    “I don’t know what’s going on, but you wouldn’t have come home like this unless you were in trouble,” he said after another moment, shaking his head. “I’d…”
    He stopped, abruptly whipping the car into a parking slot, too sharp, too sudden, narrowly missing the curb. There, he shifted into park and just sat there, drumming a fist on the steering wheel. “Family is supposed to mean more than this … be better than this. I’d always hoped we could fix … whatever in the hell this is,” he said quietly. “I want to fix it. But that ain’t gonna happen unless you talk to us, Neve. Unless you decide you want us to be your family again.”
    She closed her eyes, the pain stabbing at her heart. Then, because she had to keep it together, she opened the door. Before climbing out, she said softly, “I never wanted us to stop being a family, Brannon.”
    She shut the door and started up the sidewalk.
    The police station was just ahead.
    She needed to talk to Gideon.
    She also needed to make a call.
    Pulling out her phone, she punched in a number. When a groggy voice answered, she said, “Hey … it’s me. I know I probably woke you up. But I’m here. I’m safe.”

 
    CHAPTER FIVE
    It had been a miserable night.
    Ian had climbed out of his bed two hours before he needed to and had spent the first twenty minutes in the shower. It was his second cold shower in under eight hours and he couldn’t be sure he wouldn’t need another one before the day was over.
    When the cold rush of water didn’t do anything to help his situation, he’d taken his frustrations out with a hard run. It had been creeping up on ninety degrees by the time he was done, and this time when he’d crawled into the cool shower it had been because he’d thought he was going to die of bloody heatstroke.
    It hadn’t happened.
    Too fucking bad, because now he had to deal with a blithering idiot who likely couldn’t find his own prick without a torch and turn-by-turn directions.
    “This isn’t my order,” he said again, putting the printout of his order down on the bar. Hands braced on the surface, he met the deliveryman’s eyes. He kept his voice low and tight, because yelling wouldn’t do him a bit of good—and it would do his growing headache quite a bit of harm. He eyed the kegs of rat piss some local brewery was trying to pass off as a craft beer and shook his head. “I’m not keeping that. Take it back and find out what happened to the rest of my order.”
    The deliveryman scratched his head and leaned over, studied the invoice. He tapped the name of the craft beer that Ian had ordered. “We’re running low on this one, buddy. I’ll see what I can do, but…”
    “You do that, mate.” Ian bared his teeth in a smile. “In the meantime, I’ll make some calls and see who else might be able to get that order filled. But don’t bring that shite into my pub again.”
    “You sure you don’t want to talk to the manager?”
    Ian crossed his arms over his chest. “I am the manager.”
    “I thought it was that McKay dude.”
    That McKay dude chose that minute to drop onto a bar stool a few feet down. Ian gave him a dark look.
    Brannon raised his brows and looked over at the delivery guy before looking away. Then he did a double take, staring at the name of the rat piss— correction, beer. He shifted his gaze back to Ian and said slowly, “Tell me you didn’t order that.”
    “I didn’t order that.”
    “Scared me,