My mouth drops open. “How the hell did Ned end up owing someone a quarter of a million dollars?”

“Poker. Your uncle had a bit of a gambling problem.”

I scowl. “No he didn’t.”

“Yeah . . . he did,” Bobby says, his voice firm. “For a few years now. Dad warned him about owing money to a guy like Sullivan, but he wouldn’t listen. Fucking stubborn old man.”

Ned had a gambling problem? Was it worse than he let on? Obviously yes, if he owed that kind of money. I rack my brain, trying to think of a particular Wednesday night over the past few months when he came home distraught from a poker night. The problem is, I was never home to see him come in. And by Thursday when I strolled into Black Rabbit at noon . . . well, Ned was always on the grouchy side to begin with. “And you didn’t think it was important to tell the cops all this?”

Bobby snorts. “Nobody’s tellin’ the pigs shit. You know that, Ivy. Besides, why would it matter? Sullivan didn’t take out Ned. What good would that do? He wouldn’t get his money.”

“Well, he obviously wasn’t getting his money anyway. Ned had no money!”

“Not cash. But he had Black Rabbit.” Bobby gives me a knowing look. “And Sullivan was after that.”

Oh my God. Ned would have lost his mind if he had to hand over the shop. But now that Ned’s gone . . . “This Sullivan guy trashed Ned’s house the other night looking for cash, didn’t he?”

Bobby’s brow furrows. He looks genuinely surprised. “What?”

“Ned’s house was torn apart two nights ago. Someone was looking for money. Or something.”

“I don’t know nothin’ about that.” Bobby heaves a sigh and reaches up to scratch his scraggly beard.

“What?” He knows more than he’s telling me.

“It’s nothing, really. It’s just . . .”

“Spit it out, Bobby!”

“Okay! Okay.” He glances over his shoulder at the guys again, who are focused on the car on the hoist. “Dad said that Ned came by the clubhouse to talk to him and Tiny.”

Moe and Tiny are two fifty-something-year-old bikers who have been coming to Ned since he opened up. I remember sitting on Tiny’s giant lap when I was just six, while Ned worked on his sleeve.

“Ned wanted their backup for a meet he had with someone in a few days’ time.”

I frown. “Backup? What does that mean, like protection?” Did he know he was in danger?

“Sounds like it, but Ned didn’t tell them too much. Alls he said was that he had something to trade that was worth a lot of dough and he’d be able to pay Sullivan and get him off his back about the shop. He needed a couple guys with him, so he wasn’t going to the exchange alone. He said he’d give them a five percent cut.”

“What was he exchanging?”

“Don’t know. Honest. But it sounds like Ned had something going on the side. And that’s a lot of money for one deal . . .”

My stomach sinks. What the hell was Ned into? “When was this supposed to happen?”

Bobby’s lips purse. “He came by to ask Tiny for help around noon. The exchange was supposed to happen four days from then. And then a few hours later, he was taken out.”

“The same day!” I yell, making him flinch. “Are you serious?” This means it wasn’t a random robbery at all. “You need to tell this to the cops!”

“Not gonna happen, darlin’, so you can stop with the screaming. I don’t like being yelled at.”

“The hell I will!” Sure, it incriminates Ned, but maybe the police will make more of an effort to solve the case if they know there was a clear motive here. If these guys had just told the cops the truth in the beginning, then maybe more could have been done by now.

Behind me, I hear the sound of tires on gravel and a car coming to a stop, but I’m so overwhelmed by what Bobby just told me, I dismiss it—and everyone else—for the moment.

“You know what? I’m going to tell the cops myself then. And they’re going to come here and question your ass about it until you tell them the truth.”

“Good luck with that. Tiny and Moe will never admit a damn thing to the pigs. They’ll deny everything I just told you.” Bobby looks over my head. “What the hell is he doing here?”

I turn just in time to see Sebastian marching over, his eyes covered by his glasses but the stern jaw telling me he’s anything but happy.

He showed up, just like he said he would.

He showed up and Dakota must have told him where I went, and he is oh-so-pissed with me right now.

But I can’t ignore the tiny bubble of relief that he’s here.

I push it away, though, because I need to deal with Bobby. “So, let me get this straight. Ned had something worth a lot of money to give to someone. He felt he needed backup with him during the exchange, and then he ends up dead. Now someone’s torn apart our house—which we’re trying to sell because we can’t pay the mortgage and we have no insurance, by the way—because they were likely trying to find whatever he was handing over at this exchange, and you guys, who are supposed to be Ned’s friends, won’t do a thing to help me? Fucking bikers!”

All amusement has left Bobby’s face. “Me telling you what I just did is helping you.” He steps closer and looms over me, and I can’t help but shrink back. “But don’t you fucking dare come here and—”

It all happens so fast. One moment Bobby is hovering over me, the next he’s flat on his back and Sebastian is standing above him. I see that his gun is tucked into the back of his jeans. As if he placed it there before getting out of the car, expecting something like this to happen.

The other two guys come running, their guts bouncing with each step. They’re not coming to see if Bobby’s okay; their focus is zeroed in on Sebastian, who doesn’t seem at all concerned. I instinctively take a step back, because that’s what you do out of self-preservation when six hundred pounds is charging your way.

Sebastian doesn’t, though. He turns to face them square on, his stance relaxed. And when they finally reach him, fists in the air, it’s like one of those horrifically choreographed fight scenes from older movies, where the bad guy swings and the good guy maneuvers out of the way with ease, making the bad guy lose his balance and tumble. That, coupled with a few lightning-quick swings and kicks, and both guys are lying in heaps next to Bobby; one’s moaning and holding his jaw, while the other one is out cold.

“Jesus Christ!” A gruff voice yells from somewhere inside. A moment later, Moe—who is not much smaller than Bobby—comes around the corner. He must have been watching the entire thing from the office windows. “What the hell is goin’ on out here?”

I step up and place a hand on Sebastian’s hand, staying him, because the last thing I want him doing is beating up a fifty-something-year-old man. Even if he’s betraying Ned by not helping the police.

“Just a disagreement, Moe.”

“Yeah, well, I can see that.” He glares at Sebastian and then takes in the three men, all conscious now. “About what?”

“About him talking to Ivy in a way I didn’t appreciate,” Sebastian says with complete calm.