Homecoming (Dartmoor Book 8)

by Lauren Gilley

  Understanding dawned delicately across Ian’s sharp features. The eyebrow went up again. “And you want me to provide protection for them.”

  “Technically, if you’re going to own the building, and you want the coffeeshop to stay, you’re just looking out for your own interests.”

  Ian smiled. “How practical of you. I like that. Well. Let me think.” He leaned back in the booth, arms folded, and glanced out through the window, presenting them with his elegant profile.

  “Why no one’s put you in a Bond movie yet, I have no idea,” Mercy quipped.

  “Hush, you.” Ian turned back to them, hands steepling beneath his chin. “Alright. I’ll appoint them guards.”

  “You will?” Carter asked.

  “Yes, of course.”

  “What’s the catch?”

  “No catch. Consider it a favor to a friend.” He slid out of the booth. “In exchange for bringing Felix along to this little meeting. He’s quite enjoyable to look at.”

  Mercy laughed, delighted.

  Ian winked at him. “Come, Bruce.”

  The big bodyguard slid out of the booth behind them and fell in behind his boss.

  “Tell Miss Cook her parents are in good hands,” he said, and left them.

  ~*~

  Marie couldn’t seem to stop shaking her head, an absent back and forth that left her short, ash-blonde hair swinging over her ears. Her eyes were wide, and she kept touching her mouth. “Oh my God. That poor family.”

  “Do you know the Connors, Mrs. Cook?” Ava asked. She had her mother’s perfectly consoling tone down pat. Leah was honestly a little jealous of it.

  “No. Well. A little,” Marie amended. “I’ve seen them around. The wife comes into the coffeeshop a good bit, and we’ve exchanged hellos and small talk. This is just devastating.” She took a deep breath, and her gaze focused, shifting between the two of them. “And this is about the club?”

  “It’s about some really sick people who kill and sell kids,” Leah said, firmly.

  “Who want to intimidate the club and keep it from stopping them,” Ava said. “They know the Dogs could stop them, so they want to scare us, and make us look bad around town.”

  “This is related to the graffiti at Bell Bar, then.” She might have been a cheerful person, but she wasn’t a slow or stupid one. Her gaze sharpened another fraction. “Is that why Carter’s been hanging around? Leah, I thought you and he – I’m sorry, honey.”

  “No, no.” Leah’s face heated. “He and I are…”

  Marie grinned, faintly.

  “Which is why he – the club – is worried about keeping this shop and you and dad safe.”

  “Safe?” Her brows went up. “Surely you don’t think we’ll be targeted, do you?”

  “Mom, a guy’s dead. And two girls are missing.”

  “Right.” She swallowed with obvious effort, and surveyed the shop floor with a critical eye from their tucked-away table. Her hand tightened on her mug, and her gaze lingered on a pair of men seated at a table by the window, both of them young and athletic-looking.

  “We’re not trying to scare you,” Ava said, quickly. “But we want you guys to be warned, so you can keep a sharp eye out.”

  The door opened with a cheerful jangle, and in walked an even more suspect pair of men. Tall, and jacketed, dressed in jeans and clinging black t-shirts. Save their hair – red-blond versus black-brown – they looked like a matched set, sunglasses and everything. Both of them, Leah noted as they approached their table, wore holstered guns on their hips, plain as day.

  “Shit,” Ava muttered, tensing. One hand slipped down into her purse, and Leah knew she was grabbing her own gun.

  Leah had nothing to grab but the edge of the table, her heart leaping up into her throat.

  But the dark-haired man said, “Mrs. Cook? I’m Ray and this is Don. We’re with Elite Security. Mr. Shaman is stationing us here, and at your home, if that’s convenient.” He and Don produced wallets with credentials that Ava stood to scan, and which she then passed to Marie, who looked them over with bewilderment.

  “Mr. Shaman? But I don’t understand.”

  Leah did, though, a surge of warmth and affection smoothing out her racing pulse. Carter had said he’d talk to Ian, and he had, and here was the proof – here with the hulking, strong guys he’d gotten to keep her parents safe. If he’d been here now, she would have embarrassed them both with a public kiss.

  “Shaman really sent you?” Ava asked.

  Ray turned to her, dark brows drawing together, briefly. “He told us to, quote, ‘be dears and look after them like family.’”

  “He called us ‘darling,’” Don added.

  Ava snorted. “Yeah, that’s him.”

  Thirty-Three

  “Yeah, thanks, man. Let us know if you hear anything,” Aidan said, his smile appreciative, but unable to cover his frustration.

  “Yeah, definitely,” the warehouse manager said, and waved them off.

  “Cross another one off the list,” Aidan said, hands going in his pockets.

  Beside him, Tango said, “We’re narrowing it down. That counts for something.”

  Reese hadn’t gone into the manager’s office with them, and waited now at the massive rolltop door to the warehouse, watching them approach, the sun warm on the side of his face as he conducted one last survey of the main floor from behind his sunglasses. He looked in every corner, traversed every catwalk, and peeped in restrooms and storerooms; even opened a few boxes with his pocketknife when no one was looking, and had pressed his ear up against others, listening for sounds of human life. The manager was friendly with the club, and the staff had been cooperative, and, at this point, it seemed this warehouse wasn’t moonlighting as a stop on the human trafficking ring.

  The three of them had spent the day on recon, nosing through a long stretch of industrial complexes that included garages, outbuildings, and warehouses – mostly the last. Everything from imported carpet wholesalers to food storage depots. They’d looked through lumber, and steel; fence materials, tractor parts, and cheap plastic toys and souvenirs, most of them orange and UT-themed. Ghost had reasoned that if the girls were being held in-town, it would either be in a private residence – impossible to search – barn or secluded bit of property, like in Texas, or in a warehouse, also like in Texas. Reese didn’t disagree, but he wished there was a more thorough and foolproof method for narrowing the search.

  “We have to find Fred and Ricky,” he said when Aidan and Tango reached him.

  “No shit, Sherlock,” Aidan muttered as they walked past.

  Reese tailed along behind.

  Tango turned to walk backward, holding this hair off his forehead as the wind took hold of it. “You’re right,” he told Reese. “We do need to find them, and then they’d lead us straight to the girls.”

  “Or Mercy would work ‘em over,” Aidan said.

  “Do you have any suggestions on doing that?”

  After a moment, Reese realized that it was a serious question, and not an insult. He was so surprised he didn’t have an answer until they’d reached their bikes.

  “We need a trap.”

  “What kind of trap?” Tango asked.

  Aidan glanced over sharply.

  “They have to think they’re meeting with a customer. They deal drugs, yes?”

  “Yeah…” Aidan drawled. And then his brows shot up over the rims of his sunglasses. “Holy shit, we need a trap.” He snapped his fingers and aimed one at Reese. “Sometimes, you’re almost smart.”

  ~*~

  “A trap?” Ghost asked, fifteen minutes later.

  “They’re dealing to the kids, right?” Aidan asked. He was taking credit for this idea, but Reese didn’t care. He sensed something almost desperate about Aidan’s eagerness to please his father. Without a father of his own, Reese could only observe and imagine what that impulse might feel like.

  He did dart a glance across the common room, though, toward Tenny�
�s sprawled, seemingly indifferent figure. He was wearing his sunglasses indoors, and appeared to be asleep, but Reese knew he was listening attentively.

  “So we reach out to the kids – Carter’s got the in,” Aidan explained. “We have the kid text Fred and Ricky, set up a meeting, hell, let’s use the kid, make it look legit, and then, boom, we jump on the guy.”

  “Damn,” Ghost murmured, stroking his chin. “Why didn’t I think of that?”

  Aidan’s grin was wide and blinding.

  “Carter, can you get us hooked up with one of the students?”

  “I’ll see what I can do.”

  Ghost nodded. And then he turned to Reese. “Get out your face paint.”

  ~*~

  It was twilight, and Carter’s stomach was unpleasantly tight. He was glad he’d forgone lunch.

  “You don’t have to do this,” he told Elijah. “You arranged the meeting, and that’s all we need.” When he’d called Elijah to ask about contacting the dealers, he’d hoped and expected Elijah to pass him off to one of his friends, most likely the Tate guy who’d sent Elijah drug pics before. But Elijah had said he would do it himself.

  Carter’s guilt gnawed at him.

  “Seriously,” he stressed. “Go home and let us handle this.”

  Elijah lifted a questioning brow. “Earlier you said you needed it to look real for these guys. They needed to see an actual kid.”

  “That’s what Ghost wants, but he’s an asshole,” he said, dropping his voice. His brothers stood a short distance away, and he didn’t want them overhearing. “Please just leave.”

  “You think I’ll screw it up.”

  “I think it’s not worth risking you getting hurt.”

  “Oh,” Elijah said, tone darkening. “So it was cool if one of my buddies got hurt, but not if I do.”

  “That’s not what I meant–”

  “I’m not asking someone else to do what I’m not willing to do myself. Not on the field, not in life. I’m helping you because you’ve helped me. And I’m gonna do it right.” He sounded like he wouldn’t be swayed.

  Carter knew that Mercy could bundle him in a van and they could forcibly remove him from the op. But he had to admire the kid’s bravery and take-charge attitude. Even if fear sat sour on the back of his tongue, threatening his gag reflex.

  He blew out a breath that did little to ease the pressure in his lungs. “Okay. Well. Okay. Just. Follow the plan. And the second shit goes sideways, hit the dirt and let us handle it. Okay?”

  Elijah nodded, but rolled his eyes. “You worry too much, Coach.”

  “Yeah, yeah.”

  Coach. It had a nice ring to it. Please don’t let anything happen to this kid.

  He motioned for Elijah to follow him, and they joined the others.

  ~*~

  The op was straightforward, and relied mostly on discretion and well-oiled teamwork. Silent communication. While important, Reese thought of it as low-risk. He’d been in much more dangerous situations – which was probably why he risked another glance to the neighboring tree to catch a glimpse of Tenny.

  He’d been thinking a good bit – too much – about what Kris had said to him. About dating, and making friends, and exploring options. When Carter had initiated friendliness while they searched the mill property, he’d dug deep into his limited social repertoire and reciprocated. When he’d been assigned to go with Aidan and Tango today, he hadn’t felt disappointed; he’d been bold enough to speak up, and share his trap idea – even if Aidan was acting as if it was his own.

  The idea of dating was still mind-boggling. But he’d Googled some stuff. Read a few articles.

  But he kept feeling this tug, this urge to look, to get up and follow. He missed him. This was what missing someone felt like.

  He’d never had anyone to miss before, but now he missed the kick of a boot against his own, and the elbow in his ribs. Missed insults, and dirty jokes he didn’t fully understand. And he missed lying side-by-side in the afterglow, smelling Tenny’s cigarette smoke, listening to his hesitant, halting ruminations on their new lives, all the things he never told anyone else.

  He looked again, caught the faintest glimpse of Tenny’s profile amidst the shadowy leaves, and then forced his head away. He couldn’t be thinking about that. Couldn’t be distracted.

  The op was playing out on high school property – the biggest risk was that of being spotted by local police and having the whole thing broken up. There was a spot down past the practice fields, the beginning of a nature walk, with a bench and a bower, a commemorative plaque of some sort, complete with soft landscape lights. That was where Carter’s student friend, Elijah stood now, shifting his weight, hands shoved in his hoodie pockets. Reese didn’t know if he was truly nervous, or acting that way, but it looked like a realistic teenage reaction to this situation nevertheless.

  Dogs were stationed behind the bower, tucked down in the bushes, and elsewhere on the property as lookouts. Reese and Tenny had each found well-hidden perches in two trees that flanked the path leading up to the meeting spot, and would drop down to cut off the dealer’s escape route.

  Reese’s legs had started to go numb, and the tree branches dug painfully into his spine. He took a deep, steadying, but silent breath, and retreated back into himself. No more worrying about Tenny, and their discontinued conversations. No body, no pains, no physical sensations. Only the op. The wait. Straining to listen, to scent, to see. He tamped down every unnecessary sense. A familiar process, but, strangely, no longer as easy as it had once been.

  Finally, the hoot of an owl pierced the gathering night. The four-beat call of a barred owl.

  Fox. Someone was coming.

  A few minutes later, Reese heard the careful tread of rubber-soled shoes on the sidewalk. A huff of breath. When he glanced down, he watched the top of a head go by. A man, medium build, his hair covered by a dark beanie, his hands gloved despite the warmth of the evening. As he proceeded down the path, a red dot appeared in the center of his back: Tenny had been charged with painting a target. For a camera, Ghost had stressed. We can’t fucking snipe somebody on school property.

  Elijah lifted his head as the man approached him, posture stiffening. He held up a hand when the dealer was still a few paces away, and the dealer stopped. They talked a minute; Reese couldn’t hear the words, only the low rise and fall of their voices. An exchange was made: a bag in return for cash that Ghost had given Elijah to use. Then the dealer turned, and began making his way back down the path.

  Reese looked to Elijah for the sign, and got it: a quick flicking-on of a flashlight. It was their man. One of them, anyway.

  Reese tensed, leaned forward on his branch, balanced on fingertips and the balls of his feet.

  The man approached, walking faster than before, wanting to get away before he was spotted.

  Too late for that.

  Reese gathered himself, and dropped; the rustle of leaves in the other tree proved that Tenny had, too, that they’d moved in perfect sync. They landed side-by-side, nearly on top of the dealer, who staggered back with a sharp, shocked gasp.

  Reese grabbed his arm. Tenny karate-chopped him in the side of the throat, and the man’s legs gave out. He toppled backward, wheezing and choking, and it was only a matter of a few brisk movements to flip him onto his front, bind his hands with a zip tie behind his back, and clap a hand over his mouth.

  “If you’re good, I’ll let you quit choking before I put tape on you,” Tenny said, voice silken and accented and…sending strange little ripples of energy down Reese’s spine.

  Dogs jogged toward them, Aidan, and Carter, and Tango, and Mercy.

  “Got him?” Mercy called.

  “Yes,” Reese said.

  Tenny let go of the man’s face so he could pull out a roll of duct tape. “Get the van.”

  The dealer choked on the sidewalk, not struggling, but body bowed by his wracking coughs.

  “Before someone hears that,” Tenny said, disgust
ed.

  ~*~

  “You sure you’re alright?” Carter asked. For the fourth time, at least.

  “Dude, you sound like my mom. Chill,” Elijah said, chuckling. He’d been in an uncharacteristically giddy mood since the van drove off a few minutes ago, headed for the clubhouse with their prisoner secured in the back under Fox’s watchful eye. Post-adrenaline rush, Carter figured.

  “Yeah, well, excuse a guy for worrying.”

  That inspired another laugh, a deep belly laugh that had Elijah clutching his stomach.

  “I like you better when you’re grouchy.” Carter refused to call his tone bitter.

  Ghost joined them, standing in a shadowed corner of the parking lot beside Elijah’s car. “You did good, kid,” he said, clapping Elijah on the shoulder.

  Elijah’s laughter cut off immediately. He went wide-eyed, looking at Ghost like he was a celebrity – or an actual ghost, more like. It wasn’t exactly admiration in his gaze, or the faint tremor of his voice. “Sir.” He fished into his pocket. “Here. The money you gave me to use.” He offered the stack of cash.

  “Keep it,” Ghost said, and Elijah’s eyes got impossibly wider. “Consider it returning the favor.” He gave him another light slap on the shoulder and drew back. “I’ll let Carter keep you in the loop if there’s anything you need to know.” He headed off for his truck, parked several spaces down.

  “He’s my ride,” Carter said. “I should go.”

  Elijah was still staring at the money in his hands, and lifted his head. “He’s for real? I can keep this?”

  Carter grinned. “See? The club’s not all bad.”

  Elijah released a deep breath and tucked the cash back in his pocket. “What’s gonna happen to that guy? Fred?”