Ghost cut her off with a firm shake of his head. Sent her a warning look.
“Right.” She rerouted. “I’ll just go check on the laundry.” She swept out of the room with a slap-slap of flip-flops.
When she was gone, Ghost took a long pull of Tennessee sour mash and sighed again, the weight of the years since then and now landing heavy across his shoulders. He fucking hated when the past came back to haunt him. Story of his life.
“Back when Duane was prez, I wasn’t exactly a…model member.”
Walsh kept a straight face, but he snorted.
“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. I sucked, we all know that. But there was this kid who didn’t suck, who was up Duane’s ass all the damn time. It was creepy how much of a suck-up he was, to be honest. He had eyes on the head of the table, and everybody in the club thought he’d end up there.”
“Did anyone ever tell you,” Walsh said, “that history has a serious way of repeating itself when it comes to your family?”
Ghost flipped him the bird and kept talking. “His name was Robert, but we all called him Roman because he had this damn warrior complex. We got guys like Michael and Mercy, yeah, but they’re not ambitious, not like Roman was. He was bloodthirsty and he wanted to be the boss.”
“Dangerous combination.”
“Yeah. Anyway, he was the golden boy. Until shit went down.”
“Eloquent.”
“Shut the fuck up, English. Alright, so he proved to be…less loyal than we thought. I ran him out of town. Some people would see that as an opportunity to run very far away and not antagonize the largest outlaw MC in the world.”
“Or, someone might bide his time and seek out revenge.” Walsh tipped his head back and forth in consideration. “He killed a dog. That’s terrible, yeah, I’ll grant you that. But.” His face said look at the shit we do. “The question is: is this really him? Because if it is, and he’s got an axe to grind, then we need to take this threat seriously.”
“I don’t know the guy anymore. I have no idea where his head’s at. If it’s him.”
“Is it?”
“I’m starting to really think so.”
Walsh nodded. “I’ll call church for tonight.”
“Good.” His gut churned. His voice wavered. “Also, um, I should tell you. Before it’s out there.”
Walsh stared at him.
“Mags is…um…she’s pregnant.”
A second passed. Another. Another…
Walsh’s grin bloomed slow, but it was delighted. “Really?”
“Really.”
He laughed, one harsh bark that sounded strange to Ghost’s ears. “Congrats, old man.”
~*~
Maggie was no stranger to nausea. No one was. It was just that when she knew what the nausea meant that it grew heavy, and important, and she felt much more in tune with her body. She felt sick, but she had a bathroom, a waste basket, and a bunch of calls to make. She saw no reason to stay home.
Also, she wasn’t surprised that Ava showed up about ten-thirty, all three kids in tow.
“Aw, baby,” she said when Ava wrestled her stroller through the office door. “You shouldn’t have come.”
“No, it’s fine.” Ava blew her hair off her face and finally managed to get the stroller – and Millie inside it – parked in front of the desk. Remy and Cal flanked her, holding on to the tail of her sweater on both sides. “I wanted to check on you.”
“I’m not the one dragging three little munchkins around – hi, sweetie!” She opened her arms as Cal came around the desk to give her a hug. The top of his little blonde head smelled like No More Tears and the scent hit her right between the ribs, made her ache to hold the baby that was still so tiny inside of her.
Ava, the little Terminator, wasn’t so easy to shake off, though. “You talked to Dad?”
Maggie hauled Cal up into her lap, his head tucked beneath her chin, and sent her daughter a stern look. “Do you really have so little faith in your father?”
Ava shrugged. “Well…”
“Your dad is fine,” Maggie said, firmly. “You forget sometimes, I think, that he isn’t a bad man.” Drug dealing notwithstanding, went unsaid. “Besides, we aren’t stupid kids this time around. If anything, we’re even better prepared.”
Ava didn’t look convinced, but she nodded and dropped down into the chair beside the stroller. Remy climbed up in the chair next to her, as somber and grown up as usual. “Any news about the…” She gestured vaguely rather than say it in front of the kids.
“Not yet, no. Soon, I figure.”
“You know what I think?” Ava asked, but before she could say anything else, someone rapped sharply against the office door. Then it swung open.
Early sunlight framed Vince Fielding in an unforgiving way, illuminating the lines on his face and the way his hair was thinning on top. The way his body was a little sparer, his face rounder. Alcohol, most like. His uniform shirt had a little stain above one of the pockets.
Ava grabbed the stroller handle with one hand and Remy’s jacketed arm with the other, a mother lioness ready to snatch her cubs out of danger.
“Vince,” Maggie said, sitting up straight and clutching Cal tight into her stomach. She shouldn’t have been surprised to see him, not after what happened last night, but she was. “What are you doing here?”
He fiddled with his tie, seeming to forget it was clipped into the buttons of his shirt. “I was off rotation last night, but I heard what happened. I wanted to make sure you were alright.”
“Join the club,” she muttered. “I’m fine, we’re all fine, everything’s fine.” She was really starting to hate that word. “How about you and your guys just figure out who did it, okay?”
“Well, that’s the thing,” he said, shuffling his feet on the linoleum. “Down at the station, no one really…cares.”
~*~
“Talk to all your contacts,” Ghost told Ratchet, and the secretary bobbed his head, expression earnest. “Your courthouse guy, your lab guy, your fucking DOT guy, if you’ve got one. If someone saw something or knows something, I wanna know about it.”
“On it, boss,” Ratchet assured.
“Good.” Ghost started to step back from the desk, and heard the scrape of a shoe on the hardwood a moment before he was attacked.
Two arms strong and thick as tree trunks wrapped tight around his middle, squeezed the breath out of him, and lifted him up off his feet like he weighed nothing.
“Daddy!” Mercy crowed, laughing.
Ghost considered kicking him. “I ain’t your daddy, asshole.”
“If it’s a boy, will you name it after me? Can’t you just hear it? Felix Teague. It’s got a nice ring to it.”
Ghost did kick him then.
Laughing still, Mercy set him back on his feet. “Admit it, you like it.”
Ghost forced himself to turn slowly, and glower presidentially, when what he wanted was to slug the guy. “Is this how you wanna play this? Really?”
Mercy’s grin took up his whole face, and it was a little bit terrifying how happy he was. “Oh, really.”
“Is it too late to rescind my fatherly approval of your marriage?”
“Never had it, didn’t ask for it.” Mercy put his big paw hands on Ghost’s shoulders. “You gotta understand, Poppy. This is Karmic.”
“Getting my wife pregnant?”
“No. Sanctimonious, superior, joyless you getting your wife pregnant. Big difference.”
Ghost shrugged off his touch. “God, I hate you.”
“No you don’t,” Mercy said, cheerfully. “I’m your favorite son-in-law.”
“I’m not even gracing that with a response.”
“Hey,” Walsh said, leaning in from the front hall. “Fielding’s here.”
“Send him in.”
“He’s down at the office, actually.”
A hot, sudden surge of anger propelled Ghost forward. He tapped Mercy in the chest with two fingers as he passed. “Co
me with me, not-favorite son-in-law. You might have to bodily remove an officer from the premises.”
“That hurts,” Mercy said, but fell in behind him.
Fielding’s cruiser was parked beside Maggie’s car and Ava’s truck, like it belonged there or some shit. Ghost tried to tell himself that his anger was irrational – and it was, he knew that – but every time he blinked, he saw Maggie looking green and weak this morning. Seeing her sick felt like his own flank was wounded; like an integral part of his wall was damaged. She was his weak spot. And the thing about predators – they’d protect their weak spots to the death. He hated the idea of Fielding being in the same room with her when she wasn’t at the top of her game. Even if Ava was there…and that was nothing to sneeze at. Mags was a rock. Ava was a loaded gun with the safety off.
The office door was open and through it Ghost could see Maggie and Ava sitting on opposite sides of the desk, Fielding standing over them with the end of his tie in his hands, head lowered.
“Vince,” Ghost said as he entered, and the man jerked, startled. “I’m assuming you’re here because you have answers.”
The man looked decidedly guilty as he turned to face him. “Well, that’s what I was just explaining to Maggie–”
“Right. Because you thought it was appropriate to talk club business with my old lady.”
Fielding drew his shoulders up, taking the comment for the veiled threat that it was. “I was just–”
“Merc, escort the good lieutenant outside, would you?”
With a scowl and a muttered curse, Fielding didn’t wait to be “escorted,” striding out of the office with his head down.
Mercy sighed. “I never get to have any fun.”
His boys spotted him with happy shouts of “Daddy!” and Ghost left him to it, following the cop out into the parking lot.
Fielding slouched against the side of his cruiser and dug into a pocket for a pack of smokes and a cheap gas station lighter. Ghost caught the faint tremor in his hand as he lit up and took his first drag, and some of his ire faded. The man was an absolute wreck of a human being these days, and Ghost knew it was his fault.
He propped a hip against the driver door of the cruiser. “You don’t look so hot, Vince. You getting enough sleep?”
Fielding snorted and didn’t answer. “Who’s after you this time, Ken?” he asked instead, taking another deep drag. He stared ahead, toward the clubhouse. Walsh was sitting out front, tapping on his laptop and having another cup of coffee, hair golden in the morning light. Ghost had no doubt he was trying to read their lips from a distance.
“If I knew who it was,” Ghost said, aiming for mild, “I’d already have done something about it. Don’t you think?”
“I think your whole life is one stupidass bar fight after the next.” His gaze came to Ghost’s face, tired and haunted. “I think you’re a worthless, self-inflated thug who’s gonna get this whole city killed one of these days. Don’t take this the wrong way, but I hate your fucking guts.”
Ghost felt a smile tugging at his mouth. “Believe me, I’m not a fan of yours either.”
Fielding sucked down the last of his cig and ground it out beneath the heel of his boot. “So who is it this time?”
“Dunno.” Ghost sighed. “Might be an old rival. Might be somebody new.”
Over at the picnic table, Walsh kept sneaking covert glances at them over his laptop screen.
“That’s the problem with being on top of the pile,” he continued. “Someone always wants to knock you off.”
“Yeah, well, PD doesn’t care if you get knocked off. They’re not gonna pursue this if they think it’s just another club war. They’ll let you guys tear yourselves to pieces, and just send the body bags when the dust settles.”
“Good to know.”
Four
“Okay, you can go ahead and sit up for me.”
Maggie pulled her feet out of the stirrups and sat up, smoothing the crinkly paper gown across her lap. Her stomach seemed to shiver, a deep inner chill that had nothing to do with the overeager air conditioning in the exam room.
“Well, doc?” she asked, and missed the joking tone she’d shot for.
She’d been seeing her gyno, Dr. Martin, since just after Ava was born, and never before had Maggie been nervous in the woman’s presence. Dr. Martin seemed to sense that, shooting Maggie a fast, but warm smile before she went back to the chart, scribbling notations. “Your at-home test was correct. Congratulations: you’re pregnant.”
Maggie let out a deep breath, shoulders sagging. “Okay.”
Dr. Martin’s brows tugged together over the rims of her glasses. “Just okay? You didn’t want to be?” It was said without judgement, more like friendly concern.
Maggie shook her head. “It’s not that. I’m just surprised. Maybe a little worried – I’m forty-one.”
“Ah,” Dr. Martin said with understanding. “That’s where I can give you some good news.” She rolled her stool closer. “You’ve already had a successful pregnancy, and you’ve had regular pap smears every year. So we know, to put it bluntly, that the plumbing works and is healthy. We know that you are healthy, overall. We’ll want to monitor this pregnancy a little more closely, as we would with any expectant mother your age.”
“My age. Ugh.”
Dr. Martin patted her knee. “I’m confident, Maggie. Let’s not get worried before there’s anything to worry about, okay?”
Maggie nodded, taking another shivery breath. “Yeah. Okay.”
When the doctor was gone and she was getting dressed, she thought about the worries she couldn’t share with the doctor: her club worries.
If she was honest, there was no such thing as a good time to bring a baby into the MC way of life. There was always a new war, a new drama, a new threat to the family structure. Violence lurked around every corner, so it was never a matter of waiting for a lull.
Even so, she hadn’t expected this news to rattle her the way it had. She felt unmoored, and that made her nervous in a way no outside threat ever had.
On the way out of the office, she allowed her eyes to travel across the black and white photos of the babies brought into the world by the OB team, fat little handfuls of dough with dimpled knees and impossible lashes. It was just a short time ago that she’d brought Aidan here to see the sonogram of his Lainie for the first time. Maybe that’s what this was about: she was a grandmother for God’s sakes. It was her time to lend support to the parents in her life, to be the mother of adult children.
The receptionist wished her congratulations on the way out, and Maggie hoped her smile wasn’t too thin. The smell of the café in the main part of the hospital made her stomach turn, so she left through the outpatient wing, hurrying toward the fresh, fall-scented air that awaited beyond the sliding doors.
The sight of her mother stopped her in her tracks.
“Mom?”
Denise was dressed, as usual, in sleek layers of slacks, silk shirt, and sweater, her jacket folded neatly over one arm. Her pearls gleamed beneath the fluorescent overheads. She stood in front of a vending machine, lips pressed together in a subtle show of distaste as she surveyed the offerings.
She jerked a little at the sound of Maggie’s voice, hand fluttering toward her throat. Maggie had always wondered if she was grabbing for her heart…or for her pearls, as if she was afraid she was about to be robbed. The latter seemed most likely.
“Margaret.” Her gaze swept Maggie like a sergeant’s during troop inspection, searching for flaws. “What are you doing here?”
Maggie imagined the tiny life inside her cringing in terror.
“I had my annual,” she lied. “What about you?”
“Oh, well.” Denise straightened her pearls and smoothed her blouse, gaze flicking away over Maggie’s shoulder. “Your father’s just having a little outpatient procedure.”
Maggie’s stomach tightened, and this time it had nothing to do with morning sickness. “What kind of procedure
?”
“A heart cath.” She said it so casually, like it was nothing. Like it was an earache or something.
“What? Is he okay?”
“He’s fine.”
Maggie’s heart was kicking a fast, dull rhythm against her ribs. The waiting room seemed to tilt, just slightly. “Has – has he been having problems?”
“A little short of breath, a little too fatigued,” Denise said with a shrug. “We won’t know anything for sure until the doctor takes a look.”
“You didn’t…why didn’t you let me know?”
Denise sighed and tilted her head back, so she could look down her aristocratic nose at her. “You don’t exactly like to hear from me.”
And just like that her mounting fear turned to anger. “No. I don’t like to be ridiculed. I don’t like it when you pass unfair judgement on my kids–”
“You only have one child, dear, the boy isn’t yours.”
“See? Just like that. That is why I don’t call you like I should. That is why we can’t have the kind of mother-daughter relationship I have with Ava. When I do talk to you, you tell me what a disappointment I am. But then when Dad’s in the hospital with a catheter shoved in him, you can’t bother to let me know? God, what the hell, Mom? What the hell?”
People were staring at them now, turning away from the TVs and toward the developing argument.
“Keep your voice down,” Denise hissed.
Maggie went to the nearest chair and sat down, hard, digging out her phone so she could let Mina know that someone would need to man her desk.
“What are you doing?”
“Waiting to hear how my father’s doing,” Maggie said, matching her mom’s frosty tone. “Hate me all you want, but you can’t keep me away from him.”
Denise stared at her a long moment, mouth set, then sighed and sank down into a chair two spaces over.
~*~
“Yeah. Okay. Be careful.” Ghost tucked his phone away, frowning to himself.
“Problem?” Walsh asked.
“Maggie’s dad is in the hospital.” Which meant she was at the hospital, which meant there was no one keeping an eye on her. Damn it, this was why they needed prospects at all times: guard dog duty.
American Hellhound Page 3