“That nurse thinks we’re…” Not married, because there wouldn’t have been any need for secrecy; that’s what she’d been checking for on his hand: a wedding ring. “Having sex with each other.”
Tenny let out a sharp, sudden laugh, and then hissed, his whole body tensing up. He closed his eyes and subsided back against his pillows with a groan. “Damn it.”
Reese waited for a swift tug of satisfaction – Tenny was here because of his own stupidity and bravado, and it served him right to be in pain because of it – but it never came. Instead, the coffee he’d consumed churned unpleasantly in his gut.
He reached for something to say, uncertain why he’d even walked down here, much less sat at the man’s bedside. He settled on: “You’re not dead.”
Tenny’s mouth tugged sideways into the flattest of smiles, one that lasted only a breath before it was dropped. “Thanks to you, apparently.”
“I didn’t want to.”
Ten’s eyes widened, fractionally, and Reese found himself surprised, too – surprised that such a revelation was news to Tenny.
“I wanted to pursue the shooter,” he said. “It was Luis. The one sexually involved with Melanie Menendez. The one whose father–”
“I know who he is. I was at the briefing, too.”
“I could have caught him.”
“Maybe.”
“I could have. I’m fast.” And it wasn’t like when Aidan said something about himself and the other guys laughed until he blushed and told them all to “fuck off.” No, Reese knew that he was fast; he’d pushed himself, isolated muscle groups, trained. His first handler had even timed him, and…
Tenny was making a sour face. “Fine, yeah, sure, you’re fast. And you should have gone after him.”
“That’s what Fox said.” Anger washed through him all over again remembering that conversation.
Tenny blinked – one quick pulse of uncertainty – before he settled back to sourness. “But you saved me instead.”
“Yes.” Something in his voice or face – he was going to need to practice in front of the mirror after this, if this morning’s reactions were anything to go by – caused Tenny to smile again, sharp with repressed glee this time.
“You disobeyed orders.”
“No.”
“You did. You disobeyed.” When he chuckled, he ended up wincing and groaning at the pain it caused, but the smile stayed fixed.
The cup he held started to buckle, and Reese forced his hand to relax before hot coffee showered all over his lap. “No,” he said, calmly; he could be calm, he could control his voice, and his face, too. “I didn’t have orders to pursue the shooter at all costs. We didn’t know Luis was going to be there. I was told – we were told – to clear the office, living room, and upper floors. We were supposed to look for contraband, and you looked for a fight instead.”
“Ooh, very good. Mincing words. You’re learning.”
Reese ignored him. “After, Fox said you were reckless and stupid, and that I should have let you die.”
“He said that?” Ten asked, mildly.
Reese checked the urge to clench his teeth. It was a new and strange impulse that unsettled him. “He said it. Your own brother.”
Tenny managed to shrug with one shoulder, on his good side. “He doesn’t like me much.”
“Don’t you care?” The part that angered him the most was that this conversation was happening after the conversation in the dorm room, just before they’d left for the op. When Ten had let his frustration and anger and confusion get the best of him and he’d allowed some of the truth to bleed through. Reese knew that he didn’t have his own secret inner truth; there wasn’t a person waiting to come awake and unfurl like a tender new plant reaching for the sun. He just was.
But Tenny could be different. Could be better. But he was back to all his bored tricks.
“You seem to care,” Ten said. “I wonder why.”
“I–” He closed his mouth, because he had no idea what might slip out. His thumb had nearly punctured his coffee cup.
“You’re angry,” Tenny observed, mildly.
“Yes,” Reese said, not at all mildly. His temper throbbed inside him, a living, parasitic thing robbing him of his normal, orderly thought processes. He hated it – hated Tenny.
“If you’d had orders to let me die, you would have disobeyed them.”
Through his teeth: “Yes.”
“Look at Pinocchio, turning into a real boy.”
“I’m not–”
“He’s testing you, you know.” Ten’s voice softened a fraction, no longer mocking. “Fox. He’s been testing both of us the whole time.”
The anger evaporated. His face did something else, unbidden, something that had Tenny shifting his head on the pillow and offering a wry grin.
“Yeah, he’s a real asshole.”
“We’re operatives,” Reese said, numb. “We don’t–”
“Need to be tested? No. No, we don’t. We’re better trained, better equipped, and smarter than all of these bikers.”
“You almost got yourself killed because you were bored,” Reese reminded.
Tenny flapped a hand dismissively. “Who can blame me?”
“Me.”
“Anyway. We outclass all of them. This isn’t about testing our skills. This is child’s play what we’re doing now.”
Reese stared at him. “You almost died.”
“Because – as we’ve already established – I’m stupid. Had I been treating it like a proper op I never would have put myself, or the op itself, into that kind of jeopardy. There. Are you happy that I’ve admitted it?”
“Yes.”
Tenny showed a moment’s surprise, like he hadn’t thought Reese might agree. “Careful,” he said, and Reese realized that he’d smiled, and when had that started happening? “Had I treated it like a proper op,” Ten continued, “we’d have landed the shooter, freed the doctor, all of it over and done with in a flash.
“My point is this: Fox is testing us as human beings.” His lip curled on the word, making a face as if he’d tasted something foul. “As potential brothers in this club.”
“I like the club.”
“Of course you do, you simpleton.”
“The club is a family,” Reese insisted.
“Yes, I’m painfully aware.”
“Don’t you want a family?”
More surprise. A blanking of the face and a rounding of the eyes. A beat of silence. A shift in tone. “Do you?”
“I’ve always had a sister.”
“To whom you are related by blood, and with whom your former employers controlled your allegiance. I was briefed on you,” he said. “But these men will never be your brothers. Do you think they care for you? That they love you?”
He thought about his phone call with Mercy earlier, the now-familiar softness and affection in the big man’s voice. Mercy was many things, but never duplicitous. Never subtle.
“What?” Tenny asked, brows lowering, because he must have had another facial malfunction.
“The club is a place for people who don’t fit in anywhere else,” Reese said, repeating what Mercy had once told him. “It’s a family for people like us.”
Ten studied him a moment longer, and then let his head fall back, let his eyes fall shut. Just talking like this had exhausted him. He yawned, and it didn’t seem fake. “Christ,” he murmured.
“You can sleep,” Reese said. “I’ll keep watch.”
“Oh, wonderful. I feel safer already.” But a few moments later, his breathing had evened, and the cruel line of his mouth softened.
Reese settled back in his chair to wait, and watch, an inexplicable kernel of warmth blooming in his chest.
Forty
The coffee might have been decaf, but by the time she’d finished it, Michelle felt properly grounded and ready to tackle the day ahead. She went to wash her face, and put her hair up, and dress for battle: loose sweater, tight jeans, a pair
of ridiculous, pointed-toe cowboy boots she’d bought at Jenny’s urging, a faded brown stitched with turquoise whirls and flowers. She woke and dressed TJ, got his breakfast, and realized, as she plucked a stray Cheerio off the floor, that she was humming to herself.
There was a good chance there was something very wrong with her, and doubtless all her relatives would agree – though the same thing was wrong with them. She made a mental note to call Raven soon; that was always an appropriately sobering experience.
“What are you smiling about?” Candy asked, flashing her a smile of his own as she turned away from the garbage can and glanced up to find her brick wall of a husband standing in front of her. She’d never stop being amazed at how quietly he could move through the house, given his size. Must have been all the boxing that made him light on his feet.
“Oh, nothing,” she said, fighting to keep her smile from getting any wider. She was still riding that giddy, swooping-stomach feeling that had settled over her at the hospital, during their waiting room heart-to-heart.
“Uh-huh.” He caught her around the waist and reeled her in close, bending his head so his lips were against her temple when he spoke. Whispered, “You look like a woman who had a real good time last night.”
His warm breath in her ear, and the memories his words conjured, sent a delightful shiver down her back. Goosebumps broke out all down her arms, a sharp prickle that nearly hurt, and the sudden jump of her pulse flared in all the sensitive places where he’d left his mark. The finger-shaped bruises on her hips and thighs, the delicious tenderness between them.
She searched for something clever to say, and just murmured “Derek” instead, her body softening automatically against his, every part of her seeking connection.
He chuckled. “Damn. You’re too easy.”
“Just for you.” She reached up and found his nipple through his shirt, gave it a deft little tweak. “Ass.”
He stepped back, still chuckling, and cupped her face in one big hand, expression slowly going serious. “I know you love this, you little hellcat.” His smile fell away altogether. “But I want you to promise me something.”
Her own smile slipped. “That sounds foreboding.”
“I don’t mean it to be. But I’m serious. If something – if shit gets really bad – and God willing it won’t. If you get in a tight spot, if I’m not….there.” It sounded like his voice nearly cracked. “I know the club’s important to you. I know it’s your family, and you’ve grown up in it, and it’s your world. But you’re my world. If it comes down to saving yourself, or helping the club, I want you to be selfish, little baby thing. I want you to get the hell out. Run and don’t look back.”
The look in his eyes, the earnestness, the love, put a lump in her throat. “That’s a difficult promise to make.”
“Make it anyway. Please. For me.” His thumb stroked her cheek, and she loved, loved, loved this man, so much it hurt to breathe.
She took a shaky breath. This wasn’t about him denying her, or pushing her away, or limiting her involvement with the club. He’d never been that way. This was about him loving her, and not being able to live with knowing his life had brought about the end of hers.
“Okay. I promise.”
He kissed her – not on the lips, but on the forehead, a long, chaste press of lips. She swore she felt his heartbeat through it. “Thank you,” he murmured, before he pulled back, his voice rough.
She just hoped it was a promise she could keep.
~*~
Cantrell and his people had taken over the downtown police precinct. A familiar face greeted them at the door when they pushed through the airlock: Officer Martin Jaffrey, their usual liaison.
“Candy,” he said, expression grim, jaw set. “Would you like to make this make sense?”
Candy had been ready to murmur a hello and ask to be taken to Cantrell, but he paused, and turned to give Jaffrey his full attention. “You’re not assisting?”
“No. The feds won’t even put any of my guys on hospital detail. They’re not sharing shit,” he said in a low, tight whisper.
Candy flicked a glance to Fox, who lifted a single brow in what could have been surprise, or inquiry, or disinterest. “Are you guys cooperating?” Candy asked. Past the desk sergeant, he glimpsed a young agent in a suit coming toward them, her strides brisk and her expression closed-off.
Jaffrey, when he focused on him again, wore a sheen of sweat across his brow, a vein throbbing visibly in one temple. Stressed, worried. “Of course we’re fucking cooperating. You wanna tell me why the feds are working with you guys and keeping us in the dark?”
Candy didn’t get a chance to answer – not that he could have. The agent arrived, heels clicking on the tile. “Mr. Snow, you can follow me,” she said.
Candy shot Jaffrey an apologetic look and fell in behind her. Her hair was pulled back in a high, tight ponytail that swung back and forth like a pendulum as she walked. Several of the detectives in the bullpen shot her dark or suspicious looks as she led them back toward one of the large conference rooms.
Uneasiness prickled down the back of Candy’s neck, but another glance toward Fox was unhelpful.
The conference room they were shown into was the best in the precinct, Candy though, still modest, but with a wall of blinds-covered windows and a long, gleaming table running down its center. A whiteboard occupied one of the short walls, and magnets had been used to pin up photos, arrest records, mug shots, and maps. The table was littered with files and paperwork. Cantrell stood at a table in the back where a coffee station had been set up, stirring the contents of a foam cup, the end of his tie pooling on the tabletop, his expression tired and faraway.
This was the command center.
Cantrell straightened and turned to face them as they entered: Candy, Fox, and Blue. Everyone else they’d left behind to take shifts on the clubhouse and the hospital. His gaze shifted over the three of them in turn, and he bobbed a fast nod that wasn’t pleased, but more grudgingly accepting.
What aren’t you using Amarillo PD? Candy wanted to ask. Instead, he said, “Looks like you just need some red string and then you’ll have a whole conspiracy theory roadmap,” and gestured to the board.
Cantrell’s response was a deep exhale. He walked down the length of the table, on the far side. “Thank you, Candace,” he said, and the door clicked shut as the blonde agent showed herself out.
Candy took a moment to reflect on the fact that this was the first time he’d been enclosed in a room with a fed and he wasn’t being interrogated as a criminal suspect.
“You’re welcome, by the way,” Candy said.
“I am?”
“For busting the coke den at the Doc’s place.”
“Ha,” Cantrell said, deadpan, and took a long slug of coffee. “Yeah, no, see, that complicated things. You were supposed to call with the intel and let us handle the arrests. And instead” – anger touched his voice, though he didn’t seem to have enough energy to enforce it properly – “my people are picking up bodies and having to tell the local cops not to arrest anybody for it. I’m pulling a lot of strings because of you, Snow, and I won’t–”
“We left you at least one alive,” Fox said.
“What?”
“The guards. I left one alive, and the boys did, too. Now you have witnesses.”
“Are you…” Cantrell trailed off and let out another breath. Set his coffee on the table and ran both hands down his face. “Okay. You know what? Doesn’t matter.”
He went to the board. “Let’s walk through the timeline. We’ve got ritualistic killings in Arizona two months ago.” He pointed to crime scene photos reminiscent of the scene out in the desert, where pacer’s people had been killed. “Five vics, in two locations, found twelve hours apart.”
“Five?” Candy asked, turning to Fox, who nodded.
Cantrell sent them a look.
“Just a theory,” Fox said, and apparently wasn’t ready to share with the clas
s yet.
“Found twelve hours apart,” Cantrell repeated, continuing. “Staked out, throats cut, sedated beforehand, Special K on the tox screen.
“Next are the three here.” He shifted to photos from the scene Candy remembered all too well. The white-blue crystalline sky, the arid soil laced with cracks, the Road Runners set out in five points, like the Texas star…
With a jolt, he snapped his head toward Fox, brows lifted.
Fox smirked. Get it now?
He thought he did. Or at least partly. He’d ask when they left here.
“Also staked out,” Cantrell said, oblivious to their silent exchange, “sedated, and with their throats cut. Only this time it wasn’t ketamine. It was that new paralytic the lab’s still trying to figure out.” He tapped another photo. “The two men in your sister’s yard.”
“Five,” Candy said, connections snapping in his brain. Five points on a star, five victims laid out like stars.
Fox nodded again.
“Our guy’s lucky number, apparently,” Cantrell said, shaking his head as he surveyed the board.
“Did you do any digging on the Chupacabras?” Candy asked.
Cantrell shifted to the table, and opened a file, sifted through the loose-leaf pages inside. “It’s been two years since their last boss was found dead in his cell.” He darted a hard glance up at the three of them that wasn’t responded to. “Since then, other cartels have stepped in to fill the void, but the Chupacabras haven’t left any tags or calling cards. No one we’ve arrested on any sort of trafficking charges has pointed their direction. Based on all the intel, they disbanded, or disappeared, or the remaining members all hooked up with other gangs after the fallout here in Texas. No witnesses have stepped forward claiming they’re behind any of this activity – except the ones you’ve told me about.” He shot another look up at Candy. “I need to interview them.”
“And you will. I’ll get them to you.” Candy couldn’t help but sound smug.
“You understand that in order for it to be in any way admissible they have to either commit a crime and get arrested for it, or come to me directly looking to make a deal. I can’t pluck people off the street like you do.”
Lone Star (Dartmoor Book 7) Page 35