Secondhand Smoke (Dartmoor Book 4)

by Lauren Gilley

  “Yeah, ‘try.’”

  He thought he heard scuffling, under the driving beat of the music, but couldn’t be sure.

  The hallway yawned ahead of them, dark and welcoming. Almost there. If he could just get Erin to the truck –

  A shadow detached itself from the gloom and slid across their path.

  “Shit.”

  “Help you with something?” a deep voice asked, and the man stepped into the light, revealing the unspecified fleshy features of every TV henchman ever.

  “Nah,” Aidan said, pulling Erin up tight behind him. “Just strolling through is all.”

  The thug stared at him stupidly, plainly trying to figure out what to do with him.

  Back in the ballroom, the din of voices was swelling, increasing in agitation.

  “So yeah,” Aidan said. “Be seein’ ya.”

  He attempted to go around the big hunk of meat, and caught sight of a figure standing partway down the hall. A small figure, though clearly masculine.

  Greg.

  He glanced quickly back at Erin. “Stay with me, and keep up.” He didn’t wait for a response, but plunged forward, pulling her along.

  They didn’t get far. Mister Help-you-with-something slammed him with a shoulder, sending him into the far wall with a hard thump, and an explosion of dust and flaking wallpaper bits. The air rushed out of his lungs and his bad shoulder, the one he’d dislocated over a year ago, flushed hot with pain. He brought his good arm up and turned to face the man, shoving Erin deeper into the hall with the other.

  “Go,” he told her. “Out the back.”

  The thug reached to grab hold of him.

  Aidan dodged, but there wasn’t room.

  “Erin, go!”

  She shrieked.

  And then another presence was beside them, bigger than the thug, overwhelming the man as a swift shadow that latched around his throat and flattened him back against the wall.

  Mercy.

  The goon’s eyes bugged and he spluttered, hands reaching fruitlessly to scrabble against the hold at his windpipe. That was the beautiful thing about his brother-in-law, Aidan reflected – no matter how big and mean an adversary they faced out in the field, no one was bigger or meaner than Mercy.

  “You were taking too long,” Merc said, and he wasn’t even straining to hold the man pinned like an insect specimen. “You’ve got the girl?”

  “Here. Where’s–”

  “I’m here,” Tango said, materializing beside them. “Aidan, out the back…” He hesitated, not wanting to say, but Aidan knew what he meant. Greg.

  “Get her out of here,” he said of Erin, “I’m going after him.”

  Leaving his brothers to deal with the meathead and the mess of students – a man couldn’t ask for two better diplomats than those two – he took off at a sprint toward the flapping back door. His bad shoulder was screaming, but he shoved the pain down. He had to get hold of Greg this time; in his mind there was no alternative.

  Prior to burning and abandonment, Hamilton House must have had a lush backyard. Mansions had pretty gardens, right? Whatever it had once been, it was now a tangle of brambles, withered vines, and dilapidated fence pickets, all of it weaving into the surrounding forest at its rough edges. And because of its thickness, it made it damn hard to flee on foot with any speed.

  Greg was just ahead of him, crashing through the underbrush, hampered by those short legs of his, obvious as all hell, even in the dark.

  Aidan leapt over a knot of bushes, vaulted across half of a ruined fence, and caught his prey in a matter of strides. Greg was dressed all in black, same as him, but he was breathing like a winded horse, and Aidan could have grabbed him with his eyes closed. As it was, he executed an NFL-worthy tackle that jarred the ever loving shit out of his shoulder, and rolled with Greg caught tight in his arms, ending up on top of the guy, a knee pressed into the small of his back, pinning him fast to the ground.

  Greg let out a squall like a cat that’s been grabbed by the tail, and Aidan bore down on him hard, feeling the slight give of the guy’s ribs spreading beneath his kneecap.

  His prey secure, Aidan took a moment to draw in a deep breath, reflect on his winded state, and curse himself for not working enough cardio into his exercise routine. He’d never really recovered after his accident, had he? And all those little twinges and hurts were only going to worsen with time.

  He gulped more air and said, “You know what makes me real mad, Greg? The fact that you had the balls to come back up here tonight. You finally chose to grow a pair, huh?”

  Greg wriggled to no avail and turned his head, so moonlight flitted through the branches overhead and speckled the side of his face with white. His voice was muffled by leaf litter, but still discernable. “I’m not acting alone, Aidan.” He let out a short, harsh laugh. “I’m a follower, not a leader, remember? Same as you.”

  The words pricked him, little needlepoints against his skin.

  He put a hand to the back of Greg’s neck and ground his cheek down into the dirt. “”How’d you get hooked up with Ellison?”

  “Who said anything about him?” But Greg stiffened all over, which meant, yes, he was one of Don’s little puppets now.

  “He’d be the only one stupid enough to do any of this.” He allowed his grip to tighten and was rewarded by a quiet, reflexive sound of protest. “Did you kill Fisher yourself? The others?”

  “No,” Greg said immediately. “You know I couldn’t…I’d never…”

  “You’d never? Yeah, big principles you got there, Greggy.”

  A burst of violence moved through his chest, a hot flush of aggression. He wasn’t Merc, wasn’t Michael, wasn’t even his father, for whom killing was a necessary part of life’s equation. He’d never felt its dangerous pull before; had never been tempted, even when those had been his orders. Pity and conscience had saved Greg that night, almost three years ago. But now Aidan was flooded with the urge. The hideous knowledge blossomed in his mind: you didn’t kill a man for sport; you did it because it had to be done, and sooner was better than later.

  His hand tightened, tightened…

  Greg gasped. “You won’t do it now,” he wheezed. “You couldn’t do it before.”

  Wanna bet? he thought.

  But instead, he eased his grip. “Why are you working for Ellison?”

  Another choked laugh. “You’ll be working for him before this is all over.”

  “What the hell’s that s’posed to mean, jackass?”

  “Aidan!” Tango’s voice floated to them, from back at the house. “You alright? Cops are here.”

  For the first time ever, those words didn’t send a jolt of fear through him. Fielding was here on their call this time.

  Greg, though, clenched up all over with a quick, audible breath. “If I disappear,” he said carefully, laughter gone from his voice, “Ellison will come looking for me, and he’ll step up his game.”

  “Oh yeah? What’s he gonna do?” But Aidan knew what would happen – more violence, and at this point, there were no more dealers to knock off, which meant members and their families would be targeted.

  Neither of them answered the question.

  “Aidan?” Tango called again, and this time there were footfalls, crunching through the dead foliage.

  “Meet me tomorrow,” Greg said, “if you wanna talk. Noon, at Smokey’s.”

  Aidan hesitated, listening to Tango’s light steps come closer, closer. He heard an indignant shout back toward the house, Fielding barking orders to the other responding officers.

  What did he do? He was frozen, for a handful of seconds. Here he had Greg in his grasp and at his mercy. All it would take were a few movements, and he could snap the guy’s neck, cover him over with leaves, and no one ever had to know about his mistake. Ghost would never have to find out that he’d disobeyed orders.

  But Ellison would up his game. His mind filled with images of Maggie, humming to herself at the stove; of Mina, laughing q
uietly at something Rottie had whispered to her; of his sister, saving a plate for Mercy’s dinner; of Sam…

  “I ran into Samantha Walton today,” Greg said, and Aidan’s entire body went numb. Like he’d walked into a blast freezer. “She was always cute in school, but she’s really something now.”

  Greg knew about Sam. And he wasn’t even with her, really. Holy shit, he’d been followed, spied on, and he hadn’t even known it.

  His nervous system fired, and he squeezed Greg’s throat until the guy gagged. “You stay the fuck away from her. We clear?”

  Greg wheezed, gasped. “She’s already a part of the equation. Everyone is.”

  “Yo,” Tango said, and was much closer now.

  “Meet…me,” Greg choked out. “Tomorrow.”

  He didn’t have a choice, did he?

  He released his captive and threw himself backward into the leaves, sitting down hard on his ass, breathless.

  The moment he was free, Greg scrambled clumsily to his feet and fled, crashing through the brush like a startled deer.

  Aidan speared his fingers through his hair, tried to regulate his breathing. He was panting, suddenly, and it had nothing to do with the exertion of pinning a man to the ground.

  Tango appeared, his pale face and hair glimmering in the moonlight, jarring with his black clothes. Like a ghost in a dark shroud.

  He studied Aidan a long moment, head turning as he scanned the flattened vegetation. “You let him go,” he said, and it was neither a question nor an accusation, merely a statement.

  “Yeah.”

  Twelve

  They were earlier than she expected. Aidan’s text came through at five minutes ‘til ten, and fifteen minutes after that, headlights flashed across the front of the house and bounced up over the curb into the driveway.

  Sam’s stomach unclenched, the hard knot in its center loosening as she exhaled shakily. She’d been feigning calm for her mother’s benefit, and was thankful the charade was over.

  “Is that them? Thank god,” Mom breathed, hands noticeably trembling as she got to her feet.

  Ordinarily, Sam would have led the charge to the back door, but tonight, her mother had finally managed to reach deep and find her fury, and a furious Helen Walton was a frightening spectacle. Tonight, for once, Sam wouldn’t have to play the bad cop.

  When Mom opened the door, Erin charged inside, head downcast, arms folded tight across her middle. Sam had a glimpse of a tight top, teased hair, and her own thigh-high boots, worn with a supershort skirt that was decidedly not hers.

  “You wait just a minute, young lady,” Helen said in her rarely used imperious tone. “Where in the world do you think you’re going?”

  Erin froze in place out of sheer shock, head lifting, eyes widening. It broke Sam's heart a little to see the copious amounts of inexpertly applied makeup on her little sister’s face.

  With total composure, Helen turned to the still-open door. There stood Aidan, in black hoodie, black bandana around his throat, looking ten kinds of hoodlum. “Thank you, Aidan, for bringing her home,” she said solemnly, and Aidan ducked his head an appropriate amount.

  “Yes, ma’am, you’re welcome.”

  Then Helen turned to Erin and pointed toward the living room. “We’re having a discussion. Now.”

  Erin, wisely, didn’t groan, drag her feet, or make so much as a protesting face.

  When they had trooped into the next room, and Sam was sure they’d both forgotten she existed, she stepped out onto the back patio with Aidan and pulled the door to. When she met his gaze, his eyes slid over to the closed door, then back to her, and he lifted his brows. Asking why she’d shut them out here together.

  Her heart gave a sharp, sudden lurch.

  “I figure you’ve been on the receiving end of enough lectures; no sense listening to another,” she joked, and earned a wide, toothy grin.

  Her poor, poor heart.

  “Seriously, though.” She pulled the halves of her cardigan together against the sharp chill of the night, and hoped there was enough light coming through the back windows for him to see the gratitude in her expression. “Thank you so much for bringing her home. I don’t know…” She trailed off, because she didn’t know. Whether they could control Erin, whether the next time she disappeared would be the last, whether there was any way to convey her love and worry to her little sister.

  “I never went through this, you know?” she said quietly. “I don’t know how to guide her through it.”

  He nodded and dug a cigarette from his hoodie pocket. “You mind?”

  “No. But aren’t you–”

  As she asked the question, the headlights retreated down the driveway and the truck he’d arrived in backed out into the street.

  “You’re missing your ride.”

  “I told them to go on. My place isn’t far, I’ll walk.”

  He’d told them to go on. Why? So he could stand out here and talk to her?

  The stuttering of her heart spread, pulsed deep in her stomach, threatened to make her smile.

  Aidan put his cigarette between his lips and lit it, took a long drag and let the smoke out through his nose. He dragged one of the sun-faded chairs away from the patio table and sat, pulling another up close beside him, intending she come sit close.

  She couldn’t have refused if she’d wanted to.

  When she was settled beside him, achingly aware of the few inches that separated them, breathing in the sharp tang of his smoke, he said, “Some people don’t want what’s best for them. You can pour your whole heart into making them see that you’re trying to help, but it doesn’t mean it’ll ever take.” He turned a serious look to her, eyes black in the moonlight. “It doesn’t mean it’s your fault.”

  “Speaking from experience?”

  “You know I am.”

  “I wasn’t trying to insult you, Aidan,” she said, softly.

  “I know, baby.”

  Baby. That word had never made her blood sing the way it did now.

  “I wish I could make her see that I’m trying to give her a future. That I’m protecting her.”

  “She’ll see it. Eventually.”

  “But what if it’s too late?” she asked.

  He studied her, expression hard to read in the semi-dark. “Do you think that happens? That it gets too late for somebody?”

  Oh, damn. He wasn’t talking about Erin anymore.

  She thought carefully, dampened her lips. “I don’t think it’s ever too late to make the decision to change your life. But you might not be able to change it that much.”

  “What if it’s already changing? When you didn’t ask it to?”

  She’d never seen him cryptic; it was unsettling. “What’s going on with you lately?” When he started to shake his head, she said, “Aidan, please, you’re starting to worry me. What’s wrong?”

  He made a face and took a drag on his smoke, staring out across the shadowed yard.

  “Did you get detention again?” she prodded with a weak smile.

  That earned her a wry grin. “Yeah. Told the teacher to suck my dick.”

  They both chuckled, hollow, half-humored sounds.

  He wasn’t going to tell her, she knew. Whatever troubled him was going to have to fester a little longer, until he was ready to let it burst forth.

  “Thank you,” she said again. “I have no idea how I would have gotten her home.”

  “You’d have figured it out.” He turned toward her. “You’re good at everything you set out to do. Probably even dragging kids outta parties.”

  She felt a blush rise in her cheeks. “Do you have to flatter me every time I say thank you?”

  “I’m not flattering.”

  “No?”

  “I’m flirting.”

  “I think you’ve lost your touch.”

  “Nah.” Another of those blinding grins. “You’re just fighting me is all.”

  “With good reason.”

  “I don’t wa
nna have that argument again.”

  She got to her feet, albeit reluctantly. “Then I guess this is goodnight.”

  His chair was closer to the door, and she had to sidle past him to get to –

  Something hard locked around her forearm, and she tumbled down off her feet, was yanked to the side and…

  Into Aidan’s lap.

  She landed with an unladylike gasp of surprise, both legs hooked over the flimsy plastic arm of the chair, a hand braced automatically on his chest for balance. She was made instantly aware of the precise area of his anatomy beneath her backside, and her blush was instant, burning her entire face.

  “What are you doing?” she asked, unable to contain her surprise.

  “Exactly what it looks like,” he said with a low, dark laugh.

  The chair flexed beneath their combined weights.

  “This thing won’t hold both of us,” she warned, and the breathless quality of her voice had nothing to do with the prospect of the chair breaking.

  “Betcha fifty bucks it will,” Aidan retorted.

  She didn’t have a chance to accept or decline that bet, because one of his hands curled around the back of her neck and the other took a solid hold on her hip. He brought her face down, and she knew, had she really wanted to, she could have shaken his hold.

  But that was the thing. If she wanted to.

  She drew in a deep breath, told her body to soften, and allowed herself to fall into the kiss.

  And damn, was it ever a kiss. Part Christmas morning, part Fourth of July fireworks, part rich red wine that went straight to her head. He was good at this. He’d had a lot of practice.

  She stilled when that thought passed through her mind. She imagined all his experience, the countless women who’d been in his lap, just as she was now.

  He felt her hesitancy, and his hand slid up her waist, squeezed her through her sweater. His tongue flicked into her mouth. Just let it go, he said silently. Whatever it is, let go of it.

  That sounded like an excellent idea.

  She eased her jaw, as his tongue pressed deeper, and he invaded her mouth. A slow, almost careful invasion, like he was afraid she’d spook, and like he was determined to use each and every subtle stroke of his lips to calm her racing thoughts…and then obliterate them entirely.