Secondhand Smoke (Dartmoor Book 4) (36 page)

              He nodded, face grave. Took a deep breath. “I killed a man tonight.”

              “By…accident?”

              “I shot him in the heart at point blank range. For Kev,” he added. “I had to go through him to get to Kev.”

              Sam clutched his biceps and listened to the pounding of her heart, waiting for the revulsion to set it.

              It didn’t.

              She lifted her hands and pressed them to his face, the bristly planes of his cheeks. She held him still, searched his eyes. “I’m sorry,” she said quietly, because clearly, it had devastated him.

              His smile was grim and humorless. “My life’s not pretty. It’s never gonna be.”

              “Nobody’s is.”

              When he kissed her, she knew her fate was sealed: good or bad, through bullets or babies, she was with Aidan. She’d never really had a choice in the matter anyway.

              Something wild came alive inside him; she felt it in the sudden grab of his hands, the harsh strike of his breath as he pulled back and then went for her mouth again, deeper, more demanding.

              In a frantic struggle of arms, tongues, and shuffling feet, they moved into the dark living room, trailing clothes behind them one discarded item at a time.

              They didn’t make it to the couch, but wound up naked on the rug.

              Aidan pushed her knees up, covered her body with his, and entered on one sure thrust. They both gasped.

              “God,” Sam whispered, spine arching away from the carpet.

              He flexed his hips, pressing deep inside her, pinning her to the floor, filling her so completely.

              She closed her eyes and held onto him with arms and legs as he sought a rhythm. Just before she shattered, he said, “I love you.”

Thirty-Four

“Cinnamon, banana nut, and pumpkin,” the waitress announced as she set a heaping plate of muffins in the middle of their table. Steam curled up from the sugar-coated tops, dispersing the aromas into the air.

              Aidan took a deep, appreciative breath. “Thanks, doll.”

              The waitress grinned and departed.

              “What’s with you yanks and your pumpkin-fucking-everything?” Fox asked, poking at one of said pumpkin muffins with his fork. “Forget apple pie. Nothing’s as American as
pumpkin
.”

              Aidan lifted his brows, bit into a cinnamon muffin, and spoke around it. “So the plan.”

              Fox nodded. “The plan.”

              “Ellison’s own house isn’t gonna be easy to get into like all those safe houses,” Carter lamented.

              “No,” Fox agreed. He’d decided to eat the pumpkin after all, transferring two to his plate and licking his fingers afterward. “Which is why we’re going to have to be smart about it, yeah? We need decoys.”

              Aidan’s stomach clenched unhappily at the idea.

              Greg had described Ellison’s personal residence as an impressive mansion with iron gates and tight security. Staff came and went through the main gate with a key code. Guests were viewed on camera and buzzed in at the owner’s discretion.

              Carter had proposed that they dress as workmen and throw a ladder in the back of the truck. Fox had pointed out that since no workmen were scheduled, that would be suspicious.

              “We’re gonna have to use women,” he said now, chewing. “It’s the only way to get inside without tipping them off too soon, and they won’t be expecting us to hit them that way.”

              According to Greg, Ellison spent little time at the home, but several of his men were housed there full time and had gotten in the habit of ordering up Friday night entertainment. Every Friday, two call girls arrived at ten o' clock and left sometime after one. Greg had been there a time or two when it happened and knew the name of the agency.

              “If two girls get in,” Fox said, “they can help us get in. Being there isn’t the issue, but getting in is.”

              Aidan had been thinking the opposite to be true.

              “So we’re gonna pay call girls to help sneak us in?” he asked, frowning and full of doubt.

              Fox snorted. “You ever met a trustworthy call girl? No. We need someone we can trust. Someone smart. Someone loyal.”

              “They know all the old ladies,” Carter said.

              Aidan pushed his plate away; he thought he might be sick. “Not all of them. They don’t know mine.”

~*~

Sam had awakened that morning with the night before tattooed across her skin. Little spots of rug burn along her back. A bruise on her shin where they’d tripped heading up the stairs. A high school-worthy hickey just under her ear that she was forced to wear her hair down to hide. When the alarm went off, she’d opened her eyes to find herself snuggled deep in Aidan’s embrace, beneath the down comforter on her bed, the two of them cocooned in warmth, smelling of sex.

              Could she regret what happened? No.

              Could the light of day force her to rethink things? No.

              After her last class let out for the day, she drove to Ava’s house, finding the black truck in the driveway. She knocked at the back door and Ava let her in with Remy clinging to her leg and Cal in her arms.

              Smiling, she said, “Look, it’s Auntie Sam!” and passed Cal into Sam’s arms.

              Returning the smile with a quieter one of her own, Sam tucked the baby up onto her shoulder and followed Ava through the mud room into the living room. Remy was walking like a little champ, though he still had a fist twisted up in his mama’s pant leg.

              In the living room, Ava’s laptop was set up on the sofa and a Winnie-the-Pooh DVD was playing. Remy’s blocks and toy cars and bikes were strewn across the rug. Ava got her oldest seated and invested in the video again before she turned to Sam, hands on her hips, expression bright with unsaid things.

              Sam braced herself for the question, but Ava said, “You want a Coke or something?”

              “Uh…sure.”

              “Ice?”

              “Out of the can’s fine.”

              But Ava didn’t move toward the kitchen. Her smile seemed to grow, until her dark eyes turned to crescents the way her brother’s did. “Is there something you want to tell me?”

              “That depends. Have you talked to Aidan today?”

              “Briefly.”

              Cal was starting to squirm – a much more restless baby than his brother had been – and Sam patted his back, bent her knees and rocked him gently. She met Ava’s smile with a serious expression. “I woke up this morning completely happy. And completely convinced I was making the dumbest decision of my life.”

              Ava’s smile dimmed, expression turning thoughtful. “To be honest, I’d probably think less of you if you hadn’t felt that way.”

              “Yeah. Well. I was also completely convinced that
decision
wasn’t the right word. Aidan’s not something I can
decide
.”

              A smaller, more sympathetic smile this time. “I know exactly what you mean. There are people in life who you choose to love, and it’s all very healthy, rational, and safe. And then there’s that person you’re addicted to. And you choose to make that kind of love healthy, rational, and safe. It’s more work…but it’s more worthwhile.”

              “I don’t know that I’m ready to be a mom,” Sam said, quietly.

              Ava tipped her head, considering, asked a serious question. “Will it be hard for you because it isn’t your flesh and blood?” Something in her voice suggested that she herself would have a hard time with it.

              Sam cupped the back of Cal’s downy-soft head, his pale hair like fine-spun silk. She took a deep breath, inhaling the baby smell of him. “No,” she said, and in that moment knew it was true. “That won’t be hard.”

              It was going to be a girl. A little precious girl with dark eyes that turned to crescents when she smiled and a headful of almost-black ringlet curls. Aidan’s girl. Aidan’s and…and hers.

~*~

He didn’t like the guy, but Aidan had to admit that Ian knew how to live comfortably. Or work, as it were. The office above the funeral home was sleek, masculine, and soothing. As he sat down in one of the plush leather chairs, Ian leaned across his massive desk for a crystal decanter full of something amber and two short glasses.

              “Drink?” he asked.

              “Definitely.”

              It was smooth, whatever it was; it tasted expensive.

              “How go the preparations?” Ian asked. His tone was calm, polite, and more relaxed than Aidan had heard it before. There was a certain air of ease between them now. A dispelling of the usual tension in the room. The common cause had given them a more equal footing, had made the differences less important.

              “We found out where he’s being held, and my guy Fox thinks he knows the best way to get us in.”

              Ian’s brows lifted in a show of mild interest, but there was nothing mild about the spark of his eyes. “Yes?”

              Aidan grimaced. “That’s where I’ve got a problem.” He quickly outlined the idea of using female decoys. Carter had suggested recruiting Jazz, though his jaw had been tight with distaste at the suggestion. And that would leave Sam as the other pretend call girl. His own precious Sam, who loved him and taught Shakespeare to college kids, and who was willing to accept his baby.

              “Hmm,” Ian murmured. “A dilemma.”

              “A man doesn’t ask his woman to put herself in that kind of danger for him,” Aidan said firmly. “He just doesn’t.”

              “A bit sexist, are we?”

              “If it’s sexist to want to protect your girl, sure, yeah, I’m a sexist asshole.”

              “What does she think of the idea?”

              “I haven’t told her yet.”

              “Why not?”

              This was getting frustrating. “Because I’ve got a bad feeling she’ll jump all over it, to help Kev. And then what am I gonna do?”

              Ian lifted his glass and swirled the contents, studying them with a frown. “It’s interesting, isn’t it? Instinctual. The man wanting to protect his mate. Spare her from the physical dangers of his world. Take the bullet for himself. Cover her with his body. Shield her.” His brows gave a little leap of disbelief. “It’s so highly discouraged in this day and age, and yet it’s arguably the most noble of male behaviors.” His eyes came to Aidan. “Take yourself for example. What have you to offer anyone, save your gun and your shielding arms?”

              Aidan pulled his temper back, forcibly checked his reaction. “This is my club, my brother, my business, and my problem. If I involve her, and she gets hurt…” He couldn’t even think about it, much less voice it.

              “You need not speak to me of guilt,” Ian said. “I’m all too familiar with it.”

              “Shit.” Aidan sank back in the chair and rubbed at his temples. He had a monster headache coming on. “So that’s where we’re at.”

              Ian sighed. “I’d offer the use of two of my office staff girls…but I wouldn’t trust them with your club’s business. Your call.”

              “I only trust family.”

              Ian nodded. “Should I be flattered?”

              “If you wanna be.”

~*~

“Sam,” Mom said that evening as they cleaned up the dinner dishes, “I’m worried about you.”

              They’d had Cobb salad with grilled chicken on top, and Sam scraped leftover egg crumbles into the garbage. “Why?” she asked, heart giving a little worried bump. She was never on the receiving end of these sorts of talks in her household. That was Erin’s thing, making Mom worry.

              “I saw Aidan leave this morning,” Helen said.

              “He came over late,” Sam said. “We didn’t wake you coming upstairs, did we? I’m sorry.”

              “Samantha.”

              There was no avoiding that tone; rarely used, but deeply respected. Sam looked at her mother and saw more than passing concern; a deep and sad sort of sympathy. “I know you love him, Sam,” Helen said. “And I know you haven’t ever loved a man, and you deserve that chance.”

              “I sense a ‘but’ coming.”

              Helen smiled. “I don’t want you to get hurt. And I like Aidan, I do, but I’m afraid he seems the sort who hurts people without even meaning to.”

              Wasn’t that the truth?

              Sam started to respond and was cut off by the ringing of her cellphone. It was Aidan.

              “Can I come pick you up?” His voice was strained. “I wanna talk about something.”

              Her stomach clenched, but she said, “Sure.”

              When she hung up, she glanced at her mother.

              Helen nodded. “Go. Have fun.”

              She kissed her mom on the cheek, slipped on her jacket and ankle boots, and was outside on the patio when Aidan turned up, dark and sinister in his leather jacket and cut. He was carrying the spare helmet and leaned in to kiss her, lingeringly, as he passed it into her hands.

              “You okay?” he asked as he pulled back.

              “Uh-huh. You?”

              “Maybe.”

              He rode like a demon, the bike seeming to outrun the headlamp, the black road sliding away beneath them. House lights and business signs flashed past in bright pulses, too quick for her to make any sense of the town she’d grown up in. She knew these roads backwards and forwards, but it was different on the back of the bike. The only real thing was Aidan’s muscled torso between her arms, the warmth of his body she felt through all his leather. It was bitterly cold, and the night air found pathways up her sleeves, down into her collar. Her teeth were chattering by the time they pulled over.

              “Where are we?” Sam asked when the engine cut off.

              There was no light save the moon’s cool glow across the frosted grass. The shadowed bulk of a half-wall gave her pause; the pale light struck a patch of shine on what must be a window; where a roof should have been, jagged beams thrust toward the sky.

              “It was a shooting range,” Aidan explained. “Dad brought me here before I was even old enough, let me fire his old .22 for the first time. It burned down about a year ago.” He twisted around so she could see the fast glimmer of his eyes. “Creepy, isn’t it?”