Secondhand Smoke (Dartmoor Book 4) (49 page)

              “Later, you wanna say that for a different reason?”

              She smiled, eyes dancing. “Now that’s an idea.” She flopped her head back against the couch. “What did you guys do today?”

              There was a limited amount of stuff you could do with a newborn baby. But he could have told her about feeding, burping, diaper changing, the embarrassing amount of interest he’d paid
The Price is Right
while he tried to coax Lainie into a nap.

              Instead, he blurted, “We found Don Ellison.”

              Sam jerked upright, eyes popping. “You did?”

              He had to swallow. “Yeah.”

              She smoothed her hands down her thighs a few times and then got to her feet, pacing along the couch. Then sat again with a deep exhale. “Sorry. I just…” She gestured toward her chest.             

              “Yeah. I get it.” He was having the same nervous flutters.

              Another deep breath, and she was composed, calm. “Okay. You guys found him. That means…”

              “Yeah.”

              She nodded. “I understand that. You have to do it.” Her voice was wrong, though. “He can’t be allowed to…”

              “Sam, baby.” Aidan got to his feet as quickly and deftly as possible. Lainie woke with a little snort and began whimpering. Aidan cradled her close and sat down beside his wife. “We have to finish it with Ellison,” he said gently. “You know that. Probably better than a lot of people.”

              “I know.” She reached for Lainie. “Come here, sweetie.” She rested her chin against the top of the baby’s head, pretty face grave with concern. “I
do
know it,” she repeated. “But that doesn’t make it any less disturbing.”

              Aidan put his arm around her – around both his girls – and Sam’s blue-green gaze lifted to his, glimmering behind the lenses of her glasses.

              “You can’t go out and die on us,” she whispered. “You’re a dad now. You have to come home.”

              She was thinking of her own father, he knew with a pang. Of the way he’d been taken from them far too soon.

              “I’ll always come home,” he told her. “I promise.” And he prayed like hell fate wouldn’t make a liar of him.

Forty-Six

It was an eerie sound, the baying of the dogs. Somewhere between a human scream and the lonely howl of a timber wolf. They ran with their noses hovering over the ground, leaping like gazelle through the rough tussocks and clumps of jagged rock.

              “Doesn’t matter if we can’t keep up,” Michael said. “They’ll put him at bay.” He had his hand wrapped around the leash of his uncle’s giant black stud dog, the Great Dane they called Cassius, after the Roman conspirator. The beast was obedient enough, but Aidan saw the moon strike a wild light in his eyes, heard the excited strain in his panted breath.

              The three dogs brought along were the ones who’d tracked and helped to kill Holly’s father and uncle.

              They knew how to track the scent of man.

              Not so different from a wild boar, after all. Only a pig of a different color.

              “Fan out,” Ghost instructed, and they did, a loose line of hunters closing in on their prey.

              Aidan stepped in a hole that sent a jolt straight up his spine and clapped his teeth together. He bit the tip of his tongue and tasted blood. Would Cassius smell it, he wondered. Make a dive for his throat with those great drooling jaws?

              Best not to think of it. Just press on through the dark, flashlight pinging across the terrain. Rock, loose bits of gravel, hard-packed dirt, tufts of moss and grass. He skidded and braced a hand against the trunk of a pine tree, the bark rough and sticky beneath his palm.

              Were there bears up here? Coyotes? Mountain lions?

              Something screamed, a high sharp sound, with a tail end like a cough. His pulse thundered in his ears and he caught his breath to listen.

              “Bobcat!” he heard Michael call from off to his right.

              He exhaled and started moving again, a little tremor rippling down his spine. “Fucking bobcats. Fucking asshole making a break for it,” he muttered.

              They’d come up on the cabin just after nightfall. The windows had glowed with cheery warmth and a thin tail of gray smoke had curled up from the chimney. It was April, but it was cold up here in the mountains; his mind had filled with visions of a crackling fire, mugs of coffee. He’d flashed back to his wintertime honeymoon with Sam: the fire-gilded skin, the way her mouth had tasted like chocolate.

              Ellison had had romance on his mind too, obviously. They’d looked in the windows to find him in a compromising position on the couch with his assistant.

              Mercy and his sledgehammer of doom had taken down the door. In the chaos that ensued, the assistant was killed.

              Ellison managed to grab his pants and flee out the back door.

              Unarmed.

              White skin gleaming in the moonlight when he left the shelter of the trees.

              The dogs were giving chase.

              In a strange way, Aidan felt little urgency now. The dogs would catch up to their quarry. It was going to happen, it was just a matter of waiting. This trek through the pine trees was merely a way to pass the time.

              His thoughts went to his family, his two girls waiting at home for him. Sam’s tear-bright eyes as she’d kissed him goodbye. Lainie squirming in her arms. All he wanted was to go home to them.

              But first, the killing.

              The voices of the hounds changed. No longer a questing bark, but hard insistence.

              Aidan halted, listening, trying to get his bearings.

              Michael materialized beside him, startling him. “They have him.”

              A thrill moved through him, a flash of heat in his blood.

              Ellison had gone to ground, or tried to anyway, in a small rock cave. But it wasn’t deep. When their flashlights hit it, the space was revealed to be no more than a shallow depression in the face of a huge boulder. Ellison was gleaming with sweat, scratched like he’d been in a fight with a wildcat, feet bloody. He held a long pine branch in one hand that he brandished at the dogs. And then his gaze lifted as he was surrounded by a different kind of Dog.

              “Bear. Sammie,” Michael called, snapping his fingers. The Blueticks went to him, long tails wagging, proud of a job well done.

              “Mr. Ellison,” Ghost greeted. “Fancy meeting you here.”

              “Bite my ass, Teague,” the disgraced kingpin said.

              “Oh no. I’ll leave that to this big fucking dog we got over here. I just wanted to gloat a little bit.”

              “You always had a flair for the dramatic,” Mercy said with a dark laugh. He was as bad as the Dane, reeking of bloodlust, the big monster.

              Ghost nodded, gesturing to the whole crew of them with a sweep of his arm. “Take a look, Donnie boy. And understand something.”

              “Not sure what good understanding’s going to do at this point,” Walsh said dryly.

              “You didn’t make an enemy,” Ghost said. “When you targeted us, our women, our families – you made a whole fleet of enemies. There’s not a man here who wouldn’t run a knife through you.” He grinned, briefly. “But I’m gonna save the honors for my pig-killer.”

              Ellison took a deep breath, square jaw trembling, though his eyes remained hard. “You won’t hold onto it forever,” he said.               “Knoxville?”

              “This monopoly you’ve got on the underground. The MC way of life is backward. It’s dated, and it has a shelf life. Kill me. Fine. But you can’t hold onto your kingdom.”

              A sensation like fingertips tickled up the back of Aidan’s neck. A man as proud as Ellison couldn’t go to his grave without blowing a little smoke. But Aidan wondered if a shred of truth colored this particular cloud of vapors.

              Ghost smiled, expression ghoulish in the flashlight glow. He lifted a hand, and gestured to Michael.

              “Hold,” Michael said, and turned loose of Cassius.

              The Dane rushed in…

              And Aidan heard the whisper of Michal’s knife leave the sheath.

              He didn’t look away, when it happened. His stomach didn’t cramp and his gorge didn’t rise. He thought of Sam. Of Lainie. His girls.

              Safe now.

Forty-Seven

Lainie fell asleep slowly as she ate, until her lips went slack and Sam had to pull the bottle away. “Sleepy girl,” she murmured, smiling. She stared at her peaceful face, and again marveled at the perfection of it, the incomparable wonder of life in its earliest, most innocent state. Her heart was full.

              But her mind was fuzzy with worry. Aidan had left yesterday morning, and it was three o’clock of the next day. She hadn’t slept, hands groping through the cold sheets for him.

              Lainie’s warm breath fanned across her throat and she closed her eyes, sent another prayer skyward. She couldn’t have found Aidan, the real Aidan, at last, only to lose him so soon. Not when she held their baby in her arms. Not when she loved him this much.

              A lump forming in her throat, she went to lay Lainie down in her bassinet. She straightened the blankets, her little socks. Pressed a hand to her tight, full belly, just for the maternal joy of it. She stood and turned around–

              “Aidan!” she gasped.

              She didn’t know how he’d managed to sneak in behind her, but she didn’t care. She flung her arms around him.

              He hugged her back. Hard. Exhaling in a long, deep sigh.

              Sam closed her eyes and absorbed the feel of him. The hard padding of muscle beneath his sweatshirt. The steady thump of his heart. The tight clench of his hands at the small of her back.

              She became aware of the scents of leaf mold, pine sap, and blood.

              “Are you hurt?” she asked, pushing back so she could look over him. His sweatshirt was black, so it would be hard to tell. She started patting him down: chest, shoulders, arms.

              He shook his head and took her hand, led her out into the hall and down to the living room.

              “You’re alright?” she demanded, growing agitated with his silence.

              He nodded and, still holding her hand, sat down in the recliner, pulling her down to sit in his lap.

              “Baby,” she said, bracing an arm behind his neck. “Did it go okay?”

              Deep blue shadows beneath his eyes spoke of his sleepless night. His smile was tired, but it was still a smile. “Nobody has to worry about that guy again.” His voice cracked with fatigue and he cleared his throat. “Also” – his grin twitched sideways – “don’t ever get on Michael’s bad side.”

              “Noted.”

              His hand landed on her thigh and squeezed. “Did you get any sleep?”

              “No. Neither did you.”

              His grin softened, became something special just for her. “You know, I…” He trailed off, shook his head.

              She tickled the back of his neck with her fingers. “What?”

              “I shouldn’t talk about it. Not about…”

              “What it was like to kill a man?” she guessed.

              His eyes came to her, a little surprised, and they regarded one another a long moment.

              Sam had been thinking about this all night, as she and Lainie kept time alone, waiting on Daddy to come home. She’d made peace with some things that, truly, she’d already accepted. An official sort of peace.

              “While you were gone,” she said, “I did some thinking. We both know I’m not an outlaw.” She gave him a thin smile. “You know my mom. My dad was a slightly less neurotic version of her. Safe to say I come from some very boring, law-abiding people.”

              “I love your mom,” he said, immediately. “She’s a sweet lady.”

              She kissed his forehead. “Thank you.” Then pulled back and continued. “So I’m not the sort of person who grew up thinking it was okay to kill people. Or do…other outlaw things.” She’d heard all the rumors around town growing up, and even if Aidan hadn’t confirmed them all, she’d guessed which were true. “God knows we’re an odd couple.”

              “Don’t say that.”

              “But,” she went on, “I was raised to believe that family was more important than anything. And we have that in common.” She swallowed, throat tightening. “These are strange, scary times we live in, Aidan. And sometimes keeping a family safe and whole takes…severe measures.”

              He reached to push her loose hair back behind her ear, eyes shining with emotion. “Yeah. It does.”

              “Don’t spare me the dirty details because you think I can’t handle them,” she said. “The only thing I can’t handle is losing my family.”

              He curled a thick lock of her hair around his hand and pulled her face down to his.

              “Okay?”

              “Okay,” he promised, and kissed her.

              It was a kiss fraught with promises. Tangled tongues, desperate lips. When Aidan reached for the hem of her shirt, she lifted her arms, helped him draw it over her head. He unsnapped her bra and pulled her up higher in his lap, so she straddled him, as his mouth latched onto her breasts.

              Oh, his mouth. It was magic. Gently suckling and tugging. Then more firmly, as she felt the evidence of his excitement against her thigh.

              “Wait,” she whispered, pulling back from him.

              He released her nipple with a wet sound, hooded eyes flicking up to hers.
Why?
his gaze asked.

              She slid down to the floor, between his split legs, and reached for his belt.

              “Shit,” he whispered.

              He tangled his hands in her hair when she took him into her mouth. She let her eyes wander across him. The clenched jaw, the head pressed back against the chair, his hips struggling to keep still. She drew him deep and pulled back, teasing at the head of his cock with her tongue. A slow stroke. And repeat. Repeat.

              He forced her back before he came. “Stop,” he gasped, tearing at his sweatshirt, yanking it over his head.

              Sam sat back on her heels, trying not to smile at his clumsy efforts to get naked. The humor faded, though, by the time he’d ditched his boots and was nothing but tattooed skin in front of her. She bit her lip, fighting a sudden, stupid rush of tears.

              His two rivers, his roses, his Lean Dogs’ mementos. His stupid drunk tattoos – Foghorn Leghorn, for one. And his new ink, two names, in a blank space above his heart:
Sam
.
Lainie
. His powerful muscles, and his scars, and his sweet dark eyes that had seen too much. Hers. All hers.

              He saw that she was crying and hit his knees in front of her. “What, baby?” He caught her face in his hands. “What?”

              She sucked in a breath. “I thought I loved you when I was sixteen,” she said, voice quivering. “But I had no idea….I had no idea. I love you so much.”

              He kissed her again, eased her back onto the carpet. His skin was hot against her, salt-smelling, vital and thrumming with his pulse, his energy.

              She lifted her hips as he stripped off her jeans. He mounted her. And then he was inside her. A deep, hard thrust that brought him to the very heart of her, joining them in a way that was painful and exquisite.

              “Samantha.”

              She speared her fingers through his hair, held his face above hers.

              “Do you want more babies?” His voice was straining with waiting, holding still deep inside her. “Babies that are ours?”

              “We already have a baby,” she whispered through her tears. “But I want more.”

              He dropped his head and started to move, murmuring sweet, hot things against her throat.

              Sometimes, she reflected, it wasn’t as simple as getting the boy. Sometimes it was as difficult, painful, and wonderful as getting the man.