Secondhand Smoke (Dartmoor Book 4) (6 page)

              She nodded, and then said, tiredly, “I didn’t ever think it would be like this.”

              “Hmm?” He caught her elbow when she wobbled on her heels, steered her over the threshold into the kitchen.

              “Thanks.” Her hand landed over his a moment, warm as it pressed his fingers to her arm. A brief touch, but one that thrilled him in a way wholly unexpected.

              Then she retracted, and he released her.

              “I didn’t think my sister would ever have these kinds of problems,” she explained. “Look at me.”

              He did, taking in every inch of subtle curves and thick blonde braid, the sloped smallness of her nose and bright turquoise of her eyes behind her glasses.

              “I’m the stiffest, lamest, un-coolest kid there ever was–”

              “Hey, now–”

              “You didn’t remember me,” she reminded. “Lame and forgettable tend to go hand-in-hand. Anyway,” she said, when he started to interject again, “Erin’s my full-blooded sister. And we couldn’t be more different. And with my mom working so much and my dad gone…” Her lips compressed, eyes dropping to the chipped tile floor. “Guess it makes me question my mothering skills.” She laughed hollowly.

              Again, he was struck with a sense of personal inadequacy. His current drama was the result of him being his usual hot-headed idiot self. Sam’s problems were beyond her control, her best efforts hampered by a brat sister and overwhelmed mother. He spent his life starting fires, and she spent hers trying to put them out.

              “That’s the point though,” he said.             

              “What is?”

              “You’re not her mom; you’re her sister. And your mom was busy and your dad had just died, and you were what? Fifteen? You turned out to be probably the most responsible person I know. So it’s got nothing to do with the raising – no matter who’s doing it. Some people just gotta be wild, I think.”

              A grin tugged at her lips. “Some people like you?”

              “A born fuckup, that’s me. And maybe that’s not your sister, but maybe it is, and it’s not your fault.”

              Her smile stretched a little. “Careful. That sounds dangerously like wisdom.”

              Her smile made him want to smile, and he…

              “Guys,” Tango said, coming into the room on his damn silent dancer’s feet. “Look what I found.”

              A single baggie, with about an ounce of white powder.

              “And look,” Tango said, flipping it over, indicating a sticker with his thumb.

              It was a round blue sticker, a nothing little dot that didn’t point fingers toward any one dealer, but that Aidan recognized all too well. Fisher had always marked his product with blue dots. And Fisher had been dead for weeks.

              “Maybe it’s old,” Aidan said, meeting his best friend’s sharp gaze. “Maybe it’s been here a while.”

              “Nah. A section of the table it was on had been wiped clean, recently, no dust. Footprints on the floor. Fresh mud, still wet.”

              “Shit.”

              They shared a silent communication. Aidan’s energy spiked, that initial reaction to any club threat.

              “What?” Sam asked. ‘What is it?”

              “Coke, probably,” Tango said.

              “Ugh,” she groaned. “That’s just perfect.”

              “Erin hadn’t had any when I saw her,” Aidan reassured. “I woulda been able to tell.”

              “That doesn’t exactly make me feel better.”

              “I took pics on my phone,” Tango said. “Did y’all find anything in here?”

              “Nah. Nothing.”

              A last sweep through the front rooms proved the single baggie was the only find, and some of the tension in Aidan’s shoulders eased as they hit the cracked front sidewalk once more. There
were
ghosts in that house – his little sister’s lost baby, for one. Being inside its walls made him twitchy.

              Sam’s hulking Caprice was parked in the driveway alongside their bikes, and he walked with her toward the driver door, aware that Tango was hanging back, going to his bike and fiddling with his helmet.

              “Thanks,” Sam said, when she reached the car and braced a palm on its roof. She turned a look up to him that was almost apologetic. “Again.”

              “Just doing my civic duty, ma’am,” he said with a head dip and a fast grin.

              She grinned back. “KPD ought to hire you on.” Then sobered. “I’m serious, though. Thank you. Do you think you can do anything about whoever’s dealing?”

              He lifted his brows. “You’re onboard with outlaw justice?”

              “When it comes to keeping my family safe, absolutely,” she said, without missing a beat.

              The wind picked up, pushing against them, reminding him that the season was about to give way to a chilly fall. It caught strands of her pale hair, tugged them loose from her braid, swept them across her face. A strand got stuck in her lip gloss and she brushed it away, still looking up at him.

              A dawning awareness overcame him, as she stared up at him. She looked at him – a
lot
. Usually when he glanced her way, her eyes were already on him. Except for last time, at Waffle House, when she’d refused to make eye contact. Had she looked at him in high school? He tried to remember, but that time of his life was a faded blur, dominated by his obsession with breaking into the club, littered with groupies and cheerleaders.

              But Sam was looking at him now, and her lip gloss looked like it might taste good, and her brows tucked together with the slightest show of concern as she waited on him to say something.

              She was…lovely.

              He’d never had lovely before.

              “It was really good seeing you today,” he told her.

              She looked surprised, her smile small. “Good seeing you too.”

              When she opened her door and slid inside, he had to catch himself before he said, “Call and let me know you got home safe.” He had no idea where that impulse had come from; he’d never uttered those words in his life. It was something his married brothers said to their wives.

              Instead, he said, “Bye,” like an idiot, and she tossed him a wave before she shut her door.

              Tango was waiting for him when he turned back to the bikes, fiddling with the strap of his helmet. “So,” he said in a calm voice, “when did that happen?”

              “When did what happen?” Aidan snagged his own helmet off his handlebars, popped it on his head.

              “When did you start crushing on Sam?”

              “What?” Something like panic flickered across his skin. “I’m not. I don’t. Whatever.”

              Tango snorted. “Admit it. You’re hot for teacher.”

              “Am not.”

              “Right.” He rolled his eyes. “And
I’m
the one in denial.”

Four

“Fisher’s coke,” Ghost said, setting the blue-spotted baggie on the clubhouse bar. His expression was grim. “This was all you found?”

              “Yeah,” Tango said.

              “I’m gonna try to track down that Jesse kid Erin mentioned, give him a little shake and see what falls out,” Aidan said with a smirk.

              Ghost nodded. “Don’t put a mark on him. And don’t talk to him in front of a security camera anywhere.”

              “Yeah.” Standard procedure; one of the few things he could manage not to fuckup.

              “Talk to Ratchet, too. Get him to put his ear to the ground, see if he hears anything. If anybody knows we’re short a dealer, it’ll make sense they try to step in and take his place.”

              “The guy selling his stuff,” Tango said, biting at his lip, “has gotta be the guy who killed him.”

              “I’d put money on it,” Ghost said. He pushed away from the bar. “Keep me posted, boys. I’ve gotta go tell that jackoff who’s bugging Holly to rent a truck already and get the hell out, before Michael turns him into Ares’s dinner.”

              Hearing his name, the German shepherd stood up from his bed and stretched.

              “Come on, boy,” Ghost called to the dog, and the two of them left the clubhouse, Ares’s nails clicking over the floorboards.

              “Sam’s really alright with you….” Tango made an elaborate hand gesture, which Aidan took to mean
roughing her sister’s boyfriend up
.

              “Actually, yeah. I think she is. That’s what she said this morning, anyway.” He was having another mug of tea with honey and peppermint, because as always, Walsh was right about everything, and the stuff was helping disperse the last of his hangover. “Morning. Christ. Is it even noon yet?”

              “Nope.”

              “Awesome start to the day we’ve had.”

              Except he’d gotten to see Sam, and that had been a small bright spot in an otherwise dark stretch of time.

              “What are you gonna do now?” Tango asked, and Aidan knew he wasn’t talking about Jesse Whatshisface and Fisher’s coke.

              He took a deep breath and let it out in a rush. “Right now, I’m gonna go find Jazz and apologize. Then I’m gonna…who the hell knows.”

              Tango nodded. “I’ll go with you.”

              Jasmine’s Toyota piece of crap was in the parking lot, so she was around somewhere. But she wasn’t in the clubhouse, and Maggie said she hadn’t sent her off on any kind of errand. They were walking past the bike shop, and Aidan was thinking he needed to clock in, when he heard her voice floating out of the garage bays.

              She laughed and said, “No way.”

              The voice that answered her belonged to Carter.

              Aidan halted and glanced over his shoulder at Tango. The guy had stilled, tension locking him in place, eyes swiveling toward the shadowed garage. Emotions warred across his face: regret, anger, jealously, sadness.

              “Bro,” Aidan said softly. “If you don’t want him messing with her, then kick his ass. Mark your territory.”

              Tango stared trance-like at the shop. “I just want her to be happy,” he murmured.

              “For Christ’s sakes…”

              Mercy stepped out into the sunlight, blue bandana securing his long hair. He tipped his head back, took a long pull off a water bottle, and walked toward them wiping his mouth with one massive forearm.

              “Tiny Dancer,” he said to Tango, gaze serious. “The QB’s moving in on your girl in there.”

              Tango shook his head. “Jasmine doesn’t belong to me. She can do what she wants.”

              Mercy glanced over at Aidan. “Did he get left out in the sun too long?”

              “Shit knows.” Aidan tugged his cut into place, took a deep breath. “Alright, going in,” he said under his breath.

              “What?” Mercy asked.

              “Nothing.”

              The familiar smells of grease and oil welcomed him into the cool, shadowy interior of the shop. This was home for him, these benches and bike lifts and tool chests. This was where he excelled – the only place where his skill was never questioned. His own life was ripping loose at the seams, but he could put a bike together, damn it.

              Jasmine sat on one of the ancient wooden benches, watching Carter work on a blocky cruiser, smiling widely. It was starting to be cool, even in the afternoon, and she wore a clingy long-sleeve top that flashed lots of her impressive cleavage, a denim skirt, knee-high boots. She was a sexy woman, and he’d always thought so. An obvious, unquestionable sexuality, one that contrasted with that subtle loveliness of Sam’s. Right now, looking at Jazz, she stirred nothing inside him. Absolutely nothing. Whereas he hadn’t wanted to step away from Sam back at Hamilton House.

              Focus.

              He cleared his throat, and both their heads snapped his direction.

              Jasmine sucked in a breath, eyes widening in an automatic fearful reaction.

              By contrast, Carter’s face locked down hard, jaw clenching.

              “Hey,” Aidan said.

              “Hey,” Jasmine echoed, hands knitting together in her lap. A show of nerves. He made her
nervous
.

              Carter stood, curling his hand tight around the wrench he held. “What do you want?”

              Aidan frowned, drew himself more upright. “I want you to quit giving me attitude, and go wait outside so I can have a word with Jazz.”

              Carter didn’t move. “Like I’m gonna leave you alone with her?”

              “Who was your sponsor, Carter?” Aidan asked. “Who brought you into this club? Who got you patched? Was it Jazz? Or was it me?”

              A harsh moment, as reality crashed over the boy, and he recalled his debts, his brotherhood. Carter ducked his head and left the bay, swearing under his breath.

              “Don’t be mad at him,” Jasmine said softly, when he was gone. “He’s a sweet boy.”

              He snorted. “Don’t take this the wrong way, sweetheart, but nobody willing to double team you is a
sweet boy
.”

              “They are,” she insisted. She lifted her chin, and her eyes were full of an unusual fear. “I used to think you were too.”

              He sighed and propped a hip against the bike lift. “You hate me now?”

              She shook her head, glanced away. “No. But I…” Another headshake. “That hasn’t…not since…” Her voice got even softer, just a whisper. “Mercy once, a long time ago, put his hands…” She reached for her throat. “It was my fault. I brought – I brought your sister up, and I didn’t think…she was in high school…but he…” She offered a wobbly smile. “That’s the only time I’ve ever been afraid when I was with a man. Until last night.”

              “Jazz.” He scrubbed at his bristly jaw. “I’m sorry, doll. Honest to God. I never meant to get rough like that. I was drunk, and I’d just gotten some bad news. I’m sorry,” he repeated.

              She stood and closed the distance between them. Her hands shook a little, but settled on his chest. Her eyes were sad, thoughtful, as she leaned in and kissed him gently on the lips. “No more than what I deserve,” she whispered as she pulled back, and walked out of the garage.

              Unhappy and numb, Aidan followed a moment later. Jazz was gone, but his three brothers remained.

              “So what is this?” Mercy asked. “A meeting of the I-fucked-Jasmine club?”

              “Proud of your membership?” Aidan asked with a snort.

              “Nah.” Mercy shuddered dramatically. “I’m a one-woman kinda man. For whom there ain’t ever gonna be a club,” he said, giving them a mock-stern glare.

              Aidan smirked, but the other two remained stone-faced – Carter out of anger, Tango out of some morose inner turmoil.

              “Jesus, y’all. What’s with the depression?”

              “No idea,” Aidan said. “Hey” – he smacked his brother-in-law on the arm lightly – “you wanna come help me scare some dippy kids?”

              Mercy grinned. “When do I ever not wanna do that?”

~*~

Tango stared up at the black lettering on the front of the shop for a long time, as if the fresh paint would give him answers. It might – the Dartmoor property was the most organized, well-kept part of his life. Ghost didn’t tolerate shabbiness: When a sign faded, it was painted; if something broke, someone fixed it. If they wanted to be taken seriously, they had to take themselves seriously, he always said. The only paternal voice in Tango’s entire history.

              The others dispersed, their farewells faint to his ears. Normally at this time of day, he’d head to the clubhouse and see if Jazz would make him a sandwich. Or they’d send a hangaround for takeout, and they’d all eat at a picnic table in front of the shop.

              Today he felt hollow, and it was an emptiness that didn’t crave food.

              What would he do, he wondered, if he learned he’d gotten someone pregnant? Weep? Celebrate to know he wouldn’t be alone any longer?

              Something restless shifted inside him. He needed a day off, he decided. He was too tired, stretched too thin, and it had been a year or more since he’d taken any time off.

              His feet carried him halfway toward the central office before he registered moving, but it was a good thing, he decided. He’d earned a little breather.

              What for? Betraying his brothers and sleeping with the enemy? a small voice in the back of his head asked.

              So lost in his own thoughts, he didn’t hear anyone come up behind him, and jumped when a hand clamped down on his shoulder.

              “Easy,” Ghost said, taking shape beside him, his hand dropping away. “Didn’t mean to spook you.”

              “Oh.” Tango took a deep breath, shook his head to clear it. “Sorry, just…” He gestured vaguely. “Thinking.”

              “Hmm. Always dangerous.”

              “Yeah. Everything alright with Holly?”

              Ghost shrugged. “Michael smashed the guy’s face in, but he’ll live. I think I convinced him not to press charges unless he wants some of his own, with a restraining order to keep away from Holly.”

              Tango wanted to offer some meaningful comment, but all he said was, “Oh. Okay.”

              They settled into step beside one another, and it was silent a beat. Two. Three…

              Ghost said, “I had breakfast with your boyfriend this morning.”

              It was like he ran into wall. Tango slammed to a halt, shock forcing the air out of his lungs. The shakes hit him hard, jerking through his limbs, clamping his veins tight. “Wh...wha…you…” Alarms blared in his mind, lights flashed.

              Ghost pulled up in front of him, hands on his hips, the picture of calmness, one brow lifting in question.

              “I don’t…he’s not…”

              “It’s okay,” Ghost said, tone low and soothing. “Kev, take a breath. I’m not upset.”

              Tango dropped his face in his palms, tried and failed to take the suggested breath, lungs seizing.

              “But I
am
worried,” Ghost continued. “Whoever he is now, he’s not the guy you used to know. He’s dangerous in a whole different way than anyone else we’ve ever dealt with. Be careful.” He squeezed Tango’s shoulder and stepped back, walked away.

              When Tango finally got his breathing handled, and lifted his head, his president was halfway back to the clubhouse. He had no idea what had just happened…but he didn’t trust it. Nothing was ever that simple.

~*~

As it turned out, none of the club’s resources were needed to find Jesse the drug buyer, and abandoner of teenage girls. A quick text to Sam yielded his name and address.

              “She must be spending too much time at my house,” Mercy said of her, grinning. “She’s turning vigilante.”

              “If you’d seen her sister looking all skanky this morning, you’d understand,” Aidan said, checking his phone one last time to verify this was the address.

              It was. And the house was…well, it looked a lot like the sort of frat house nightmare where he belonged. Unmown grass, overflowing trash cans at the curb, rotted and warped woodwork along the windows, all of which had the blinds drawn tight. He could already envision the way it would look and smell inside: the darkness, stink of mildew, of stale takeout food in the fridge.

              Beside him, Mercy cracked his knuckles.

              “I was just gonna knock,” Aidan said.