Homecoming (Dartmoor Book 8)

by Lauren Gilley

  “Did you tell anyone what was happening?” Ghost asked.

  Jimmy shook his head. “Just Kyle and Patrick.” He indicated the boys flanking him. “They were in on it.”

  “Well, I want out of it,” Kyle spat. He turned to Ghost.

  “Can you get rid of those guys? That’s what the Dogs do, right? Make people disappear? They’re your competition, dealing and shit. It’s them you want, not us.”

  Ghost’s frown shifted into sterner territory, and Kyle shrank back in his chair; condensation from the thawing peas trickled down the side of his face, and he shivered.

  “I would need names,” Ghost said. “Descriptions. Some way to contact ‘these guys.’ I’m not moving on anyone on the word of dumbass kids who trespassed on my goddamn property.”

  All of them winced, properly scolded.

  “How does Allie Henderson play into this?” Ghost asked.

  As if rehearsed, all three boys blanched.

  Ghost’s voice shifted low and dangerous. “I don’t care about you dickheads and your bad business decisions. A real girl is missing, and probably dead, and your party was the last place anyone saw her. Tell me what you know about Allie, or protection is off the table.”

  Jimmy’s mouth opened on a gasp.

  “Tell me about Allie, or I’ll let the crazy fucker with the knife come back out here and have another go at you.”

  Another gasp. Jimmy jerked up straight. “Okay, okay, okay…” He breathed for a moment, open-mouthed, gaze going distant as he withdrew into his own thoughts and memories. “They, um…they were there that night. At the party.”

  “Who?” Ghost and Mercy asked in unison.

  “The dealers. The guys, who…their names are Fred and Ricky.”

  Ghost reacted first. He sat back, brows climbing. “Fred and Ricky?”

  Then it hit Mercy, who snorted, expression disbelieving.

  Carter got it a moment later. “Oh.”

  “Fred and Ricky?” Ghost asked. “Those are their names?”

  “Yeah…” Jimmy glanced between them. “What? That’s what they said.”

  Ghost shook his head. “Never mind. They were at the party?”

  “Yeah. They – after Allie, you know, shot me down – they, well, Ricky, he said, ‘You should go after her.’ But I’d had too much to drink. So he drove me…”

  Carter felt a tingling sense of disquiet at the back of his neck; he nearly shivered.

  “What happened to Allie?” Ghost asked.

  Jimmy took a few more breaths, and then the tears started again. Through choked sobs, he managed to say, “I don’t – I don’t know. We were – we caught up to her. At a red light. And Ricky got out. We drove her and her car out to the mill, and I just wanted to talk to her. If she would just listen – if I could tell her – then she’d go out with me. But she – she ran. And Ricky went after her. And…and I don’t know. That was it. She was just gone.”

  “You haven’t seen her since?”

  He wiped at his face with shaking hands. “No.”

  “And Ricky? Fred?”

  “We talked on the phone. He told me – told me what I had to do.”

  Ghost’s face settled into grim lines; his hand twitched, and for a minute, Carter thought he would lean across the table and cuff Jimmy in the side of the head. But he just said, “Give me their numbers.”

  ~*~

  Carter was sent outside to wait for Jimmy’s dad to show up. He’d been sitting a few moments, enjoying the mild temperatures, trying to ignore the pull of post-adrenaline exhaustion in his muscles, when Mercy joined him, a glass in one hand and a bottle in the other.

  “Top you off?”

  Carter held out his glass with a quiet thanks.

  “I sent the three stooges to go search the boat,” Mercy said, climbing up to sit beside him. The table creaked, but held. “See if there’s anything useful there.”

  Carter nodded.

  “You pick up on the Fred and Ricky thing?”

  “Yeah. I Love Lucy, right?”

  Mercy nodded and took a swallow of Scotch. “I get giving out fake names. But those? Whoever this is, they’re having fun. It’s a joke. Fred and Ricky. They’re laughing at us.”

  Carter sipped his own drink. “So that spray paint out at the mill. I’m guessing it’s definitely a message for us now, and not just kids screwing around.”

  “Looks like it.”

  They sipped in silence a moment. “How’s Reese?”

  “I checked on him before I came out here. All bandaged up.” He lifted his brows. “Tenny helped, he said.”

  “Nothing says ‘I’m sorry for knifing you’ like a little first aid.”

  Mercy chuckled. “Aw. Poor kid.”

  “Which one?”

  “Both of them, really. Most of us have had it rough at some point or other. Some of us…well, God knows I’m…” He gestured eloquently, grinning, teeth white in the dark. “But I had a good childhood. Modest, broke as hell, really. But I was loved. I had Daddy, and Gram. And then I had the club; I’ve got Ava, and the kids, and all of you brothers.” He knocked their shoulders together. “But those two in there never had anything. Worse: they weren’t even raised like people. They’re got each other now, and that’s something, that’s good. They’ve got us, too, but we don’t count as much, I don’t think. They’re struggling. When you’re a trained killer, I think that struggling looks a lot like knifing your best friend.”

  Carter shook his head. “I should have waited to talk to Jimmy until y’all got here.”

  “Nah, you took initiative. That’s good.” Mercy leaned back so he could inspect him. “I’m proud of you. Most of the time I get the impression you don’t give a damn what goes on around here.”

  “You…you think that?”

  “Well, ‘don’t give a damn’ is maybe a little harsh. But you seem kinda checked out. The club isn’t the place you always wanted to end up. I get that.”

  Carter swallowed, throat suddenly tight, and set his drink aside. “Does Ghost – does everybody else think that, too?”

  Mercy shrugged. “Maybe some of ‘em. Probably.”

  “Shit.”

  “Everybody comes at it a little different–”

  “No. Mercy, I prospected, and you guys patched me in. Why would you put a Dog on my back if you thought I wasn’t loyal?” His pulse picked up, the first stirrings of panic licking at his gut.

  Mercy gripped his shoulder, and squeezed reassuringly. “Nobody said you weren’t loyal. There’s never been any doubt that you were trustworthy.”

  “Yeah, but what about the don’t give a damn part? Isn’t giving a damn kind of a prerequisite?”

  It was hard to tell in the dark, but he thought Mercy looked amused and fond. “Let me ask you something: do you think every member of every chapter of this club is equally invested?”

  “I…dunno. I’ve never really thought of that.”

  Mercy smirked. “Trust me, they’re not. Nobody expects them to be. But if you’re loyal, and you show up, and you take care of your brothers, nobody needs you to be me.”

  “I’d have to grow about a foot, first.”

  Mercy tousled his hair, and the gesture was so big-brotherly it tightened Carter’s throat another fraction. “Start eating your spinach.” He grew serious again, hands folding together, hanging between his knees. “That was big what you did tonight, though. I’m serious. Things went a little sideways, sure, but that happens. And all things considered, you were doing a good job of it until Tenny, well – look, I don’t even think I’m qualified to handle that one.”

  Carter snorted. “I dunno. You’ve got the bellowing down pretty good.”

  “Hey, what’s the point of being this big if you don’t get to throw your weight around a little?”

  Carter laughed, and picked his glass back up, feeling warm and much, much better in a way that had to do with the company, and the unexpected praise, and nothing to do with the alcohol.
/>   Headlights turned in up at the main gate, and he swallowed the Scotch down in one long slug, throat burning afterward.

  “Show time,” Mercy said, and hopped up to go tell Ghost that the dad was here.

  Twenty-Seven

  The next day was Saturday, and after a fitful night of not-sleeping, Leah fired off a text to Ava around nine in the morning, asking when they could meet up. The answer was immediate: come for breakfast at Mom’s.

  She picked up some champagne and orange juice on her way, and knocked on the door at Casa de Teague just after ten.

  “Ooh, mimosas,” Maggie said when she answered, and waved her in right away.

  The kitchen was warm and sunny, and smelled of fresh bread and something fruity and sweet. Leah heard the kids’ voices echoing from the living room; could envision Mille and Ash in their playpen while Remy and Cal played on the rug. Cal’s voice was always piping and excited, and Remy’s low, and soft. He looked just like a mini-Mercy, but with a calmness to him; Ava joked often that he was already a little old man.

  “Why do I get the feeling this isn’t just a social call?” Maggie asked, getting glasses down from the cabinet.

  “No, it is,” Leah said, setting her burden down on the counter and turning into Ava’s offered hug, a quick, tight embrace.

  “Then why do you look so glum?” Maggie asked. The loud pop of the champagne cork accentuated her raised-brow glance.

  Leah bit her lip, guilt washing through her again. “I may have done something kinda stupid last night, and I may be in need of some advice.”

  Maggie nodded sagely, and filled their glasses, more champagne than juice. “We know all about stupid,” she said, softening it with a wink. “Ava, baby, get the casserole out of the oven.”

  They sat down around the table with drinks and plates full of breakfast casserole, sliced melon, and fresh cranberry muffins.

  Ava speared a piece of cantaloupe and gestured toward Leah with it. “Is this about Carter?”

  Maggie paused, glass hovering in front of her mouth. Her eyes had gone glassy with that Southern Mother thirst for Gossip. Leah would have laughed at another time, if this wasn’t her own personal gossip about to be laid on the table. “Carter? I’m guessing I missed a few steps.”

  “It’s nothing,” Leah rushed to say. “Or, well, I thought it was nothing. At first.” She gave Maggie a bare-bones rundown. From her run-ins with Carter at Dartmoor, including the awkward moment in Maggie’s office, to his nightly post-football visits to the coffeeshop, until they had a routine down, and a regular table, and things had just started to feel comfortable.

  “You left out the dinner,” Ava pointed out.

  “Dinner?” Maggie asked.

  “They both came to dinner at my house,” Ava said, “and there were fireworks.” Her eyebrows waggled on the last word.

  “They weren’t fireworks,” Leah protested.

  “You stared at each other for a full minute at the dinner table.”

  Leah gave her a really? look.

  Ava chuckled. “There were sparks, don’t deny it.” She sobered. “But you don’t exactly have that new-relationship happy glow this morning.”

  “That’s because there is no relationship. And probably won’t be – especially after last night.”

  “What happened?”

  She sighed, took a sip of mimosa for courage, and relayed last night’s disastrous conversation with Carter, as well as she could remember it. “He literally got up and ran away, after. He left a Carter-shaped smoke cloud behind like he was a dang Loony Tunes character.”

  Maggie and Ava traded a look.

  “Rejection hurts, hon,” Maggie said. “He wasn’t gonna stick around and wait to see what you said next.”

  Leah’s stomach clenched, and she pushed her plate away; took up her glass and drained it in one long gulp. “Mom said I ought to apologize.”

  “No,” Maggie and Ava said at once.

  Maggie laid a hand down on the table, near but not touching, her expression serious. “You’re never obligated to go out with someone if you don’t want to. No, if you wanted to turn him down, and you did, then that’s that. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

  “She’s right,” Ava agreed. “But – did you want to turn him down?”

  “Yes. Maybe. I don’t know.” She glanced longingly toward the counter, and the champagne there – but knew she was being stupid. She set her glass down and hitched up higher in her chair. “That’s why I came: I don’t know what I want. Last night, when he asked – it was so unexpected. There had been looks, yeah. And I was…feeling things.” She felt her face heat. “But I never thought he’d ask me out. Not like that. Not like ‘let’s go on a date.’ With him paying and everything.”

  “Why not?” Maggie asked, lips twitching. “Carter’s a gentleman – when he’s not railing everything in sight.”

  “Mom!” Ava hissed.

  “She knows.” Maggie gestured to Leah. “She knows all about the railing. She was there for the broken nose incident.”

  Leah’s breakfast turned over in her stomach, and she couldn’t keep from making a face.

  “Oh, shit, honey, sorry. Look,” Maggie said, turning back to her. “Neither of you were expecting to run into each other and feel this way. I can guarantee he was just as caught-off-guard as you.”

  “He’s not even my type,” Leah protested.

  Maggie arched a brow. “Hot’s not your type?”

  Leah sputtered, and Ava rolled her eyes, but chuckled.

  “Do you like him?” Maggie asked.

  “We’ve been friends for years, even if we haven’t kept in touch.” She shrugged. “Do I have to have a solid answer on that right now?”

  Maggie and Ava both looked taken aback.

  “Of course not,” Maggie said.

  Ava said, “We’re not trying to pressure you.”

  The quick thump of little feet heralded Cal’s arrival before he pelted into the room, blond hair flapping. “Mama, Mama, Mama.”

  “What, baby?” Ava turned to him, and he thrust a toy toward her, a little red-faced; tears weren’t far off.

  “It’s broken!”

  “Here, let me see.”

  The diversion gave Leah a chance to gather her thoughts; she felt a little flushed, and unsteady, and was glad she hadn’t gotten up for that second mimosa.

  She was also doing what she’d done last night with Carter: thinking one thing on pure, unfiltered impulse, then thinking it to death, repackaging it, and saying something very different. It was exhausting, actually.

  She was aware of Maggie studying her with unself-conscious intensity; did Maggie do anything self-consciously? If so, Leah had never seen it.

  “Thank you!” Cal chirped, when Ava handed him the fixed toy, and he darted back to the living room, whooping with excitement.

  When Ava glanced back, Leah took a big breath and said, “Okay, I like him.”

  Ava and Maggie grinned.

  Leah held up a hand to stop them before they could say anything. “I’m still figuring it out, okay. I don’t – I’m surprised. I never expected this. Yeah, he’s cute – he’s hot” – she tipped her head in concession to Maggie – “but I’ve never gone for guys like him before, and it’s honestly freaking me out a little. But.” There was no denying the pleasant heat in her stomach when she thought of him, the chills that rippled over her skin when he looked at her like that. “I don’t guess I trust him.”

  Ava nodded.

  Maggie said, “Is it the Lean Dog thing?”

  “No, that’s actually a point in the win column.” She didn’t expect them to give her matching surprised looks. “What? I don’t have a problem with the club.”

  Mother and daughter traded a look.

  “It’s different being attached to it, honey,” Maggie said.

  “Believe me, I know the risks.” It was maybe firmer than she’d intended. Both women studied her a moment, and then nodded.

 
; “You’ve got to talk to him, then,” Ava said. “I can arrange another dinner…?”

  “No.” She squared her shoulders and have herself a mental kick. “I’ve got to do this on my own.”

  Maggie grinned. “Attagirl.”

  ~*~

  Post-adrenaline crash, and with several whiskeys in his system, Carter slept like the dead and woke startled by the sharp rap of a fist on the other side of his door. “Church in ten,” Fox’s voice called through, and he dragged himself out of bed and into the shower.

  His hair was still wet when he found his usual seat at the table, and was surprised – though maybe he shouldn’t have been – to find the prospects in attendance, too, standing lined up along the back wall, behind Mercy’s seat at the foot of the table. Reese and Tenny, he noted, stood with the other three between them; Reese had his arms folded, hands wrapped in white bandages. Tenny stared at the flags on the wall, working on a cigarette.

  “Alright,” Ghost said, dropping into his chair, and all heads turned his direction. “Here’s what we know:

  “Jimmy Connors was working the register at his dad’s shop a few months ago when two men who claimed to be dealers approached, sweet-talked the little dumbass, and started feeding him designer party drugs that he was encouraged to then share as free samples with his friends. They called themselves Fred and Ricky.”

  Several quiet laughs rippled through the crowd.

  “I know.” Ghost arched an eloquent brow and continued. “He fenced a bunch of expensive shit for free for a while, and then Fred and Ricky wanted their money. He of course didn’t have it, so the threats started. The usual stuff: we’ll kill you, we’ll kill your family, yada yada. The party he had was him trying to collect money from the friends he’d given samples to, but they’re all dumb kids, and they have no money, so that was a bust.

  “So Fred and Ricky came up with a creative solution. They’d consider his debt paid if he could gin up a buncha anti-Dog sentiment at school and around town. He and his friends were the ones doing the graffiti down at Bell Bar. And, despite the fact that he’s a stupid little shit who thinks drugs are free, he was smart enough to try and link us to that missing girl: Allie Henderson. Carter said he was telling kids at school that he had photos.” He tilted his head in invitation, and a little jolt – that Carter didn’t want to call excitement – moved through him in response to being looked to like this, at church.