Lone Star (Dartmoor Book 7)

by Lauren Gilley

Dawn was breaking fast, now, the pink ribbon unfurling, a tapestry of reds, oranges, and bright citrus yellows. The sun threatened, the first brilliant curve rising into view second by second.

  “You sound confident,” he said. Confident in me, he meant.

  “What can I say,” she said, lightly, “you’ve never let me down.”

  And that, he decided, with a new surge of resolve, had to count for something.

  ~*~

  Michelle was in the shower when he went back inside, the jets pounding on the other side of the closed bathroom door. Another day, he would have joined her.

  When he started to peek in on TJ, still silent, Jenny said, “I’ll get him if he wakes up,” in that perfect whisper he swore all mothers had perfected. “You go on.”

  Colin stood at the coffeemaker, in the process of opening the lid, a pod in his other hand.

  “Be quick about it,” Candy said. “Church in ten.”

  It was too early – evidenced by Colin’s bleary-eyed protests – but Candy wanted to get everyone first thing, before they’d gotten too sharp and opinionated; while they were receptive, and honest.

  He wondered when he’d reached a point when he thought it was necessary to approach his own club this way, but dismissed it. It was what it was, at this point.

  He went out to the common room for his own coffee; the drip had already run, and Jinx stood drinking a cup, arms bare despite the chill that penetrated from outside, goosebumps standing out in the pale wash of early light. “Morning,” Candy said as he snagged a mug and reached for the carafe.

  Jinx hesitated a fraction of a second too long. “Morning.”

  It was going to be a long day, he sensed.

  “Church?” Jinx asked.

  “Yeah. Tell the others.”

  He passed the twins on his way to the chapel, Catcher rubbing his eyes with both fists in an alarmingly normal, human gesture that lent him an air of childlike innocence. Cletus, though, stared like usual. “Church,” Candy told them as he passed, and Catcher nodded, yawning.

  The chapel, when he entered, still alone, welcomed him with its own special brand of silence.

  Every outlaw clubhouse had a chapel: a scared place whose walls enclosed all their secrets. Half confessional, and half vault, a place of rare honesty. Brothers didn’t lie to brothers in the chapel; the things discussed here, the decisions voted on, were sacred.

  He set his coffee down at the head of the table, at his usual seat, gaze moving down the long plank top, its ash trays clean and ready in the center, its finish scratched and dented and discolored from years of hard use.

  Blue’s words haunted him – had been haunting him. Used to be… Was he so different, now? Soft? Stupid?

  The door opened, and he pushed those thoughts away.

  Jinx came in, the twins trailing along after him. As they pulled out their chairs, Blue followed, and Pup, and Cowboy…

  A slow trickle. Candy sat, and sipped his coffee, though he was already having to resist bouncing his foot under the table. The air filled with the scent of freshly-lit cigarettes; lighters clicked, and chair legs scraped across the floor. Gringo was trying fruitlessly to get Talis to laugh at a joke; Pup was describing a sound his bike was making to a frowning, considering Blue who stroked his beard.

  Colin was the last in, shutting the door with a “sorry, sorry,” and thumping down so hard his chair creaked. His brows popped up in comical alarm, and then he snugged up to the table gingerly.

  All eyes swept to Candy.

  Years ago, when he came home from New York, when Crockett had lost the ability to lead, and Candy had found himself at the head of this table, he’d known something like panic the first time everyone looked at him like this. His voice had come out uncharacteristically soft, and crackly. He’d sweated so badly he’d had to go take a shower after, and he wondered if there had been visible stains under his arms. That night, he’d called Ghost, and said, “How the hell do you do this?”

  He’d laughed. “Heavy is the head.”

  “Shut up,” Candy had shot back, “you don’t know that line. Your bookworm kid told it to you.”

  Ghost had laughed again, and Candy had breathed a little easier.

  He hadn’t felt those sorts of nerves in a long time, but he felt them now, and chased them with a swallow of coffee; cleared his throat.

  “A lot’s been going on,” he started, “and I’ve talked to all of you.”

  Pup’s lips pressed together, and Candy suddenly realized he didn’t know if he’d spoken to him; didn’t really remember explaining things save to Jinx, Colin, and Blue. Damn.

  “I’ve talked to all of you,” he said again, more firmly, and continued. “But I wanted to make sure we’re all on the same page.”

  He rehashed all of it, even though no one looked surprised; even though he got nods and some glazed-over looks. There was a restless undercurrent in the room, one made audible by the lighting and sucking down of cigarettes; by the jangle of a wallet chain as a nervous leg bounced under the table.

  “I asked Cantrell to get us these,” he said, pulling out the stack of business cards he’d slipped into his cut pocket earlier. He fanned them out on the table in front of him, and then began passing them down both sides, one at a time. “Everybody put one in your wallet. If you see something that needs handling, call him. If the cops give you any kind of fuss, show them that, and then call him.”

  Blue turned his card over and over between his fingers, expression concerned.

  Jinx stared at Candy, even more stone-faced than usual.

  “This guy,” Pup spoke up, hesitant, tapping the edge of his card against the tabletop. “Do you trust him?”

  A hush fell; just a quick pause, before Cowboy cleared his throat.

  Gringo fiddled with the zipper of his cut in an old, well-known nervous gesture.

  It was said in the most deferential of ways, because Pup would always be a good kid, no matter what the club asked of him, but it was a loaded question nonetheless, and everyone knew it.

  Candy let out a breath. “Do I trust him with my life? No. With club secrets? Hell no. I’m not signing any kinda contract with the guy,” he said, and sent a hard glance around the table, the kind no one ever argued with. Most of the guys dropped their gazes a fraction; all but Jinx, still being a stubborn holdout. “But we’ve got common cause here. This won’t be the first time we’ve cooperated with the law. Be on your toes, don’t do anything stupid in front of him, and we’ll be fine. It’s important we catch these guys.”

  It was quiet a moment, but no one argued.

  Talis said, “How’s Michelle?”

  It surprised Candy that it was cliff-faced Talisman, of all people, who’d inquired after her. He dipped his head in thanks. “She’s good. Tough as nails, you know?”

  “Does Cantrell know what happened last night?” Jinx asked, voice flat.

  Candy withheld a sigh. “I haven’t told him, no. But if he watches the morning news, he’s probably seen it. There’s no way there’s not a crew out there filming the scene.”

  “Let somebody ride out and have a look,” Blue suggested.

  “Yeah.”

  “I’ll go,” Jinx said, and pushed his chair back.

  Another silence fell, this one even thornier. You didn’t dismiss yourself from church; the president dismissed you.

  Jinx paused once he was on his feet, head turning, looking right at Candy. An emotionless stare brimming with checked hostility.

  “If you’ve got something to say–” Candy started.

  “Nope,” Jinx said. His jaw worked. “How’s Pacer?”

  “I was just getting to that, if you wanted to stick around.”

  “Nah. Think I’ll head out.” He waited, though; arms tensed, shoulders elevated, bristling.

  Candy finally jerked a nod. “Yeah, be safe.”

  Jinx was out the door before he’d finished his sentence.

  “Want me to go with him?” Colin offered
, when he was gone.

  Candy did, but Colin’s face was a little too fresh in law enforcement minds after yesterday. “Pup,” he said, jerking his head toward the door.

  “On it,” Pup said, and hurried out.

  Candy told the others about his visit to Pat, which garnered some raised brows.

  He told them about the time he’d spent with Pacer yesterday, and those brows climbed higher.

  “He was on something,” Gringo said. “Had to be.”

  “That’s what I thought, but I looked through his nightstand, and all his bathroom cabinets, and all I found were blood pressure meds and some very questionable old condoms.” He resisted the urge to drop his face in his hands and try rubbing some of the tension from his scalp. “Maybe he’s just cracked, you know?”

  “Happens sometimes,” Cowboy said thoughtfully, stubbing out a cigarette and lighting another. “There’s a word for it: when something really bad happens, and it’s just too much for your cabeza.” He tapped a knuckle to his own temple with his free hand.

  “Nutso?” Gringo suggested.

  “No.” His friend shot him a glare across the table. “A real medical word, dipshit.”

  “What we know, then,” Blue said, loud enough to quell any further bickering, drawing everyone’s attention. “Is that everyone dead – so far – used to be a dealer. Right?”

  Candy sat back, hands flat on the table. He was already so tired today. “We don’t know who was in the truck last night, but otherwise, yeah, so far. I couldn’t get anything useful out of Pacer about his boys, but I think it’s safe to assume they were in the selling business, too.”

  “Fits the pattern.”

  “Someone’s trying to set up shop, then,” Gringo said.

  “Looks like. And if we can’t figure out who’s selling, then we need to talk to who’s buying, and trace the stuff backward.”

  He gulped down the rest of his coffee, even though it burned his mouth, and divvied the crew up into pairs. “Talk to everybody. Fuck subtlety, at this point. Get the word out: someone tried to run my old lady off the road, and I want a head on a plate. Tell them they can come talk to me if they wanna start a turf war, and we’ll handle this the old-fashioned way.” He felt a familiar crack in his knuckles, and glanced down to see that he’d tightened his hand into a fist. God, it would be great to get hold of the guys responsible for all this drama, and put that fist into a face.

  He dismissed church, and Blue lingered at the table. Last in, Colin was the last out, too, and sent them both a searching look – that went ignored – before he finally latched the door behind him, leaving them alone together.

  Blue sat forward and braced his elbows on the table, stretching out his back in an old gesture Candy felt like he’d been witnessing his whole life. It was funny the way a person’s tics ingrained themselves into your awareness; the ways something so simple, like a pose, could evoke old memories. Memories of a time long distant when Blue had been a young man. He looked old now, suddenly. Candy wondered what he looked like in turn to his old friend.

  “This thing with Jinx,” Blue said, and for the first time in days, he didn’t sound cautious and borderline lecturing like he had over the feds. “It’s about Cade, isn’t it?”

  Candy let out a deep breath, and when he inhaled, it felt like the first oxygen he’d had all day. “Yeah. He hasn’t talked about it, but–”

  “He’s not gonna,” Blue finished for him with a grim smile. “Yeah. I get that.” He sighed. “If it were up to him, you’d have left Pacer hanging when he called.”

  “Why do you think I didn’t take him with me when I went out there?”

  “To be honest,” Blue said, “nothing against the man personally, but I’ve got no love for Pacer either.”

  Candy felt his brows go up.

  “For RCs in general. I don’t like when they brush up against our territory. They always wind up sticking their noses where they don’t belong, they get hurt, and then it’s us slugging it out with whoever they pissed off.”

  Candy nodded. “Noted.”

  “But Jack liked Pacer, and you’ve honored that relationship. I respect that. It’s honorable.”

  Candy blinked in surprise.

  “And besides, at this point, I don’t think it’s about Pacer anyway.”

  “Doesn’t look it.”

  “Someone wants the Dogs pushed outta the limelight.”

  “Yeah. What else is new?”

  Eighteen

  Michelle spent the day on the mundane around-the-house chores she always tended to save for later, preferring to work on business. Jenny pitched in, unasked, and they worked in brisk, efficient silence, Jenny already handing over the duster before Michelle could ask for it; Michelle unhooking the vacuum cord from around a chair leg before it could tip it over. Jenny tackled the bathrooms, and their harsh chemical cleaners, and kept trying to urge Michelle to sit down, fold laundry, polish something – quieter tasks she could do off her feet.

  “I’m not a bloody whale yet,” Michelle complained, aiming for harsh. But Jenny just laughed and patted the top of her head.

  Candy called at lunchtime to check in, voice laced with worry. He and the boys were out turning over stones, searching for answers.

  The whole situation just felt…pointless.

  Felt like they were sitting around, waiting, biding their time until the next disaster.

  She hated it.

  “Mama, TJ’s trying to eat my truck!” Jack complained, stomping over in an aggrieved huff.

  “What have I said about that?” Jenny said calmly, folding a blanket over the back of the couch. “Tell him – sweetly – that we don’t eat toys, and ask if he’ll stop. If he won’t, I’ll take it from him.”

  Jack made an unhappy sound. The truck in question was a huge, baby-safe Tonka thing. Jack had been very generous with eating; more like slobbering on one of the fat tires.

  Both boys were on the rug in front of the TV, toys and blocks scattered around them. Jack was normally in preschool, but given the club situation, Jenny had kept him home, and it had been…challenging, to say the least.

  She looked down at the boys now, and watched Jack kneel on the rug across from TJ, brows knitted comically. “Don’t eat my truck,” he said, lower lip jutting out.

  Jenny sighed. “Jack, you know that’s not how we ask nicely.”

  At another time, Michelle would have been onboard with lessons in sharing, but right now, she just wanted to avoid a tantrum. She leaned down, took the truck from TJ, set it down, and then plucked TJ up into her arms.

  “Mama!” he protested, legs kicking.

  “Oh, here, you didn’t have to do that. Need me to take him?” Jenny asked.

  Ordinarily, she would have accepted the offer gladly; as wordlessly as they’d worked around the sanctuary all day. They more or less co-mothered the kids, never hesitating to wipe a nose, kiss a boo-boo, or deliver a necessary reprimand.

  Even now, she wanted to push TJ into Jenny’s arms and take a step back. Take a deep breath.

  Because she was breathing hard, she realized, suddenly. Her shoulders shaking; her whole body tight with tension. She ached everywhere, sore not just from a day of hard work, but from holding herself rigid throughout.

  She wanted this to stop. This madness with people running her off the road. The feeling of being pregnant, and tired, and queasy, and helpless.

  God, did she feel helpless. Folding laundry and dusting tables while there were people out there trying to harm her family.

  She bit back the ugly no she wanted to give Jenny, and, to her horror, felt her eyes begin to sting.

  “Oh, shit,” Jenny said softly, expression going concerned. “I didn’t mean – look, why don’t you–”

  “Don’t say sit down,” Michelle gritted out through her teeth in a last-ditch effort to keep her tears in check. “I won’t–”

  A rapid knocking sounded at the door, and it swung open before either of them could call
out a question. Darla burst in, big-eyed and breathless.

  “Chelle, it’s your uncle,” she said.

  She said something else after that, Michelle thought, but didn’t hear. She tightened her arms around TJ and took off. Past Darla – glimpse of an even more startled expression, rush of a breath as she gasped – and down the hall. All the way down. Holding TJ too tight – he was starting to cry – nearly running.

  She almost crashed into a table when she reached the common room; caught herself against its surface with an unsteady hand, and TJ wailed in her ear for the effort.

  She didn’t care. Fox was here.

  A small knot of people occupied the center of the large room, Texas brothers getting up from chairs and from the bar to walk toward Fox, calling out surprised and delighted greetings. Fox had a hand lifted in Gringo’s direction, his lazy, confident smile almost a smirk; that look that said he knew more than everybody in the room, even though he’d only just arrived.

  She needed that smirk right now. Badly.

  She walked forward, down a clear path; was aware of guys stepping back, giving ground, but couldn’t have said who, her gaze lasered in on Fox.

  He turned to her, just before she reached him, and his expression softened a fraction, the smirk melting into the crooked half-smile she’d learned over time was his truest expression of all.

  She didn’t slow down, but plowed into him, and he caught her, TJ and all. Wrapped them both up tight.

  TJ quieted immediately, as if by magic.

  Michelle clutched the back of his cut, gritty with travel dust, and pressed her face into his shoulder, eyes burning. He still smelled as he always had: of the wind, and the road, and gun oil, and a faint spice that would always remind her of Baskerville Hall.

  “You came,” she whispered.

  “I said I would.” Then, softer, “It’s alright, love. I’ll sort it.”

  And for the first time since this whole mess had started, she felt like she could breathe.

  ~*~

  Candy had spent a fruitless day trying to run druggies to ground and bribe answers out of them. Of the three he’d found – the ones he’d known to look for, regular customers – two had bolted on sight, and the other, even after lunch and a cup of coffee, refused to say a word. Just clamped his lips shut tight and shook his head, eyes bugging out of his skull.