Veronica had even dismissed what she’d thought were merely rumours of some tattooed bad girl, until she spotted the ink revealed each time that over-sized hoody slipped off the little blonde’s shoulder until she tugged it back in place.
And then there was the one detail that really did throw her for a loop. That vicious black bruise marring her temple, a row of neat stitches at its epicentre. She’d bitten back the questions for as long as had been polite, but now – granted reluctant access and an even more reluctant cup of coffee – she had to know ...
“That must be very painful,” Veronica said, trying to tread carefully as she indicated what she was talking about with a slight incline of her own head. “Do you mind if I ask what happened?”
“Just a fall,” Callie shrugged, hands folded around her mug. Obviously still making her own internal assessments of her unexpected guest. “But if you don’t mind, I’d rather you got to exactly why you’re here. I’m on pain medication which does make me kinda drowsy ...”
The agent looked as if she might concede, but her lips pursed and she met the young woman’s gaze directly. “Did someone do that to you? A partner, boyfriend?” she asked gently, still trying to decide what she suspected more. That Michael had followed down the path she herself had led him and snapped over some uncovered infidelity - or that the girl’s connection to the MC really had gotten her in over her head with one of them.
“I told you what happened. I fell--”
“Callie, do you have any idea how many women fall or walk into a door or trip on the stairs until they just get a little too clumsy and wind up in the morgue? That’s a serious head injury – you don’t have to protect anyone.”
Obviously taken aback by the implication, Callie sat back in her seat and looked at her in what appeared to be confusion. But there was certainly a hint of anger lurking just below that calm surface. “Don’t come into my home and make me out to be some kind of victim,” she said finally, her voice just a little too tense. “And don’t presume to know things that aren’t any of your business. Now, if there’s something I’m supposed to be able to help you with, let’s hear it – otherwise, I think this is just a waste of your time and mine.”
Federal agent or not, Veronica couldn’t decide if she’d hit a nerve or just missed her mark, so she glossed over it for now. “Okay, I understand,” she said lightly. “And I apologise. I just came to make a few routine inquiries about some ongoing ... business in the area.”
“And why me?” Callie asked, no trace of defensiveness to her tone and no suggestion she was rattled. Just that quiet, easy confidence. “I mean, you say routine – but you called my name, so we’re not just talking door-to-door. Not unless you really did your homework. Do you know my neighbours’ names, Agent Hunt?”
“No. No, I don’t,” she admitted. “The inquiries are fairly routine, but I was hoping to speak to you in particular. Callie, you called the station recently, didn’t you?”
Veronica could have sworn she saw the dots being joined behind those gray eyes, but they never wavered from hers as the girl nodded. No further information offered. Usually people could be depended on to start babbling at some point, but not this girl. “Would you mind telling me why?”
“No – but since you know I called, you must already know why, so do we really need to make a performance out of whatever this is?”
Icy blue eyes narrowed almost imperceptible. This Callie was sharp, much more so than she’d expected, but that was okay because she could be just as sharp herself. “Tell me, Callie, how exactly do you know Sam Lewison and Colton Greene?”
“Through work,” came the simple answer, the elaboration only following at the prompting of a raised eyebrow. “I’m a tattoo artist and you may have noticed they’ve got quite the ink collection between them.”
“Right ...” Veronica nodded. “And is that your only connection to them?”
“Yes,” Callie said, but she didn’t even try hiding the confusion frown that creased her forehead at the question.
“So you’re not in a relationship with one of them?”
“What? I don’t see what that’s got to do with--”
“Just answer the question please, Callie.”
“No,” she said tightly. “I’m not in a relationship with anyone.”
Veronica knew she must look surprised by that and quickly shrugged it off, though she stored that titbit away for future use. “A pretty girl like you?” she started, before a thought struck her and she smiled. The girl really was a smart little bitch. “Ah ... I know how those boys like to operate. Not big on commitment, huh? So forget this relationship talk – are you sexually involved with Sam and/or Colton?”
But the snide little and/or jibe was a step too far and just the out Callie must surely have needed right then, making the blonde bristle angrily and the feet of her chair scrape roughly over the floor as she rose from the table. “I’m not some clubhouse slut,” she snapped. “And I don’t think I’ve got anything more to say to you right now, Agent Hunt. With all due respect, I’d like you to get the hell out.”
Wishing she’d had the restraint to hold back just a little longer before showing her claws, Veronica stood. “Very well. But I hope you know what you’re doing, Callie.”
“Frankly, I don’t see that it’s any of your business. Even if I was screwing every biker from here to Mexico.”
“Actually, if you’re associating with known members of illegal gangs, that makes it my business,” the agent smiled sweetly, just a hint of venom creeping into her tone as she found herself on the wrong side of the front door. “Oh, and Callie? I have a feeling we’ll meet again. This is just what happens when you mix with the wrong crowd ...”
The door slamming behind her, Veronica took a deep breath and composed herself before walking away on high-heeled pumps. Her head was held high, confident that things had gone well enough for her and more curious than ever about what might have gone on between her latest target and Mr Corsada ...
But one thing she thought she could definitely be sure about - Callie Delaney might be a pretty cool customer, but she wasn’t going to be nearly as tough to crack as a certain Taylor Whitney.
***
CHAPTER 32
“Heard talk on the grapevine ‘bout what happened to Dixie ...”
Emerging from his cramped bathroom, a towel wrapped around his hips and a hand raking through his wet hair, Sam glanced at the young woman still perched at the foot of the bed as he reached for his jeans and rifled through the pockets for a packet of smokes. “Yeah? What’s the word?” he mumbled around a cigarette, leaning down to light it off the glowing tip of hers and inhaling the first drag deeply.
“Just another casualty of the drugs war,” Ashley shrugged, leaning back on one hand and crossing her long legs. But the look in the hazel eyes that roved appreciatively over his torso let him guess she wasn’t quite buying it.
“That it?” he pushed, needing to know if there was any suggestion on the street that the Fallen might be caught up in this shit. It didn’t usually take long for blame to land at their door, whether deserved or not, and it was looking increasingly like the Norteños were in the market for revenge. The prospects were already trying to scrub off the tags and, despite Will ordering both his sergeant and his enforcer to take a break and get cleaned up, the rest of the club’s hierarchy was at the table to start discussing how to handle the latest security threat.
“Few rumblings that Dix didn’t snuff it in the fire. No names and none of it based on anything more than urban myths though. You know the score - all the usual conspiracy theories ... Including one little gem that it was all some big tax-dodge and he’s actually jumped state to go live it up in Vegas,” she smiled wryly.
“Sin City, huh?” Sam snorted, dropping down to sit beside her.
“Yeah. If I thought there was any kind of truth in it, I’d pack my shit up and head out there myself. Maybe Dixie could give me a new job lap-dancing for the
high-rollers ...”
“What are ya gonna do?”
Another shrug. “Something’ll come up. Always does,” she said brightly, with all the optimism of youth. “Hey, maybe I’ll take this as a sign I need to move my ass on. Haven was only supposed to be a pit-stop after all.”
“On the road to?”
She turned to look at him, eyebrows raised but a smile tugging at those pouty pink lips. “You’re getting awful nosy, all of a sudden, mister ...” she said, in just the right teasing tone to get away with it – especially since Sam knew she had a point.
He didn’t usually ask so many questions of the chicks that hung around the club. Not the personal kind anyway. In fact, the less most of them talked the better in his book ... But Ashley was different. That was all it was though. Different, not special. He didn’t have feelings for her and knew that wasn’t denial talking. It was just that, compared to the other women that frequented the clubhouse, she was something of a breath of fresh air. She didn’t seem to be looking to be anyone’s old lady, had no illusions about her place in the grand scheme of things. Hell, she wasn’t even planning on sticking around - when you’d have trouble getting rid of some of their regulars with a 9mm and a shovel ...
Stubbing out the butt of his cigarette and then reaching out, Sam wrapped a lock of her tousled red hair around his fist and tugged her closer. “You gonna make me ask twice, darlin’?”
“Los Angeles,” came the eventual answer to his initial question, complete with a little smirk that told him she was more than happy to play along with his big-bad-biker routine – despite knowing he could back it up if he had to. “If I’m gonna be a famous actress by the time I’m thirty, that only gives me four years to make it in Hollywood ...”
He released her abruptly, to a look of near disappointment from the girl that their little game seemed to have ended almost before it began. “You’re twenty-six?”
“In two months--”
“Christ, Ashley,” Sam groaned, collapsing back on the bed and throwing an arm over his eyes. “I’m pretty sure I’ve got socks older than you.”
“Well, you know what that means, don’t you?” she said in an unusually solemn voice, leaning over him and trailing her fingertips lightly down his stomach to the edge of his towel.
“What?” he asked warily.
“You seriously need some new socks.”
Despite everything, he laughed at that and pushed himself back up on his elbows to shake his head ruefully. “What I need, doll, we ain’t got time for,” he drawled, tempted as he was by the thought of putting those full lips to good use again. “Go on, get your ass outta here. And Ash, you hear anythin’ else, you let me know, okay?”
“Of course,” she nodded without hesitation, shooting him a mischievous smile as she blew him a little kiss on her way out the door. “Catch you later, handsome.”
“I’ll hold ya to that, doll,” he grinned.
***
Spotting Sam sauntering from the direction of the dorms, still tugging his t-shirt over his head, Colton signalled to him with a jerk of his head and the sergeant quickly crossed the bar to join him - just as Will and the others emerged from the sanctity of the clubhouse church.
“Prospects are still on clean-up duty,” Colton informed his president. “How d’ya want us to handle this shit, boss?”
“Publicly, we do nothing ...” Will began, holding up a hand when he saw the looks exchanged by his sergeant and enforcer. “Hear me out, boys. I don’t want us giving these bastards any kinda credibility. We act like they’re a threat, other people start to think we’re an easy target. They start to believe they’re a threat. I ain’t having my club look like it’s pissing its pants over some jumped-up little shit-heads. Yeah, they disrespected us, but they’re just little boys who like drawing on walls to try to make a point ...”
“And privately?” Sam asked. “You think we need to take this one-eight-seven shit seriously?”
“Privately, we up our security. No heading off solo on club business, no getting sloppy. And we keep our own close and everyone else at arm’s length until we know more about exactly who’s behind all this. Our Reno brothers are gonna stick around a little longer, so I’ve asked Chip to start looking into known Norteños in this area - see if he can find out who’s looking to move up and who's calling the shots. Sam, you think our little redheaded friend might be able to help identify any of the gang members who’ve been hanging around Dixie’s joint lately?”
“Maybe,” he nodded. “Can ask anyway.”
“Good ...” Will trailed off as he heard a phone start ringing in Colton’s pocket. “Take it, man – I reckon we’re about done here for now.”
As they drifted off to process the latest goings-on, Colton caught the name on the caller id and answered his cell on the way out into the yard for some air.
“S’up?”
“Colton, hey ...” came that familiar voice. But something was off – he could already hear it. “I, uh ... Shit, you’re probably busy – I wasn’t gonna bother you with this, but I thought you’d need to know ...”
“Something happen?”
“Kind of. I had a visit today ... from an Agent Hunt. Asking questions. Questions about you and Sam.”
A frown darkening his already stern face, Colton could feel his heart sink just a little. He knew how this played out – cursed himself for not thinking of it sooner. “Okay. Sit tight – I’m coming round.”
Hanging up before she had time to even respond, he strode back towards the clubhouse, intending to let his brothers know he was headed out, but meeting Will in the doorway.
“Problem, son?” the president asked, taking one look at his tense stance.
“Hunt’s on to Callie,” Colton admitted bluntly, getting a frustrated grimace from Will that was nothing compared to how he was feeling.
“Damn meddling bitch ... She actually got anything to use, or just trying the usual shit?”
“Dunno yet. Didn’t want to get into it on the phone, so said I’d go round. That a problem?”
“Course not, brother. But listen, Colt, you know if the feds are hell-bent on sniffing round the girl, there’s really only two ways you can handle it,” Will shrugged. “Bring her closer, or ...”
“Cut her loose.”
***
He wasn’t worried about what might have been said, not by Callie anyway. Even leaving aside the fact she didn’t really know anything worth spilling, she knew when to keep her mouth shut and was more than sharp enough to think on her feet and handle whatever was thrown at her.
No, he wasn’t worried. Just pissed as hell.
If the Fallen had a problem, they dealt with it right at the source. They didn’t go after third parties and, while the odd threat might be made against the family of some bastard who had it coming, it was rarely anything other than idle – a means to an end. Not that it paid to let that be known.
They were the outlaws, but lived and breathed by their own particular brand of morality and yet the so-called good guys of law enforcement didn’t think twice about turning up the heat on whoever looked like an easy target. Choosing not to focus on the harder to crack bikers and instead going after wives, daughters, sisters, mothers.
His own ma had been grilled plenty, until she got too sick for even the law to get away with harassing her about the activities of her only boy. And Maríana Greene aside, it had been a hell of a long time since there’d been anyone else they could connect to Colton. Until now.
Urging his bike on a little faster, he knew he could no longer deny there was a connection between him and his little blonde tattoo artist that went much deeper than ink. He could see now how it had woven itself over the years, beginning back before either of them realised at all and twisting ever deeper - just as her fingers had once twisted that bullet out of him, his blood on her hands.
But after everything she had done for him ... it was going to come back and bite her on the ass.
T
hey all knew how it played out - the mind games, constantly being watched, pressed for answers you didn’t have to questions you knew better than ask. The law would always ask though. And ask and ask and ask.
Powerful as the Fallen were, there was no ending it. You either lived with it or ... you got out.
***
As if thinking about it on the ride over wasn’t enough, one glance at Callie’s pale face was all it took for it to strike Colton all over again that she should still have been concentrating on recovering - not having to worry about second-guessing some bitch of an agent with an agenda.
In the short time she’d been on the line, he’d been torn between appreciating how she’d kept her cool under fire and hating that she was being dragged into this shit because of him. Had realised it was the second time he was about to rush to her side, yet been convinced it was his responsibility to make things right.
The only way to do that though was to stamp on whatever it was that was growing between them and keep on stamping until it was dead.
But now he was just acutely aware of her stood there, those gray eyes following him as he paced her bedroom floor - obviously hating having to push aside that independent streak, but doing it to keep him in the loop. Club's hitman or not, could he really kill everything he was coming to feel for her?
"Hey," he said, almost sternly, as he stopped in front of her and reaching out a hand to caress her cheek. Distracted from his own thoughts by the strain etched across her brow. "Stop stressing. You did good, baby."
“Doesn’t feel like it,” she admitted quietly, though even the little touch and the inadvertent endearment that he somehow failed to bite back did seem to help reassure her.
“Wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it. You handled that bitch and then you brought this shit to me. You did the right thing, Callie.”
Huffing a little sigh, she nodded reluctantly before letting her gaze drop to her feet. “I just ... You wanna tell me why a federal agent even wants to know if I’m sleeping with you? Or Sam? Or both of you, for Christ’s sake? I didn’t think to ask if she’s got me pegged as a serial two-timer or if she just thinks threesomes might be my thing – and she probably thinks I’m a great big slut because I didn’t deny it.”
Ink (The Haven Series) Page 21
