Erin, for once, seemed to realize the gravity of the situation and ducked into the house without further argument.
When she was gone, Sam released a tired breath and deflated against the jamb. “God,” she muttered, rubbing the back of her neck. The stress and worry had drawn her tight as a bowstring, and she ached all over. Then she looked at Aidan, shocked he was still here, very glad that he was.
“Thank you,” said. “I’ve been looking for her all morning. Thank youso much.”
He propped a foot on the cracked concrete of the back step and shrugged. “I figured you were going nuts somewhere.” He gave her a bare smile. “She came up to me at Stella’s, and I thought…” His face twitched, like he was self-editing. “Well, I didn’t think she’d been doing anything she shoulda been.”
“Decidedly not.” She frowned. “Is someone selling drugs out of Hamilton House?”
His face blanked over.
“Oh come on, Aidan. You know that if anybody’s selling anything illegal in Knoxville, the Dogs know about it.” She gave him a level look. “Is there a dealer working out of that place?”
“Honestly, I have no idea. But I’m gonna go check it out.”
“I want to come with you.”
He snorted. “Yeah. No.”
She was too wired to back down. “If you don’t know about it, then it can’t be club business, can it? I want to see where my sister was. I want to know what the hell’s going on with that loser she’s dating.”
“Don’t you have work?”
“My classes got canceled. Let me drop Erin off, and I’ll come with you.”
He studied her a moment, almost as if he was considering. Then said, “Nah. You don’t need mixed up in that kinda shit. I’ll scope it out, and let you know what I find. If I can.”
She started to argue, but thought better of it. She wasn’t going to seek his permission, but she wasn’t going to seek an argument either.
“Aidan,” she said as he started to turn away. He paused. “Thank you again. Really.”
His expression softened fractionally. “You’re welcome.”
She stayed leaning against the doorframe, watching him disappear, listening to his bike start up again. The world was too quiet when he was gone.
Three
“We couldn’t do this over the phone?” Ghost asked, arms folding as he drew up beside one of many white-draped breakfast tables. His phone had awakened him a half-hour before the alarm, a modulated voice saying, “Hold please for Mr. Shaman,” before his ear was assaulted by a violin composition.
Shaman had come on the line a moment later. “Mr. Teague,” he’d greeted in his too-happy British voice. “Come have breakfast with me. Gerard’s. Ten o’clock. This is not an optional meeting.”
Maggie had rolled toward him, mumbling something sleepy. Her hand had reached through the sheets and landed over his thumping heart.
“I’m calling in my favor,” Shaman had said, and then hung up.
So now here he was, in the fancy-ass dining room of Gerard’s, giving the staff a mass coronary because he was wearing his cut, and not giving a damn about it.
Shaman cut his usual dashing, lean figure in a tan suit and pale blue shirt, sans tie, as always. He made a show of folding the paper he was reading and setting it aside, turning a pleasant smile up to Ghost. “Good morning.”
“What’s the favor?” Ghost asked.
“Sit.” Shaman indicated the chair across from him. “Have breakfast. My treat. You shouldn’t discuss important decisions on an empty stomach.”
Knowing the man well enough by now to know he wouldn’t cooperate unless he felt everyone was minding his manners, Ghost sat with a deep sigh.
“Tea?” Shaman asked, gesturing to the silver pot at his elbow.
“Coffee. Black.”
