“I take it that’s a big deal.”
Ava tucked her hair back and stared ahead as they walked, eyes on the foot traffic before them, but seeing something in her mind. “Let me say it this way.”
“Oh no.”
“No, it’s alright. Mercy told me about the party when he got home from work yesterday. Most of the time, he’ll just ask if I want to come hang out at the clubhouse and have a drink, very casual. He doesn’t mind if I’d rather stay home with the babies. But last night, he said, ‘Bonita’s agreed to watch the boys. There’s a party, and we’re riding through town beforehand, and you’re gonna be on the back of my bike,fillette.’ He was smiling, but he was completely serious.
“Every once in a while,” she continued, “my dad likes to make a statement to the city. Yes, the club is the subject of gossip, and there’s plenty of people who are afraid of it, but we’re a family too. On Halloween, he’s going to make a family statement. It’s also a show of strength. And a warning to those who are against us. It’s a complicated, subtle move…even though physically it isn’t subtle at all.” She sighed. “I don’t know. Anyway, on that ride, it’s going to be the members and their old ladies.” Her eyes came over. “This is a big party, an intimate, Lean Dogs sort of party, and it’s not open to the public. If Aidan invited you, I think that’s significant.”
Sam took a deep breath. “No pressure then.”
Ava’s expression became thoughtful. “Actually no. No pressure. All the pressure’s on my brother, and he knows it.” Her eyes grew dark and hard to read. “He really cares about you, Sam. I’ve told him he’d better not screw things up.”
A nice gesture, but not exactly a comforting one. “Ava.”
“Hmm?”
She almost chickened out and didn’t ask, but she wanted to know. The Lean Dogs as a club were so interconnected and self-protective, she couldn’t help but be curious. “If I come – if I’m with Aidan – is that going to go over okay with everyone?”
Ava turned her head and gave her a warm smile. “Better than okay. I promise.”
~*~
The impending arrival of out of town brothers always turned Dartmoor into a kicked anthill of activity. By noon, the buzz of preparations at the clubhouse had radiated outward, inflicting the legit business side of things.
Aidan took a smoke break propped against the outer wall of the bike shop, watching hangarounds wheel kegs and cases of beer into the clubhouse. Jasmine and her girls unloaded groceries from one of the club trucks.
Tango appeared beside him, silent, but emitting his own quiet energy. “Sam’s coming?”
“She might.” That still itched just beneath his skin, the way she’d pulled back inside herself and asked if she could think about it. What could there be left to think about?
“It’s got to be scary for a girl like her, coming to a party here,” Tango said. “Anybody with any sense ought to have said ‘maybe.’”
“Yeah.” But he wasn’t reassured. “What about you? You bringing anybody?”
No answer. At first. Then: “Does Sam know about Tonya yet? The baby?”
Aidan bit back a response. The weight of their respective secrets fell heavy across their shoulders.
~*~
In the pocket of his cut, Ghost felt the sharp corners of the folded-up map Tango had given him. He imagined he could see Shaman’s fingerprints on it, glowing like phosphorous, tainting it. The man hadn’t contacted him again about “the favor,” but he knew any lapse in time was about calculation and had nothing to do with forgetfulness. The idea soured his stomach, made him feel less on top of his game as he walked into the police precinct.
The desk secretary showed him to Fielding’s office without fuss. The man himself glanced up once, saw who it was, and returned to his paperwork with a defeated sigh.
“What?” he asked when the door was shut and they were sealed in together.
Ghost dropped into a chair. “I wanted to see your smiling face,” he said, but heard the hard bite to his voice. He wasn’t truly in the mood to mess with the guy. “I wanted to put you on notice,” he amended.
Fielding’s head lifted, gaze wary. “Notice of what?”
“Some things are in the works for us. And we’re gonna need some leeway. Legal-wise.”
The sergeant braced his forearms on the desk and sighed deeply. He’d lost his do-gooder shine after the accident with Amy Richards. He could be indignant and self-righteous no longer, and it was killing him, slowly. Bloodshot eyes, gray skin, wrinkled uniform shirt. He didn’t smell like liquor, but he bore all the marks of a drinking man.
“You’ve got to be kidding,” he said, tiredly.
“I never kid, Vince.” Ghost allowed his voice to soften, not really liking the idea of grinding the poor guy into the dirt when he was already down. “I don’t need you to do anything. Just look the other way, if you start feeling vibrations underfoot.”
