Leah slept terribly, but in a happy sort of way, too giddy with new excitement to settle into a proper REM cycle. She woke every time she rolled over, but would find herself remembering the feel of Carter’s lips against hers, her mouth tingling, and she would smile into the dark. It had been too long since she’d felt this way – about anything – and she wasn’t going to feel guilty for this schoolgirl rush of endorphins and fledgling emotions.
She finally quit pretending around six, and got up, fixed coffee and toast, and watched the sun come up through her living room window.
She was headed toward the bathroom to shower when she heard a knock at her door.
Leah wasn’t, by nature, the most cautious person. But the last few days talking to Carter about threats and missing girls had taken a toll, apparently, because an immediate bolt of fear shot through her when she realized there was someone at the door.
“Don’t be stupid,” she told herself, tightened her robe, fluffed her hair, and walked to answer it.
She paused, though, with her hand on the latch, and stood up on her tiptoes to peer out the peephole. An unfamiliar woman stood on the welcome mat, pretty, dark blonde. She offered a smile and a wave, as if she knew Leah would be looking.
An unfamiliar man stood behind her, and with the peephole’s distortion Leah could only make out tawny hair, and sunglasses – and a Lean Dogs cut.
An imposter? she wondered, full-on paranoid now. If someone wanted to harm the Dogs, committing crimes in ripped-off cuts would be an excellent way to do so.
Her hand tightened on the latch, and a tremor rippled up her arm.
But then the woman called through the door: “Leah? Hi, I’m Kris, and this is Roman. I live downstairs.”
Kris. That was the old lady Maggie had mention. Reese’s sister, Carter had said. Now that she looked closer, she could see the resemblance, in the shape of her nose and brows. The cool blue eyes, warmer on Kris, lit up with her kind, shy smile.
She unlocked the door and opened. “Uh, hi. Nice to meet you.” She couldn’t keep the frown from her voice or face, and Kris immediately winced in a sympathetic way.
“I’m sorry we’re here first thing on a Sunday, but Maggie called, and all the old ladies are gathering at the clubhouse.”
“Why? Did something happen?”
Kris’s wince deepened, and she nodded again. “Somebody got murdered, apparently – oh, no, not one of the boys. But it’s still bad.”
Her heart leaped and then settled, rattled, now. Then another thought occurred. “Wait. I’m not an old lady.”
Kris cocked her head. “But Maggie said you were with Carter.”
Maggie.Oh, you…Leah thought, and made a face. But she said, “Yeah, okay. Let me go get dressed.”
~*~
Elijah stood in the common room with his arms folded, and his hands tucked into his armpits. He was glancing around the room, feet braced apart like he was ready to bolt any second.
Carter took a moment to register the barely-masked fear on his face, and wished he hadn’t come. He’d grown used to the clubhouse over time, and on the surface, it looked like a cross between a home and a dive bar, albeit a spotlessly clean one. But it was easy to see how the old framed photos, Lean Dogs memorabilia, and less-than-clever signs could intimidate a civilian. Elijah clearly didn’t want to be here, but he’d come anyway, and that alone spoke of the importance of his errand.
“Hey,” Carter said, walking to join him, and Elijah’s gaze snapped to him, immediately relieved…and it widened. Took a trip down to his boots and back up to his cut. He’d been dressed like this the first time they met, on the practice field, but in all their training sessions since Carter had been in workout gear, without a black dog logo in sight. Now he had a wallet chain, and a sheathed knife in one pocket, and a gun in his waistband, and he wasn’t Friendly Local Football Star anymore. He was a Dog.
He managed not to sigh. “You wanna go sit outside and talk?”
“Yeah,” Elijah said, gaze making another fast trip around the room. “That other guy said you were at church?”
Carter waved and headed for the door. “Not real church. It’s a club thing. Come on.”
They went to sit on the picnic tables, side-by-side, facing the parking lot: quiet today, on a Sunday, the sun advancing across the pavement, warming it, gleaming off clean bikes.
Elijah folded and then refolded his hands on the tabletop; tapped his fingertips against the wood. “Okay. So.” He sounded nearly breathless with nerves – scared, and not of Carter, he realized, but of something else. He fished out his phone, illuminated the screen, and then set it on the table between them. “My boy Tate – he’s a linebacker – texted me this last night.”
Carter leaned in close to see. It took him a moment to make sense of what he was seeing, and then he realized: it was a plastic baggie full of small white pills. And, printed in the lower corner of the bag, a logo. The running black dog of the Lean Dogs MC.
His reaction was immediate and visceral. Anger speared through him – not personal, but club anger. Outrage on behalf of his organization, and his brothers. It shocked him. “That’s not ours.”
Elijah sent him a measuring look. “Tate said he got it from these two guys who were at Jimmy Connors’ party. They said they dealt for the Dogs.”
