“Their daughter, Leah…” Carter said.
“Ah, yes, the lovely Miss Cook. I’ve employed her. It seems I’ve done quite a lot for the Cooks lately.”
Shit. “She and I are…”
“Something of an item?” Ian guessed, brow arching again.
“I–”
“Aw, come on,” Mercy said. “Don’t be like this.”
“Like what?” Ian asked, all innocence.
“Quit acting like you’re gonna tell us no.”
“What am I supposedly saying no to?”
Carter caught Mercy’s elbow in his ribs, and blurted out, “We’re trying to keep an eye on all the old ladies and kids. Everyone attached to the club is gonna need protection right now, until we find who’s terrorizing us. Leah’s worried about her parents, and we’re already spread thin. I don’t know if we can keep a regular watch on them.”
Understanding dawned delicately across Ian’s sharp features. The eyebrow went up again. “And you want me to provide protection for them.”
“Technically, if you’re going to own the building, and you want the coffeeshop to stay, you’re just looking out for your own interests.”
Ian smiled. “How practical of you. I like that. Well. Let me think.” He leaned back in the booth, arms folded, and glanced out through the window, presenting them with his elegant profile.
“Why no one’s put you in a Bond movie yet, I have no idea,” Mercy quipped.
“Hush, you.” Ian turned back to them, hands steepling beneath his chin. “Alright. I’ll appoint them guards.”
“You will?” Carter asked.
“Yes, of course.”
“What’s the catch?”
“No catch. Consider it a favor to a friend.” He slid out of the booth. “In exchange for bringing Felix along to this little meeting. He’s quite enjoyable to look at.”
Mercy laughed, delighted.
Ian winked at him. “Come, Bruce.”
The big bodyguard slid out of the booth behind them and fell in behind his boss.
“Tell Miss Cook her parents are in good hands,” he said, and left them.
~*~
Marie couldn’t seem to stop shaking her head, an absent back and forth that left her short, ash-blonde hair swinging over her ears. Her eyes were wide, and she kept touching her mouth. “Oh my God. That poor family.”
“Do you know the Connors, Mrs. Cook?” Ava asked. She had her mother’s perfectly consoling tone down pat. Leah was honestly a little jealous of it.
“No. Well. A little,” Marie amended. “I’ve seen them around. The wife comes into the coffeeshop a good bit, and we’ve exchanged hellos and small talk. This is just devastating.” She took a deep breath, and her gaze focused, shifting between the two of them. “And this is about the club?”
“It’s about some really sick people who kill and sell kids,” Leah said, firmly.
“Who want to intimidate the club and keep it from stopping them,” Ava said. “They know the Dogs could stop them, so they want to scare us, and make us look bad around town.”
“This is related to the graffiti at Bell Bar, then.” She might have been a cheerful person, but she wasn’t a slow or stupid one. Her gaze sharpened another fraction. “Is that why Carter’s been hanging around? Leah, I thought you and he – I’m sorry, honey.”
