Carter stood and grabbed the rag he’d left on the seat of the bike he was working on; wiped his hands as his pulse gave a quick thump-thump. “What girl?”
Mercy turned toward him, leaned back against a tool chest, big arms folded. “High school kid. Seventeen. Cheerleader, prom queen, Beta Club type. She disappeared two weeks ago. Went to a party at a friend’s house, and never came home. Cops found her car on the old mill road a few days later, no obvious signs of a struggle. If our pal Connors at Flash was telling the truth” – Aidan scrunched up his nose in a skeptical face – “then the kids at the high school are blaming it on the Dogs. We’re a convenient scapegoat, apparently.”
He thought of his interaction with the football team the other night: the taunts and what he’d thought were joking accusations.Pedophile. But they were young guys, and young guys were always full of bullshit and bluster. No one had really thought that he…that the Dogs…had they?
He thought of Elijah, his head tipped back, his gaze hooded, watchful – careful.
“What?” Tango asked, a notch forming between his pale brows.
“Nothing. Just. I was waiting on Jazz to come out of the school the other night and the football team was practicing. They were a little less than friendly with me.”
“What’d they say?” Aidan asked, already bristling.
“Nothing,” Carter said, firmly, because the last thing any of them needed was Aidan lying in wait in dark parking lots scaring teenagers and proving everyone’s suspicions correct. “But they didn’t exactly seem happy to see me there.”
Tango glanced at each of them in turn. “Is someone messing with us? I mean…is it more than just graffiti? Is someone trying to get the city stirred up?”
“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Mercy said, grimly; though a smile touched his mouth when he cracked his knuckles. “Won’t be the last.”
“That Luis guy,” Tango said, hand tightening on the wrench he held.
“Hey, he may have messed with Texas,” Aidan said, and then snorted at his own, unintended joke. “But it’s a whole different story up here. He can’t mess with us.”
“He can try,” Carter said, anxiety stirring in his gut.
Mercy lifted a hand in a placating gesture. “Fox said he’d put Eden on the missing girl, and see if she can find anything out. Maybe she could do some snooping at the school, too. Her or Axelle. The administration over there won’t have a hard-on for getting her in trouble like with all you Teagues.” He gave an up-nod in Aidan’s direction, grinning.
Aidan shrugged. “You’re the dumbass who married into us.”
“What about Jazz?” Tango asked.
Hearing him mention her, remembering that Tango had once been her chosen favorite, was always jarring. “What about her?” Carter asked. He sounded more defensive than he should have, he knew.
“She’s going into the high school for her GED classes, right?” Tango’s expression had gone soft and kind, like it had the other day. Like he could see right inside Carter and read the conflict, tension, and unhappiness in him.
He hated it. “Yeah. But she’s not in with the kids.”
Tango nodded. “Just thought it might be a way in.”
Carter frowned…and then realized something. “Um. Actually. I might have an in of my own.”
Fourteen
Carter promised to ask Elijah about the schoolwide Lean Dog sentiments if the opportunity presented itself – but his main focus wasn’t about club business at all, but about his genuine offer to help with his throwing.
They’d traded texts the other night, and made tentative plans to meet this evening. When Carter texted a possible location – a park with a big soccer field at one end, Elijah texted back a simpleok. Not exactly enthusiastic, and Carter began to doubt. But when he parked his bike in the lot beside the field, and glanced down the gentle slope toward the flat expanse of grass, he saw the Elijah was already there, wearing workout gear, spinning a ball up into the air and catching it again and again. He glanced over his shoulder, once, at the sound of Carter’s Harley, then turned back and resumed his spinning and catching.
Still not comfortable with the idea, Carter decided; still doubtful and distrustful. He didn’t blame the kid.
He hadn’t worn his cut; was dressed in shorts over compression leggings, Nikes, and an old A&M t-shirt. For a moment, he wished he’d thought to borrow a club truck, rather than bring his bike – that he looked more like a regular guy and not a Lean Dog, astride all this matte black and chrome – but it was too late for that. He adjusted his backpack, and headed down the tiered gravel path to the field.
“Hey,” he called, when he was in range.
Elijah turned around fully. “Hey.” His expression was smooth and neutral – save his eyes, and those were guarded. He’d tied his braids up in a bun at the back of his head, and a light sheen of sweat proved he’d already warmed up and was ready to jump right in.
That wasn’t all that Carter noticed, though. He saw also that, save his Nike shoes and gym bag, nothing else he wore was outwardly name brand. No big, flashy logos on display anywhere. The bag was school-issue, the same one he’d carried, once upon a time, the cost of which was included in the football sign-up package. He remembered his own father bitching about writing that check:If you don’t win some games, boy, this is the last check I’ll write for you. He’d bought name brand shoes, because bad shoes without the right support were a killer. But his sweats and other gear he’d always picked up at Walmart, with his car-washing, table-waiting, odd-jobbing money.
Modest means had made Carter hungrier for perfection. He wondered if Elijah was the same way.
