For the second time that night, he held her tight, and indulged in stroking his fingers through the silk of her hair.
Eleven
The Valium flattened Jamie. She resisted all attempts to wake her for soup, and then groaned and batted Cass away the next morning until she took a wooden spoon to a pot. Then she shouted with alarm and jackknifed upright so fast she whacked her head on the bunk above.
Now, she stood listless and disheveled by the door, chewing a granola bar while Cass laced up her boots.
Shep stood over her, arms folded, which stretched the short sleeves of his faded blue t-shirt until she thought the fabric might rip. He smelled like soap, hair still damp from the shower, shirt clinging to the center of his chest where he hadn’t toweled off sufficiently.
It was a sexy portrait ruined by the entirely parental third degree he was giving her.
“And what are you not going to do today?”
“God.”
“What are you not going to do today?” he repeated.
She rolled her eyes as she stood. Put every ounce of petulance into her voice when she said, “Not go anywhere near Sig or any of his friends.”
He nodded. “And what are you going to do if any of them approach you?”
She smiled. “Pull a knife on them.”
Jamie gasped.
Shep stared at her.
“Fine. I’ll walk away and call you.”
He nodded again. “Good girl.”
She made a face because that phrase spawned two very different internal responses, and she wasn’t sure which was more embarrassing.
“Okay, fine, we’re gone.” She turned and gestured to Jamie, who let them out into the hall. When she went to pull the door shut, it stopped short. When she turned back, Shep was following them, shrugging into a jacket, cut ready in one hand. “Where are you going?”
“I’ve got official shit to do.” He shooed her out of the way, shut the door, and pocketed his keys. Then the cut went on, and though she missed the t-shirt view, there was somethingrightabout seeing him flying the colors. Every Dog looked twice as tall and four times as mean in their cuts; that was just science.
But she’d been around far too many cuts to get distracted now.
“You’re not following us to school, are you?”
“Do you think I just sit around here waiting for you to need me for something? This club is a business, you know. I’m not following you anywhere.”
~*~
He followed them to school. Loitered out of sight on the sidewalk until they were in an Uber, and then got on his bike and tailed them to campus. He thought he’d been sneaky, but Cass shot him the middle finger as he rode past, which he of course had to return.
But then he really did have business.
Maverick had called while the girls were getting ready earlier to say that one of their dealers, Ned, was having a problem with a high roller, and needed backup. Mav encouraged him to bring Pongo along, but Shep didn’t need freckled backup. In fact, after a night spent tossing and turning in a tear-stained shirt, he was looking forward to the chance to rough somebodyup. Especially if it was a rich prick who’d lost sight of the underworld power structure.
Ned worked in the Park, two benches down from a playground, so the constant foot traffic of parents, nannies, kids, and ice cream and hot dog vendors masked the comings and goings of buyers. It was a pretty spot, laced with tree limb shadows, with a view across a field dotted with bobbing white snowdrops this time of year. Shep shoved his hands in his cut pockets and approached at a casual walk, hugging the edge of the sidewalk to avoid a screaming tangle of kids headed for the swings at a gallop.
He spotted Ned straight off, his grungy Steelers stocking cap and Army jacket with paint stains on the cuffs. He was seated on his usual bench, head tipped back as he surveyed the knot of men who stood around him, hands held out in clear supplication.
A few more paces, and he saw that the men wereyoungmen. Early twenties, probably. Punks.
And one punk in particular was familiar.
