Page 209 of Fearless

“I appreciate it, man. I owe you one. Personally.” Mercy shook his hand, pulled him into one of those man-hugs she’d grown up witnessing.

And then Mercy was on the bike and she was settling onto her perch behind him, hands on his leather-clad shoulders.

“Ready?” he asked, before the motor turned over.

She pressed her helmeted head against his back and nodded, so he could feel it.

And they were off.

Forty

The doorbell chimed at seven-fifty-three. Maggie was ready, sitting at the table in jeans, white silk shirt, and her favorite slip-on around-the-house shoes, little leather clogs Ghost told her were too ugly to be seen out of doors. She took one last swallow of her coffee, stood, and made her way through the house toward the front door.

Harry sat on the sofa, watching the morning news, and was half-out of his seat. “You want me to get that?”

“No, just sit tight,” she told him. She didn’t doubt, at this point, that he’d come running if she yelled.

It had been a tense twenty-four hours since she’d waved Ava and Mercy down the street yesterday morning. It was one thing to send her little girl off to college; quite another to send her off to hide in the swamp while the disappearances of two rich boys blew over. She kept waiting for the phone to ring, the bell to chime, some imaginary bomb to go off. Her first thought, as she’d listened to the doorbell, had beenThank God. Waiting was terrible. She’d rather face interrogation than sit on her hands and wait for something to happen.

The man on the front step looked like he was Aidan’s age; close-cut hair and a broad face that didn’t lend itself well to expression. He was dressed in jeans and a sport coat, sneakers. She didn’t miss the shiny flash of a badge at his belt.

Maggie put a benign smile on her face and opened the door by a third, so she filled the threshold. “Can I help you?”

His eyes did an up-down sweep of her before landing on her face. She knew what he was looking for: visible tattoos, tits hanging out, lit cigarette and a bad dye job on her hair. All the old clichés. She took satisfaction in the veiled surprise in his gaze. Her tats were nobody’s business but Ghost’s, and she’d be damned if she walked around looking like a hot mess.

“Margaret Teague?” he asked.

“Maggie,” she corrected, wrinkling her nose.

“Margaretis such a grandmother name.” Which, given the state of things with Mercy and Ava, she’d earn that title at some point in the near future.

He lifted his brows.

“Yeah, that’s me. And you are?”

“Agent Grey, ma’am, FBI.” He brushed his coat away from his waist so she could see the badge better. “I’d like to have a word with your daughter. Ava.”

So this was Ronnie’s handler. Maggie kept her face carefully blank.

When she was sixteen, a cop had come to the door of Ghost’s apartment once, wanting to have a look around, trying to make an unwarranted search. She’d told him no – she knew the law – but she’d been quivering and chewing at her lip, knees shaking. When Ghost got home, she’d thrown herself into his arms.“I was so scared,”she’d admitted, tears streaming down her face.“Is he going to arrest you?”

“No, baby,”Ghost had assured.“He’s just being a pain in the ass. Don’t ever be afraid to tell somebody like that to get the fuck out.”

She’d never done that – she prided herself on having more grace than her man – but over the years, she’d learned to go Teflon-faced and let all these boys in brass just slide right off her. She should play poker, she reflected. Nobody could crack her.

She let her smile widen at the corners, a move he hadn’t expected, judging by his responding frown. “I’m sorry, but I’m afraid you missed her. She just left for school ten minutes ago.”

“Where? At UT? Can I find here there now?”

“You probably could.” She propped her shoulder in the doorjamb, casual, relaxed. “But I have no idea what her schedule is or which building she’s in.”

His frown deepened. “What about after school?”

“Sometimes she comes by my office, sometimes she comes home, visits with her friends.” She shrugged. “You know how kids are; they get grown and you can’t ever pin them down anymore. But if you have a card to leave, I can have her call you.”

He shoved both hands in his pockets, clearly pissed off at this point. Not so elegant, this agent. “I’m also looking for Ava’s boyfriend, Ronnie Archer. I understand he came to Tennessee with her.”

“Ronnie.” Maggie smiled. “Sweet kid, really. Not ever what I expected her to bring home, what with growing up with these biker boys and all.” She chuckled. “And here comes clean-cut Ronnie with his real Polo and his hair gel. He’s adorable.”

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