Page 33 of Fearless

Mercy put on his best, brightest grin, knowing how the moonlight struck his teeth, as he turned and regarded the man over his shoulder. “That’s just genius, Mike. We can troll the river all night, and our stabber friend can listen to the motor coming, echoing off all that water, and I’m sure he’ll just jump out and offer himself up to us.”

Michael stared at him with what could have been hatred…or total indifference. You could never tell with the guy.

“I grew up on the water. Trust me. The last thing you want is to get in it right now and make yourself a target. Cancel the boat. I’m going on foot.”

He’d taken a dozen strides when Rottie caught up with him, minus Ares.

“I sent the old man back,” Rottie explained. “He’d never admit it, but he doesn’t get around too good anymore.”

“Did he have to put the leash on Michael to get him to move?”

Rottie snorted a laugh. “You can’t afford to hate him if you’re patching back in. He might be dull as bathwater, but he’s useful.”

“Yeah,” Mercy said noncommittally. “Alright, let’s shut our traps. Can’t sneak up on anyone running your mouth.”

They lapsed into amiable silence, two hunters in the dark. The water gave off that almost imperceptible water sound, the way it breathed and shifted and worked to hide the secrets of its depths.

Mercy guessed them to be about a mile from Dartmoor when they found the boat. A small bass boat with a dinky outdated outboard had been run aground and abandoned. Rottie found a set of boot prints that disappeared into the long grass. Mercy searched the boat, but found nothing aside from water droplets and a caking of mud from the boot soles. Without the forensic magic of the less-than-Dog-sympathetic police force, there was no way to know who’d been in the craft, or where he’d gone after.

“Had to be the Carpathians,” Rottie said, hands at his waist, surveying his lost trail with a scowl. “Fuckers are back and getting bold.”

“Ghost filled me in,” Mercy said, nodding. “They’re my guess too.”

“If that’s who we’re dealing with, I’m glad you’re back in town,” Rottie said.

Mercy nodded again, gaze going out across the river. He didn’t say so, but he’d been thinking the exact opposite. If this was the Carpathians, his presence would prove more of a hindrance than a help.

He thought that all the long walk back to the clubhouse.

Eight

Skin retaining the heat of the shower, Ava sat cross-legged on the edge of her bed, combing out her hair; she usually washed it in the mornings, but tonight, she’d wanted the stink of smoke and beer out of it. She ran the comb through the long wet lengths of it again and again, staring mindlessly at her left foot where it peeked from beneath her right knee. The little alligator tattoo on the delicate top of it, right on the bone.

Across the hall, the shower jets pounded against the curtain as Ronnie got ready for bed.

The soft scuff of bare feet on the carpet heralded Maggie’s arrival before she stepped into the doorway and leaned a shoulder in the jamb, arms folded loosely across her middle. She smiled softly, her beautiful face sleepy, the lines around her eyes and mouth more visible. “I know it makes me a bad mama, but I do love that tat.”

Ava stuck her foot out in front of her on the folded-back comforter and stared at it in the full light. “Ziggy did a good job.” Though small, the gator was well-shaped: the squat legs, ridges down its back and tail, the raised head and open jaws.

“That he did.” Maggie glanced over her shoulder and toward the bathroom, then back, her smile becoming wry. “Does Ron-boy know what it means?”

“No. I don’t plan for him to find out.” She widened her eyes for emphasis, and Maggie mirrored her expression a moment, until Ava scrunched her nose and grinned. She sighed. “Everybody’s got a past, right?”

“Yours is just a lot scarier than most girls’.” Maggie’s expression softened, her tone becoming both serious and sympathetic. She had this way, this magic gift of feeling, of comforting and cautioning at the same time. She’d never been a mother for lectures. Grammie Lowe said it was because she’d been a teenage mother with no idea what she was doing. Ava thought it was because Maggie had known from the start that the two of them would need to be friends and allies, women in this sea of outlaw men.

“I saw Ronnie standing by himself,” Maggie said. “And Leah said you went to get a drink, but I didn’t see you at the bar.” Her brows lifted.

Ava didn’t answer; she figured she didn’t have to. Her eyes went back to the inked gator, before she could stop them.

“I just don’t want you to get hurt again, baby,” Maggie said. “Ronnie seems like a nice, oblivious, decent guy.”

“He is.” Another sigh. “I’m not going to mess that up.”

“Good.” Maggie straightened. “I’ve got the sofa all made up for him.”

Ava glanced up sharply.

“What? Did you think your daddy would let you sleep together under his roof?” She snorted. “Aidan’s not the only one who thinks you’re still twelve.”

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