Page 136 of Price of Angels

It was a shock. A raw, awful slap from his past, a ghost he’d never thought to encounter again.

“It’s alright,” Aidan said quietly. “It’s fine.”

Except for Tango, it wasn’t.

“The Jessups,” Shaman said, with a graceful frown. “Sorry lot, aren’t they? Maybe half a brain between the three of them.”

Michael sat beside Ghost on a gray leather sofa, hand still on his gun, mind spinning as he tried to digest how unexpected everything about this scenario was.

Ghost said, “There’s just two of them now. The brothers. Something happened to the little one.”

Shaman nodded. “Not surprising. How are they working out for you? Have they pestered you beyond sanity yet?”

Looking bemused, Ghost said, “Yeah, pretty much.” He proceeded to give a brief summary of what had transpired, a summary of their threats about Holly.

“I was led to believe you’d be pissed if I told them to go to hell.”

Shaman rolled his eyes dramatically. “Isthatwhat they said? Damn. The fools. Some people never make good employees. You give them one little job, and suddenly they think youcareabout them.” He frowned. “What did you tell them?”

“That’s I’d come talk to you. And here I am.”

Shaman twitched a non-smile. “And so you are.” He plucked a bit of lint off his jacket sleeve, saying, casually, “You of course may do whatever you want to them. Give the girl back, don’t give her back, I don’t care. Kill them if you like. I assume that’s what happened to the one with the ears – you killed him?”

Ghost said nothing.

Shaman shrugged. “They’re of no use to me, either way. Do what you like.”

“Then why use them at all?” Walsh said. “You sent them to us. And suddenly you don’t need them?”

“They were supposed to report back to me about your operation,” he said, addressing his countryman. “They failed to do so. As it turns out, opportunistic Bible-thumping hillbillies are just that – hillbillies. They don’t make very good informants.”

The fact that he was speaking so openly with them, admitting that he’d wanted to spy on them, unnerved Michael. This was no cackling madman revealing his master plan out of overwhelming pride in the last act of a bad romance novel. This was a civilized conversation. And this was a dangerous, dangerous smart man sitting across from them.

Ghost knew it, too. “So what do you want, Shaman?” He smirked. “The satisfaction of giving us a break?”

He snorted. “Hardly. When I do something just for satisfaction’s sake, it’s a lot more fun that this. No offense, gentlemen. You’re delightful company.”

“Then what?”

He pitched forward, bracing his thin forearms on his thighs, large eyes sparkling. “I want to owe you a favor, Mr. Teague. I want you to do me the favor of dealing with the Jessups, and owe me one in return.”

“That sounds like a shit idea.”

Shaman smiled, flashing white, straight teeth, the effect dazzling, masculine and feminine at the same time. “Oh, but it’s nice. I’m a very good debt to have, you see. I’ve yet to find a favor I couldn’t grant.”

“Yeah?” Ghost was furious, and maybe, just maybe, an appropriate amount of scared.

“I want us to be friends,” Shaman said. “Your club fascinates me, and I want to help you at some point in the future.”

“If my boy in the hall’s anything to go by, your ‘help’ ends up in a lot of hyperventilating.”

Shaman drew back, smile fading. “It’s unfortunate that he responded that way. Kevin…” He shook his head. “Let’s not dwell on that. Let’s shake hands, and part on friendly terms, and look forward to seeing one another again.”

Ghost stared at him a long moment. “I don’t have a choice either way, do I?”

“No, I’m afraid not. But it’s so much more comforting to talk as if you do.”

“Why’d you do that?” Aidan and Ghost were faced off from one another in the parking lot. It was starting to snow again, light, swirling flakes.

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