Page 30 of Shaman

“A husband and wife.”

“JesusChrist.”

Ash let out a fussy little cry and Ghost fitted the bottle to his mouth. “They hurt him, Mags,” he said, his look asking for understanding. “Him and Kev both. Back when they were kids.”

Maggie sighed. “Shit.” But really, this wasn’t a surprising turn of events. “You care about him.”

Ghost shrugged. “He’s got no family anymore. At least not any that he thinks wants to know him.”

She smiled. “So the scary British gangster is actually one of your strays, huh?”

He made a face. “Come on. You know what he went through. What am I supposed to do?”

“Whatever you think is right. He needs you.”

“Hmm.”

“You know, that’s one of my favorite things about you – the way you’re a good daddy. Even to the boys who aren’t your own.”

He let his head fall against the back of the chair, gaze hooded. “I told him we’d go day after tomorrow. First thing in the morning.”

Maggie nodded. “We’ll have Christmas dinner when you get back.”

A tired, crooked grin tugged at his mouth. “What would I do without you?”

“Go hungry, for starters.”

They laughed together, in the warm dark, content to be everyone’s parents.

Eight

At four-forty-five a.m. on Christmas Eve, Ian knocked on the back door of the Teague residence, Alec at his side.

They were expected. The moment he pulled his hand back, the door swung inward, revealing Maggie Teague, her hair and makeup done, but wearing a bathrobe over her pajamas. Fuzzy white slippers embroidered with holly berries and leaves adorned her feet. She looked admirably alert, given the hour.

“Come in, come in,” she said, waving them into her kitchen. “Coffee?” The smell of it was rich in the air.

“Please.”

“Go ahead and sit down. His royal grumpypants is gonna be a minute.”

They did so, Alec stifling what sounded like a laugh in his hand.

Maggie smirked as she set steaming mugs in front of them. “Just to warn y’all, he isnota morning person.”

“We’ve already had the pleasure of finding that out, I’m afraid,” Ian said.

“Hmm.” Her gaze moved over both of them, taking in their dark, conservative clothing…and coming to rest on Ian’s loose hair. “You got a hair tie or something?”

“Oh, yes. Well.” He hiked up his sleeve to show her the elastic on his wrist.

She pursed her lips. “That’ll never do. You’re gonna go kill somebody, you can’t have your hair in the way. Hold on.” She left the room with brisk strides.

Alec’s eyes bugged. “She knows what we’re doing?”

Ian sighed. “I suspect that woman knows everything about everything.”

She returned a moment later with a bottle of styling cream, a comb, and an assortment of small elastics. “Here, turn around and straddle the chair.”

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