Page 14 of Prodigal Son

Eden seemed unfazed, though, opening up the passenger door and folding the seat down. “Hop in, boys.”

Okay. Well. They hopped.

Once he’d slid across the hot vinyl seat, he was struck by the completely American smell of the machine too: motor oil, Armor All, hamburgers and fries. And when he looked up over the back of the front seat, he got the biggest shock of all. The driver was a woman. Head full of dirty-blond waves, retro Ray-Bans, cute little snub nose, jeans and a white t-shirt. She spared them a glance over her shoulder, shades sliding down so she could peer at them with big blue eyes.

Then she turned to Eden, who was sliding into the flipped-back-into-place front seat and slamming the door. “Thisis the ex you get all weepy about when you drink too much?” She sounded skeptical, and also American. Southern, at that.

“Not now, Axe, just drive.”

The girl shrugged and put the car in Drive. “Alright, I’m gonna ask about it later, though.”

Eden sighed.

The car peeled away from the curb with a squeal.

Five

“Well, this is cozy,” Devin said, peering around the workroom in the back of Maude’s.

“Fuck off,” Albie snapped. “Don’t touch that.”

His father lifted his hands in melodramatic compliance. “Touchy, touchy, alright. I won’t hurt your precious furniture.”

Albie turned to his thrice-damned brother. “Explain.”

Five minutes ago, Albie had been trying to sell an indecisive woman a wingback chair when someone started knocking loud and insistent on the shop’s back door. The kind of racket the police would have made if they’d known he was holding over a million dollars in illegal weapons in his secret bolt hole under the workshop. The customer had given him a startled look, and when he excused himself, it was all he could do not to run to the back door. He’d made sure the trap door was well hidden under its rubber mat, and answered the door with a polite smile on his face…only to find Fox. And Dad. And Eden, and a strange woman he’d never met before.

“Let us in, asshole,” Fox had said, and shoved his way inside.

Dad had clapped him on the shoulder and given him the sort of grin that got him into women’s knickers. “Good to see you, son.”

“Sorry about this,” Eden said as she passed.

The other girl, the blond, gave him an assessing look, but said nothing.

Alright then.

It took him at least two minutes to usher the customer out with his deepest apologies, and then lock the door, turn the sign around, and pull the curtains. He pulled the curtain between the front and back of the shop closed too, just to make sure. Threw all five deadbolts on the alley door.

Now he wanted some answers.

Fox heaved a tired-sounding sigh. “We were at this asshole’s flat and someone started trying to snipe us through the window.”

“Hey,” Devin protested.

“We got away, obviously.”

“Obviously,” Albie echoed. “And then you thought, ‘I know what’s a good idea. Let’s lead these wankers back to Albie’s place.’ Yeah? Thanks for that.”

“I’m sorry, Albie, but I didn’t know where else we could go,” Eden said. She looked, if not rattled, then tired, and that was odd in and of itself. This was serious, then. “They had eyes on Devin’s flat, which makes me think they probably have eyes on my office, too, since I was withholding intel.” She slumped down into a half-finished chair and pushed both hands through her hair. It was the most out of sorts he’d ever seen her.

Albie looked to the blond – well, dirty blond. All sorts of shades, those boho waves all the American girls wore in magazines. “Who are you?”

She gave him a fast, cold smirk. “Axelle Thomas.”

He stared at her. “Axel?”

“Axelle,” she repeated. “Two Es, two Ls.” She was American. Southern, at that. Her accent reminded him of the Dartmoor crew in Knoxville. “And yes, that’s my real name. Blame my dad.”

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