Page 34 of Secondhand Smoke

In the passenger seat, Tango said, “Look, I’m all for catching this guy, but you’ve gotta admit, this isn’t getting us anywhere.”

Aidan glanced over at him sharply. “You’re gonna puss out?”

“Puss out of what? Sitting here? Not clocking hours at the shop?” He looked like hell: bags and shadows beneath his eyes, bristle on his cheeks. He looked tired and pale, like he was slowly fading away. Aidan was half afraid he’d look over one day, and his best friend would turn into vapor, ghosting off on the wind. “I need to work. We both do.” His lifted brows were meant to drive the point home, but fell short of convincing, the way his whole face sagged with exhaustion.

“You don’t have to sit here with me,” Aidan said, only half as harsh as he’d set out to be.

Tango shrugged and sent his gaze through the windshield, toward Hamilton House.

“Ian not letting you sleep?” Aidan asked, not really wanting the answer, unable to keep quiet.

For the first time, Tango didn’t react with defensive denial. “He always lets me sleep,” he said quietly. “He makes me eat when I don’t want to.”

“Then why is being with him killing you?”

“I’m not with him. I’m not with anyone.”

“Kev, if this is about Jasmine–”

“Look.”

Aidan snapped around, binoculars at the ready.

They were parked alongside the broken-down carriage house in back of the mansion, screened by a few branches Aidan had dragged into place. They had a narrow view through the windshield, but given the position of the carriage house, they could see anyone going into or out of the mansion through the front or back doors. They’d been staking Hamilton House out for a few weeks now, and so far had seen nothing.

Their luck was changing today.

It was a crisp day, and the man Aidan clocked heading up to the porch wore a hoodie, the hood pulled up, cinched tight. Average height, a little on the small side, head ducked so his face wasn’t visible. He walked with his hands in his pockets, his gait hurried.

“The dealer. Gotta be.”

Tango sat up tall, tension tightening his frame. “What do you wanna do?”

He considered a moment – truly considered. A year or so ago, he would have jumped to immediate action. But…he waited. Weighed their options.

“Let’s go in the back,” he decided. “Real quiet, and see what we can see.”

The rear porch steps groaned the moment they hit them, and Aidan winced, balanced up on his toes as he navigated the sagging boards gracelessly. By contrast, Tango skipped all the way up to the door without a sound, damn his light dancer feet.

Why no one had ever bothered to lock the house up, he didn’t know. Probably all the copper pipe and radiators had been pilfered. The back door opened with a touch, swinging inward and stirring thick clouds of dust. They drew their guns and ghosted down the hallway, pausing before they reached the ballroom, flattening themselves to the wall. Listening.

“…nah, I’m here. No. Uh-huh. Sure…” The guy in the hoodie was obviously on the phone. His voice echoed strangely in the wide room, and Aidan couldn’t tell much about it thanks to the distortion.

“…I’ll check in after. Yeah.” Low beep of the phone hanging up. Shuffling of feet.

Aidan looked at Tango.Yeah?

Yeah.

They charged out of the hallway together. “Hands up!” Aidan shouted.

The guy spun, gaze snapping to the barrels of the guns trained on his face.

Hisfamiliarface.

A face Aidan had last seen in this same scenario: holding a gun, those eyes flooded with sudden terror and understanding.

His muscles turned to water. “Greg,” he gasped, and Tango made a similar sound beside him.

---