Page 88 of Secondhand Smoke

“So we’re together,” Michael said tightly. “Now what? Do I gotta go home and build a fallout shelter for my woman to live in?”

It was literally the most he’d ever said at church, and it grabbed everyone’s attention.

“I’ll bring a shovel,” Mercy said, “and after, we’ll do my place.” They shared a look of true camaraderie. Two psychos appreciating one another’s violence and seriousness.

Aidan had a brief moment of thanksgiving: Sam’s name hadn’t been on the list.

But his beloved stepmother, little sister, his best friend, his brothers – they were in the enemy’s crosshairs. His stomach lurched.

“Ellison’s backing one company that’s got only one project in the city,” Aidan said. “Why would killing all of us be the next step?”

Ghost actually gave him a considering face, like he appreciated the question. “I don’t think it is,” he said. “This is just him getting organized. He hasn’t made a move against us yet, but he’s planning to, and if we resist too heavily, he’ll start dropping bodies.”

“JesusChrist,” Rottie said, raking his hands through his hair in agitation.

“We need to make the first move,” Walsh said, words laced with smoke. He was working on the last nub of a cig with one hand and toying with the pack with the other, ready to light the next one up.

“Obviously,” Fox said. He had taken on his brother’s usual mantel of calm, nursing a Scotch and watching them all with cool blue eyes.

Candy grinned. “That’s why we brought the Fox.”

“And I’ve got a real good lead on where to start,” Ghost said, withdrawing something from inside his cut. He unfolded it to reveal a map, locations picked out in red. “Ellison’s properties,” he explained. “In and around Knoxville.”

“Where’d that come from?” Briscoe asked.

But Aidan knew. Surely they all knew.

Well, those of them who knew Tango’s secrets, anyway.

“A friend,” Ghost said evenly. “Now, I say we don’t waste that gesture of friendship…”

And plans were decided.

~*~

The semicolon was vastly underused in modern society, Sam decided as she sat grading essays in her cramped little office at work. Between the choppy, unimaginative sentences, and the run-on sentences, she had little hope left for the English education of future generations.

The last two nights, completely distracted by Aidan, she’d neglected work. This evening, she’d decided to stay a little longer at the school, force some discipline on herself. So far, she was having to reread sentences three and four times, red pen hovering impotently over paper that seemed to swim in and out of focus.

She had a boyfriend. And she really, really wanted to be home with him, rather than here with crappy essays.

Someone rapped on her open office door and she jerked, hand closing tight around the pen as her head snatched to the door. It wasn’t much of a weapon, but she didn’t figure an attacker would like the feel of it puncturing his eyeball.

All the fight drained out of her and warmth filled her, head to toe, when she saw who stood in her threshold.

Aidan shoved his hands in his pockets and braced a shoulder against the jamb. His grin twisted her insides. “Is that special just for me?” He nodded toward her hand and she dropped the pen down onto the desk.

“I thought you might be the UT Strangler,” she defended, smiling back.

His expression sobered. “Isthere a UT Strangler?”

“No. Not that I know of, anyway. But things happen on university campuses all the time.” She shuddered. Why had she gone there, of all places?

“I scared you,” he said, stepping into the office, standing in front of her desk and tipping a serious look down into her face. “I’m sorry.”

“I get a little absorbed.”In thoughts of you. But she gestured to her papers. “And all of a sudden I hear a sound, and I remember I’m the only one on this floor at the moment.” She shrugged. “I’m a little jumpy, I guess.”

Aidan frowned and glanced through the door. There was a window set in the far side of the wall, a tall one with a pretty view of the nighttime campus, the glowing security lampposts and the shadowed sidewalks.

---