Page 138 of Lone Star

They’d agreed to divide and conquer when it came to interrogations. Eden and Jenny were camped out in a dorm in back, and Michelle and Axelle had this table in the common room. No one had challenged their ability or the appropriateness of letting them run the questioning, but the Dogs who’d stayed behind at the clubhouse were keyed up: listening, watchful, ready to intervene if they felt it necessary.

From Michelle’s view, their witnesses were too terrified to try anything cute.

“Alright, Benny,” Michelle said, penciling his name in at the top of her paper. “We just have a few questions, for clarifications.” Albie had been the one to knock sharply on his door, and tell him he was wanted for questioning, stone-faced, insistent. He wasn’t as inhumanly spooky as Fox, but Albie could inspire fear when he wanted to.

“Questions,” Benny repeated. He wet his lips, his gaze pinging around the room, refusing to settle on her. He didn’t see her as a threat, she realized; thought she was just a woman and nothing to be worried about. His gaze sought Albie, and Talis, and Jackal, and Victor, and the twins. “Yeah. But. I already answered all those questions–”

Michelle tapped her pencil on the table, drawing his attention. “Benny. Eyes on me.”

“I mean, I–” He looked at her finally, and his brows went up. “Shit, you’re serious.”

“Why would I not be serious?”

“Because…” His gaze shifted over her, sizing her up in a way that left her skin crawling, but he wisely left the sentence unfinished. His throat jumped as he swallowed. “No reason. Um. You have questions?”

“A few,” she said, briskly. “I want to talk to you about the night you were brought before the Holy Father and threatened.”

“Oh.” His eyes widened, pupils contracting; his face paled. “I told Can–”

“I don’t care about your trauma,” Michelle said. “I don’t want the whole story spun out in your own time. I have specific questions, and I expect specific answers. Is that clear?”

“Sheesh,” Jackal said from the bar, a stage whisper followed by a low laugh.

A darted glance proved that Albie was hiding a smile behind his cards.

Benny swallowed again. “Yes, ma’am.”

~*~

Over the years, Jenny had wondered if there was a woman who could convince Charlie Fox to settle down in a long-term, committed relationship. The idea had always seemed a little absurd. She’d enjoyed her own brief time with him, those few lonely nights tangled in the dark and secret. That had been about comfort. About wanting, and being afraid to want anyone she didn’t know, didn’t trust. He’d helped her as a friend, and it had been fun – she still got a pleasant shiver sometimes when she remembered – but she’d never kidded herself about anything so foolish as being in love with him. She’d known what he was about, and she’d entered their arrangement with eyes wide open and heart carefully shielded.

She’d never been able to imagine him with an old lady. Fox loved his family, though he wouldn’t admit it, and his club, and a stiff drink, and making himself useful. But he wasn’t warm. Wasn’t the kind of guy who offered flattery, or flowers. Who cared about birthdays, or anniversaries. He lacked all tenderness. Whenever she thought of him meeting a nice girl – a shy, pretty thing with a Texas drawl – and taking her to dinner, to the movies, bantering with her and drawing her out of her shell, she laughed. She thought of Colin, stupid, and charming, and insistent, pursuing her, making declarations and loving her in the sort of hat-in-hand, you-make-me-a-better-man way she’d only ever thought existed in movies, she knew that Fox would never be like that, not with anyone.

So she was wildly curious about his relationship with Eden.

“Alright, then,” Eden said pleasantly, settling on the footlocker at the end of the bed beside Jenny. She accepted her coffee with murmured thanks and took a long sip.

Gwen was across from them, in the room’s only chair, looking like every kind of mess. Hair unwashed and greasy, face pallid, eyelids twitching in a show of exhaustion and nerves.

“Let’s get started, shall we?” Eden said.

Gwen gnawed at a thumbnail and stared at them, a flat, prey-animal glance, and said nothing.

“We need some more information about the Chupacabras,” Eden continued. Jenny didn’t know her well, but the brightness of her voice was in total contrast to her demeanor an hour ago in the sanctuary. Then, she’d been cool, professional, no-nonsense. She wasn’t exactly saccharine now, but Jenny had grown up in the club; she knew a front when she saw one, even a good one.

She had all thesequestions. Michelle had told her that Eden was former MI6, and that she’d met Fox years ago, in London, when a case had brushed up against the Dogs. Law enforcement falling for the lawless: that was hot.

But was it love? Had Fox lain with her, their heads on the same pillow, and whispered those three words? Had Eden said them, and not gotten an answer? Had she expected an answer? Did she love him, truly, or was it just a tidy, convenient arrangement?

Eden had left a business behind and moved to Knoxville.Thatwasn’t tidy or convenient.

Whether or not they loved each other in the vocal, obvious, mushy way that most people did, Jenny could see the way they made for a good match. There were no stars in Eden’s eyes, no trace of longing on her expression when she looked at Fox. She’d always had trouble imagining him settling down – and she guessed he hadn’t. He’d found a partner, one more like him than most.

“Gwen,” Eden said, “you told me about the trucking companies you used, but you only had one pick-up address: Dr. Gilliard’s place outside the city.”

Gwen held still a moment, her gaze shifting back and forth between them. Then she nodded. “That’s the only pickup address that was ever on the manifestos.”

“Right. But was there another one?”

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