Page 194 of Lone Star

His frown deepened.

“I might not know you personally” – though she felt confident she’d figured out more about him than he knew about himself; men were so easy that way – “but I know a little something about your kind and our kind. The law enforcers and the law breakers. There’s a very thin line between them, actually. Someone who wanted to stay on the enforcement side would have killed Reese at the hospital. Or at the very least arrested him. When you showed up here with him instead, I figured your badge-carrying days were numbered.”

His frown smoothed, and he stared at her, blinking, dumbfounded.

Better not to gloat, she decided.

“What are you gonna do now?”

He shrugged and looked away again. “I’ll figure it out.”

“Can I ask why you told me this?”And not Candy, she didn’t say.

Another shrug. “I guess I just wanted them all to know” – a tilt of his head back toward the clubhouse and its inhabitants – “that I’m not interested in trying to arrest anyone. I won’t be a problem for you guys anymore.”

Jenny grinned. “You sure about that?”

He frowned again. “What? Yeah, no, I won’t.” Resentful, now.

She chuckled, and patted him on the shoulder as she turned to head back inside. “That wasn’t the kind of problem I was talking about.” She reached the door, and paused. “Being a prospect involves a lot of mopping and drink-fixing,” she offered over her shoulder, “but it’s only a year. And sometimes they even let you sit at table.”

She could hear his little indrawn breath of surprise as she slipped inside, smiling to herself.

~*~

Michelle had awakened that morning expecting exhaustion of all kinds, but had instead found that, while physically sore and tired, her mind was sharp, her wells of mental energy refilled. It was lunchtime now, and she set a plate of cold sandwich triangles down on the sanctuary table with something like eagerness before dropping into her chair.

Jenny reached for a ham and swiss. “You’ve got that look Fox gets.” She smirked.

“Which look?” Michelle feigned innocence.

“The one that heralds lots of work and trouble,” Eden said, not unkindly, and reached for her own sandwich. “Though in this case, I think I already know what you’re going to suggest.”

“Propose,” Michelle corrected. “I want to propose–” The words threatened to dry up in her mouth; a sudden, unexpected shyness. She’d never hesitated to offer an unfiltered opinion when it came to club finances, or anything pertaining to the bar. But this was different – this would be a collaboration, a venture for which she didn’t have all the answers or resources, and which would require participation across multiple chapters of the club.

She glanced around the table, at the three gazes fixed on her, all their own blend of expectant and encouraging.

She took a deep breath, and spoke the words she’d rehearsed in her head while she brushed her teeth this morning. “All that’s happened has got me thinking about the club’s larger role. About its potential, really. We look out for ourselves, take care of each other. We handle threats against the club. In London, we were in the habit of taking jobs that people brought to us, everything from rescue missions, to info gathering, to hits.”

Axelle’s brows jumped once onhits, but she didn’t interrupt.

“But this week…I don’t know. I guess it highlighted just how much good doesn’t get done the legal way. And I was thinking about the good we could do. All these girls – their families reported them missing to the police…but what if they’d reported them to us, too?”

She watched that settle with all of them.

Eden was the first to speak. “You’re talking about the club taking a proactive stance in combatting crime?” She sounded more interested than skeptical.

Jenny was a harder sell. “I’m all for vigilante justice. But there’s such a thing as being too visible.”

“I know,” Michelle said. “And I’m not saying we take out adverts in the paper. But these girls, the four who are missing: I want us to find them. Us.” She circled a finger around the table, indicating the four of them. “Our own project. And then we sic the guys on whoever we need to.”

“Oh,” Axelle said, quietly.

“We start small, and we start careful. We have the girls’ names. We contact the families, ask the sorts of questions, and chase the sorts of leads that the police can’t. There’s nothing in place to stop us; no rules we have to follow.”

“Except not getting caught,” Jenny said.

“Except that. If we start helping people, word will spread. And the next time some great big cartel-level threat starts to rear its head, the FBI won’t be the first ones on the scent: we will. We can stomp out bad actors before the public even knows about them. We preserve the club, preserve our profits and our way of life. And help the poor people who keep getting caught in the crossfire.

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