Page 128 of Lone Star

Eden flicked a smirk. “We are British.”

“You’re annoying right now, is what you are,” Jenny said.

The smirk turned into a true smile – a tired one laced with the edginess of the hunt. Michelle felt an answering smile tug at her own mouth, and when Eden’s gaze flicked to her, they shared the barest of nods. They got it; they felt the same thrill. Axelle loved driving, that was her adrenaline rush, and Jenny would never shy away from whatever ugly or dark things the club required of her.

But it was different for Michelle and Eden. They thrived on this.

“It’s a guess,” Eden relented, resting her weight more fully against the edge of the counter. “An educated one. Organizations like the Chupacabras have been using human drug mules for years. Young people – innocent looking people. Girls, young women, young men. Sweet faces. You can’t send some big hulking, tattooed thug across with a fistful of balloons in his belly, because he’s under all sorts of suspicion anyway. But the young people, the sweet ones…and then, at the end of the line, after they’ve made their deliveries, they can’t exactly be turned loose, can they? So they sold them off to the highest bidders, or were kept on as pets. Then they realized you could sell flesh for just as much money as you could sell drugs.

“The cocaine we found at Dr. Gilliard’s wasn’t the piddling amount smuggled along in digestive tracts. It’s clean, and uncut, which means if they’re selling humans – and Gwen says they are – then they’re moving them separately.”

“Like I told Michelle,” Jenny said. “Gwen could have lied.”

Eden nodded. “Which means we need to question her again. And the other three.” She surveyed them all with a glance. “I expect the boys have something daring and bike-related in the works. I say they leave the talking to us.”

Michelle took another sip of decaf to keep from grinning like a loon. “Seconded.”

~*~

Fox was the last one in the chapel, a steaming mug and a lit cigarette balanced in one hand, the other holding a half-eaten piece of toast.

Candy fought to keep his knees from bouncing under the table. “That’s all of us that are here,” he said, reaching for his own coffee, glancing down both sides of the table. Reese had refused to sleep, so they’d sent him to the hospital with Gringo to keep watch. He now faced Colin, the twins, Talis, Blue, Cowboy, Albie, and now Fox, settling into his usual seat down at the end. Everyone wore some version of the same expression: tired, but wired.

“I just talked to Cantrell a few minutes ago,” he said, fingertips drumming on the tabletop. He had to move insomeway, and it was either this or crack his knuckles. “He’s got Dr. Gilliard in an interview room and he’s not sending him on to the hospital until he spills his guts.”

“My money says he wasn’t just a hostage,” Blue said.

“Mine, too. We–”

A knock sounded at the door, and all heads whipped that direction, chairs creaking.

Nickel opened the door, the wireless handset for the landline held almost gingerly away from him, like it was a bomb about to go off. “Um,” he said, scanning their faces before settling his gaze on Candy. “He says his name’s Luis, and that you’ll want to talk to him.”

Mouths opened, breaths were drawn in.

Candy made a sharp motion, and mouthedshut up. A few chairs creaked, but no one spoke. His pulse beat high and fast in his ears, like right before a fight. Adrenaline bolted down all his veins. He swore, somewhere, a bell was dinging.

He did curl his hands into fists, this time, felt the old, reassuring crack of his knuckles; glanced briefly down at the old silver scars there, where he’d damn near broken his hands on men’s teeth – the teeth had broken, so many of them, scattered across the wet pavement like Chicklets.

He took a breath and reached for the phone. “Thank you.” His voice sounded remarkably calm. Everyone had always said that, before every back-alley brawl, every for-show match he’d fought at club parties:you look so calm. Like you’re out for a stroll.

But he’d felt hectic as a shaken beer inside. Fizzing and frothing, ready to inflict violence. He felt like that now. A feeling he tucked up his sleeve like an ace.Let me get my hands on you, he thought, as he took the phone.You won’t be winking at anybody then, Luis.

Nickel ducked back out, and Candy put the receiver to his ear. “Good morning,” he drawled, laying his accent on extra thick.

“Good morning.” The accent on the other end of the line was light and elegant, faintly Spanish. “Am I speaking with Derek Snow?”

“In the flesh.” Every eye in the room was trained on him, his boys still and unbreathing as statues. Only Fox looked bored, but that was affectation born of long habit. His eyes were interested. Candy almost thumbed it over to speakerphone, so they could all hear, but in the next second was glad he hadn’t.

“Yes, it would seem I am. I thought you might try to get one of your Dogs to impersonate you, but it’s really you, I can tell.”

Tension streaked down Candy’s spine, like a guitar string being plucked. His voice stayed even. “How do you know my voice?”

A chuckle, low and smooth as velvet. “I have my ways.”

Whatever his face was doing, it caused Fox to shift forward at the end of the table. Very clearly, he mouthed,Don’t make the first move. It was like fighting: you had to let the other guy wear himself out before you delivered the killing blow.

“Mr. Snow,” Luis continued. “I want to apologize for not calling sooner. Though, in all fairness, Ihavebeen sending you messages.”

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