Page 135 of Lone Star

“What are you smiling about?” Candy asked, flashing her a smile of his own as she turned away from the garbage can and glanced up to find her brick wall of a husband standing in front of her. She’d never stop being amazed at how quietly he could move through the house, given his size. Must have been all the boxing that made him light on his feet.

“Oh, nothing,” she said, fighting to keep her smile from getting any wider. She was still riding that giddy, swooping-stomach feeling that had settled over her at the hospital, during their waiting room heart-to-heart.

“Uh-huh.” He caught her around the waist and reeled her in close, bending his head so his lips were against her temple when he spoke. Whispered, “You look like a woman who had a real good time last night.”

His warm breath in her ear, and the memories his words conjured, sent a delightful shiver down her back. Goosebumps broke out all down her arms, a sharp prickle that nearly hurt, and the sudden jump of her pulse flared in all the sensitive places where he’d left his mark. The finger-shaped bruises on her hips and thighs, the delicious tenderness between them.

She searched for something clever to say, and just murmured “Derek” instead, her body softening automatically against his, every part of her seeking connection.

He chuckled. “Damn. You’re too easy.”

“Just for you.” She reached up and found his nipple through his shirt, gave it a deft little tweak. “Ass.”

He stepped back, still chuckling, and cupped her face in one big hand, expression slowly going serious. “I know you love this, you little hellcat.” His smile fell away altogether. “But I want you to promise me something.”

Her own smile slipped. “That sounds foreboding.”

“I don’t mean it to be. But I’m serious. If something – if shit gets really bad – and God willing it won’t. If you get in a tight spot, if I’m not….there.” It sounded like his voice nearly cracked. “I know the club’s important to you. I know it’s your family, and you’ve grown up in it, and it’s your world. But you’remyworld.If it comes down to saving yourself, or helping the club, I want you to be selfish, little baby thing. I want you to get the hell out. Run and don’t look back.”

The look in his eyes, the earnestness, the love, put a lump in her throat. “That’s a difficult promise to make.”

“Make it anyway. Please. For me.” His thumb stroked her cheek, and she loved, loved, loved this man, so much it hurt to breathe.

She took a shaky breath. This wasn’t about him denying her, or pushing her away, or limiting her involvement with the club. He’d never been that way. This was about him loving her, and not being able to live with knowing his life had brought about the end of hers.

“Okay. I promise.”

He kissed her – not on the lips, but on the forehead, a long, chaste press of lips. She swore she felt his heartbeat through it. “Thank you,” he murmured, before he pulled back, his voice rough.

She just hoped it was a promise she could keep.

~*~

Cantrell and his people had taken over the downtown police precinct. A familiar face greeted them at the door when they pushed through the airlock: Officer Martin Jaffrey, their usual liaison.

“Candy,” he said, expression grim, jaw set. “Would you like to make this make sense?”

Candy had been ready to murmur a hello and ask to be taken to Cantrell, but he paused, and turned to give Jaffrey his full attention. “You’re not assisting?”

“No. The feds won’t even put any of my guys on hospital detail. They’re not sharing shit,” he said in a low, tight whisper.

Candy flicked a glance to Fox, who lifted a single brow in what could have been surprise, or inquiry, or disinterest. “Are you guys cooperating?” Candy asked. Past the desk sergeant, he glimpsed a young agent in a suit coming toward them, her strides brisk and her expression closed-off.

Jaffrey, when he focused on him again, wore a sheen of sweat across his brow, a vein throbbing visibly in one temple. Stressed, worried. “Of course we’re fucking cooperating. You wanna tell me why the feds are working with you guys and keeping us in the dark?”

Candy didn’t get a chance to answer – not that he could have. The agent arrived, heels clicking on the tile. “Mr. Snow, you can follow me,” she said.

Candy shot Jaffrey an apologetic look and fell in behind her. Her hair was pulled back in a high, tight ponytail that swung back and forth like a pendulum as she walked. Several of the detectives in the bullpen shot her dark or suspicious looks as she led them back toward one of the large conference rooms.

Uneasiness prickled down the back of Candy’s neck, but another glance toward Fox was unhelpful.

The conference room they were shown into was the best in the precinct, Candy though, still modest, but with a wall of blinds-covered windows and a long, gleaming table running down its center. A whiteboard occupied one of the short walls, and magnets had been used to pin up photos, arrest records, mug shots, and maps. The table was littered with files and paperwork. Cantrell stood at a table in the back where a coffee station had been set up, stirring the contents of a foam cup, the end of his tie pooling on the tabletop, his expression tired and faraway.

This was the command center.

Cantrell straightened and turned to face them as they entered: Candy, Fox, and Blue. Everyone else they’d left behind to take shifts on the clubhouse and the hospital. His gaze shifted over the three of them in turn, and he bobbed a fast nod that wasn’t pleased, but more grudgingly accepting.

What aren’t you using Amarillo PD?Candy wanted to ask. Instead, he said, “Looks like you just need some red string and then you’ll have a whole conspiracy theory roadmap,” and gestured to the board.

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