Page 15 of Lone Star

He watched her slip back out of the office with a professional assurance that it was nice to meet Melanie, but that she needed to get back to work, already wording a proper explanation in his head. She wasn’t the jealous type, but Mel had swept in like a typhoon tonight, louder and more emphatic than he remembered, and there was no mistaking Michelle’s expression. She wasn’t happy.

“Ah, shit,” Melanie said after a moment, and Candy tore his gaze from the closed office door – it wasn’t helping him, anyway. “I really stepped in it, didn’t I? First I act like the poor thing’s the help, then I open my big fat trap.” She held up her hands. “Still not a bit of grace.”

Back when they were together, even when she was at her most pressing, Candy had never found himself annoyed with Melanie. There were big guys who liked to reinforce their size, and big guys with patience in spades; he was of the latter. But he felt a quick surge of annoyance, now. “Poor thing?” he asked, brows lifting. That phrase paired with Michelle’s blank look of surprise from earlier rubbed him the wrong way.

“She’s married to you, isn’t she? And having to give birth to your giant baby?” Melanie smiled, familiar, and wide, and eager to share a joke. Just like always.

He let out a breath and smiled back. He was just feeling a little protective with her pregnant again, that was all. “Yeah. Don’t know why she puts up with me.”

“Well, when you cut out all the illegal biker shit, and the constant worry that you’ll wind up dead on the news, you’re kind of a catch. Wrinkles and all.”

He swept a hand back through his hair – which was still thick and sandy-gold, thank you very much. Why was everyone in his life – himself included – dead set on acting like forty-seven was over the fucking hill?

His retort died on his tongue, though, as he watched Melanie’s face fall.

Her eyes closed a moment, and she massaged the back of her neck, a habit he remembered from twenty years ago, suddenly, vividly. “I meant it,” she said, when she opened her eyes, voice soft now, serious. “This is as bad as I’ve ever seen Pacer. He’s so spooked. The news said something about – devil-worshipers, or something?” She frowned. “That’s not true, is it?”

“I sure as shit don’t think so. This was” – he debated, then sighed, and pressed on – “I’ll spare you the details, but this was rough, Mel. It wasn’t like a robbery gone bad, or bumping off a witness. This was ugly, and violent, and personal.”

Her throat moved as she swallowed, and her eyes went white-rimmed with panic. No tears, though; still wasn’t a crier. He’d always appreciated that about her.

“The feds are saying ‘cult’ because they haven’t found a way to accuse us of this yet. But this was personal. And it was organized. Whoever did it had help.”

She swallowed again, and nodded, visibly absorbing the information. “I thought y’all took care of that cartel, though.”

He felt his brows go up again. “How’d you know about that?”

“Pacer told me,” she said, without apology. “Not any details, obviously. But he knew y’all were warring with them. Said you knocked them down. And the boss dying in prison made the news. You’re not as secretive as you think you are, Derek.” A note of reproach in her voice, then. Still reprimanding him for keeping things from her back then? He didn’t know, and didn’t want to dwell on it.

“Yeah,” he said. “We took care of them. There’s not been any rumbling from that corner.”

“So who, then?”

Still pressing, still digging, after all this time. “Mel, if I knew, I wouldn’t be sitting here right now.”

Her gaze narrowed, in the particular way that he remembered, a sharpening, as the busty blonde good-time girl façade cracked and allowed a glimpse of something many-sided that lurked beneath. “And what good does sitting here do?”

The air in the room seemed to chill. This was why he hadn’t mourned letting her go: the way it had felt, at moments, like they weren’t on the same side at all. Like he’d done something wrong, and she was the cop on the other side of the interrogation table from him, never accusing, but slicing the kinds of innocent-seeming openings that he could stumble through and break his neck.

He sat back in his chair, careful to keep his voice even and unbothered. “Last I checked, you didn’t like the sorts of things I did. What’d you call it? ‘Pretending to be badass?’”

She smiled tightly. “It’s not the sort of thing a girl wants to hitch her wagon to, but if you’re going to be violent for a living, you might as well keep my brother safe doing it.”

Nine

There was no reason not to head home the moment she finished dealing with the hostess station computer fiasco, but Michelle lingered afterward, leaning heavily on one elbow, queasy and tired, until she watched Melanie pick her way down the catwalk and head for the door.

Melanie tossed a wave and a broad smile in Michelle’s direction. “It was so great meeting you! Good luck with all the baby business, hon!”

Michelle waved, but fell short on the smile.

Beside her, Janet murmured, “That’s a man-stealer right there.”

“Jan,” Michelle reprimanded – weakly.

Candy showed up a few minutes later, shrugging into his jacket, gaze concerned before it found hers and held there, assessing. “You about ready to go, baby?” His knitted brows said what his tongue had been too graceful to:you look tired.

“Yes. Let me grab my coat.”

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