Page 38 of Lone Star

“No,” Ten said, disgusted.

With a sinking feeling, Fox realized he wouldn’t be able to leave the little shit behind. No one here was equipped to handle him. Mercy had done well with Reese, but Reese was an obedient creature; eager to please, willing to take direction. Tenny was acting like a spoiled show pony whose new owner didn’t know which buttons to press. Intimidation wouldn’t work on him.

Maybe, Fox thought, almost desperately, what he needed was a chance to get his hands dirty. Sitting idle certainly hadn’t served him.

“I’m going out of town,” Fox said. “A murder case; the feds can’t make heads or tails of it.”

Tenny uncoiled the slightest fraction; a barely noticeable sign of something like real interest, finally.

“And you’re coming with me.”

He expected to be mocked; expected a protest or some snide comment.

But Ten hopped to his feet and said, “When do we leave?”

~*~

The next obstacle was trickier.

Axelle’s GTO was parked in Eden’s driveway when he pulled up, and it was Axelle who came to let him in when he knocked at the locked door.

He’d always thought her pretty in a casual, natural sort of way, but he couldn’t help but notice that she wore a little more eye makeup than normal today; her hair looked like it had been curled on an iron, rather than left to its own tumbled, wavy devices. She wore low-heeled boots and a cropped suede jacket that looked new.

“Eden, the asshole’s here,” she called cheerfully over her shoulder, when she saw that it was him.

Fox grinned at her. “Do I smell a new perfume? I wonder if Albie’s partial to floral or citrus scents.”

“Bite me,” she said, with a fake, saccharine smile, and led him down the front hall to the kitchen.

The room, with its musty rooster-patterned wallpaper, had been transformed into a kind of command center for the day. Glossy, blown-up photos laid out on the table, notebooks open, a half-dozen pens uncapped and waiting beside notes already taken. On the peninsula that separated the eat-in area from the kitchen proper, Fox noted several Chinese takeout boxes, and a host of dirty mugs. The air smelled of sesame chicken and strong coffee.

Eden was at the table, poring over the photos, one leg tucked up beneath her bottom in the chair in a pose that struck him as girlish and unguarded – it nudged at a tender place in his chest that he refused to name.

She glanced up when he entered, smiling readily, if not downright warmly. “Hello,” she said, soft, tired-edged, as if they were alone.

Axelle went to poke around in the fridge in a very obvious attempt to give them a semblance of privacy – a thoughtful little gesture he hadn’t expected, and which made this all the harder.

If things had been different between them –more stable, that unhelpful voice in the back of his head piped up – telling her that he was leaving town would have felt more like simple news, and less like he was running away to alleviate his boredom.

Not that he was bored.

(He was hopelessly bored.)

“Hey,” he said, and Eden’s smile fell away.

“That’s certainly a look you’ve got on,” she said, wary now.

The fridge slapped shut, and Axelle slid into her seat across from Eden, looking at him too – more critically, gaze narrowed.

Great.

“Oh, yeah, well,” he said, hating that he sounded dodgy and nervous – that was very unlike him. “I came by to say that I’m going out of town for a while. Leaving tonight.”

Her brows jumped, a quick moment of shock played across her face, but then she smoothed it down. “Club business?”

“A little. Mostly family. Michelle called me last night: bad dealings in Amarillo have her spooked, and she could use an expert eye on the situation.”

“Expert,” Axelle said with a snort.

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