Page 101 of The Wild Charge

Ghost took a deep breath, and nodded. “Have a safe flight, then.”

Ian could go and do as he liked…but Raven’s brothers were going to get an ass-chewing shortly.

Another of those tight, awful smiles that were all Shaman, and nothing of Ian Byron. “Thank you. But first, I need to speak with Tennyson.”

~*~

Coffee, the egg McMuffin he’d grabbed on the ride in, and the adrenaline rush of approaching disaster had mostly cured Tenny’s hangover. He was in his dorm, boot propped up on his desk chair and tac pants rolled up to she could stow his small knives in the sheaths strapped around his calf, when a light knock sounded at his door and it swept open to reveal Ian.

Tenny froze, knife hovering.

Ian stepped in and eased the door closed, gaze zeroing in on Tenny’s hands. He looked good – gray suit, lavender shirt, sunglasses pushed up on his head and holding his hair back. But his face was drawn in a way that Tenny hadn’t seen it before – a tension, a hollowness about his eyes, though he smiled, softly, and said, “Well. This is a vision.”

Tenny slipped the knife into place, lowered his pants leg, and straightened. He hadn’t expected the man to walk straight into his dorm, and the back of his neck was prickling with wariness, despite him not thinking Ian was a direct threat. Old habits.

“Here to collect Raven?”

It was only then that he noticed Ian carried a file folder in one hand. “And to give you this.” He offered it forward – and it took Tenny a long moment to reach out and take it.

He knew exactly what this was – he hadn’t been so pissed last night that he couldn’t remember calling and asking for intel. Once he took that folder, and opened it, then he would know the truth about Marshall Hunter – or at least some of it. Sometimes, knowing was worse than wondering.

His pulse gave an unhappy leap as he finally accepted it. It was just smooth cardstock, warm from Ian’s hand, but he felt a frisson move up his arm regardless. “Ta.”

“I would tell you to be careful with that.” Ian nodded toward the folder. “But perhaps there’s no need warning a man with that many knives strapped to his leg.”

“You should see the other leg,” Tenny tried to joke, and it fell horribly flat.

Ian’s smile twitched wider – and then he sobered. “Be careful, darling. Call if you need anything.” He left with a flash of auburn hair and a whiff of Burberry cologne.

Tenny contemplated the folder in his hands a long moment, heart thumping hard against his ribs, the skin between his shoulder blades pricking with stress sweat. How much had Ian managed to find? What would this slender little dossier offer him?

In the end, he crammed it into the bottom of his duffel and started stacking ammo boxes on top of it.

Twenty-Seven

A plate heavy with hashbrowns, sausage links, and fried eggs thumped down in front of Fox. “Getcha anything else, hon?” his waitress, a motherly sort whose nametag read BILLIE, asked.

“No, thank you. More coffee when you get a chance.” He was using his Tennessee accent, preferring not to stick out as a Brit amidst the truckers and construction workers and harried mothers seated around him.

She bustled off with a “coming right up,” and he cut into his eggs with his fork; runny yolks, just the way he liked.

He’d decided, after pocketing the note, the one that crinkled every time he shifted and brought the big, block letters flashing through his mind, that he would think better on a full stomach. He’d gone to Waffle House, and parked around the side, where his bike couldn’t be seen from the road. A text from Walsh a few minutes ago had informed him that he, Shane, and the girls had gotten away from the farm safely, so, for the moment, he had nothing to worry about, aside from the prospect of meeting Marshall Hunter under the Gay Street Bridge that night.

He forked egg into his mouth, turned to look out the window – and spotted a familiar, nondescript blue truck parking at the curb just outside. The lights cut off, the doors opened, and it was Reese, surprisingly, who climbed from the driver’s seat. Tenny got out of the passenger seat, sunglasses firmly in place, and tried to shut the door while Evan was opening the rear suicide door and scrambling out.

Fox sighed. He could guess why those three were out driving around. If the feds were headed for the clubhouse next, Ghost wouldn’t want them, or their hardware, anywhere in sight. He didn’t doubt the floorboards of the back seat were crammed with duffel bags.

They trooped into the restaurant, Reese in the lead, and he was the one who scanned the place, and spotted Fox. He didn’t react, outwardly, save a slight lift of both brows.

Fox sighed again, and waved them over.

Tenny slid, grumbling, into the window seat on the opposite side of the booth, Reese taking the aisle beside him. Evan dropped down next to Fox.

Tenny pushed his shades up into his hair to reveal tired, bloodshot eyes. “What are you doing here?” he grumbled.

“Same as you, I expect.” Fox reached for his coffee. “They’ll have it hard enough there dealing with the suits without our sort cluttering up the works.”

Tenny snorted and peered out the window.

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