Page 80 of The Wild Charge

Tenny’s voice, crisp, businesslike, and free of his day-to-day petulance bollocks, responded in his earpiece. “One car doing a slow crawl out front – black, tinted windows. No sign of a sniper yet.”

“Good. Let me know when they park.”

“Roger.”

The boys, plus Evan with his Winchester, were staked out on the roof of the hardware store across the street. It was closed for the night, dark, and its roof was flat, with a low parapet that provided plenty of visibility. An ideal vantage point. Despite Tenny’s more annoying traits, Fox trusted him in these circumstances – trusted both of them, and trusted them to restrain Evan if he got too trigger happy.

But a fleeting disquiet shifted under his skin. Something felt a littleoff, and he couldn’t put his finger on it, and that was pissing him off.

He’d worked this sort of case dozens of times. The circumstances, at face value, weren’t what was bothering him. No, it was some other, indefinable factor that prickled along his nerve endings and left him restless.

He checked the time on his phone. Still five ‘til. He expected an early arrival. But–

“Incoming,” Tenny said in his ear.

There it was.

Fox slumped sideways in the booth, hands tucked into his sleeves, hat pulled low, and waited, watching the aisle between the tables. A pair of college kids walked past wearing way too much orange – and, in their wake, the target stalked forward.

Given Luis’s ostentatious, attention-hungry approach to outlawing, Fox hadn’t known what to expect of this contact. The difference, though, was immediate and striking.

The man who paused, clocked Fox, and then approached with a casual slouch looked to be late-fifties, his hair and short beard mostly gray, but his build trim and fit beneath a Carhartt jacket and battered jeans. Whatever weapons he carried – and Fox knew he had them – were well-concealed. He was altogether unremarkable: just a regular Knoxville native out to grab dinner. His only defining feature was a scar, small and thin, at the outside edge of his left eye.

He slid into the booth across from Fox and settled on an elbow, body angled so he could view the tables across from them. “No offense,” he said in that low, smoke-roughened voice from the phone call, “but you’re not exactly Luis’s type.”

The words sired a little ping of curiosity in the back of Fox’s mind. Either this guy was bluffing, or he wasn’t a one-time contact – he knew Luis. If he did, that could make things more difficult.

He tugged his hat a little lower over his face. Of all the Dogs, he was one who still wasn’t a regular around town. Without his cut, using a fake accent, there was no way this contact would know he was affiliated with the club. “Not exactly the Dom and diamonds sort, huh? Yeah, no. Luis isn’t coming.”

“Oh?” Casual. Smooth. There wouldn’t be any posturing here, no grand acts like with Luis. This was a time to feel one another out, and only give away what was necessary.

“Nah. He’s cooling his heels for a while. The little shit owes me. This is part of his penance.”

The man turned his head just far enough to shoot Fox a raised-brow look.

“You know Luis,” Fox continued. “Mouth always writing checks his ass can’t cash. He’s gone and done it this time, our boy. He’s gotten himself deep in the hole.”

The man frowned, slightly. “I thought he was messing around with the Lean Dogs.”

“He was. And without a crew to speak of, either, which was why he called in a favor with me.”

“And now he owes you.”

“He owes me something big, my friend. That’s why we’re talking.”

The man slanted another look across the aisle, shifting in the booth, bracing – for bad news, or a quick getaway, or maybe both.

Fox leaned low over the table, and dropped his voice to a whisper. “I want in.”

The man’s gaze snapped back; his eyes, Fox noted, were a striking shade of blue. “In on what?”

Fox made a show of rolling his eyes. “Oh, come on. Are we gonna do this?” he asked, still whispering. “Are we gonna dance around, and talk all vague and shit? So neither of us gets what we’re after? Nah, man. Let’s cut to the chase, ‘cause I think we can help each other out here.”

He paused a beat, to let the guy brace himself – and he was definitely doing that, now, jaw flexing beneath his beard – but there was a spark of curiosity in his gaze, too.

“Luis says you’re in with these rich New York assholes. That they’ve gotconnections. You make plenty of cash, and the feds can’t touch you ‘cause they’re in on it.”

The man’s frown deepened. “What exactly did Luis tell you?”

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