Page 31 of Lord Have Mercy Part Four: Big Son

Walsh turned to him, and found him in the act of pushing up his clear protective glasses, frowning.

“What was that for?”

Walsh walked over to rest his hip against the table where the finished legs were laid out in a neat row. “Where are Tenny and Reese?”

Albie had a good poker face. The sort of practiced blankness that only someone with a better poker face could recognize. “What?”

“Where are they?”

Albie shrugged. “You tell me. Last I heard, you said they were out collecting intel.”

He was convincing. Very convincing.

Walsh said, “Neither of them are answering their phones.”

“Maybe they–”

“Died? No. They’re dodging my calls. And I think you know why.”

Albie snorted, incredulous. But Walsh caught the fast flicker of his fingers, tapping a rhythm against the leg of his jeans before he stilled them. “Right. Because Ten and I are so close.”

Which was exactly the reason Tenny would have reached out to Albie. Someone knew what was happening, that was just sound logic. You didn’t go offline without informing someone. Albie was a perfect choice: less emotionally involved in this whole shitshow, but still family, reliable, and, most important of all, the seeminglastchoice.

Walsh picked up one of the finished table legs. It was dainty, a series of curves and flares, barely a half-inch thick in places. “This is nice,” he said, flatly.

“Oh, come on,” Albie said. “You’re not serious.”

Walsh caught his gaze, held it, and smashed the leg over the edge of the workbench.

Albie’s jaw tightened, tendons in his neck leaping. “Yeah?” he asked, once the clatter of the snapped-off wood had stopped ringing against the cement. “You want to talk about keeping secrets?You, King? Is that how you want to play this?”

“Whoa,” Shane said belatedly somewhere behind Walsh. “Guys, what–”

Albie gathered the other two legs and snatched them over to his side of the bench, his glare hard and accusatory. “Are you going to acknowledge what I just said? Or keep being a little bitch about it?”

“Are you going to tell me where the fuck Tenny and Reese are?”

Albie should have looked ridiculous, clear safety glasses pushing his hair back, plain navy t-shirt liberally doused with sawdust. A fat curl of wood clung to the collar, like the world’s biggest flake of dandruff. Albie’s gaze narrowed, jaw working side to side.

In all their history together, Albie had never stood to-to-toe with second-oldest brother. Walsh could still remember him big-eyed and baby-faced when Phil finally dragged him into Baskerville Hall the first time. When Walsh had still been the cool older brother, Albie’s gaze skating off of him rather than sticking each time he clocked him leaning up against the wall in Phil’s study. He’d gotten stronger, surer of himself; contributed, now, as competent and forthcoming as any of them, without all of Fox and Tenny’s dickhead tendencies. He offered his opinions – but he didn’tpush. Didn’t challenge.

He did now, when he shoved his shoulders back, exhaled slowly, and said, “Ghost isn’t really dead.”

Shane made a predictably melodramatic noise.

Walsh sent Albie his sternestleave it alonelook, while his heart did kickflips in his chest. Shit. Shit, of course someone suspected. Aidan was too naïve and trusting, and Walsh hadbeen so caught up in his relief that he’d bought the story, he hadn’t stopped to consider…

But, no. This wasn’t suspicion. Albie’s glittering look said heknew.

“How did Tenny find out?”And is he with Ghost now?

“What?” Shane demanded, and was ignored.

For a split-second, he thought Albie might smirk. Delighted in finally having the upper hand. But he frowned instead, debated a moment, jaw still working, and then said, “He heard it from Maggie. That’s where he and Reese are: they’re escorting Maggie and Ava to New Orleans to join the search for Remy.”

Walsh had always prided himself on the controlled, thoughtful nature of his violence. He wasn’t an impulsive man: didn’t punch walls or hurl glasses to the floor. When he fired his gun, it was out of necessity, and never excessive.

The sudden, overwhelming urge to break something was one that would disturb him later, but which he could do nothing but manage, now.

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