Page 7 of Lord Have Mercy Part Four: Big Son

The agent sighed through his nose. “Agent Daniels. They said you’re the president of this club?”

Walsh nodded. “As of yesterday, yeah.” He gestured toward the chair again. “You want to sit?”

Daniels debated visibly, then sighed again, and took the chair. Gave a low, harsh exhale of relief when he landed.

Before he could gather another breath to continue, Walsh said, “Agent Daniels, let’s not muck around here. My club’s in a state of mourning right now. We’ve lost two members in a week, a child’s been abducted, and we’re all just trying to hold down the fort.”

Daniels frowned.

“Your people tossed this clubhouse, and all our personal homes two weeks ago, and found nothing. No one’s beenarrested. Why are you here again?” He didn’t have to fake his exhausted exasperation.

Daniels didn’t answer right away. He glanced around the office, chewing at the inside of his cheek. He was younger than Walsh had at first thought: his receding hairline and pouchy eyes made him look fifty at first blush, but he was probably closer to Walsh’s age. Walsh could relate: he didn’t look so young anymore either.

When his gaze returned to Walsh, he said, in a careful tone, “Kenneth Teague killed a man in the offices above Bell Bar.”

“He did,” Walsh said, “in self-defense. Witnesses can confirm that the man – Big Jonny to his friends – was paid thirteen-hundred dollars to kill Ghost. The woman who lives across the street saw the attack.”

Daniels tipped his head, gaze sharpening to something approaching keen for the first time. “You sound like a police officer.”

Walsh shrugged. “I’ve spent a lot of time with them. And I’ve already spoken to Chief Fielding about what happened to Ghost, so I know this isn’t the first time you’ve heard this.” He gestured between them. “Not to mention: Ghost’s dead.” The word was chalky in his mouth. He heard his voice dip and waver and cleared his throat. Let Daniels think it was grief: he was prematurely grieving his tenure with the club, because once everyone learned that he’d lied…

Daniels leaned back in his chair, mirroring Walsh’s pose. “The Lean Dogs MC is not a social club.”

Walsh stared at him.

“Felix Lécuyer and Kenneth Teague’s deaths weren’t sad accidents or misfortunes.”

“You’re right. They were the direct results of Agent Harlan Boyle’s professional misconduct.”

A muscle in his cheek flickered. Then his lashes. Acknowledgement. “Agent Boyle–”

“Kidnapped an eight-year-old boy,” Walsh said. “Not a club member, not a criminal, achild. Is the FBI prepared to address that?”

“At this time, there’s no evidence to suggest that Agent Boyle had anything to do with–”

Walsh sat forward suddenly, and slapped both hands down on the blotter. Daniels jumped gratifyingly. “You can search this place top to bottom,” he said, low, and biting, andcold, and Daniels actually flinched. “You can search my house, and all our houses, and you can waste everyone’s goddamn time all over again. Pull our financials, whatever you want, I don’t give a shit. But man to man? You and I both know Boyle took that boy, and my guess is that you’re only here because your masters know it, and they can’t find him.” He sat back again, hands braced on the edge of the desk. “So you do what you have to do here. But you need to be very aware that, no matter what your boss told you, no matter who or what he’s covering for, if Remy Lécuyer doesn’t come home, or if he’s found dead, you’ll be lucky if the worst that happens to you is getting fired.”

Daniels lifted his brows. “Is that a threat?”

“It’s a reminder that this club has a very wealthy patron, and access to New York’s finest attorneys. I think” – he steepled his fingers together, and saw Daniels glance at his rings – “that you need to decide which is more important: Boyle, the FBI’s reputation, or the life of a little boy.”

~*~

The agent who’d cornered Aidan at the bar – Tango lingering on the next stool, politely refusing to move when she asked if she could speak with Aidan alone – was smoking hot, and knew it. Her pinstripe pantsuit hugged her miles-long legs,and her makeup looked professional. With her dark hair pulled back in a high, sleek ponytail, and her lavender shirt unbuttoned more than was professional, she cocked her hips and hit him with a low-lidded glance through her lashes. She – or someone higher up – had decided weaponized sexuality was the way to break him.

Unfortunately for her, she lookedwaytoo much like Tonya to inspire anything more from him than an inward shudder of revulsion.

“Mr. Teague.” Her voice was stern in a hot-for-teacher way. Totally put-on and inauthentic. Aidan had spent too long with Sam – and her honest, sweet sincerity, her gentle eye-rolling, her fond exasperation – to be hooked by it. She aimed a manicured nail at her chest. “You’re the vice president of this club?”

“Of this chapter, yeah.”

“That’s a recent promotion, isn’t it?”

Since they’d had advance warning that the feds were on their way, Walsh had pulled him aside and said, “Listen. They don’t have shit. They’re hunting for Boyle, and they’ll slap one of us in bracelets if the chance presents itself, but they’ve got bollocks. Don’t give them anything. Be pedantic; walk them in verbal circles. Fuck with them just enough to get away with it.” His brows had lifted.Do you understand?That was Walsh’s game, Fox’s, Dad’s…Christ,Dad…but not Aidan’s. Usually.

But the VP patch on his chest was burning straight through his cut, and his shirt, and branding his skin, weighing every breath, flaring with each beat of his heart. The time for slacking off and cutting up was over. Time to start playing the game – the real game. The one that had kept people like Walsh at the top of the food chain despite all the obstacles in his path.

“Yesterday,” he said, and sipped at the beer Chanel had set down before him moments ago.

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