crooked and delighted. “You’re a lot more fun than the Lean Dogs, aren’t you?”
“Generally. Though I’m afraid they have the monopoly on wild house parties.”
Luis chuckled, and the sound was reflected in the bright spark of his eyes. He was lovely, physically, but Ian found his energy immediately repulsive. “I’m curious why you spend so much time with them, then.”
“It’s a business arrangement,” Ian said, dismissively. “Nothing more.”
“Business. I suppose it was some sort of business transaction when Ghost and Maggie Teague turned up as witnesses to your wedding, then.”
Cold terror pierced Ian, a sharp needle of it. He snapped it off and calmed himself through sheer dint of will, just as he had as a boy, when some fat man was grinding his face down into a pillow.
“It was a civil ceremony,” Luis said. “A bit dull for someone wearing eight-hundred-dollar shoes.”
Bruce’s suit rustled faintly as he shifted his weight.
Alec, silent until now, said, “He’s trying to rile you up.”
Luis’s gaze shifted to him, smile stretching meanly. “Very good. It’s Alec, isn’t it? You changed your last name. Because you’re subservient to him? Or because you wanted to distance yourself from your family in an effort to keep them safe?”
“Mr. Cantrell,” Ian said.
“He’s killed for you, but I don’t know that he’d kill for your parents.”
“Luis,” Ian said, crisply, pressing his fingertips tight together to keep them from shaking. “If you want to play a game of observations and cutting remarks, I assure you that I will win. Perhaps you’d like to save us both the effort and state why you’re here.”
Luis chuckled again, but his eyes flashed with a brief, tamped-down malice. He was intelligent, undoubtedly, and he liked toying with people, but there was a furious, tantrum-prone child in there, too. The trick was drawing it out only part of the way, and not getting them all shot.
“You’re just like they promised – maybe even more. Alright, sure, we can be direct.” He stroked a fingertip along the massive, gleaming silver gun in his lap. It would have looked more at home in Arnold Schwarzenegger’s hand. “I’m here to offer you a deal. Why would you waste your time with the white trash Lean Dogs when you could join us?” He made an expansive gesture with his free hand.
“You?”
“My friends and I.” He plucked a business card from his pocket and flicked it onto the desk.
Ian didn’t reach toward it, but he recognized the yellow, triangle-composed flower design he’d seen on TV: Abacus Consulting.
~*~
Vince came jogging up the sidewalk to meet Ghost. He’d left the parking garage and taken up a post on the corner opposite the building, out in front of Cook’s Coffee. He’d been trying, not at all successfully, to calm Leah Cook’s mother.
“Ghost.” Vince huffed the last few feet and pulled up beside him. “What the hell’s going on in there? A bomb?”
Cops were ushering pedestrians farther down the sidewalks, away from the buildings. Behind him, one was collecting the Cooks, feeding them platitudes and hurrying them out of the blast range.
No one had tried to move Ghost. “That’s what Leah said, when she called, but we have no idea. There’s hired guns in there. Professional tac gear, long guns. The bomb could just be a cover for a raid.”
“Jesus. Jesus Christ.”
A fire engine lumbered into the intersection, its wail deafening a moment before it cut off. A fireman hopped off the back and headed their direction.
Before he reached them, Ghost said, “I’ve got three guys inside.”
“Of fucking course you do.”
“They’ve already sent hostages out. Let’s hold tight, and see what they can do.”
Vince sighed. “Bikers are playing SWAT guys now?”
“These aren’t ordinary bikers.”
~*~
The gunmen moved softly into the room. Leah could hear the brush of carpet, and the creak of their gear, though their actual footfalls made no sounds.
She pressed her fingers to her lips to keep them from trembling, and concentrated on keeping still, keeping silent. Listening.
“Over there,” a low, masculine voice said. More creaking, more carpet brushing.
A commotion, then. A bang. And a scream.
Isobel. They’d found Isobel in the trash can.
“No, no, please!” she cried.
Leah could hear her thrashing and kicking. The can toppled with a plastic clatter.
Leah’s lungs squeezed, and her heart leapt. Oh God, oh God.
“Please! Stop it!”
Gabe shouted, “Let go of her!”
She heard him moving, shoving a chair, trying to rush to her aid.
Then a gunshot.
Isobel screamed.
Gabe let out a grunt of pain.
Black spots crowded Leah’s vision. Oh God, oh God.
She’d never gone for those shooting lessons; didn’t