he? Especially when he’s working. Can make a mountain bow down to the sea.”
I sat back to enjoy this. Maybe I’d get a good look at a part of Mr. Private I hadn’t seen before.
Zay finally made it over to Hayden. I was right. Hayden was about six inches taller than Zay, and twice as broad at the shoulders. He made Zay look tiny, towering over him like that. Hayden would make a hell of a Viking, swinging a battle-ax or carrying a cannon over one shoulder as he stormed the castle gates.
He shook Zay’s hand, then wrapped him in a huge bear hug, slapping him on the back so loud, I winced as it echoed through the room.
“Good to see you, boy!” Hayden’s voice carried over the rest of the conversations filling the place. “Looks like you’re about to be put through your paces! Think you’re up for it?”
Zay stepped back and answered, but his response was so quiet, I couldn’t pick it up, not even with Hound ears.
Still, Hayden laughed. “That’s what I like to hear. Got some new kind of fire burning in him, doesn’t he, Maeve? What you been doing to this boy while I’ve been gone?”
“Excuse me,” said a man behind Shame and me. “Are you Daniel Beckstrom’s daughter?”
Danger. That was all I knew. Shame tensed from head to foot, both hands off the table now. The cheese knife was missing.
I inhaled, taking in the stranger’s scents—the plastic of too much hair gel, and a deeper note of something faintly metallic. He was not familiar to me. I turned.
He was maybe midthirties, shorter than me, looked like he knew his way around a gym, and gave off that professional broker, banker, doctor vibe. Wore a Nike T-shirt under a Windbreaker, and jeans with tennis shoes. Clean haircut. Clean-shaven. Small, close-set brown eyes. I’d never seen him before in my life.
“Your father was a good man. I’m very sorry for your loss.”
If he thought my father was a good man, my opinion of him just took a dive. Still, I had manners. “Thank you. And you are?”
“Mike Barham.” He held out his hand. I didn’t take it.
“Nice to meet you,” I said. “If you’ll excuse us, I don’t want to miss out on the main event.”
He glanced at Shamus and gave a halfhearted attempt to look surprised. “Shamus Flynn,” he said. He didn’t sound angry, but hate radiated off the man. “I didn’t know you were in town. Still living with your mother?”
Shame didn’t turn. Didn’t twitch, didn’t look at him.
Mike’s smile slipped. He walked around to stand next to Shame, which did not seem like a very smart thing to do. “You still mad at me about the position up north?” he asked. “You know the best man won. Plus, you’d never make it out there without your dear mother to protect you. It’s dangerous out in the real world.”
Something inside Shame coiled and burned, ready to leap. One more word out of Barham, and I was pretty sure Barham would have a cheese knife stabbed in his throat.
“Blow me, Barham,” Shame said.
Barham shook his head. “You are a spoiled little boy, Flynn. Your father used to tell me you were his biggest disappointment. He used to tell me he had wanted a son, not a fag.”
Shame rolled his head back and smiled up at him. “Tell me more about my father, Mike. Please do.”
I’d never heard that tone out of Shame. It was sweet, nice. And scared the hell out of me.
“You,” I said to Mike Barham with enough Influence to stun a rhino, “move away. Now.”
He jerked, and glared at me. He opened his mouth.
“Go,” I said.
He did as I said, because he couldn’t not do it. Under my Influence, he turned and walked away. He ended up across the room, where he sat at another table, and threw me angry looks.
Whatever. I was not going to just sit there and listen to him insult my friend.
It took Shame a full five minutes to finally let go of the cheese knife under the table, and place it back on the table. He didn’t look at me. He didn’t say anything. Just rolled his head down and stared off on some middle distance.
“So, he’s a prick,” I said. “Want to talk?”
He shook his head imperceptibly. I didn’t push him on it. I’d always thought Shame was straight. Not that it mattered. If Mike had wanted to make Shame angry, he’d done a bang-up job