Forty-Five
Ghost walked into the clubhouse at eight a.m. on the nose. Walsh and Ratchet met him halfway across the common room.
Ratchet held out a steaming mug of black coffee toward him.
Walsh smiled smugly. “We found him.”
~*~
“How did you find him?”
Ghost cut into his steak and watched the juice begin to seep across the plate, red as blood. In their previous meetings, he hadn’t wanted to appear settled; hadn’t wanted to look as if he had time for this man’s bullshit theatrics. But he was feeling content, and he was hungry, so he’d accepted the seat at Shaman’s white-draped steakhouse table and ordered himself a ribeye.
“We started working on it the night we raided his properties,” Ghost said, swallowing. A waiter appeared as if by magic, offering him a fresh beer, and he nodded. When the man was gone again, he said, “We figured out Ellison was the retailer, and not the source for the coke, so my boys started tracing the product back to the sources. PD lab connections,” he said smugly. “Chemical ratios of the coke led back to product picked up off cartel mules coming in at the southern border.”
Shaman looked pleased. “So you put word out to the cartel.”
“Applied some pressure.” Ghost said. “Helped them to understand that Ellison was one man in Tennessee, and the Lean Dogs are an international organization with chapters in eight states. My Cali brothers offered to take their business, and they accepted.”
They were talking quietly, in their corner table by the window, well away from the other patrons, Bruce the bodyguard keeping an eye out. Another man stood on the other side of the glass in a black suit, and had a neck like a Christmas ham. More muscle, Ghost knew. He’d left Michael watching the bikes in the parking lot, eyes peeled.
“I can’t go into the particulars, obviously.”
“Obviously,” Shaman echoed. “But I take it our friend is without suppliers?”
“And after what happened at his home, without manpower. And short a shitload of digital intel.”
What Ghost didn’t tell the Englishman was what they’d found on all the laptops and flash drives they’d pulled from Ellison’s place. Ratchet and Walsh had spent night after night trolling through the files and emails, and had managed to piece together a delivery schedule.
“I contacted his clients,” Ghost said with a shrug, cutting more ribeye. “Informed them I’d be taking over their orders.”
Shaman flicked a quick, sharp grin. “I’m completely impressed, Kenny.”
A prickle of irritation crawled down Ghost’s back to hear this man use his given name. But no sense making a fuss.
“A proper dismantling,” the dealer continued. He lifted a single reddish eyebrow. “But it doesn’t explain how you found him.”
“Getting to that. Remember the real estate developers he was backing? Gannon and Gannon? I had their computer too.”
Realizing that radio silence from Ellison meant he’d gone underground, they’d begun searching in earnest for his hideaway. “Gannon deals in real estate, and G&G was Ellison’s first real investment; they were his ticket into Knoxville, so I decided to put a little pressure there.”
“Business or personal pressure?”
“I got into his email. And his photos. The guy owns a beach house in South Carolina. About two weeks ago, he came down before first light to start the coffee brewing” – Ghost smiled – “and I was sitting at his kitchen table.”
“Oh dear.”
“He didn’t have a location, but he had a phone number. It led us to a bait shop in the middle of nowhere up in the mountains. Best we can tell without getting close enough to spook him, Ellison’s in a cabin, holed up with a woman. Someone does his shopping for him. Real Zero Dark Thirty type shit.”
“The woman will be Monica,” Shaman said. “She’s his assistant among…other things.” He sipped his wine. “I don’t supposed you’ll give me the location?”
“No. You understand.”
“I do. I understand a great many things, Mr. Teague. For instance.” His long hands folded together, sharp chin tucking as he regarded Ghost critically across the table. “I understand that it sounds a lot like you’re taking leaps forward in the drug business.”
Ghost had been ready for this. He shook his head and took a swallow of beer. “No, actually. That’s why I wanted to meet with you. I’m sitting on an obscene amount of product at the moment. I want to give three quarters of that to you.”
The resulting grin was wicked in ways Ghost didn’t want to contemplate. “In exchange for what?”
“Nothing. As a gift.” Ghost grinned back. “We’ll call it a favor.”
“Ah yes. And here we are back to favors.”
Ghost sighed, and dropped his voice another notch. “You know I can’t grant you the favor you asked for.”
In an instant, the composed gentleman façade dropped away, and Shaman became the bitter shell of a creature The Cuckoo’s Nest had left him years ago. “I understand that you were going to let him die in Ellison’s basement.”
Guilt twisted his gut, made the steak restless and heavy. “I love that boy like he’s my own son. I wasn’t going to let anything happen to him. It was war; war has casualties.”
“It has leaders, too. Not all of them equally suited for the task.”
Ghost sighed through his nostrils. “And you won’t know if you are until after the fighting starts. It’s not exactly a vicarious learning experience sort of thing.”
He stood. “I’ll contact you about the delivery. Otherwise, thanks for the steak.”
He was shrugging into his light jacket and cut when Shaman said, “Ken.”
Ghost glanced back over his shoulder. “I ought to hit you in the mouth for calling me that.”
The Englishman’s brief, true smile made another flash appearance, tinged with sadness this time. “Kevin needs help,” he said quietly, “and he’s locked me out.”
The poor perverted bugger. He was just as fucked up, but had learned to disguise it so well. “We’ll take care of him,” Ghost promised. That’s what we do.”
“Hmm. Yes. Take care of them once the disease sets in, you mean. Being a part of your club is like breathing secondhand smoke. It doesn’t hurt at first. But by the time the damage is done, it’s too late to do anything about it. And then it kills you.”
Ghost gave him a long, level look. “That could be said of a lot of things.”
“Yes. But we’re talking about you.” He picked up his napkin, folded it idly. “Your son has his eyes on the president’s chair, doesn’t he?”
Ghost nodded, jaw tightening. “Most likely.”
“For what it’s worth, I think you ought to discourage him. He’d be an awful president. His heart’s much bigger than yours.”
Ghost snorted. “Thanks for lunch.”
~*~
“Now hold still,” Aidan instructed. Like running away was a possibility.
Lainie stared up at him, owlish, and somehow judgmental.
“I know I don’t do this as well as Mama. Just humor your old man, alright?”
He was reaching for the tabs of her diaper when someone knocked on the door. A ripple of unease moved down his back. Usually, it was just a neighbor kid pranking him, but this wasn’t the best neighborhood; you never knew. His reaction added to the growing knowledge that it was time he found his family a real home somewhere.
“Come on.” He scooped Lainie up and went to glance through the peephole. “Oh. It’s Poppy.”
Ghost brought an unusual air of contentment with him into the apartment. Whatever sort of visit this was, it wasn’t dire.
“Hey.”
“Hey.”
“Hi, beautiful,” he greeted Lainie, face softening as he took the baby into his arms and laid her up on his shoulder. One work-roughened hand came up to the back of her head in an expert hold. Lainie seemed pale and too-perfect against the tan skin and dusty old leather of her grandfather. Aidan had thought the same thing of himself when he’d held her in front of the mirror. His tats and scars and crow’s feet in dramatic contrast to the unblemished softness of his offspring.
He smiled. “You’re a total pushover of a grandpa.”
“That’s how it’s supposed to be,” Ghost said. “Sam’s at work?”
“Yeah. I was just getting ready to change her.” He nodded toward the baby.
Ghost handed Lainie back and they walked to the bedroom.
“Is this a social visit?” Aidan asking, knowing damn well it wasn’t.
Ghost watched him lay Lainie on the changing table and tackle her dirty diaper with an amused expression. “Not exactly.”
“Ah…shit, that’s nasty.” Aidan tried not to breathe as he set the diaper aside and reached for the box of wipes.
“Wait till she’s eating food,” Ghost said sagely. “Now that’s nasty.”
“I don’t wanna think about it.”
Lainie didn’t hinder the process, but she didn’t exactly help either, little legs wanting to curl up like bird talons. Aidan was afraid of breaking every part of her, and it took him whole minutes to fasten the new diaper into place.
Ghost nodded his approval, and, voice calm, said, “We found Don Ellison.”
Aidan choked on his next breath.
Ghost slapped him on the back.
“Where?” he gasped, eyes streaming as he coughed.
“Lying way under the radar. In a cabin up in the damn mountains.”
Aidan gulped down the last of his choking fit, anxiety spiking along his nerve endings. He and Sam had been in the mountains, had spent their honeymoon naked in front of a crackling fire. Had Ellison been just down the road? Had they passed his footprints in the snow?
“How long’s he been there?” He leaned a hip against the changing table, reaching idly for Lainie with one hand. Her tiny fists thumped against his palm and her fingers curled against his thumb.
“Walsh thinks since February.”
So maybe they hadn’t been in the company of evil, out there in the woods. Some comfort.
“Five months of work to find the bastard,” Ghost continued. “But we’ve got him.”
Aidan’s heart bounded against his ribs, a hard knocking, like he’d just gone for a run. “Shit,” he breathed. Lainie was squirming, and he picked her up and folded her against his chest. Whether for her comfort or his, he didn’t know. “So it’s time to move, then,” he said, looking at his dad.
Ghost nodded. “We need to finish it.” His gaze went to Lainie, the handful of dark wispy hairs on top of her head. “To keep our families safe.”
Aidan nodded. He knew this; was ready for it. But he’d never felt this kind of fear, this acute, painful hesitation before.
“It’s different, isn’t it?” Ghost asked, face softening. “Once you’ve held them. And you think about going out there and putting yourself in danger.”
“Yeah, it…yeah.”
“I don’t know which is the better father. The one who doesn’t risk anything, who gets to go home whole every night to his family. Or the one who sticks his neck out, so they’ll be safe.” His dark eyes crackled with electric conviction. “I only know which kind of father I am. And I can’t change that.”
Aidan took a deep breath. “Right.”
~*~
“You two taking a nap?” Sam woke him with a gentle touch, pushing his hair back off his forehead.
Aidan startled awake and realized he’d fallen asleep with the recliner fully extended in its kicked-back mode. Lainie lay on her stomach on his chest, snoring and snuffling softly.
“Ah, shit,” he muttered, and moved to sit up.
“No, stay.” Sam patted his cheek and moved to the sofa. “No sense waking her up.”
Evening had come on, while he’d been sleeping, the light beyond the windows purplish with twilight. He frowned as he came more fully awake. “You’re just getting home?”
“Tutoring tonight, remember?” She kicked her pumps off and sighed with relief as she tucked her feet up beneath her. “God, that feels good.”
“Later, you wanna say that for a different reason?”
She smiled, eyes dancing. “Now that’s an idea.” She flopped her head back against the couch. “What did you guys do today?”
There was a limited amount of stuff you could do with a newborn baby. But he could have told her about feeding, burping, diaper changing, the embarrassing amount of interest he’d paid The Price is Right while he tried to coax Lainie into a nap.
Instead, he blurted, “We found Don Ellison.”
Sam jerked upright, eyes popping. “You did?”
He had to swallow. “Yeah.”
She smoothed her hands down her thighs a few times and then got to her feet, pacing along the couch. Then sat again with a deep exhale. “Sorry. I just…” She gestured toward her chest.
“Yeah. I get it.” He was having the same nervous flutters.
Another deep breath, and she was composed, calm. “Okay. You guys found him. That means…”
“Yeah.”
She nodded. “I understand that. You have to do it.” Her voice was wrong, though. “He can’t be allowed to…”
“Sam, baby.” Aidan got to his feet as quickly and deftly as possible. Lainie woke with a little snort and began whimpering. Aidan cradled her close and sat down beside his wife. “We have to finish it with Ellison,” he said gently. “You know that. Probably better than a lot of people.”
“I know.” She reached for Lainie. “Come here, sweetie.” She rested her chin against the top of the baby’s head, pretty face grave with concern. “I do know it,” she repeated. “But that doesn’t make it any less disturbing.”
Aidan put his arm around her – around both his girls – and Sam’s blue-green gaze lifted to his, glimmering behind the lenses of her glasses.
“You can’t go out and die on us,” she whispered. “You’re a dad now. You have to come home.”
She was thinking of her own father, he knew with a pang. Of the way he’d been taken from them far too soon.
“I’ll always come home,” he told her. “I promise.” And he prayed like hell fate wouldn’t make a liar of him.