Ink (The Haven Series) Page 3

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa – hang on a minute here,” Sam protested, looking downright offended by the accusation. “We had to go four fucking feet before that fat bastard would even fit for a start! But fuck ‘sake, boss, me and Colt didn’t exactly earn these patches last week! You send us to do a job, we damn well do it right. You know that.”

  “I thought I did, but how else do you explain someone getting the jump on us less than twelve hours later? Hell, barely six hours later!” Will slammed his fist down on the wood in frustration.

  “I ... I dunno,” Sam admitted, before his usually handsome face hardened in determination. “But I’m damn sure gonna find out. And when I do ...”

  Taking Will’s unconvinced shrug as both another reason to prove himself and as a dismissal, Sam strode out of the office, letting the door slam behind him. Although even that, together with his thunderous expression, failed to deter the woman whose eyes lit up when she spotted him crossing the clubhouse.

  “Sam!” she called, catching his attention for the split second it took for him to register her as his neglected companion from the night before. Polly. No, Poppy. Definitely something with an P ...

  “Not now, darlin’.” He bore the kiss that sent her tongue snaking into his mouth, but brushed her off as she tried to curl a hand round his bicep. The playful Romeo who’d had no trouble sweet-talking her into bed was gone, to be replaced by the no less frequently seen stern sergeant – every bit as attractive to the club’s female following, but a hell of a lot more focused. “Duty calls.”

  “Aww, but Sam ...”

  But the pout didn’t sway him. He knew she’d still be there when it suited him, brush-off or no brush-off. They always were.

  ***

  She heard the front door slam and footsteps heading straight towards the bedroom, for a brief second almost resenting having agreed to give him a key. Sure, she had a key to his place too – but that was different. He had so many apartments and always seemed to be living out of a suitcase. This was her home.

  Still, she sighed and forced herself to relax. It was good that they were ... comfortable with each other. Out of that false phase of always having to pretend to be perfect. Letting the mask slip, even if it was only a little.

  “Honey, I’m home!” he called cheerfully, footsteps now approaching.

  “In the kitchen,” she called back, throwing a smile over her shoulder as he appeared in the doorway. She did care about him after all – it was just a novel experience, having her personal space invaded on a semi-regular basis. “Hi,” she said softly, watching him loosen his tie.

  Callie couldn’t deny he was a handsome man, with his slicked back dark hair and sharp suits. Those twinkling blue eyes that crinkled up into laughter lines at the edges and his smooth charisma had been the attraction in the first place after all.

  But she forced herself to turn her attention back to the stove and the pot she was stirring. “You’re back early.”

  “Mmm, hi yourself ...” he crossed the room to coo in her ear. His hands settled on the patch of bare skin between her sweatpants and vest top, his lips kissing eagerly down her neck. “Hey, you know you don’t have to do that for me, gorgeous.”

  “I kinda like cooking,” she said, trying to wiggle out of his over-enthusiastic embrace. “And starving us both didn’t seem like the best plan - Michael! It’ll burn if I don’t stir it ...”

  But, with one hand already sliding under the thin fabric of her top, he kept up his ministrations as he eased the spoon out of her fingers and shut off the heat. “So we’ll order in. I bought you something and thought I could help ... unwrap it. It’s upstairs.”

  “Michael,” she tried to sound practical, rather than flat-out exasperated. “We’ve both been at work all day – can’t we at least have dinner first?”

  “Think of the appetite we’ll work up,” he grinned, grazing his fingers over the ink on her shoulder. “Go on, baby, please?”

  And seeing no choice but to give in, she went. He watched the sway of her ass as she disappeared, checking she was gone before reaching in the inner pocket of his suit jacket and pulling out a tiny bottle. Keeping one eye on the door, he quickly grabbed a glass and filled it from the tap before shaking a little blue pill into his hand.

  He always had been a guy with an answer for everything.

  ***

  Depositing a couple of beers on their table, Sam slumped back down in his seat opposite Colton and heaved a sigh. He glanced back up with a little frown when he realised their body language couldn’t have been more different. While he was taking the screw-up to heart, Colton was leaning back casually in his seat as he smoked. His face was impassive as usual, especially compared with Sam’s own glum expression.

  “You ain’t bothered by this?” the sergeant demanded. “Will’s pissed as hell – thinks we’re no better than a coupla green as grass prospects. Us!”

  But the outburst simply earned him a hard look and a shrug. “It’s bullshit.”

  “Don’t change the fact that body wasn’t even cold before the fucking cops were all over it and then straight round here. We might as well have carved our names in his forehead and propped him up outside the station! Where the hell did we go so fucking wrong?”

  Colton opened his mouth to answer, but closed it again as his gaze drifted over Sam’s head to where their president had appeared in the doorway of his office.

  “You two – get your asses in here now,” Will ordered, running a weary hand over his face.

  “Problem, boss?” Sam frowned as he stood, exchanging glances with Colton.

  “Well, at least you got that right. Just had Sinclair on the line. Reckons they got themselves a goddamn witness.”

  “What the hell ... Will, man, that ain’t fucking possible!”

  Herding his men into the office and dropping heavily into his chair, Will held up his hands against his sergeant’s protests. “Chill the fuck out, Sam, all right? Look, I get it – this is turning into a total clusterfuck and there ain’t no way you two of all people are gonna drop us in the shit so damn spectacularly. Not even Dumb and Dumber out there could manage this,” he added, with a jerk of his head towards the window overlooking the yard where the prospects were working.

  “So what the hell?” Sam demanded, ignoring Colton’s decidedly told you so looking expression. “We being played?”

  “It’s looking like it,” the president nodded grimly. “As if we needed more trouble knocking at our door right now.”

  “So how do we handle this?” Colton finally spoke up, a spark of light in his eyes at the thought of going after whoever was fucking with him and his club.

  “For now, by the book – no arguments,” Will said firmly. “We’re totally in the dark here, so no taking chances. I ain’t having my top guys banged up now. We need you here. Not to mention the fact we got no inside support these days. You go in, I can’t guarantee you’re coming back out in one piece.”

  “But if they got a witness ...” Sam frowned. “I mean, we know they don’t, but they obviously know enough to lie and still end up telling the fucking truth.”

  “We gotta wait and see,” came the shrugged response. “Meantime, I’m putting in a call – ‘bout time we got our money’s worth outta that damn legal retainer. Does no harm to be prepared. And that way, we find out more about this so-called witness.”

  “Be a shame if they ... disappeared,” Colton said, with a thoughtful tilt of his head as he shot Will a loaded look.

  “Tragic.”

  ***

  Swamped in an oversized t-shirt, Callie padded barefoot into the kitchen. But once she got there, she didn’t know why she’d bothered and simply stood for a long moment staring at nothing with unseeing eyes before finally starting out of her reverie and slumping down at the table.

  Her stomach rumbled in protest at the lengthy delay dinner had befallen, but her neglected and half-cooked chilli had long since congealed and stuck to the bottom of pot. The result l
ooked far from appealing, no matter how hungry she was.

  As for Michael ... Well, the Victoria’s Secret bag he’d left on her bed had held no real surprises, but the two rounds they’d gone before his cell phone had won out over her had certainly been unexpected. All things considered.

  But ever the workaholic, he’d quickly abandoned her with a kiss and the usual promise to call her. Leaving her feeling strangely out of place beneath her own sheets and wondering when the boundaries had become so blurred. It had been easier when they weren’t pretending it meant anything.

  When they weren’t in deep enough for her to struggle to see a way out.

  ***

  CHAPTER 5

  “Mikey, my man!” Will declared loudly, as he spotted their visitor climbing out of his Porsche. His shirt sleeves were rolled too high for comfort, just a hint of the ink on his bicep conveniently visible. Tie loosened casually. Briefcase, as always, in one hand. “One of these days, you gotta pay us a visit when we ain’t facing down trouble,” he lied, for the sake of politeness.

  “Well, I could – but I’d still have to charge you.” The hearty laugh rang out across the yard, amid a clasp of hands. “Good to see you, buddy.”

  The MC president smiled readily, in a way that neatly glossed over his failure to return the compliment. The guy might be on their side, but he came with a hefty price tag and Will didn’t trust anyone who could be bought.

  “Your guy didn’t give much away on the phone, so you’re gonna have to fill me in. Shall we?”

  “You know what they say – time is money. And your time costs me a hell of a lot of money,” Will said wryly, jerking his head in the direction of the clubhouse. “Let’s do this.”

  Glancing across the yard to where Sam appeared to be working on a break-down, he caught his sergeant’s eye and grimaced as he herded their Armani-suited guest towards the clubhouse. Their feelings on the reluctant alliance with the hotshot lawyer were definitely in sync – a necessary evil.

  ***

  Back in her sweatpants, Callie slumped on the couch and turned on the television out of habit. Anything for a distraction. She’d never been bothered by her own company before, but lately ... her mind had taken to wandering dangerously when it wasn’t occupied. Surely, without meaning any offense to Sketch, something was wrong with the picture when she’d rather be cooped up in work all day?

  In that respect, she was lucky. She loved her job, knew she was good at it. And no matter how it seemed sometimes, she loved the people she worked with. She and Sketch took an almost perverse pleasure in winding each other up, purely because he’d become like a surrogate big brother. They might spend hours arguing, but they’d each be the first to jump to the other’s defence if a third party tried to start something.

  And then there were her clients. Sure, there were a few pains in her ass but she rarely had to deal with them more than once and her regulars were the ones who made it worthwhile. The ones who appreciated their ink as a piece of art, who knew what they wanted but respected her input, who shared the stories behind their designs.

  She’d laughed her ass off with Cherry Hayes, as she’d created a graceful cascade of music notes and cherry blossoms down the singer’s side. The rock star regaling her with tales of fans with her face tattooed on rather sensitive parts of their anatomy.

  She’d blinked back tears when Elijah Gordon, the one-time soldier with the now permanent limp, told her the dog-tags she’d just etched over his heart were for the brother who’d died in his arms in the dust of Afghanistan. His parents’ youngest boy.

  And she’d spent many strangely companionable hours in relative silence with a certain ruggedly handsome biker, pretending not to notice that the heat in the studio seemed to creep up on the occasions when he watched her work with intense dark eyes. Or that the taut muscles of his stomach fluttered under her fingers if she lightly grazed his tanned skin, making her idly wonder what other reactions she could draw from him ...

  Callie’s eyes flew open at the sound of the doorbell and she sprang off the couch, a guilty look on her face at the direction her thoughts had taken unbidden. But a second impatient ring forced her into action and she plastered a smile on her face as she went to answer it, relieved when her friend simply breezed past with nothing more than a quick kiss on her cheek, her arms full of take-away food from the Red Dragon – Callie’s favourite Chinese restaurant.

  “You are a beautiful person and, if I swung that way, I definitely would,” Callie grinned, doing her best to shake off her little daydream and wandering into the kitchen to watch as Lana busied herself with finding plates and glasses.

  “Yeah, well, don’t say that too often – you might give Michael ideas and, much as I love you, I’m so not down with that,” the redhead shrugged, a naughty twinkle in her clear green eyes. “Now, we got any wine?”

  “Red or white?”

  “Long as it’s wet, can’t say that I care.”

  “That’s my girl.”

  ***

  “So ...”

  The steepled fingers and conspiratorial look quickly got on Will’s nerves as he stared down the lawyer from across his desk. “So?”

  “You gotta know what I’m asking here,” came the response, the assured smile never faltering as he glanced at the scant notes he’d scribbled down in his own particular brand of short-hand. “Did they do it?”

  “Do what?” the president asked innocently, leaning back in his chair and taking another drag on his cigar. The hint of a challenge was clear in his hard eyes.

  “Will ...”

  “Michael ...” He echoed the forced patience of the tone, finally drawing a frown from the other side of the table as the lawyer sat back and pointed his pen at him.

  “You can trust me, you know – I’ve told you that before.”

  “Well, if a lawyer said it, it must be true,” Will nodded with mock-seriousness. “No offense, man, but I ain’t paying you to solve a murder case. I’m paying you to keep my boys’ asses outta jail. Simple as. If that’s gonna be a problem, Haven ain’t that tiny. I’m sure I can find another lawyer somewhere.”

  “Good as me? Good luck,” Michael scoffed, before quickly changing tack. “You said Sam would be joining us?”

  “Uh, yeah, I sent for him – Colton’s out though. Guess I forgot to tell him you were coming,” Will lied again. He knew his sergeant had little time for guys like Michael, but he could at least be guaranteed to keep a lid on it. Colton, on the other hand ...

  When it came to club business, he was as dependable as they came. But his tolerance for bullshitters was definitely on the low side. And Will was pretty sure anyone sitting in front of Colton and hmming like some kind of goddamn shrink would only have to point that flash pen at him once to get it rammed in their eye. He had a feeling that might cool Michael’s buddy approach to providing the club’s legal representation.

  “Ah, here he is. Come in, come in,” Michael nodded, spotting Sam through the glass and leaning back in his seat to open the office door. He ushered him in like he owned the place, failing to notice the sergeant blatantly ignoring him in favour of casting a glance over his head at Will - deferring to his president over the outsider.

  “Sorry I took so long, boss,” Sam said, like they hadn’t already planned his timely appearance, having decided it was best Will handle most of the talking first. “Was up to my elbows in engine oil.”

  “Makes a change from pussy, huh, man?” Michael nudged him, with the air of a life-long friend and not a short-term pain in his ass. “Pull up a pew, Sammy – take the weight off.”

  With a is-this-dude-for-real look at his president, Sam sat. “So?”

  “Don’t look so worried,” Michael smiled, ignoring the fact the sergeant could hardly have looked less worried if he tried in favour of the clichéd approach. It was like he thought he was in his own little production of CSI Haven. “You need someone to keep you outta the big house – and I’m your man.”

  **
*

  “So ...” Lana began, swallowing a mouthful of her beef chow mein and glancing to where her friend of some five years had curled up on the opposite end of the couch to tuck into her own share of the food. “You gonna make me ask?”

  “I’m fine, honestly,” the little blonde smiled. “Just ... you know. Trying to figure shit out.”

  “Like what you’re playing at, wasting your time with a guy old enough to be your father?”

  “Don’t hold back there, Lana – say what you really think,” Callie said wryly, recovering after almost choking on her Szechuan chicken and eying the television reporter. She never did believe in sugar-coating anything. “Jeez, I hope you go easier in your interviews.”

  “I’m sorry, sweetie, but I still just don’t get it. I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with him, per say. He’s just not the kind of guy I ever pictured you with.” Lana paused for another bite, obviously thinking as she chewed. “I know he fancies himself as some kind of stud now he’s bagged himself a hottie, but seriously – divorced soccer moms, that’s where he should be setting his sights. And you ... Damn, Callie, you’re barely twenty-eight. You should be out there enjoying yourself. Not hiding away with some suit who can barely get it up!”

  “I wish I’d never told you that,” Callie groaned, hiding her face in her hands. “I shouldn’t have – it wasn’t fair.”

  “Screw that,” Lana scoffed. “And don’t get your panties in a knot, I’d never say anything. Even I’m not that much of a bitch. But it’s true, you can do better. Although, okay, maybe I get it a bit. Maybe I get it more than you.”

  “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

  Setting down her plate on the coffee table, the redhead tucked a lock of her stylishly rumpled bob behind her ear and took a deep breath. “He’s your safety net, isn’t he? Always gonna be there, but never gonna demand a commitment. He’s never gonna ... spring a proposal on you or want kids. He’s fifty and banging a sexy blonde he was damn lucky to get his hands on in the first place, so he knows when he’s got a good thing going. There’s no danger, no risk of getting hurt.”