Prodigal Son (Lean Dogs Legacy Book 3) Page 2

  “Ah.” It was hard to imagine her bucking the system, leaving the safety of MI5 behind in favor of working her own cases.

  Things had changed since he’d seen her last. Changed a lot.

  “I found Devin,” she said, “but I haven’t moved in yet. I wanted to give you a chance to talk to him first. I don’t want to turn him in if I don’t have to.”

  “That’s awfully kind of you.”

  She met his gaze with a hard one of her own. “I can be kind, Charlie.”

  “Never said you couldn’t.” When she blinked and looked away, he felt a dangerous softening inside himself, one he tried to shore up with a hasty mental shove. “What did he steal?”

  “That’s the thing.” She leaned forward, elbow landing on the table, the excited glint of work lighting in her eyes. She’d never been as vivacious as she was when she was on the hunt. “They won’t tell me.”

  “No?”

  “No. Proprietary secrets, they said. Highly confidential. They want this file back immediately. Practically wetting themselves over it.”

  “Highly confidential…or highly illegal,” Fox said, feeling a stir of interest despite himself. He’d always loved a mystery he could sink his teeth into. Damn it, but Eden knew this was going to suck him in; it was precisely the reason she’d called.

  “These people,” she said, tsking. “Something’s off.”

  “Off how?”

  She gave him a sly look and eased back in her chair, satisfied that she had his attention now. “You talk to your father, and then I’ll talk to you.”

  “Nuh-uh. Talk to me now. You’re not going to yank me around like this.”

  Her brows went up. “I’m doing this as a courtesy to your family. I could have taken Devin in yesterday and you’d be none the wiser.”

  “Bullshit.” Several customers glanced their way and he dropped his voice to a whisper. “You want my help for your own benefit. Which I’ll gladly give–”

  “You’ve never given anything ‘gladly’ in your life.”

  “–if you’re straight with me. No games, Eden.”

  She pressed her lips together, drawing in a deep breath through her nose. “God, that’s rich coming from you.”

  And yeah, it was. After what he’d put her through. But still. She should never have expected anything more from him.

  He sighed. “Fine. I’ll go see him.”

  “Thank you.”

  He searched for lingering scraps of affection in her gaze and found none. He knew better than to search for love. If she’d ever felt that, she’d long since excised it from her heart.

  Three

  Maude’s looked cozy and warm from the outside, its light soft and butter-yellow as evening draped the street. The CLOSED sign was turned out, Albie a hump-backed shape at his desk, reading glasses on his nose, pencil moving in quick strokes over a sketchpad.

  Fox took a moment to watch him unobserved. Once Albie noticed him, his posture would change, his face would close up, and he’d be a different version of himself.

  Every one of his brothers wore a mask around him.

  The girls didn’t, because they were stronger and had always been better-adjusted. And Miles was young enough that his mask was thin and inconsistent. But it was something he’d noticed, over the years, the way they didn’t like to put their metaphorical backs to him.

  His own brothers.

  He was an asshole – he’d give them that. But so were they, in their own ways. He thought mostly it had to do with the fact that he was the one most like Devin.

  He didn’t want to be like Dad. He just was.

  He tested the door, found it unlocked, and let himself in.

  The bell jangled, and Albie lifted his head. There was a brief flicker of emotion, and then his face went carefully blank. “There you are,” he greeted. One corner of his mouth twitched up in a grin. “You look like you’ve already seen Eden.”

  “I have.” Fox climbed onto the stool and felt tension he hadn’t known he was carrying give way in his spine, slumping forward to rest his elbows on the desk. “Saw the video.”

  Albie dropped his attention back to his sketch; it was a sofa, with elaborate wooden legs, very old fashioned. “Dad looks good.”

  “Oh yeah. Some blokes really let themselves go. But not him.”

  “Still light on his feet too.”

  “Mmhm.”

  “I’ve half a mind to let your girl bring him in. But I thought I’d let you have the final say.”

  Fox snorted. “Phillip’s the oldest. Let him have the say.”

  “Yeah, but you’re the favorite.” He glanced up through his lashes, gaze pointed.

  “Yeah, yeah.” Fox grimaced. Just because it was true didn’t mean he wanted to be reminded of it. “Some consolation that is.”

  Albie set his pencil down and pushed his glasses up into his hair; the nose pieces had left little red dents in his skin. “Look. I’ve got no love for the asshole.”

  Fox made an agreeing sound.

  “But I’m not keen on him getting locked up for no reason.”

  “You sure about that? Can’t make any more bastards when you’re locked up.”

  Albie smirked. “True. But I’m surprised Eden told us about him. She could have just taken him in.”

  “Well.” He tilted his head to the side, considering. “She’s all about justice. Honor. All that shit. She wants to make sure this company’s on the up-and-up.”

  “Right,” Albie said. “It’s got nothing to do with you at all.”

  Fox gave him a look.

  It didn’t work. “Maybe she still likes you,” Albie said.

  As if like was a suitable word.

  “Probably she doesn’t.”

  He shrugged. “Ask her and find out.”

  “Yeah? When was the last time you asked anyone that?”

  “I’m a bachelor.”

  “And what am I?”

  “An asshole.”

  “Guess I walked into that one.”

  ~*~

  At various times in his life, Devin had been impossible to find. According to Albie’s mother, he’d ghosted off to France for a little while there. It was disconcerting to Fox that he was so easily accessed now, his name on a buzzer in a semi-decent complex full of young families and retired olds.

  The carpet in the hallways was dark green, plush, scuffed down the middle from the passage of feet. Fox knocked three times on the ivory door and heard footfalls on the other side.

  To his credit, Devin didn’t look surprised to see him when he opened the door. “Charlie,” he said, and opened the door wide, motioning him in with a casual wave. “Good to see you.”

  Fox didn’t answer, already stepping past him halfway through the greeting. There was never any need to actually listen to anything the man said; if he was being polite, he never meant it.

  The flat looked like a hotel. Tasteful, modern furnishings, gray walls, gray carpet, cheap prints on the walls. The front door opened straight into the combination lounge and kitchen, and nothing from the chrome-legged bar stools to the silk orchid in the windowsill had been picked out by Devin, Fox knew. His dad’s style was nothing but scuffed Docs and mashed cigarette packets.

  “This place is too nice for you,” he said, and it wasn’t an insult. He’d never really insulted his father intentionally; being honest around the man just happened to make it sound that way.

  Devin stuffed his hands in his jeans pockets and nodded. “Oh yeah, definitely.”

  Like always, Fox was struck by the notion that looking at the man was like staring into a magic mirror that showed him his future self. He’d always resembled Devin more than the others, and he suspected that was why he’d always been the favorite – if any of them could claim such a thing.

  He looked younger than his seventy-plus years, his gray hair thick and unruly, like he’d just run his hands through it, his frame spare and wiry, and tough. He still looked strong; the flesh of his arms
was still springy. He looked mid-fifties, at most. But all-in-all he was unremarkable, average in every dimension, the sort of man who could pull up his hood and pass unnoticed through any crowd – traits that made him the perfect thief.

  But his eyes. He’d given those to all of his children, that striking, vivid blue that fizzed and spit sparks like downed power lines. Eyes that had wooed countless women…and led to the birth of nine children.

  “You want something to drink?” Devin asked, walking into the open-plan kitchen.

  “No.”

  “Smoke?”

  “Brought my own.”

  “Sandwich?” Devin opened the fridge and ducked down to peer into it. “Ham’s fresh.”

  “Devin.”

  He let the fridge door shut slowly, the handle sliding out of his fingers. It hung suspended a moment, before it finally connected with a soft pop of seal hitting seal. He turned to give Fox a flat look across the breakfast bar. “What?”

  “You know why I’m here.”

  Devin smiled. “You finally remembered my birthday?”

  “I don’t even think you know when your birthday is. Come on. Quit playing, old man.”

  “Old man? Ouch. Do I look that bad?”

  Fox stared at him.

  He walked around the bar, hands in his pockets, posture slouched, casual. An impressive feat of acting, except Fox could see the way the leg of his jeans didn’t move naturally over the holster he had belted to his ankle. He feigned hurt. “You didn’t just come to visit?”

  “What did you take from Pseudonym Pharmaceuticals?”

  “Now, son–”

  “Don’t,” Fox snapped, and then bit the tip of his tongue hard enough to taste blood. His temper didn’t snap, it never did. It was one of his rules. He’d mastered the Art of Unflappable long ago. But then there was Devin.

  He took a deep breath through his nose, hating the way his father watched him with raised-brow amusement, someone watching a child build toward a tantrum. In a carefully measured voice, he said, “Don’t call me son when we both know you don’t mean it. Tell me what you stole, or I’ll let the police have you.”

  “The police?” Devin huffed a laugh and sagged back against the bar, arms folded. “Are you serious? Did someone put you up to this? It’s that bitch Estelle, isn’t it? She’s finally dragged you into her whole child support bid?”

  Fox didn’t have to fake the disgusted sound that rose in the back of his throat. “Cassandra is your daughter, asshole. You have to pay child support. If you couldn’t do that, you shouldn’t have gotten your dick out – nine times.” He took a breath that wasn’t at all steadying. His father had the horrifying ability – with just a look – to reduce him to an enraged teenager again. “But no. This has got nothing to do with – you know what, you know what it’s about. I just fucking told you.”

  Devin tsked. “You always were so emotional, Charlie.”

  No, he wasn’t. He’d worked extremely hard to be nothing of the sort.

  He scrubbed a hand down his face and willed himself to be calm. Think of Texas, think of home, think of Chelle, and TJ, that robot kid Ghost has in Knoxville, anything. He had to think of the things that he felt in control of.

  Devin said, “Sure I can’t interest you in that drink?”

  Fox sighed, breath shaking in his throat. His voice came out a croak. “Yeah. Sure.”

  He sank down on the new, department-store-smelling sofa and listened to Devin move around the kitchen, dropping ice into a glass, pulling a bottle off a shelf. Pop of the cork, glug of the whiskey pouring. Soft footfalls across the carpet, just to his right, and Devin’s hand appeared in his line of sight, whiskey on the rocks held out in offering. The glass was bell-shaped and expensive-looking.

  Fox took it with a nod of thanks and sipped it slowly, holding the burn in his mouth a moment.

  Devin went to sit on the matching sofa opposite the coffee table from him, sprawled back, at ease and comfortable. “What’s all this about, kid?”

  Fox took another sip, rolled his eyes, and flopped back against the back of the couch. “Can we not do this? You know what it’s about. Pseudonym has you on tape, and they hired a PI to track you down. They hired Eden to track you down.”

  It took him a moment, sucking at the inside of his cheek, and then his silver brows shot up. “Wait. Your Eden?”

  “She’s not mine…” Fox grumbled. “But, yeah, that one.”

  Devin barked a laugh. He leaned forward and braced his elbows on his knees, chin cupped in his hands, grinning. “Shit. What do you mean ‘not yours’? Did you fuck that up?”

  “Gee, I wonder why I might not be able to stay in a relationship, Dad.”

  “Hey, I didn’t raise you. I don’t have any control there.”

  “So long as we’re clear on that.”

  “What happened?”

  “What happened was Eden quit the government and started freelancing, and she’s giving me a day or so to get the truth out of you before she turns your location over to the cops.”

  “She wouldn’t do that. She always liked me.”

  He felt a prickling at the back of his neck. Fuck this whole scenario. “What did you steal?” he said, trying to keep his voice level.

  Devin shrugged and sat back again. “Why doesn’t she come ask me herself? I wouldn’t mind talking to her for a little bit.”

  “Staring at her, you mean, you old fucker.”

  “That’s not respectful.”

  “Neither are you. Now.” He held up an open hand. “You’ve got five seconds to say something true.”

  “Aw, come on, Charlie…”

  “One.” He pulled his pinky in.

  “Why do you wanna be this way?”

  “Two.” Ring finger.

  “You know I wouldn’t–”

  “Three.” He pulled in his forefinger, leaving the middle one extended.

  “Well fuck you, too, sonny boy.”

  “What did you steal?”

  “I–”

  A knock sounded at the door.

  They traded matching suspicious looks. “What–” they started at the same time.

  The knock sounded again. “Boys,” Eden’s voice called through the door. “You aren’t going to make a lady wait out in the hall, are you?”

  “Jesus fuck,” Fox said.

  The same moment Devin said, “Are you fucking kidding me?”

  At least they weren’t identical exclamations.

  Since Devin made no move to get up, Fox jumped to his feet – damn it, why was he jumping for Eden? He told himself it was because of her threat about the cops – and went to let her in.

  She was dressed not for a meeting, but for practical work: dark jeans, Docs, black t-shirt and her trench coat, hair in an untidy bun at the back of her head. The contrast from her appearance yesterday, the shock of seeing her the way he remembered her, all business and no play – unless you knew how to ask right – sent a rippling shudder through his system. The nervousness in her eyes didn’t help either; she looked like she used to back when she needed him.

  She didn’t care about his flashback, though. Her gaze flicked to the glass in his hand. “Starting early, aren’t you?” And when he didn’t respond. “Charlie, let me in, this is serious.”

  And…that was why they’d split up. Thanks for the reminder, love.

  He shook off the fog of remembrance and stepped back, letting her slip inside before he scanned the hallway – empty – and relocked the door. When he turned around, he found Devin on his feet, executing a gallant bow across the coffee table. Jesus.

  “Hello, darling,” Devin said, flashing her his best lady-killer grin, the one that showed his dimples and a bit of charmingly crooked teeth. “Delightful to see you again.”

  Eden shot Fox a flat look. “Is he serious right now?”

  “He’s always serious about pretty girls.”

  “Guilty as charged,” Devin said, still grinning like a shithead.

/>   Eden made a quiet sound of disgust and shook her head. “Anyway. Gentlemen, I’m afraid I haven’t come with good news.” She slid right into her old secret service persona seemingly without effort, hands on her hips, one booted foot cocked out to the side.

  Those damn boots were distracting; Fox had always liked her in more practical clothes, when she was stripped down to her truest – and in his opinion – best self.

  He had to stop thinking about her like this.

  He pulled on his Serious Personality. Such as it was. Walked back to the couch and sat down hard, so as not to be seen keeping on his feet and acting chivalrous or anything like that. “Let me guess. You turned him in?”

  “No.” She sounded insulted. “Of course not. But the company left a message with my assistant: they’re dropping me because I couldn’t deliver fast enough. They’ve hired another firm – one that I’m sure won’t do you the courtesy of letting you know that Pseudonym’s after you.”

  Devin groaned and sank back onto his couch. “Which firm?”

  “Cavendish.”

  “Shit,” he said, with feeling. “They’ve seen the video?”

  “Oh, so you’ll admit you were on video for her,” Fox complained.

  “I have no way to confirm that, but I would think so,” Eden said. “And I’m willing to bet some of the boys at Cavendish will recognize your face.”

  “Yeah. Bollix.”

  “Who knows where you live?” Fox asked.

  Devin shrugged.

  “Which, okay. Been meaning to ask. What’s up with this place? I feel like I walked into an Ikea showroom. It actually smells…good.”

  “I’m insulted,” Devin said.

  “You’re a damn liar, is what you are. Did you kill the guy who lived here and stuff him in a garbage bin?”

  “That’s quite enough,” Eden said, raising her voice just loud enough to be heard above theirs. She’d never been one for yelling or gesturing; she expended exactly as much force as she had to in any given situation. She was an effective agent, like that. “This is not the time or place for father-son bullshit.” She sent each of them the kind of look that made Fox want to curl up into the fetal position, that stop pretending to be a man and actually be one look. Even Devin fidgeted.