The Wild Charge (Dartmoor Book 9)

Twenty-Three

The bar was big, and fully-stocked, as promised; it took up a sizable chunk of wall space in the den – a big room just off the front entryway with a wide stone fireplace that went all the way to the ceiling. Thank Christ for the houses of rich men, sometimes, Tenny thought, as he perused the backlit shelves until he found what he wanted – no, needed. An unopened bottle of Glenfiddich 18. Glasses of all shapes and sizes were arranged helpfully on the shelf above; the mini fridge had ice: cubed, crushed, and those fancy big cubes that took up a whole tumbler.

He turned to Reese, who hovered at his elbow – because Tenny had all but dragged him in here, unwilling to leave him alone in the kitchen with the vultures. "Want anything?"

Reese was still a slow-blinking mannequin, but his glassy gaze shifted to the tumbler Tenny had just set on the bar and nodded. "Whatever you're having."

"Good man." He poured a second, wondering if perhaps it was a bad idea to give someone in his state alcohol. But didn't they always give ladies who'd had "a fright" a snifter of brandy in the old books and movies? His nervous system had been plucked too hard by shock and old memory; maybe loosening it up a little would help.

He slid the glass over, when he was done, encouraged by the way Reese picked it up himself, without prompt.

Behind them, the front door opened, and Tenny whirled. Shit, he was so caught up worrying he hadn't even thought about the door, and whether or not it was locked, and whether or not–

But it was only Becca and Shane. Shane carried a covered dish in mitted hands. Both them halted, door yawning wide behind them, wearing matching looks of shock.

It was an actual crime anyone had let Shane patch into the club. He was soft, and Tenny didn't like soft. Soft got you killed.

"Oh," Becca said. "You guys came."

Tenny could feel his sneer coming on, but couldn't stop it. "It's a family dinner, isn't it?"

"Uh, yeah, but–"

"Bec, come help me find a place for this in the kitchen, yeah?" Shane said, nudging her with an elbow in an unsubtle way.

"But – oh, yeah. Sure."

They shut the door behind them.

Tenny went over, when they were gone, to lock it. He pressed his face to the window pane beside it for good measure, scanning the benighted farm that tumbled down the hill from this vantage point. He could see nothing aside from a few waving shadows and the landscaping lights left on around the barn, like nightlights.

"Any good boogeymen out there?" Fox's voice asked from right beside him, and what the fuck, how had he dropped his guard this badly?

Fox at least had the grace not to laugh at the little jump he gave, and Tenny turned to him, scowling. Eden stood behind him, face schooled in that careful way that spoke of stress and worry.

"Where the hell have you been?"

"Updating Eden. It's all the evening news is talking about."

In a low voice that wouldn't carry, Eden said, "How's Reese?"

The question hit him in the sternum, and it took him a beat to realize that it hadn't felt like a shove, like an attack, but like someone pricking loose all the angry air he'd gathered into his lungs. He deflated. How's Reese? Asked with true concern, and asked of him, because she knew that Tenny was the person who would know – the person who cared most.

It did strange things to his insides, that question.

He swallowed, and glanced back toward the bar. Reese watched them now, sipping at his drink. When he clocked Tenny's attention, he picked up the other glass and walked it over.