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.
"Thanks," he said, airless.
Fox said, "Reese. Status report." Voice professional, unforgiving.
Ooh, Tenny was going to deck him.
But then he saw Reese respond to that voice. To those words. He straightened up, pushed his shoulders back, and something in his face eased...No, it tightened. His awareness sharpened, and that return to life, that spark, eased some of the knot in Tenny's stomach.
"A laceration. Some bruises. I'm fine."
Fox nodded, hands folded behind his back like a CO. "How's the head? Nausea? Dizziness?"
"No."
"Good. Ghost wants to call church at nine sharp in the morning, so don't drink too much. That goes for both of you." He nodded once, sharply. "See you in the kitchen."
Eden rolled her eyes as she followed him.
Tenny let out a deep breath. Reese did look better: more alert, his eyes brighter, his face less slack. Fox had thought to snap him out of his fog with the direct speech of a commander; it had been a reminder: you answer to me, now, not him.
And Tenny had only thought to be gentle with him.
Christ.
He drained his glass in one go and went to get a refill.
"Tenny!" someone called from the kitchen. "You guys come on."
He made his second drink a big one.
~*~
It took some convincing to get Cassandra out of the room. Batting her lashes at Reese momentarily forgotten, she pouted, little jaw set at a stubborn angle. But Becca took a look at all the tense faces around the island, scooped Violet up, and said, "Come on, Cass. I promised Vi I'd play Breyer horses with her, and I kinda suck at it."
Violet leaned over to pat her father's cheek as they went past, and for a moment, Walsh's face softened. But when the three of them were gone, he was back to scowling. He didn't, as a general rule scowl, which spoke volumes about his level of intoxication at this point.
Fox turned to Raven, who'd stopped trying to smile the moment Cassandra was out of the room.
Footsteps and Becca's voice echoed from the stairwell, growing distant.
"Why can't Becca be here for this?" Shane asked, sounding more hurt that aggrieved. "The other old ladies are staying."
"Oh, so she's your old lady now?" Fox asked, maybe a little too cruelly. "You finally get brave enough to make it official?"
Shane scowled. "That's not fair."
"Life's not fair. These girls have been neck-deep in the shit." He gestured to the women in their ranks. "Call me when Becca's taking shots at the people who want us dead. I'm not dragging more innocents into this shitshow."
"They're already in it," Albie said, voice cold and sober. "Everyone attached to us, everyone who knows us, is now involved. Is in danger." His gaze shifted down the island. "That's why Raven's here." It wasn't a question.
Raven sighed. Lifted her glass and drained it. Tapped along its rim when she set it down. "Cassandra's been bugging her mother about this clinic for ages."
"There really is a clinic?" Axelle asked, surprised.
"Yes, and quite a prestigious one, too. Because she's young, I don't think her mother realizes how genuinely good she is. She's very talented, and she got into the clinic on her own merits alone. Her portfolio is–"
"Raven," Walsh prompted.
"Kingston," she shot back, and then sighed again. "Yes, alright. The clinic came along at the perfect time. I needed to get away from the agency for a while." Chin tilted down, looking up through her lashes, her expression turned grave. "It's being watched."
Fox could feel Eden perk up beside him. Once an investigator... "By whom?"
"Well, that's the problem..."
Raven couldn't tell a story without many asides and footnotes, little bits of insider info to make the people she mentioned more relevant to her audience. Plenty of hand gestures, too. Cutting all of that out, this story went like this:
A few weeks ago, Eden got a call from a much larger agency – one looking to buy her out. It had taken years to go from runway model, to agency employee, to agency owner, and she wasn't interested in selling. She'd taken the meeting anyway, as a courtesy – you never knew when you might brush up against someone or need a favor – and found that the purchasing agent who turned up at her office was American, and employed by Nikola Howard.
Nikola Howard – who was on their list. One of the big-wig names Luis had given them...assuming that part of it was true.
Howard Models was very interested in turning Raven's agency into a London branch. Insistently interested. The woman harped again and again on the fact that they were so pleased with the groundwork Raven had already laid – her reasoning as to why they didn't open a totally new branch from scratch.
"The Howard name carries far more weight than mine, even in London," Raven had said.
But the agent had shaken her head, and lavished Raven with praise.
Then she brought up Raven's star model, the new up-and-comer making a bold splash on the scene. She'd just landed the cover of Vogue, and Vanity Fair was clamoring for a turn next: Kyra Blacklock. She mentioned Kyra again, and again...and again.
"It's not unusual to poach models. It happens. But Kyra's contract is locked tight for the next three years."
"So they wanted to buy the agency to get to her, specifically?" Eden asked.
"Possibly. But I've racked up quite the client list lately. There's lots to choose from." She slid her glass over, and Emmie refilled it. "She wheedled at me for two hours, but I gave her a firm no and saw her out. That was when the gifts started arriving."
Spa gift certificates. Fancy face creams. Silk loungewear sets with matching slippers. Email after email. Phone calls she let her secretary field.
"When none of that worked...someone started following me." Men in dark clothes and hoodies lurking near her Rover in the parking garage; the click of a camera shutter at the coffeeshop, where she whirled around to see a man hurrying away. Hi-res photos of herself began appearing in her mailbox – first at work, then at home. The last straw was a photo of her picking Cassandra up from school.
"Then that horrid American woman came back." That time, her smiles had been sharp and vicious, predatory, and she'd not-so-subtly hinted that owning an agency in this cutthroat business could be dangerous. It looked like Raven was getting some unwanted attention, and perhaps it would be better – safer – if she sold.
"She threatened you?" Shane asked.
"Bitch," Axelle muttered.
"Elegantly, but yes," Raven said. "That was when I realized that Nikola Howard was the one having me followed. When Michelle called and told me you'd managed to get a list of names for your search, and that hers was on it–"
"Hold on," Albie said. "Michelle called and filled you in?"
"We talk every other day. Of course."
"The important thing, here," Fox said, "is that Nikola Howard knows you're connected to us."
"Not necessarily," Tenny said, speaking up for the first time since coming into the kitchen. The Scotch had put color in his previously pale cheeks, his eyes glittering aggressive; there was no mistaking the way he'd angled his body toward Reese's where they stood at the far end of the island: he was ready to make himself a human shield for the other boy if he deemed it necessary. "Could be some wanker offered Abacus a sweet deal if they could get them Kyra Blacklock."
"If an international supermodel goes missing, someone's going to start asking questions," Albie said.
"Oh, there's ways around that," Raven said, bitterly. "Remember Hillary Swinton? She OD'd last year? There's rumors she didn't. The friend who called the ambulance insists the doctors had her stabilized, and then, bam, two days later, she's 'dead.'"
Axelle's eyes widened. "Wasn't she working on that new thriller with Jesse Hesden? That's a Jack Waverly production."
"It sure is," Raven said, pointing at her in agreement.
"So we think Waverly and his cabal are, what, running the whole world?" Albie asked.
"No, smartass," Raven said, before Fox could. "But if they can ruin the Dogs, and anyone they care about, in the process of supplying the rich and famous with living sex dolls, I say every seeming coincidence isn't a coincidence at all."
"Exactly," Fox said. "They know who we are," he said, surveying the faces around him. "They know who are sisters are, which means they know our old ladies. They probably know where our bloody kids go to school, and how many smoke breaks we take at work."
A particularly sharp gust of wind chose that moment to slam against the window above the sink with a whoosh and a creeeeaaaak of wooden frames.
Fox noted who jumped – Axelle, Emmie, Shane – and who didn't: the rest of them.
Ice clinked in a glass as Reese took a long, slow sip of his drink.
"Charlie," Raven said, "what happened tonight? Before you came here?"
"There was a drive-by at Smokey's restaurant."
"Fuck," she said, flat and shocked. Then, with more feeling, "Fuck me, you idiots."
"We're the idiots?" Tenny snarled, low and rumbling; Fox could see the way the words, and his tone, sent a quiet, quick shock through everyone else. He set his glass down with a sharp clink and braced his hand on the island, leaning forward like a leopard, half-across Reese and teeth bared at Raven. "You knew what was happening here, what we were up against, and you decided inserting two civilians – one of them a teenager – into this clusterfuck was the best idea? You stupid–"
"Hey!" Emmie clapped her hands together, a sharp crack, her tone like the snap of a whip. It was the tone she used on misbehaving horses. "Knock it off!"
Tenny drew back up to his full height, chest heaving on a gasped breath. "Why the fuck did you come here? So you can be collateral damage?"
Emmie's eyes flashed, but Fox sent her a look. Raven could handle herself.
And she did so, meeting Tenny's glare unflinching, her gaze bright and hard, that same cut-crystal blue they all shared. "I am not," she bit off each word with a snap of teeth, "a civilian. I've been neck-deep in this Dog shit long before you came along, you cheeky upstart bastard."
The sound that built in Tenny's throat was barely human. "If you're so fucking afraid, why didn't you take your sister and run off to Portugal or somewhere? Why did you come closer?"
"Because there's no one I trust more than my family. Which, by the way, Cassie is your sister, too."
Tenny growled again–
And Reese's hand gripped the back of his cut. "Tenny," he said, softly. Not a warning, but a plea.
Tenny stilled – and then, lips pressing tight, broke away and stormed out of the room, boots clomping loud and purposeful over the tile.
When Reese moved to follow, Fox stayed him with a hand. "Give him a minute."
Reese still didn't look quite right, still dazed like he'd been punched one too many times, but the spark of concern in his eyes was reassuring. He'd be alright – he'd just gotten a little stuck in a musty, cobwebby back corner of his mind.
Tenny needed him – but, Fox knew that his brother, like himself, needed to cool off first.
~*~
Tenny wanted to go outside, and feel the cool rush of wind on his face, but they were probably about to have the door kicked in and rushed by stormtroopers, so...inside it was. He stalked down the hallway, looking for a room in which to stew, and settled on an office: big, dark, masculine. With a row of vodka bottles on the sideboard. Perfect.
He cracked the top off one and took a generous pull, wincing at its warmth. Ugh. Didn't matter.
He drank, and he paced, and though he was loath to acknowledge it, his anger wasn't really directed at Raven. Nor even Cassandra, stupid jealousy aside.
Even worse: it wasn't even anger. It was fear.
He took another long, ill-advised pull off the bottle and stopped in the middle of the rug, gaze snagging on a framed photo on the wall: Walsh and Emmie, little Violet on Walsh's hip; Emmie smiling broadly, Walsh with reserve, but with a light in his eyes that spoke of all the feeling he kept close to the vest. That was his brother, he thought, a little stupidly. The knowledge slapped him in the face sometimes. One of his brothers.
In a sudden hurry, he pulled his phone out of his pocket and dialed before he could think better of it.
Kristin answered uncertainly on the second ring. "Hello?"
Tenny's jaw wouldn't work.
"Tenny?" she asked, her voice even softer over the phone than in person. "Reese programmed your number into my phone. You okay?"
His training told him what to say; how to handle this – how to handle her. She was sensitive, like Reese, but in such a different way. He could deal with sensitive, had countless times in his career.
But his training had abandoned him, tonight. He was just...just him. As awful as that was.
"Reese's old handler," he gritted out. "His trainer."
She made a soft, shocked sound on the other end of the line.
"Do you know his name?"
She let out a deep breath. Didn't ask why he wanted to know; didn't press for details. "Yeah," she said. "He never told Reese, but he kept me apart. I was – I was just leverage. His name's Marshall Hunter."
Hunter.
Tenny, this is my sister, Kristin Hunter.
A driver's license, as fake but as well-done as Tenny's own. Reese's staring face. His name: Reese Daniel Hunter.
A buzzing started up in the back of Tenny's head; it sent pain darting through his teeth. "Hunter. Is he your father?"
"I don't know," she said, sounding helpless, frustrated. "Our mother handed over our birth certificates when she sold us to him, and he burned them. He gave us his name – just like he did with all his people – so things would be easier, he said. We could travel as a family that way. But I don't think he is...at least, I hope he isn't. Only DNA could tell you." She paused, while Tenny's heart tried to beat its way out of his chest. "Why?"
He shook his head, though she couldn't see. "Are you alone?"
"Oh, um. No. Roman's here."
"Good. Keep him there. He's useless but he's better than nothing."
"Tenny, wait, what's–"
He disconnected and upended the bottle.