Ink (The Haven Series) (5 page)

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.”

“Is that so bad?”

“I guess not. But if there’s no risk, there’s no excitement. And you’ll still end up hurting. Boring you to death may be less painful than just breaking your heart, but at least that would be quick. Come on, Callie, be honest – this is me you’re talking to. Does he make your heart race? Your stomach flutter? Can he light you on fire with a single look? A single touch? ‘Cos somehow I doubt he could set you on fire with a gas can and a book of matches.”

Breaking off to take in her friend’s crestfallen face, Lana sighed and scooted closer to lay a hand on her arm. “I know he’s not a bad guy and I know you care about him, sweetie. But I care about
you
and I don’t want to see you wasting your life, only to turn round and realise it when it’s too late. One question and then I’ll shut up, I promise – you don’t even have to give me an answer. Just think about it ...”

“What?” Callie asked, resigned to the question she knew Lana would ask anyway – whether she agreed or not. Although, unlike her interviews where she could catch a politician off-guard in a second with a question so far out of the left field, this she could see coming a mile off.

“Are you in love with him?”

***

CHAPTER 6

“Shoulda heard him, dude – all that
I’m your man
crap,” Sam shook his head and laughed as he filled Colton in on what had gone down the day before. The pair were leaning against their parked up bikes in the morning sunshine, having passed each other by chance and pulled over to talk. “Bastard was aiming for confidence – just sounded gay. Tried spinning Will some line about needing to get back to this sexy little blonde waiting for him and I’m thinking
shit, he’s into blondes …
”

Even Colton had to chuckle at that as he watched the passing cars and the people on the sidewalk from behind his shades, not missing anything even as he listened to his brother’s rant over their latest lawyer. He had yet to meet him – and that was probably something this Corsada should be glad of, all things considered.

Legal representation for the Fallen Brothers was a job with what you might call a higher than usual turnover rate. Last guy to take the position had met Colton. Then he skipped the country. Guy before that went missing, met with an unfortunate fire-related incident and ended up being identified solely by his dental records.

That was the price you could expect to pay for abusing the privilege of first-hand knowledge when it came to club business.

“But Will reckons he’s got it under control?” Colton demanded, even though he suspected he’d already have heard about it if the president wasn’t satisfied with how things were progressing.

“Seems to,” Sam shrugged. “I asked him if the guy’s as good as he says he is.”

“And?”

“No one’s as good as he says he is, according to Will. But apparently the bastard’s a real snake. If anyone’s gonna get us clear of this mess, the boss says it’s him.”

“So what do we do now?”

“That’s what I said,” Sam grinned, recalling how Will had raised an eyebrow at that very question. The president had reached for a cigar and his Zippo before sparking up and taking a long slow drag, obviously savouring the experience before bl
owing out a perfect smoke ring.

“What the Fallen do best, buddy - what the Fallen do best,” came the answer.

“You really think getting laid’ll help?” the blonde deadpanned, expecting a laugh from his boss at the joke.

But all he got was a smirk. “Pretty sure it won’t hurt ...”

“So Friday’s still a go?” Colton said thoughtfully, mulling that over in his head.

“Hell yeah,” Sam nodded. “Been a while since we had a real blow-out,” he added, casually dismissing the fact most normal people would have branded any Friday night at the clubhouse a
real blow-out
. “Can ya believe Paulie’s patching in already? I actually think the little dickhead’s more excited about getting to finally ink that girl of his than about getting his fucking top rocker!”

“Well, you have been telling the kid she’s fair game until he does.”

“True,” Sam admitted, with a smirk. “You gonna do the honours?”

But while Colton did actually do a lot of the club’s tattoos, he shook his head. “Bitch is a first-timer and Paulie says she’s nervous as hell. I ain’t got the patience for that shit. Got a better idea. In fact--” He broke off to reach for the helmet strung over one of his handlebars and swung a long denim-clad leg back over his bike, gunning the engine into life. “Something I gotta do. Later, man.”

Sam watched as his friend peeled away and shook his head. He’d never have called Colton easy to read before, but he could see where this was going a mile off. How it would play out though, that was a different story. Very different.

***

Pouring over case notes in his office, Michael sat back with a groan and stretched out the muscles in his shoulders, loosening his tie and rubbing a hand wearily over his face.

He knew he was many things to many people, not all or even most of them complimentary, but if there was one thing no one could accuse him of it was slacking off. He worked long, unsociable hours and had long since paid for it. His marriage of almost fifteen years had finally snapped under the strain just over three years ago. His son and namesake from a previous relationship would now be twenty-four and probably didn’t care if his so-called father was alive or dead.

That was the price you could expect to pay for putting your career first.

And that was how it had always been with Michael, how it had always had to be. Unlike most of his associates, he didn’t come from old money. He didn’t inherit the family business. The only son of a truck driver and a store clerk, he’d had to work for every cent and he supposed, on some level, it had paid off.

He was his own boss, owned the whole damn company, answered to no one. He owned more property than he knew what to do with, drove nothing but top-of-the-range cars, played golf with the local movers and shakers.

And then there was Callie.

If he couldn’t turn the competition green with envy with her on his arm, then there wasn’t much hope for him. While all but a few of his circle were married, and not all of them happily, he was sleeping with a girl even he knew he should only have been able to fantasise about. He still wasn’t sure how he’d pulled that one off.

FLASHBACK

“You, buddy-boy, need to get back on the horse,” came the advice from down the bar. Their golfing party had made the near-obligatory stop at the ‘nineteenth’, deciding to take in a few bars before calling it a night. The topic of conversation somehow worked round to the second anniversary of his divorce. Not the most cheering of subjects, for him anyway.

“He’s right, Michael. And that’s a damn fine young filly you’ve got in your sights,” the retired judge beside him guffawed, amid a cloud of cigar smoke. “Time to turn on the old Corsada charm, eh?”

“Less of the old, James,” Michael said, eying the blonde and almost changing his mind. She was probably way too young to look twice at him. Sure, powerful lawyer – that was usually a turn-on for women. Dirty old man though ... Not so much.

“Hey, check it out – she’s definitely legal anyway,” top criminologist Stefan Hollstein piped up, grinning as he jerked his head to where the bar manager was carefully carrying a birthday cake blazing with candles to the now beaming girl’s table. They watched as she fondly told off her friends for their unexpected surprise, socking a burly black guy with dreads in the arm after he’d teasingly ruffled her hair and hugging everyone else. “See? Says twenty-seven on the top.
Twenty-fucking-seven
, Mikey. Remember when you were that age? Hundred bucks says you crash and burn.”

He never could resist a challenge.

***

“Earth to Callie! Yo, anyone in there?
”

“Huh?” Starting as the voice broke through her thoughts, Callie’s elbow caught her takeaway cup of coffee and sent it tumbling off the edge of the table to burst open and shower its contents all over the floor. “
Shit!
Sorry ...”

“Sorry?” Sketch stopped in his tracks to stare at her, seizing any opportunity to tease his colleague. “Whadda ya mean
sorry
? Where’s the cussin’ at me for making you jump? You okay over there? Been quiet all morning.”

“It was my fault. Wasn’t paying attention,” she said softly. “I’ll clean it up.”

“Cal ...” Sketch trailed off, taken aback by her reaction or lack thereof. Under normal circumstances, he rarely failed to get a rise out of her. But even he could see there was something on her mind. “Hey, screw the mess – it ain’t goin’ anywhere. Talk to me, kiddo.”

Truth be told, she’d had more trouble than she’d care to admit shaking off Lana’s question. Not that it wasn’t something that had been increasingly on her mind anyway, but the slow day at work certainly wasn’t helping. Too much time to think and not enough by way of a distraction.

But how could she explain any of that to her boss, when he didn’t even know she was seeing anyone? And Sketch was more than just an employer – despite how their bickering might make it seem sometimes, they were friends and she knew he was going to be hurt at being kept in the dark for so long.

“I ... I just ...”

Saved by the bell. Her head turning to follow the sound of the jingling door chimes, Callie’s shoulders slumped in something like relief as a familiar figure walked into the studio and took off his shades to hook them into the top pocket of his leather cut.

“Colton!” she exclaimed, aiming for casual surprise and missing the mark slightly. “Were we expecting you?”

“Nah, not today, darlin’,” he drawled, though an eyebrow quirked almost imperceptibly at the greeting. “Just passing and kinda got a favour to ask.”

“Whatever ya need, bud,” Sketch interrupted easily, something like a plan quickly brewing in his shrewder-than-he’d-let-on mind. “Got a condition though.”

“Oh yeah?” Colton wasn’t keen on bargaining, even with friends. He was too used to calling the shots.

“Yeah. Little Miss Sunshine over here needs to ... clear her head, if ya get my drift. Do me a favour and get her the hell outta here for a while before she wrecks the place.”

Callie’s eyes widened in front of the two men. “What? But--”

Sketch was more than half expecting his idea to get dismissed out of hand - by the biker, never mind Callie. But dark eyes locked on the little blonde, doing more to see her protests trail off than any arguments ever could. Colton’s head tilted the tiniest fraction, as if to consider her.

“You ever ride bitch?” he asked curiously, getting a dumb shake of her head in response. “Want to?”