Wild Fire (Chaos #6.5)(34)

She put her hand to his sternum, leaned in and said, “Your family is here, honey, like, right here.”

“Um, hello there. I’m Dutch’s mother, Keely. And who might you be?” his ma said close to his left side.

“Jesus, Georgiana, what’re you doin’ here?” Jagger asked from close to his right.

“Everyone out,” Hound ordered at his back.

That was Hound, always at his back.

Definitely literally, and now figuratively.

“Not on your goddamned life, cowboy,” his mother decreed.

Shit.

“I’m thinking there are other good reasons I wore this dress tonight,” Georgie muttered.

He wanted to think she was funny.

He was not finding anything funny.

“You okay?” he asked her.

“He just made a pass. I deflected. Took off. But, uh…” Her eyes went side to side, before she finished, “my mission was not accomplished.”

“Hound, my love, my husband, father of one of my sons, dad to all, do you know how interesting I find all this?” his mother called, even though Hound was probably three inches away from her.

“Baby,” Hound grunted like he was trying not to laugh.

“Very interesting,” his mother answered herself.

“Hi.” Georgiana jumped forward, extending her hand toward Keely. “I’m Georgiana Traylor. And Dutch and I are, um…we’re, uh…”

Dutch shifted, slung an arm around her shoulders, and said, “It’s Georgie’s cat, Ma.”

“I see,” Keely said, lifting a hand and taking Georgie’s. “Nice to meet you, Georgiana.”

“She’s Carolyn’s sister,” Jagger shared when Keely let her go.

“Is she now?” Keely asked, her eyes narrowing.

And it was the first time Dutch had any indication his mother had Carolyn’s number.

Jagger was grinning massively, shoving his way in front of Hound, arms crossed on his chest. “Did you two hook up after Carolyn and I couldn’t give Georgie a ride from the airport?”

“Jag—” Dutch started.

“Jives,” Jagger noted. “Seein’ as it’s been about five days.”

“Jagger—” Dutch tried again.

“Fuckin’ hell, man, you and me with sisters,” Jag stated and burst out laughing.

“Oh my God,” Georgie mumbled super low, pressing her hip hard into his to indicate that this was not a good sitch and it was getting worse.

“Murr,” Murtagh butted into the conversation.

“Hullo, my baby, hullo, my precious,” Georgie cooed to him as he threaded himself around her stilettos and the hems of Dutch’s jeans.

“This is like a Hallmark movie,” Jag said.

“Hallmark in hell,” Georgie said, again under her breath.

Now that was funny.

Dutch choked down laughter.

“Okay, I’m done. What the fuck is going on?” his mother demanded in Mom Voice.

“Shit,” he muttered.

“Oh boy,” Georgie mumbled.

“Baby,” Hound tutted.

“It’s just that Dutch hooked up. I told you two he was cool,” Jag declared.

“Is that it, Dutch?” Keely asked. “You just found a girl? Who’s your brother’s girlfriend’s sister? Who tonight apparently was out with another man, wearing that dress, a man who made a pass at her? News that’s surprising in itself, considering she left him and came right to you. News that further made me wonder if we’d have to tie you down so you wouldn’t go out and commit murder? Is that just what’s going on?”

Dutch looked to Georgie and asked, “Babe?”

She got him.

“I don’t know, honey,” she said. “Your call.”

“Not all of it,” he reminded her.

“It’s gonna have to be done eventually.”

“Jesus Christ!” Keely screeched, Georgie jumped, and Dutch looked to his ma to see her eyes on Hound. “They’re talking in code. This is so deep between them they can talk in code. And his mother is just now meeting this girl?”

“Woman, lock it down,” Hound growled.

She leaned toward Hound. “In code, Shepherd.”

“He’s a grown man, Keekee,” Hound replied.

“So you’re okay with this?” she demanded.

“Well, yeah,” Hound answered. “Because he’s a grown man, Keely.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake, we’re investigating the murder of the dad of one of the kids at King’s Shelter. Georgie is a reporter and she’s using some of her sources to find out whatever she can,” Dutch told them. He looked down at Georgie. “And obviously, that did not go well tonight.”

“It’s over. I’m fine,” she assured.

“Right,” he grunted.

“You’re investigating a murder?” Keely asked.

Goddamn it.

“Ma—” he started.

“When did you take the detective’s exam?” she queried.

“Listen—” he tried again.

“Strike that, when did you become a cop at all?” she kept at him.