Move the Sun (Signal Bend #1)(16)

So now, Isaac knew that the St. Louis crew the Horde was beefing with, The Northside Knights, had some kind of new player backing them, and they were looking to annex the cookers down the I-44 corridor —which was, in its entirety, from Illinois to Oklahoma, Horde turf. They’d just about turned Jimmy and Meg, among the biggest cookers in Crawford County, but they were leaning hard on Jimmy to prime Will Keller for a buyout of his property—a family farm of 150 acres, held by his bloodline for a century.

All of that for three fingernails. Well, he’d known she’d be the weak link. Meg didn’t know why they wanted the property, but Isaac had a damn good idea. There was a lot of dense forest on that acreage— about half the property. The canopy was tight. Good obstruction from satellites. Built right, a f*cking meth mass-production center could hide in there. Right smack in the middle of the pipeline.

Mass-produced crank on a scale like that was not going to happen on Isaac’s watch. No enemy of the Horde was going to own property on Horde turf, period. A backer for the Northsiders with that kind of capital—someone who scared Jimmy Sullivan enough that he was willing to be tortured rather than name— was a very serious, very dangerous problem for the Horde, and for Signal Bend itself.

And then there was Ms. Lillian Carson, allegedly from Austin, Texas, but with no discernable Texas lilt in her voice. Bart had come up against the wall quickly, but he hadn’t yet been able to breach it. He’d been perplexed, because she didn’t seem to have worked hard to hide the fact that she was hiding. Her created history would pass the most cursory and rudimentary of checks, something typically businesslike—to rent a house, say, or get a job—but anyone who thought she might be up to something would quickly know she was. Conversely, the wall itself seemed strong. According to Bart, that was a very strange circumstance.

He’d said it enthusiastically. Young Bartholomew liked himself a puzzle.

Interesting that she’d shown up the exact same day that Jimmy had gone off the rez. Isaac couldn’t understand how those dots connected. Maybe they didn’t; maybe it was pure coincidence that brought trouble to town on two roads at the same time. But Isaac was paying attention.

He wasn’t one normally to believe in coincidence, at least not without some deep inquiry first, but he found himself really hoping that whatever Lilli was hiding, it wasn’t something that would get in his way.

He liked her. He would hate to hurt her.

He would, if he had to. If she threatened his people or his town, he’d end her without hesitation. But he’d be unhappy about it.

Isaac felt sure her name was really Lilli. He caught that vibe right away. She seemed perfectly comfortable correcting his usage from Lillian to Lilli, as if it was a reflex born of long habit. He wasn’t nearly so sure about “Carson.” At least “Sport,” he knew, was hers. He knew because he’d named her himself.

He pulled into Marie’s, Lilli right behind him. Not too crowded—10 o’clock was late in the day for breakfast. The lunch crowd would be coming in soon. For now, there were only four other vehicles in the lot, including the Sullivans’ pickup. That could be awkward. It wasn’t until right then that Isaac realized what a stir he was about to cause, the President of the Night Horde walking into Marie’s for a late breakfast with the new girl everyone was talking about. The smokin’ hot new girl everyone was talking about. The one who’d been seen by the majority of the town this morning, running all over in what people were calling, variously, her underwear or a bathing suit.

Yeah, the tongues would be wagging this Sunday after church. And everywhere, every minute, from now until then. Oh, well. Been awhile since the gossips had something good to chew on.

He dismounted and put his helmet on the handlebars, then walked over and opened the Camaro’s door for Lilli. She gave him a surprised smile and stepped out. Similar getup as yesterday: same low-heeled black boots, slim, low-waisted jeans, simple t-shirt—yellow today—that left just the slimmest bit of belly showing. An extremely distracting slimmest bit of firm, flat belly. No jacket; too hot for that. Aviator-style Ray-Ban sunglasses. She didn’t seem to carry a purse. He added that simple fact to the growing list of f*cking sexy things about her. Women with big purses freaked him out. What the f*ck was so important they had to carry a damn suitcase with them everywhere they went?

Her hair was caught back in a ponytail again. It was long and thick, a rich dark brown, with just a hint of red in the sun. She did this fussy little thing with the ponytail, wrapping a lock of hair around it, tucking the end in. He’d watched her do it this morning. It was fussy, but he liked it. He didn’t know why.

That was absolutely the only fussy thing she’d done. She wore no makeup or scent—and he would have protested if she’d gone to cover up the way she smelled naturally. Today, she wore no jewelry but the big silver rings, and he was beginning to think those, like his own rings, were more practical than ornamental. She’d done some real damage to Meg’s throat last night.

He almost took her hand to escort her into Marie’s but thought better of it, and instead put his hand on her back, bringing her gently forward to walk in front of him. When the bell over the door jingled to announce their entry, the ten other people in the diner—six customers, two waitresses (including Marie), and, peering over the service area from the kitchen, Dave (her husband and the cook) and Evan, the dishwasher—every one of them turned to see who it was and then stopped to gape. Gotta love the small town life.