The Wild Charge (Dartmoor Book 9)

Twenty-Seven

A plate heavy with hashbrowns, sausage links, and fried eggs thumped down in front of Fox. "Getcha anything else, hon?" his waitress, a motherly sort whose nametag read BILLIE, asked.

"No, thank you. More coffee when you get a chance." He was using his Tennessee accent, preferring not to stick out as a Brit amidst the truckers and construction workers and harried mothers seated around him.

She bustled off with a "coming right up," and he cut into his eggs with his fork; runny yolks, just the way he liked.

He'd decided, after pocketing the note, the one that crinkled every time he shifted and brought the big, block letters flashing through his mind, that he would think better on a full stomach. He'd gone to Waffle House, and parked around the side, where his bike couldn't be seen from the road. A text from Walsh a few minutes ago had informed him that he, Shane, and the girls had gotten away from the farm safely, so, for the moment, he had nothing to worry about, aside from the prospect of meeting Marshall Hunter under the Gay Street Bridge that night.

He forked egg into his mouth, turned to look out the window – and spotted a familiar, nondescript blue truck parking at the curb just outside. The lights cut off, the doors opened, and it was Reese, surprisingly, who climbed from the driver's seat. Tenny got out of the passenger seat, sunglasses firmly in place, and tried to shut the door while Evan was opening the rear suicide door and scrambling out.

Fox sighed. He could guess why those three were out driving around. If the feds were headed for the clubhouse next, Ghost wouldn't want them, or their hardware, anywhere in sight. He didn't doubt the floorboards of the back seat were crammed with duffel bags.

They trooped into the restaurant, Reese in the lead, and he was the one who scanned the place, and spotted Fox. He didn't react, outwardly, save a slight lift of both brows.

Fox sighed again, and waved them over.

Tenny slid, grumbling, into the window seat on the opposite side of the booth, Reese taking the aisle beside him. Evan dropped down next to Fox.

Tenny pushed his shades up into his hair to reveal tired, bloodshot eyes. "What are you doing here?" he grumbled.

"Same as you, I expect." Fox reached for his coffee. "They'll have it hard enough there dealing with the suits without our sort cluttering up the works."

Tenny snorted and peered out the window.

"Our sort?" Evan asked.

"Hired killers." To Tenny, he said, "When the waitress comes by, do your American accent."

"I know that," Tenny snapped, but when Billie appeared, as if summoned, he dredged up a smile and a perfect drawl with which to order coffee and a greasy burger and fries.

Reese ordered a bacon, egg and cheese sandwich.

"None of you got waffles?" Evan asked when Billie was gone. "It's Waffle House."

"Protein provides better nutrition," Reese said.

"Yeah, asshole," Tenny said. "Mind your goddamn nutrition."

Fox clinked his fork against his plate to regain their attention. "Anyone show up at the clubhouse yet?" he asked, tone purposefully light. He didn't think anyone was listening in, but it didn't hurt to be cautious.

"Just that cop who's got a hard-on for Ghost," Tenny said dismissively, looking back out the window.

"Lieutenant Fielding," Reese explained. To Tenny, he said, "I didn't get the impression he wants to have sex with Ghost."