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Natches gave Chaya time to get started up the boardwalk before he stepped onto the deck of his houseboat to watch her leave.
Instantly he felt the rifle scope between his eyes, which meant, hopefully, he was drawing it away from Chaya. He smirked at the would-be assassin, daring him to take the shot, knowing none would be taken. But he was smart enough, instinctive enough to feel it.
Then he turned his gaze back to Chaya, keeping his expression carefully mocking, as though watching her walk away meant nothing to him.
It wasn’t forever, he reminded himself. Hell no. After this, he was never going to watch Chaya walk away from him again, he would make damned sure of it.
Shaking his head as though amused at something, he turned and walked back into the living room and closed the door behind him.
Chaya’s cell phone was tucked at his belt; it was turned on. According to her, even disabling the battery wouldn’t disable the wire.
All he had to do now was wait for Dayle Mackay to learn Chaya had left and to
call. And he would call. Cranston was betting against it, as was Alex. Three against two, because Dawg, Rowdy, and Natches all knew Dayle would call.
He didn’t have to wait long. Two hours that he spent pacing the living room, going over the plan, trying to make certain he’d considered every angle, and the cell phone rang.
He unclipped it unhurriedly and flipped it open before bringing it to his ear.
“Yeah?” As though he didn’t know who the hell it was.
“We need to talk, son. ” Grating, smug, Dayle’s voice came over the line clearly.
Natches stayed still, his fists clenching. He took the phone from his ear and flipped it closed, disconnecting the call. He didn’t want to appear too eager, did he? He had to swallow back the urge to throw up at the sheer confidence in Dayle’s voice.
How could anyone deceive himself to the extent that Dayle had, believing he would ever carry the right to call Natches “son”? Even with the slight evidence Dayle had been given, how could he ever imagine Natches would have a desire to speak to him? To kill, yeah, killing him might assuage a hell of a lot of anger, but in the long run, it would only end up pissing Natches off more.
Natches liked to think he wasn’t a man who fooled himself easily. He’d thought Dayle wasn’t. It seemed he was wrong, because a half hour later, the phone range again.
“What the hell do you want?” was his answer.
“We need to talk,” Dayle repeated, his voice throttled, anger evident in it.
“About what? Your treasonous activities? They’ve already caused me enough problems if you don’t mind,” he sneered. “If you’re going to save the world, try to do it without involving me. Okay?”
Save the world his ass. He almost choked on that one. Damn, he’d thought he was a better actor than this.
Dayle said nothing for long moments. “Some information is dangerous to have, Natches,” he finally replied.
“Yeah, so pull the damned trigger next time I step outside, why don’t you? That would just solve all our problems. ”
Dayle chuckled. “That sixth sense of yours has always been good. Come to your aunt Nadine’s house, Natches. One hour. Just give me a few minutes to talk to you; that’s all I’m asking for. Believe it or not, we might have a few things in common. ”
Uh-huh. They sure did. His blood and the fact that Natches really wanted to spill it.
But he stayed silent.
“I can’t imagine we have anything in common,” he finally stated. “And I doubt Nadine would let me in the door. ”
“One hour, Natches. ” Dayle’s voice gentled, and it sounded sickening. “I’ll be there waiting for you. ”
This time Dayle disconnected.
Natches flipped the phone closed and returned it to the clip on his belt. He checked the clock. It was barely nine and he needed a beer. Hell, whiskey. The bastard was driving him to drink.
He pushed his fingers through his hair and walked upstairs. He buckled the black leather chaps he used for riding the Harley in winter over his jeans and pulled on the heavy boots he wore when riding the powerful machine.
The leather jacket, scuffed and beaten, was pulled from the closet and thrown to the bed as he moved to the dresser. He tucked a knife in the side of his boot. Picking up the jacket, he walked downstairs and pulled a beer from the refrigerator.
