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“Most times. Now tell me what’s going on around here, but first take the boys their drinks.” She handed me a bottle for Noah, which I tucked in a pocket, then picked up the other two glasses of wine.
Mal and Ian faced the trees that lined the property, watching the sun fall and chatting about—
“NASCAR?” I said incredulously.
Mal shrugged. “I like fast cars.”
“And you?” I asked Ian.
“What’s not to like?”
Noah spit his basketball pacifier directly into Ian’s face. Ian caught the thing before it fell to the ground and laid it on the table. He really did seem to have a knack for kids.
I set the bottle between the two men, figuring Ian would turn Noah over to his dad for the feeding. But they continued to talk about drivers I’d never heard of. I couldn’t stand car racing, probably because all of my brothers had watched it incessantly. Around and around and around. Crash, bang, explosion. Snore.
I reached the sliding glass doors that separated the deck from the kitchen and glanced back just in time to see Ian shift Noah into the crook of his arm and pop the bottle into his mouth as if he’d done the same thing a hundred times before.
My chest tightened; my eyes went hot, and I had to turn away before I embarrassed myself. The sight made me want him in ways that didn’t involve being naked in the night. Ways that were far more dangerous.
I practically dived inside and nearly smacked into Claire, who was watching him, too. Her gaze met mine. “He could be a keeper.”
“Too bad someone else is already keeping him.”
“He’s married?”
“So I hear.”
Claire looked at him again. “He doesn’t seem married.”
“How does someone seem married?”
“They just do.” She handed me my wine, which she’d topped off to the brim in contrast to every Southern Belle Rule of Etiquette.
Claire and I had always done our best to break all those rules as often as we could. I took a swig instead of a dainty sip; she did the same and we clinked glasses, then leaned against the counter, as I filled her in on everything that had happened.
“Raven Mocker,” she repeated. “That’s a new one.”
“So was werewolf, but we handled it.”
She lifted her glass in a salute. “And now the thing’s moved on to the young, the strong, the healthy.”
“Yeah.” I took another swig of wine.
Doc had tagged me by noon with the news I had dreaded. No heart in the chest of Ben Fitzhugh, either.
“Maybe we should call Elise again.” Claire glanced toward the deck where the men continued to lounge. “At least see what she knows about this other secret society.”
Since I did want to give the woman a piece of my mind, I dialed the number.
“What can you tell me about the Nighthawk Keetoowahs?” I asked as soon as she picked up. I could ignore “hello” as easily as she did.
“He told you,” Elise said. “Interesting.”
“You said you knew nothing about him.”
“I said he wasn’t in my database of paranormal baddies.”
I wondered if she knew about his tendency to go eagle eyed, literally, then decided I wasn’t going to be the one to tell her. Two could play at the secret game.
