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Ghost's attention snapped back to her. “What now?”

“The house isn't the only place my father used for his treasure hunts,” she said.

“Where else?” Ghost grumbled.

“The Nomad Knights clubhouse,” she said. Hammer swore, and Ghost smiled.

Angel groaned. “There it is again.”

“What?” Ghost asked.

“That look that tells me that you're about to do something incredibly stupid,” she said.

Ghost grabbed his cigarettes from the dresser. “You're getting to know me now, honey.”

“I don't think that's something to be proud of,” she insisted.

“It is where I come from.” He headed toward the door, and Angel caught his arm.

“Ghost,” she breathed. He stopped, but didn’t look back at her. “If that key leads to the clubhouse, we're not going inside.”

“Sure,” he breathed.

She narrowed her eyes. “You're lying.”

“Probably,” he agreed.

“Ghost.” He leaned down and kissed her forehead, and the gesture surprised both of them. Ghost straightened quickly, and Angel stared at him.

Hammer smiled from across the room. Ghost pointed at him. “Not one fucking word.”

Hammer held up both hands. “Didn't say anything.”

“You were about to,” Ghost drawled.

“Absolutely,” Hammer admitted. Ghost opened the door. He needed air, a cigarette, and maybe a bottle of whiskey. Hell, he’d take anything that might stop him from thinking about what he'd just done. He didn't kiss foreheads, he didn't hold hands, he didn't tell women about Levi, and he sure as hell didn't volunteer to drive four hours into hostile MC territory because a woman had remembered a key from a Halloween card. But Angel wasn't just a woman anymore, and that was becoming painfully fucking clear.

Ghost had barely made it three steps down the hallway when his phone buzzed. He pulled it out and saw that it was an unknown number. Every instinct in him went on alert. “Ghost?” Hammer called from behind him. Ghost held up a hand. The message contained a photograph. For a second, he couldn't make sense of what he was looking at, but then he did. It was a house with old white siding, dark shutters, and a wide front porch littered with dead leaves. A rusted motorcycle sign hung beside the front door. The place looked abandoned.

Ghost enlarged the photograph, and his heart stopped. “Fuck.”

Hammer was beside him instantly. “What is it?” Ghost couldn't answer. He stared at the house in the photograph, and he was sure that it had belonged to Viper Sanchez.

Angel stepped into the hallway. “What happened?”

Ghost looked at her. “Is this your father's house?”

He held out the phone, and Angel stared at the photograph. All the color drained from her face. “Yes,” she whispered. Hammer swore, and another message came through.

Ghost opened it.

YOU WANT THE TRUTH ABOUT VIPER?

A second message followed.

COME HOME, ANGELINA.

Then a third.