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She’d gotten a chicken empanada and a latte with a chocolate chip cookie for dessert, and he’d gotten black coffee and a guacamole cheese omelet sandwich. He’d passed on dessert. She cut into her empanada.
“So, what did you want to talk to me about?”
He looked down and toyed with his cup, his expression altering, then leaned back and took a hard breath. “The Black Hearts.”
She set down her fork and swallowed, completely caught off guard by his answer. “The Black Hearts? Your father’s old MC? Why?”
It was common knowledge that Dean despised the group. When he was old enough, he’d refused to participate in anything they did when his father was alive. It hadn’t stopped him from loving motorcycles and getting the reputation of a master mechanic in his teens, but he wanted nothing to do with his father’s membership, no matter how hard he’d pushed Dean to join and embrace the lifestyle.
He couldn’t possibly be interested in joining them after all these years. But now that she’d been in his presence for this amount of time, there was something different about him, a tenseness that shadowed his eyes. A funny feeling unfurled in her gut. She finally put her finger on it. The brief times she’d seen him in between his deployments, there had been a looseness about him, as if he had found his place and was settled in nicely. Now, he was projecting a lone wolf vibe. What had happened to him?
“It’s personal, O. I can’t go into detail.”
There it was. The hand that pushed her out into no-man’s land, looking in from the outside of Dean’s formidable barrier. Why had she thought anything would be different?
“I see. They haven’t changed, Dean. Still unruly, taunting, criminal, and brutal.”
His mouth tightened, but she could tell he was resolute.
“What kinds of things are they into?”
“You name it. Drugs, protection, arms, harassment.”
He sighed. “Drugs? Lucrative?”
“Yes. Mostly meth-related, which accounts for about thirty-three percent of the abuse in LA.” She finished off the last bite of her empanada. “They’re even more dangerous than they were in your father’s day. I would suggest you steer clear of them.”
“What else?”
He completely ignored her advice. No surprise.
She took a sip of her latte, then cupped the mug in her hands, assessing Dean. He had leaned forward, his broad shoulders hunched, something almost desperate in his eyes.
“O?”
He stared solemnly at her a moment, then he glanced down, as if he saw something that disturbed him. Folding the paper napkin by his cup, he hesitated for another moment, then said, “It’s important to me. I need to know.”
She stared across the café, her cop mind going into overdrive. She so didn’t want him to be on the wrong side of the law. Where was he going with this? Why did he need to know? All good questions, but not ones Dean was going to answer.
“Don’t do that, O,” he said, an undertone of quiet warning in his voice. “Don’t act like your mom.”
Feeling as if she had something heavy in her chest, she met his steely gaze. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“I don’t need to be judged. I just need information. I thought…we could be…were friends.”
They had been close, so close, but that changed when she had to make a hard decision about her future and gave him no choice in the matter. He left for the Navy like she wanted him to do. Making a disgusted sound, he leaned back in his seat. Before he had a chance to say anything, she cut him off.
“I’m not judging you.”
His mouth thinned, and an angry glint appeared in his eyes. “I think you are.” He slapped the table, and the mugs made a rattling noise, several people glancing in their direction. His fist clenched and he let out a hard breath. “You want answers to why I want this information. I can’t give them,” he responded, his tone flat.
“There’s a rumor they have big plans going on right now. Automatic weapons type of plans. SWAT has been alerted. Stay away from them.”
“I’ve always made up my own mind about what I’m going to do.”
Right. Exactly. Nothing ever changed about Dean. He had hurt her back then and he would hurt her now. She’d been a fool to even accept his invitation to dinner. “You have. You always will. Keep your secrets, Dean, and get your information somewhere else.” She rose and made her way toward the back gate and slipped through, letting it slam behind her. She walked to the edge of the courtyard, heading back toward the street and her house.
A hand grabbed her arm and spun her. Dean, his features contrite, stood there breathing hard. “O, I’m sorry.”
