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Donald jerked a nod. Shep repeated the action when the spear stare hit him.
Franz looked over to Tracy again. Her face was distant, pale, and troubled—but trusting. Filled with complete reliance on his instinct—
Which still conveyed just one thing.
Something. Is. Not. Right.
More tires sloughed onto the driveway. Shit. The Escalades bearing Tracy’s two girlfriends, a slew of other staffers—
And Luke.
Who, like the fifteen-year-old being led by his small head instead of his big one, ignored his security detail to bound like a boss from his vehicle. Wasn’t tough to decipher Luke’s confidence. Popping her head out in his wake was a little blonde, freckles across her nose and a lopsided grin, who gasped upon glimpsing the private backyard and swimming pool.
“Luke! Ohmigawd! This is where you’re staying?”
“Only until tonight, when my mom’s done with that thing at the convention center.”
Smooth. The kid pulled off humble yet confident in the same line. John made a note to commend him—as soon as he murdered him. “Luke. Dammit.”
The teen rolled his eyes. “John? Seriously?”
“Seriously. Get back in the car.”
“Gah. Dude, I thought you were cool.”
“Lucas Levane Ryker Rhodes.” The charge, louder than it should’ve been due to a suddenly unrolled window, seized Franz’s gut like it clearly did the kid’s. “Get back in your car, or this week’s allowance doesn’t happen.”
Franz stomped to the open window. Flung a glare inside the car. “Know what else won’t happen if this window isn’t closed in ten seconds?”
Thank fuck the woman filled the rest of that in. She wasn’t stupid—most of the time—but her blind spot was definitely her son. That much was proved as she hit the button, raising the bulletproof glass back up.
If only her offspring would be as smart.
Not in the cards, even after the threat of allowance deprivation. “This shit is so lame,” Luke huffed.
“Hey.” Franz jabbed a finger. “Language. Especially in front of a lady.”
“But you just—”
“You’re costing everyone valuable time,” John bellowed. Irretrievable, perhaps priceless, seconds. “Get back in the car, Luke.”
“And don’t move your arse until I say so.” The order, issued by a brogue thicker than Donald’s, came from the guy now surging out of that car. Though his ginger hair turned to fire in the sun, the brilliance didn’t touch the enraged blazes in Sam Mackenna’s eyes. “Do ya have a brain to claim in that thick skull, ya hormonal numpty?”
Luke kept up the fume. Franz almost began to feel for the kid. Sometimes a guy had to choose what won, their good sense or their fury. Rarely did the two blend well. “Sam! Shit.”
“Language.” Sam helped on the growled repeat.
“Whatever,” Luke retaliated. “We were just here a few hours ago, yeah? You think the boogie men really snuck in between then and now, and—”
“Stop.” The Scot’s jaw emulated a cliff from his native land. “Before I’m tempted to show ya what a boogie man really looks like. Now both of ya, back in the car.”
Luke jabbed his own jaw. Okay, Tracy had been right. The boy had it bad for his little girlfriend if he was openly defying orders from a guy like Sam, who now really looked ready to pull out a broadsword for the cause. But as Mackenna jumped to the ground, locking the teens back in behind him, he swung an expectant stare back over to Franz—
Exposing the deeper knit in his brow.
John had no compunction about copying it.
Something still didn’t feel right—but a feeling was all it continued to be. Nothing his senses returned as hard evidence was adding up to anything but confusion.
