Calm & Storm (The Night Horde SoCal Book 6) Read online

  “How long?” Trick repeated, his jaw clenched.

  “Since November,” Hoosier answered.

  Eight months.

  Not from the start, and that was some relief, but a very long time to keep the table in the dark. Far too long—and for most of the time that they’d been taking heavy fire.

  While they’d been working for La Zorra, for the Feds, they’d lost members P.B., Lakota, and Diaz. And two Prospects, Peaches and Jerry. Diaz had died within the past eight months.

  Their officers had kept back the truth of their situation even as they’d put another member in the ground.

  Ronin sat still in his seat and, breathing deeply and steadily, let emotion move through him. Around him, the Keep erupted in fury.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Lorraine shoved her binder into her bag as she walked up to Donovan Winter’s front door. His house was as much built of glass as her own—maybe more. It made sense; when you had a view like those offered by the Pacific coast or the Hollywood Hills, you made the most of it.

  She rang, and the man himself appeared inside and walked to the door. He would have known it was her, of course; she’d been announced by the guard at the head of the lane. The people who lived in this part of Malibu were the kind of people who needed a guard between their personal, private space and the rest of the world.

  “Lorraine! So good to see you.” He took her hand and gave it an affectionate squeeze. “Thanks for coming here to talk about this.”

  “It’s better this way—I need a sense of the space and available resources, anyway.”

  He led her through a large, airy foyer to a larger, airier space that faced the ocean. It seemed to be living room, dining room, and kitchen, all in one enormous room.

  The rich smell of baking pastry filled the air, and Lorraine turned instinctively toward the kitchen, where a small, plump, severe-looking woman had just laid out a plate of puffs. Before Lorraine could say anything, the woman disappeared through a doorway near the refrigerator.

  Donovan smiled at her. “That was Marica, my housekeeper. She’s been with me for years, but she doesn’t like to be introduced to people. However, she made something to go with our coffee while we talk. Do you know papanash?”

  “Sure—it’s a Romanian dessert. Like a sweet cream cheese puff with fruit or preserves.”

  “Exactly, yes. I think she’s trying to impress you—or intimidate you. It’s not often that somebody else cooks in her kitchen, but this party is too big for her to handle these days.”

  Working in somebody else’s kitchen was a political high-wire act under the best of circumstances, which was one compelling reason that Lorraine wasn’t exactly keen on expanding their brand new business into catering. But the honest truth was that their few catering jobs had been, by far, their best advertising for Mythic. Cameron had been right—if they went to the people, then the people would come to them.

  Working in somebody else’s kitchen when that somebody else didn’t want her there, though? That could become a disaster. Lorraine made a mental note to have a really solid Plan B fully worked out and ready. And she’d send Marica a personal note and ask her for insights and advice.

  “Why don’t we sit at the table?” With a sweep of his hand, Donovan indicated a long, plain walnut table surrounded by elegant upholstered chairs, and Lorraine nodded and headed there. “How do you take your coffee? Or would you prefer espresso?”

  “Coffee is fine. Just a dash of cream, please.”

  When there were mugs of coffee, two small plates, and a platter of papanash on the table, Donovan sat next to Lorraine and said, “So. Tristan and Colette and her parents and I managed to make a guest list. It worked out to a bit more than a hundred people.”

  He had never told her what kind of party this would be, but by that sentence she was able to narrow it down fairly well. “Is this a wedding or an engagement party?”

  “Engagement.” He smiled warmly. “I’m sorry—I guess I never said.”

  “It’s fine. This is a preliminary planning meeting, so I didn’t need to know before now. Congratulations to your son.”

  “Thank you. It’s one hundred fifteen guests, including us. The odd number is fine—I’m the odd one out. We accounted for plus-ones for everyone else. That wall”—he indicated the glass wall facing the beach—“opens almost completely, so I was thinking indoor/outdoor.” He laughed and turned back to her. “You know, I should shut up and let you tell me what to do. I’ve never planned a party before. Not like this. I haven’t entertained on this scale since my wife died. Ten years ago. She was the party planner in the family. I just know that Tristan falling in love and wanting to get married is the first really good thing to happen to our family in a very long time, so I want to make it special.”

  Donovan Winter was a star of such magnitude that everybody thought they knew everything about him. Even someone who didn’t follow pop culture very closely, like Lorraine, couldn’t help but know details of his life. So she knew that he’d been married to the actress Stella Marlowe, who had died in a plane crash. She knew that they’d had two children, Tristan and a daughter—Lorraine couldn’t remember her name—who’d died of cancer or something like that a few years ago. That event had made Lorraine’s radar primarily because Donovan’s daughter and her son were almost the same age, and the thought of losing a child so young, right on the cusp of her whole life, had really hit her hard. When she’d heard the news, she’d driven to USC and practically kidnapped Cameron, making him cut classes and spend the day with her.

  On impulse, Lorraine reached out and grasped Donovan’s hand where it rested on the table. “We’ll be sure to make it perfect.”

  He smiled sadly. “Thank you.”

  To lift the weight of the moment, she let his hand go with a squeeze and selected one of the papanash. The fruit in the filling looked to be blackberry, or maybe boysenberry—hopefully the latter, since they were in season.

  She took a bite—yes, boysenberry. It was very good, the perfect balance of sweet and tart, and the pastry was light and buttery. Lorraine made another mental note to compliment Marica on her baking. “Oh, this is delightful.”

  Donovan took a puff of his own. “Yes, they’re a family favorite. Marica will be pleased to know you like them.”

  Finishing her puff, Lorraine took a long sip of her coffee and got her sketchpad and binder out of her bag. Everybody and their uncle used tablets these days, almost no one used paper and pen, and Lorraine had a tablet, which she used regularly. But she preferred to take her notes and make her plans the old-fashioned way. “Okay. I brought my book with some ideas from parties I’ve done before. But where I’d like to start is you telling me about Tristan and Colette.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Their interests, how they met, any plans for the future that you know about—and also just anything you want to tell me. As if you wanted me to know the man you know. And the woman he loves.”

  Donovan gave her a long, curious look. “You’re very good at this, aren’t you?”

  “Yes. Planning a party isn’t just serving good food and booze. It’s self-expression. At Mythic, I express myself. At this party, my goal is to make the guests of honor feel known and loved. And also serve good food and booze.”

  He laughed. “Well, then, get comfortable. I enjoy talking about my son.”

  ~oOo~

  Stuck in traffic on the 405 after her meeting with Donovan, Lorraine let her mind wander. Only yesterday morning, she and Ronin had been in Santa Barbara, enjoying a leisurely waking and then a rollicking bath. Since he’d dropped her off at home early yesterday afternoon, not coming inside for even a second, she’d only heard one thing from him: a reply to her text asking if he was okay. His answer had been, simply, Yes.

  She trusted that he really was in this time, and she damn well knew she was, but having that call break apart their romantic sojourn so completely, and for trouble of a kind he refused to say, had her unse
ttled.

  Before, she’d been content to think of the Night Horde as something like knights errant: rough men who were comfortable being violent and had a casual relationship with the law, but who were good men at heart. She’d never let herself entertain any deeper questions into what it was Ronin did as a member of an MC.

  Now, she wondered. Was he in danger? Could he get hurt? God, could he go to jail? What had happened that was so bad he had to drop everything and go? And what did that mean for them?

  He’d said he wanted to keep his life with her separate from his life with the Night Horde. But that was nuts.

  She needed to understand; they needed to talk. He needed to talk. She was encouraged after their walk on the beach to know that he would, if she were patient.

  Lost in her thoughts, Lorraine groaned when her car’s electronic voice said, Douglas calling. Would you like to accept?

  No, she did not want to talk to Douglas. But he rarely called these days, and did so only when there was something they needed to discuss. So, with a roll of her eyes, she said, “Accept,” and his tanned face filled the screen.

  “Hello, Lorraine.”

  “Douglas. What’s up?”

  “Can we meet? I was thinking dinner tonight?”

  “I have work to do, Douglas. I’m on my way to the markets, and then to the restaurant.”

  “I’ll come there. Remember when I’d help you plan your menus?”

  The nostalgic tone in her ex-husband’s voice made the hairs on the back of Lorraine’s neck stand up. “Where’s Summer tonight?”

  “She’s got yoga and then she’s going out for dinner with friends. It doesn’t matter. I’m not calling because I’m lonely. I’m calling because we need to talk.”

  “About what?”

  “About Cam.”

  “Is he okay?” She hadn’t seen or spoken to him since she’d called him on Saturday morning to let him know that she and Ronin were going up to Santa Barbara. That wasn’t unusual, to go a few days without talking, when they weren’t working, but now she felt a thrill of worry. “Did something happen?”

  “He’s fine. We had him and Mac over for dinner last night. Lorraine, stop being quarrelsome. I would like to see you so that we might talk about our son. Like adults.”

  She clenched her hands around the steering wheel, wishing strenuously that her car didn’t have video calling, because what she really needed to do right now was flip him off. “I’m not being quarrelsome. I am busy, and I don’t have time to sit around and chat. I’m trying to ascertain what it is you want to talk about.”

  “Cam told me he’s met his…his biological father.”

  Lorraine slammed on the brakes, narrowly avoiding a collision with the Ferrari ahead of her.

  “Are you okay?”

  She hated that Douglas could see her right now. Reaching deep to find a calm tone for her voice, she answered, “Yes. Traffic is bad, but I am fine. I don’t know why we need to meet about this, Douglas. Cam’s a grown man now. Who he meets and what he does is up to him.”

  “Please, Red. I need to talk this out.”

  “You have a new wife for that.”

  “Summer doesn’t understand. She can’t—she…”

  …Was too young to have lived a life and raised a child and learned anything at all about anything at all. Douglas hadn’t called Lorraine ‘Red’ since their marriage, and she resented that he would use it now, as if it were an arrow in his quiver of manipulation. She sighed. “Fine. I’ll be at Mythic in a couple of hours. We can talk while I work.”

  “Thank you. I’ll see you then.”

  “Yep. End call.” Douglas’s head faded out, and music began to play again.

  ~oOo~

  “Cam says that you’re with him. Is that true?”

  Lorraine turned from her contemplation of scallions and leeks and scowled at Douglas, who’d pulled up a stool and sat at the end of the island, drinking rye on the rocks. “Why is it your business?”

  “So it is true.”

  She crossed her arms over her chest. “Douglas, if this ‘talk’ you want to have has anything to do with my life and relationships, then finish your drink and get out.”

  “It’s not. I’m sorry. I just—I’m surprised, after all these years, that you’d seek him out.”

  “I didn’t. Our meeting again was a coincidence. Of course I told him about Cam. I should have told him from the start.”

  “Yes, but you didn’t, and now it’s years later, and Cameron is confused.”

  “Cameron’s confused, or you’re threatened?”

  “Not fair, Red.”

  “Don’t call me that.” She sighed and went to the end of the island. “Douglas, Ronin is Cameron’s father. He has a right to know his son, and it’s not his fault that it’s so late. It’s mine. Cam wants to know him. That was his call. What you and Cam have, you had almost twenty years to solidify. Getting to know Ronin now isn’t going to change his relationship with you.”

  “Are you sure about that? Things between us have been different since…”

  Douglas let that sentence fade out, but Lorraine finished it for him. “Since you left me for a girl his age, practically the second he had his degree in his hand? If you and Cam aren’t as close as you were, that has nothing to do with Ronin, and it’s your job to fix it. Don’t look for somewhere to push the blame.”

  “I didn’t realize you were still so bitter.”

  “I’m not, and don’t deflect. What you did was shitty. It will always be shitty, and I’m never going to let you think it isn’t. But I love my life now. And I’m glad that I was free to take this second chance with Ronin.”

  “Did you love him while we were married?”

  Lorraine had never spoken at length about Eddie to Douglas, and he’d never expressed interest. She’d never told him that he was her Great Lost Love.

  “I loved you while we were married.” That statement was both true and sufficiently incomplete. It was no longer any of Douglas Archer’s business whom she loved, and he certainly had no right to claim any offense if she had answered his question directly.

  Seemingly satisfied, he nodded. “You know he taught him to ride a motorcycle. He’s a biker. A real biker—in a gang. Already he’s a bad influence—Cam went to a Ducati dealer yesterday. I don’t want him on a motorcycle. They’re deathtraps.”

  Lorraine smiled at the thought of Cameron riding a Duc like his father had done in Oregon. That red Streetfighter. She also enjoyed the thought that it had Douglas so riled.

  “Why are you grinning?”

  “Cam can do as he likes, Douglas. And a Ducati is a nice bike. This conversation is a nonstarter. It doesn’t matter whether you like that Cameron is getting to know his father. It doesn’t matter whether you like that he’s back in my life. I am not in your life anymore, and Cam is a grownup. We all make our own choices. Your choice is how you handle this. Do you maintain your relationship with him and keep your status as Dad? Or do you sabotage it because you want something it’s not your right to have?”

  He finished his drink, shoving the glass sharply across the steel counter. “I don’t like it.”

  “Noted.” With a deep breath, Lorraine took pity on him. “Douglas, you’re his dad. You raised him. Ronin can never have that. You have nothing to fear, unless you do something to screw things up.”

  He stared at her, sucking his teeth. She knew he was struggling at the thought of not getting his way—but he was struggling, and that, at least, was something. “You know, those bikers, they have some very shady dealings.”

  “Unlike the people you work with.”

  “The people I work with don’t carry guns to their deals.”

  “Douglas, enough. Cameron isn’t going to join a motorcycle club. He’s a financial advisor, for Pete’s sake. And Ronin doesn’t bring his club into our lives. He doesn’t even wear his kutte when he’s with us.”

  “His what?”

  “Kutte. The vest they w
ear, with the patch on the back.”

  “Oh. You’re down with the lingo, now?”

  “Okay, we’re done with this absurd conversation. I am going to grill this red snapper and dress it with a leek and apple glaze. Would you like to stick around and taste test with me? Do the wine pairing?” His forte had always been choosing the right wine for a dish.

  “No. I’m not hungry. I think I’ll go.”

  “Okay.” Lorraine put her hand on his forearm. “It’s going to be fine, Douglas. Trust our boy. His heart is huge. There’s plenty of room in it for a dad and a father, both.”