“This house has been in my family since it was built,” she says as I follow her up the winding stone pathway to the front steps. “Although my parents have promised it to Sully as his inheritance. I'm sure he'll auction it off to the highest bidder.” Without knocking, Lyric opens the door and steps inside. “Hello? We're here.”
I follow her into the ornate interior, the original wood paneling still present on the walls, the stairs, even the ceiling above my head. It's polished and shining, giving at least a few points to the douche mayor and his family. I suppose if he managed to raise Lyric, he can't be all bad, can he?
Lyric's mother appears, giving me pause as I take her in and find her looks shockingly similar to her daughter's. Same pert nose, full lips, heart shaped face. Her eyes are big and that same striking green, like crushed emeralds.
But that scowl on her face? It's a bit of a damp squib.
“Mrs. Rentz,” I say, moving toward her and pausing with my right hand extended. “Royal McBride.” The woman stares at the roses on the back of my knuckles like they're wilted and covered in rot.
“Lyric, if you would show your guest to the study. Then you can help me set the table.” She spins away without another word, disappearing down the hallway with a swish of her white skirts.
“The study?” I ask, trying not to laugh. “And you thought the club was antiquated.”
“Let's go,” she says, reaching down and taking my arm. “And see what this is all about.”
Lyric takes me down the hall, turning left at the end and heading down another fork. When she pauses at a set of double doors and reaches for the handles, I realize I can hear several voices inside. The mayor. His son. And Agent Shelley.
Fuck.
But it's too late and Lyric's already pulling the doors wide, freezing in shock as she spots both FBI agents sitting next to one another on a brown leather love seat.
“Dad, Sully,” a pause, “agents,” she says in her most neutral voice. It's full of confidence and authority. Pint-Size would make a damn fine lawyer. “This is certainly an unexpected surprise.”
Everyone but Sully rises as we move into the study, a place frozen in time. I can imagine lords of old returning from hunting parties to this room, smoking cigars with hounds at their feet and servants bustling in and out. Good God.
“Mr. McBride, Miss Rentz.” Agent Heather Shelley smiles with her beige lipstick, a color meant to dull the brightness in her eyes, make her more forgettable. There is nothing forgettable about this woman. She gives me a bloody fright. “Your father was kind enough to invite us over for dinner. I hope you don't mind.”
The look she tosses Lyric makes my skin crawl. Fuck. This doesn't reflect well on her, I know it. And although it's fairly obvious these agents have a motive much bigger than the Wolves to worry about, I'm still uneasy. We need them pointed in the right direction—and quick.
“Oh, of course not,” Lyric says, pasting a smile across her red rouged lips. “In fact, we're thankful for all you're doing for the community. The last thing any of us needs is a drug cartel in town.” She puts her hand to her chest as I stifle a chuckle. Lyric's eyes are glued to her father's blue ones as he stands tall and stares back at her. Sully sits like a sullen child on the couch opposite the love seat. “I'm assuming you've heard from Agent Shelley about the Saldaña Cartel?”
“She's been filling me in,” Philip Rentz says as he indicates a pair of chairs opposite the heavy wooden desk. “Please, take a seat both of you. Can I get you something to drink?”
“Yes, please. Whisky neat. For both Royal and me,” Lyric says as she moves forward and takes a seat, folding her legs at the knee. I follow suit and settle in the chair beside hers, my cut rustling against the leather of the chair. It smells like cloves and cigarette smoke in here, not an entirely unpleasant scent.
“As I was telling your father, the deeper we dig, the worse it seems to get.” There's a long pause as both Agent Garza and Agent Shelley glance over at me. They're not just here for dinner, that's for bloody sure. “I'm afraid the violence is moving north. Last night we had reports of a shoot-out on Highway 4 in Pittsburg, near San Francisco. Luckily, the county's installed cameras along the roadway for exactly this sort of occasion. Local law enforcement was able to trace the license plates and confirm that the vehicles belonged to known members of a group affiliated with the Saldaña Cartel.”
A chill trickles down my spine.
Fuck.
San Francisco to Ukiah, about two hours drive.
No doubt in my mind she's talking about Mile Wide.
“Whatever we can do to help, Trinidad is at your disposal,” Philip says, handing both me and Lyric a glass of amber liquid. I notice his face crinkles with disgust when he sees his daughter take a large swig. “We certainly don't want an increase in crime around here. That's why we've decided to partner with the Alpha Wolves, to ensure things remain peaceful.”