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sure was reflected in her eyes. She wore a tailored pantsuit of fine, natural-colored linen over a simple white cotton shirt, with strings of baroque pearls at her throat. The light-colored suit served to accentuate the pale serenity of her face, but she wore little makeup, which would probably shock the gossip journalists of the world. Mercy Morrow looked as perfect without cosmetics as she did with them. In her son’s mind, she hadn’t changed since he was a little kid—but then, Lucas supposed, parents always looked the same to their children.
    “Hi, Mom. Good day?”
    Mercy shrugged. “I went down to the town’s little spa and got a woman to give me a massage. It was … acceptable. Though she did chatter so.”
    Lucas gave a derisive snort. “Busy as usual, then, huh?”
    His mother narrowed her eyes. “Don’t be flippant, Lucas. It’s boring. Rather like this commonplace little town.”
    He sighed, exasperated. “Honestly, Mom—why are we here? This place is like—it’s like the end of the earth! There’s nothing to do, and you know you’re going to get bored in two weeks. Can’t we just go somewhere else? You know—somewhere alive?”
    “I wanted us to unwind somewhere quiet,” Mercy said coldly. “Somewhere … with a little history.”
    “History? Sure, this place has history—if you count Abe Lincoln staying at the town inn for one night. I guess that was all he could stand too.” Lucas threw up hishands. “If you wanted to go somewhere quiet, we could have gone to Barbados. You would have gotten an acceptable massage, and I could have gone windsurfing. But instead we come out to the backwoods, where every local wants to peer in our windows and there’s nothing to do but check your toes for frostbite every half hour.”
    “Do not take that tone with me, Lucas,” Mercy hissed angrily. “I don’t recall you doing anything to earn your keep, and until you do, we go where I say, when I say. Is that clear?”
    “It’s not like I have a choice, is it?”
    Mercy smiled before she turned her attention to the mirror behind him, checking her hair. “I’m glad we understand each other.”
    “Fine. I’m going out. And I really don’t care if you mind or not.”
    Mercy raised one long arm and flicked her fingers impatiently. “Go, do. As long as you’re not skulking around here, whining about your lot in life, I don’t care.”
    Lucas pushed past her, angry, slamming the door as he left the room. Feeling someone watching him, he looked up to see Ballard, standing on the other side of the entrance hall, an unpleasant smile on his face.

Chapter 9: A Dog’s Life
    Finn stared into the fire they’d built to warm the camp, thinking about what had happened at the mall. It wasn’t the incident with the shop owner and the security guard—he was used to attitudes like theirs and had long ago learned that the best way to combat them was to rise above them. Actions spoke louder than words, as the old cliché went, and anyone who really cared to look would soon see that the bikers were not the thieving vagabonds they were so often accused of being. No, what had stayed with Finn was his encounter with the girl. Faye, her friend had called her. But it was another name that haunted Finn’s dreams—another name that also matched that face. He’d glanced through that window, and it had been like seeing a ghost. Even now, he could still feel the shock that had spiked through his heart at the sight of her.
    Finn heard the crunch of footsteps behind him and turned to see his dad approaching through the fresh layer of snow. Joe Crowley had been leading the Black Dogs for too many years to count, and the group respected him more than anyone else. He was a big man with broad shoulders, and the leathers that he always wore made him look even bigger. Everyone said that Finn was getting more and more like his father every day, and the boy had no problem with that at all.
    “Hey, Dad. Everything all