Poppy sleeps through Sunday afternoon.Daisy makes dinner for us, and I try to bring Poppy a burger, but she’s snoring and looks too peaceful to wake.
Savage brought over a bunch of things from Poppy’s house, and Holly spent the afternoon washing Jax’s school clothes along with the girls’. Turns out that Jax’s elementary school is right across the street from Daisy’s junior high. Dropping everybody off in the morning will be no big deal.
After dinner, I do the dishes while Holly crams for a math exam in her room, and Jax and Daisy work on a comic book at the kitchen table.
I’m sitting on the patio staring off at the blue water of the channel when my phone rings. I set my beer down and swipe the touchscreen.
“What?” I ask.
Savage is on the other line. “We got something.”
I listen as he fills me in. It’s a rumor, but if we can confirm what he’s saying is true, I might just have the evidence I need to prove Shayla was behind the break-in at Poppy’s.
“Get me a name,” I bark.
“Phantom.” Savage says it quietly, but there’s no mistaking the warning in his voice.
“Get me the fucking name,” I tell him.
I disconnect the call and drain my beer, then stalk inside.
Jax and Daisy look up as I enter. “Dad, can we have some ice cream?” Daisy asks.
“Yeah,” I grumble, yanking open the fridge and grabbing another beer. Then it hits me. “Wait, you had dessert after dinner.”
Daisy shrugs one shoulder. “You looked distracted. It was worth a try.”
“You little shit.” I put the beer back in the fridge without opening it. “I’m never so distracted I won’t notice a second dessert.” I come around to the kitchen table and mess up Daisy’s hair.
“Dad!” she squeals, and I drop down into a seat next to her.
“What’s this?” I ask, pointing.
“Jax is a super-good artist,” she says, pointing to the paper.
“Yeah?” I tug the sketchbook that Savage brought along with a bunch of other shit from the house earlier today close so I can get a good look. “Shit, kid.” I scan the panels of pencil drawings. “This is fucking impressive.”
“Dad.” Daisy shakes her head. “You swear too much.”
I snort but take note. “This issuperimpressive,” I say, echoing what Daisy said a minute ago. “This is good, kid. You got what it takes.”
“You think so?” Jax’s eyes light up at my compliment. “You think I’m good enough to be a tattoo artist?”
I flex my left arm so my bicep swells. I hold his sketchbook up beside the inside of my arm. “Your shit?” I lift a brow at Daisy. “Yourstuffis way better than half thestuffI have inked on my body. Look at this.”
I don’t tell Jax how many of my tatts were inked in prison or at parties in the compound by guys who had more balls than talent.
Jax’s grin is so big, I can’t help smiling. “I’ll be your first client, kid. Got plenty of skin left to cover.”
“For real?”
“I’ll be your second client,” Daisy says, taking the notepad back from me.
Getting the kids to bed is a piece of cake. Jax heads to the guest room, and Holly offers to wake him up since he doesn’t have an alarm clock in the room. I kiss my girls goodnight, then knock on the door of the guest room.
“Hi,” Jax says.
I nod at him. “You got what you need, little man? You need lunch money, anything like that?”
