He shrugs. “I said could be. I didn’t say I’m stupid enough to believe it.”
“Find Vale,” I tell him. “Start with Paducah. Insurance, church accounts, property, tax liens, arrests that went away, complaints from women, payments to anyone with Pearly Gates attached to their name.”
Whiskey nods. “And Oregon?”
My jaw tightens. “Quietly. Old chapter. Lonerock. Caroline Bell. Any Welles connection. Anyone currently holding power out there who might want to reach into Kentucky.”
Royal says, “You think the Oregon sent her?”
“I think if I ignore Oregon and it bites us, I deserve the blood loss.”
Derby shakes his head. “She was a kid when she left.”
“Kids get used by adults all the time.”
That shuts him up because he knows it’s true.
The stairs creak.
Sophie comes down alone.
Every eye shifts to her.
She takes in the table, the tension, Derby’s clenched fists, my face, Royal’s shadows, Whiskey’s calculating stare.
Then she says, “No.”
I blink. “No what?”
“No to whatever all of this is.” She points at the table. “She is upstairs crying quietly enough to not wake her son because she thinks being inconvenient will get her thrown out. So before you turn her into a conspiracy with hair, I need you all to remember there is a woman in that room.”
No one speaks.
Sophie looks at Derby. “You did good bringing her here.”
Derby looks uncomfortable. “Wasn’t leaving her on the road.”
“I know.”
She looks at Whiskey. “Find what you need to find, but don’t let this become gossip.”
Whiskey nods. “It won’t.”
She looks at Royal. “Whatever is happening with your sister, don’t lay that shadow over Amelia unless you know it belongs there.”
Royal inclines his head, grave as a priest and twice as sinful. “You’re right.”
Then she looks at me.
My wife to be.
My queen.
The woman who walked into my violence and refused to become small.
“And you,” she says.
I lean back. “Here we go.”