So she was a block and a half behind a large group of Buzzards who thankfully hadn’t noticed that they were being tailed. She’d been a bit worried that she might have lost them after the drunk and the hero had slowed her down. But a dozen leather-clad bikers on loud-ass Harleys were actually fairly easy to find, even in Rapid City, which seemed to have a higher concentration of riders.
She followed them to the edge of an industrial area that was not far from the bar. She hung back because of the lack of other vehicles in the area and watched them pull into the lot of a low-slung building that almost resembled a warehouse. Shortly after they entered, music boomed loudly from inside. Izzy drove past as slowly as she dared, trying to get a good look. Through the windows, she saw a small crowd of people drinking and carousing. She hoped she would blend in with the mass of partiers.
She circled behind the building and parked halfway down the block, in the shadows. She hustled toward the clubhouse, skirting around the streetlights as best she could. There were a few small windows in the back and she crept up to the first one and peeked in. It appeared to be a bathroom at the back corner of the building. She placed both hands on the window pane and lifted, but it wouldn’t budge. Hoping the next one wasn’t also locked from the inside, she moved forward and peered in the second window. It was situated at the end of a hallway. No one was within sight.
Praying silently, she tried to open it and breathed a small sigh of relief when she succeeded. The window quietly slid up and she threw her leg over the sill and ducked inside. The music was so loud inside that she was confident no one had heard her entering. If she could get in and out quickly and avoid actually running into anyone, she could exit the same way.
She tried the door to the first room on her left, the one connected to the bathroom she’d been unable to enter. It was locked, though. She slipped her switchblade out of her jacket pocket and flicked it open. Prying open the flimsy door lock, she swung it open cautiously. The room was empty. She paused, though, as she looked at the rumpled, unmade bed. Above it hung a huge black flag, a larger version of the patch on the cuts of the club’s members. If Izzy had any doubt where she was, the word “President” looming over the Buzzard’s logo made it pretty clear.
She backed out of the room and headed to the next one. This one was unlocked and she edged it open quietly, just to make sure no one was inside. It was empty as well, which made sense because the night was still young and the party had seemingly just started. There was nothing of interest, though, aside from empty bottles, cans, and scattered dirty laundry on the floor.
Izzy tried two more small rooms until she hit the jackpot. Jason Paul’s room was the third room on the right. She knew because he had a copy of the same photograph that had graced his cousin Jeter’s mirror back in Denver. The bed was unmade, but that was no surprise given where she was. Izzy was reasonably certain the Buzzards had no weekly maid service.
It was impossible to tell when Jason had been here last, though the closet was mostly empty. There were no discarded receipts of any kind, no scribbled notes scattered about. She was as thorough as she dared to be, knowing she was risking a lot just being here. But more than the reward, a girl’s life was at stake, and Izzy could probably shoot her way out of here if things got bad. Probably.
She left the room and edged toward the end of the hall. It took a sharp right turn and she could tell by the increase in the volume of music, laughter, and shouting that the connecting hallway led straight into the clubhouse’s main room. She took a quick peek around the corner and confirmed that, yes, the next hallway did lead right to the heart of the party. It looked like the back of the room, though. Most of the people were to her left and therefore out of her direct line of sight.
Taking a deep breath, Izzy moved forward, against the wall, toward the main room. Her heart was pounding but the music was louder and no one could hear her boots on the chipped tile floor. She slid along the wall, careful as she could be until she got to the end.
There were a dozen more people than the ones who’d traveled from the bar. Only a small number of them were women. One woman in particular seemed to be the main event. She was standing on a table in the center of the room, stripping off her clothes for the crowd. Izzy only spared them a moment before she pivoted and hustled back the way she’d come.
She turned the corner to the other hallway, but her heart leapt to her throat when the sound of heavy boots followed her. Fighting panic, Izzy glanced at the empty rooms that lay between her and the open window she’d climbed in through. But none of those rooms had windows and she couldn’t risk getting trapped. She moved faster now, but could not run because the sound of her own boots would surely raise suspicion.
She realized too late that there was no time to climb back through the window. It was too small to dive through and if she tried to hike her leg over the sill, she’d be caught by whoever was coming down the hall before she could get all the way out. She plunged through the last door on her right, the one she’d unlocked, and quickly closed it behind her.
Moving faster now, she hustled to the bathroom door and to the window that lay beyond. She grabbed the sill with both hands and tugged. When it didn’t open, she cursed herself and remembered why she hadn’t been able to come in that way to begin with. She hurriedly flipped the lock and tried again, but it still wouldn’t rise. She inspected the makeshift exit and realized, to her horror, that not only had it been locked, but it had also been painted shut.
Close to melting down now, Izzy cast her gaze about wildly while she tried to think what to do. She opted for waiting until the person went into whatever room they were headed toward then she would slip back out to the hallway and escape there. As she left the bathroom and went back into the bedroom, she froze when she realized that though she couldn’t hear a set of keys being jangled, the doorknob itself was indeed turning. Her breath caught in her throat as the door started to open.
Chapter 10
Caleb slowed as he cruised past Maria’s bar. The sun had set and the temperature had dropped fairly quickly. It was also Monday, so he wasn’t expecting a large crowd. No one lingered in the parking lot, probably owing to the chill. He scanned it a second time just to be sure. He wouldn’t say that he was actually looking for anyone in particular, especially not a five-foot-five brunette with a killer right hook. But if he happened to run into anyone matching that description, he wouldn’t exactly complain. He’d also take the opportunity to find out what she was doing in his town. But she wasn’t loitering out front and unless he actually got a call from Maria, Caleb didn’t have any good reason to abandon the cruiser to take a quick peek inside the building. The job came first, personal curiosity a close second.
He turned the wheel and headed up Palmer Ave, toward downtown. His patrol route was mostly the south side of town, but it crept up right to the edge of Main Street and if he took a spin around that area, then he had an excuse to swing by Maria’s again on his way back through. He only made it as far as Davis Drive before his radio crackled to life. He took his foot off the gas for a moment as he realized the call was another Domestic. He paused, hands tightening a bit on the steering wheel, just waiting for an address so he could point the cruiser in the right direction.
His foot slipped off the gas entirely, though, when he heard the dispatcher’s voice coming through the speaker. He recognized the address, or thought he did, but that couldn’t be right. He snatched the mike off the cradle and pressed the button. “Dispatch, repeat the 20,” he demanded but turned the wheel and took the next cross street, just in case. The dispatcher repeated the source of the call. Caleb shook his head, unable to understand it, but didn’t want to waste valuable time questioning it. He slammed the mike back down on the cradle, flipped on the lights and sirens, and hit the gas hard. The cruiser rocketed forward and he spun the wheel to keep control of the car.
He flew past Maria’s bar, taking a hard left at the stoplight. He passed a car that wasn’t slowing down eno
ugh and nearly collided head on with a pickup truck coming straight at him. He avoided the head-on collision by yanking the wheel back to the right and cutting off the Camry behind him. He turned onto the now-familiar street and pulled up against the curb, squealing the brakes. He threw the cruiser into park and jumped out the door. The car was still rocking back and forth as he exited.
The rookie was on-scene again, standing on the front porch with another, older, man in uniform. Caleb recognized him, but couldn’t recall his name. From the looks of it, things had already spiraled out of control. With one hand the rookie was holding the screen door partially open, but wouldn’t cross the threshold. With his other hand he was gesturing wildly to the man next to him, who looked to be radioing for more backup.
For one brief yet horrifying moment, Caleb thought perhaps they were all too late. Chilling images of limp bodies and faces plastered with blood-matted hair swam in his vision, but he shook them off as he ran across the lawn. As he neared the house, he heard the impossible sound of the asshole who lived here shouting from inside. But that couldn’t be right, because the asshole was cooling his heels in lockup and there was no way he’d scraped together enough cash to bail out.
Caleb mounted the steps as the rookie turned to face him. A look of surprise registered on the younger man’s face as recognition set in.
“You shouldn’t be here,” the rookie told him.
Caleb ignored him and reached for the door.
“You can’t go in there!”
The rookie tried to push the edge of the door out of Caleb’s grasp. “He’s got a knife. He’s bashed up the place,” the younger man informed him breathlessly as he jerked his head to the second uniform. “We’re calling HRT and we’re supposed to—”
“Fuck Hostage Rescue,” Caleb snapped and grabbed the door firmly. He chanced a look inside and what he saw confirmed the rookie’s report. Furniture was overturned. Stuffing from the couch was scattered all over the floor, the first victim of the knife the asshole had in his grip. At least Caleb hoped so.
Moira was a few feet away, her back pressed against the living room wall. The kid was nowhere in sight.
“They could be dead before Hostage Rescue even rolls out,” Caleb told the rookie in a hushed tone. He yanked on the door, opening it wide.
“You can’t—” the rookie tried to argue, but Caleb disappeared inside.
The asshole’s gaze barely tracked Caleb’s entrance as he moved farther into the living room. Judging by the way he swayed on his feet, he was drunk or high or both.
Caleb glanced around the living room. The kid wasn’t here. His door in the adjacent hallway was closed. Caleb hoped he was cowering under his bed.
“ ‘S you,” the asshole slurred, glaring at him. “Look, Moira. It’s your boyfriend. The one you were fawning all over. ‘Yes, Officer,’ ” he said mockingly, “ ‘come in, Officer. Let me get you a glass of water, Officer. Oh and here’s Mike’s one-hitter over here on the table and get a closer look at my lip, also courtesy of Mike for fucking nagging him so goddamn much!’ ”
Caleb glanced at Moira, who had already retreated mentally from the situation, as he suspected she’d done a thousand times before. Caleb noticed that while said lip was healing, her left eye was a deep purple and nearly swollen shut. She didn’t appear to have any other injuries. The knife looked clean and Caleb supposed that was a good sign, under the circumstances.
“Where’s the boy?” Caleb asked.
“Fuck you! And you,” he snarled, jabbing the blade in his direction. “You got a big mouth, too. Telling me I’m not a fucking man. Bullshit I ain’t! Go to work, come home, just want some fucking peace!” He turned his gaze to Moira, then took a step toward her.
“That’s close enough, Mike,” Caleb warned, silently unsnapping his holster. Mike ignored him and took another step.
“That’s all I want!” Mike shouted at her. Not so much to ask for!” Mike turned and looked at Caleb with red-rimmed eyes. “You married?”
Caleb’s hand hovered over the grip of his gun. Mike was now within striking distance of his battered wife, who was in no shape to move to safety even if Caleb ordered her to. “No,” Caleb replied quietly. “I’m not married.”
Mike grunted. “Then you don’t know. You don’t know… how it all gets like this. How you come home and you just want some peace. But it all goes to shit. It all turns out just like this.”
The fingers curled around the knife’s handle twitched as Mike glared at his wife.
“I know,” Caleb said, trying to get his attention back
“Bullshit you do,” Mike snapped, never taking his eyes off Moira.
“I do know,” Caleb insisted. “Trust me, I do. Why do you think I’m not married?”
Mike laughed, startling Moira out of her daze. The sound must have confounded the boy, too, because the bedroom door at the edge of the hallway began to creak open.
“Mama?”
Mike spun around, zeroing in on the cracked door. “I told you to stay in that room!”
If Caleb had tried, every day starting today until the day he lay dying, he could never have adequately explained how he knew—how he’d seen the change in the man’s eyes—how he’d recognized the moment when the enraged man’s threats were no longer hot air but promises, promises that would be kept, now, in that moment. Some things you just understood; some things you just remembered.
It took just under one full second (Caleb knew because he’d timed it at the range) for his Glock to clear his holster. It took even less time than that to squeeze the trigger.
Chapter 11
Izzy gripped the edge of the sink as she fanned her hair out over her shoulders. She swiped at her eyes, smudging her makeup as best she could and tucked the hair tie into her jeans pocket. Prepared for the inevitable, she was still surprised when she was grabbed from behind, spun around, and shoved up against the bathroom door. A pair of menacing, black eyes pinned her just as firmly as the hands around her upper arms.
Izzy’s instinct was to fight, but it was the wrong approach. She pushed down the urge to bring her knee up and slam it into his groin. Instead she whimpered and pretended to be afraid. She didn’t have to fake it much, since the man was huge and towering over her.
“What are you doing here?” he demanded. His eyes were red-rimmed and he smelled like a combination of weed and cheap tequila. His jaw flexed and dark hair fell across his eyes. He looked half animal to her.
“I had to go,” Izzy whined, indicating the toilet with a jerk of her chin. She hoped she sounded as drunk as he obviously was. She definitely looked the part with her wild hair and raccoon eyes. Just another party girl who’d wandered away from the festivities.
His eyes narrowed. “How’d you get in here?”
She did her best to look confused. “What do you mean?” she half-slurred. “The door was open. And I had to pee.”
He held her tightly as he considered her at length. Izzy held her breath. He was clearly trying to remember whether or not the door had actually been locked when he’d put the key in. The way he swayed on his feet seemed to indicate he might not actually recall. At this rate, Izzy might not have to knock him down. He might crash to the floor all on his own. She could hope, but she wasn’t usually so lucky.
Finally, he let go of her and took a few shuffling steps out of the bathroom. He looked around the bedroom, surveying it carefully. Izzy thought that was more than a little ridiculous. There was nothing to steal in this room. There was only a bong on the dresser and an extra pair of jeans draped over a ratty chair. There were no stacks of cash or even a weapon.
Apparently he agreed with her unspoken assessment because instead of accusing her of anything, he flopped down onto the edge of the bed.
“Take my boots off,” he ordered. He closed his eyes and swayed just a bit. Izzy held her breath as she watched him. She hoped he’d pass out and she could slip away easily. Instead of lying back, he cleared his throat and finally ope
ned his eyes again. He stared down at her and raised an eyebrow. This wasn’t a man who was used to having to repeat himself.
Izzy cautiously moved in front of him and knelt down. She unlaced one boot and then the other as he looked down at her. She took her time so she could assess the situation. She wasn’t too worried. She was armed to the teeth and he was high and hammered. Her only real problem would be whether or not he could sound the alarm before she managed to pistol whip him into unconsciousness. He was twice her size, but she was fast, and she had the element of surprise on her side. He wouldn’t know what hit him, literally. She couldn’t think of an excuse to leave the room without doing what she was told and if she tried to beg off, he might get suspicious—or violent. So she lulled him into a deeper sense of security by sliding his boots off and setting them aside. She was just about to spring to her feet when he reached for his belt and fumbled with it.
For as drunk as he was, his fingers were still nimble and well-practiced. He had his fly open in no time and she found herself staring at his semi-erect cock. Her mouth dropped open, which he seemed to take as a good sign.
“Get your mouth on it, girl,” he demanded and leaned back onto the bed.
Izzy hesitated then stood up. She was reaching for her Glock, which was tucked into the waistband of her jeans, when the distinct sound of the man’s snoring made her pause. She edged a bit closer to the bed and, sure enough, the president of the Badlands Buzzards was passed out, dick flopping against his belly, mouth slightly open. If she weren’t so nervous, she’d laugh.
She tucked the gun away safely and then quietly made her way to the door. After checking to see that the hallway was clear, she slipped out and ducked out the open window. In the dark, she sprinted toward her car and didn’t slow until she threw open the door and slid safely behind the wheel. She cranked the engine and did her best not to peel off from the curb, even though she really wanted to.
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