Road Warriors (Motorcycle Club Romance Collection) (Bad Boy Collections Book 4)

by Faye, Amy

  But something had drawn her to go out there, some little voice inside her that reminded Caroline that she hadn't gone in years. So she was driving out in spite of herself and pretending that she would buy something when she got there to try to avoid the entire trip being a waste.

  The man behind her, though, the one who was almost certainly not following her, because that would be crazy, had her nervous.

  So she eased the car around a corner and down a side street, knowing it was the wrong way. She'd be stuck inside of a subdivision, one that she'd need to drive right back out of.

  She drove through the streets slowly, unsure what she was looking for except that she was looking for something. Then, a few minutes later, she drove back out. The swoopy Blue sedan didn't seem to be following her, per se. It looped around the streets on its own, and yet…

  When she pulled up to the stop sign to leave the subdivision behind, and leave him to whoever it was that he was visiting on the ritzy side of town, there he was again.

  Her heart thumped and she eased the car out of the stop sign and into a gap that she wasn't totally confident in. But she wasn't about to leave herself to get gutted by some maniac. Or, worse, a man who knew exactly what he was doing, and had decided that being reasonable and not murdering women wasn't his job.

  Two minutes later she was stalking through the parking lot, the neck of her coat pulled up high. If he'd kept up with her, she didn't see it. There was no blue sedan in the parking lot, as large as it was. The blue was bright, a factory job but a premium one. Distinctive.

  She stepped through the door of the Whole Foods, browsed a while, and came within inches of buying some 'organic' pasta, and then looked at the price again and reconsidered. Then, empty-handed, she walked out again. Much the same as the subdivision, except that this had been her whole reason for coming out this far in the first place.

  A guy at least a foot taller than her, his nose broken and never reset properly, stepped into her as she passed a pillar. From the way that his arm wrapped around her to stop her from falling without a beat, she knew instinctively that it was no accident.

  "Caroline Rice?" The man spoke in a low voice, not threatening in the least, but she shivered regardless.

  "Who are you and why are you following me?"

  He looked up from her face, at something behind her. She turned but there was nothing, and when she turned back there was something hard, metal, and bulky pressed into her ribs. "Be careful. You understand?"

  He slipped a hand into her coat pocket and when he pulled away from her, he slipped the other hand into his own coat pocket.

  There hadn't been anything in the pocket before, but if there had it wouldn't have changed her reaction even slightly. Her hand shot to the pocket, her eyes wild even as the cold wind stung them and made her wish she had them closed.

  Inside was a photo, with writing on the back. The writing said 'Sorry about our unprofessional behavior,' in a clear, blocky print. The front was a polaroid of three men. The photo was not well-lit, but it was enough to see that something unpleasant had happened to the men, and it was enough to see their faces. Immediately familiar, and not faces she wanted to see again.

  The nurse looked up, her eyes wide, and looked for the big man. He didn't seem like the type who could disappear into a crowd, but he wasn't there, nonetheless. She looked back down at the photo in her hands, stuffed it into her pocket and hoped she would forget about it before too long. There wasn't much hope for that happening, though, she knew.

  Her gut twisted up. Whatever happened next, she didn't want to think about what she'd just seen. As soon as she found a way to get rid of it without risking someone connecting it to her, she would.

  Her hands were shaking when she set them on the steering wheel. She told herself it was the cold, but it didn't stop when the heat finally kicked on, blowing hot and comfortable against her fingers.

  It didn't stop until she was sitting in the parking garage outside the Hospital, rapping her fingers on her leg and telling herself that there was nothing to worry about. Telling herself that the extended hospital stay wasn't a bad sign.

  Then she pushed herself out of the driver's seat and slipped the keys into her pocket. Her fingers brushed against the polaroid picture and it sent a fresh shiver up her spine. The hallways of the facility were becoming more and more familiar, more and more certain.

  The sight of a bright blue Ford almost sent shivers running up her spine, but the car itself was too small, she realized. She was becoming paranoid. A factory-painted car had her thinking that anyone else who drove a Ford might be stalking her. That was a new one.

  If she told anyone, she'd be sent to a shrink right away, and if she were being honest with that, Caroline wasn't sure that was such a bad idea. If money weren't an issue, then it would have been a downright good one.

  She let out a long breath, stepped into an elevator, went up to the fourth floor. This route wasn't quite as familiar as any of the others. It was only a matter of time before she got to know it like the back of her hand, like she knew every other part of the hospital.

  She put her smile back on, tried to hide the nervousness in her expression, and stepped inside.

  Dad had a platter in front of him, with food stuffed into it and looking as unappetizing to her as it must have to him. No doubt there was a much higher incidence of 'anorexia' among patients when they were staying at the hospital, and without a doubt the directors were pulling their hair out over it.

  All that while any nurse could have told them that it was because the food looked about as appetizing as canned dog food.

  "Hey, squirt," he said. Caroline smiled.

  "You need to eat, Dad."

  "Can't you sneak me in some McDonald's or something? Just something that almost resembles real food. Just a little bit. For me?"

  She rolled her eyes. "Don't be melodramatic."

  "Come on, you fly, I'll buy."

  "You know that's against the rules."

  "Bah," he said. "Rules. Who needs them? You make the rules, and I'm telling you I want something to eat."

  She looked down at the tray and up at her father. "Okay, fine." She stood up and started towards the door. It wasn't like he was going to eat any better once he was out of the hospital, might as well wean him back onto crap food.

  The door was full, though, when she started to head out, and she instinctively pressed herself flat against the wall to let the orderly through.

  Only he wasn't an orderly. He was a big guy, maybe a foot taller than her, with a crooked nose and a sour expression. The same one that had been following her earlier, she added mentally. The same one whose coat hung unevenly on one side from the weight in its pocket.

  35

  The big man closed the door as he stepped into the room, stepped past Caroline. She was an adult by any estimation, but watching him walk by she felt like a little girl, and just as vulnerable as any little girl ever felt.

  He looked at her with the same expression that someone might use to look at a rock as they passed by. He saw her, knew who she was, knew she was there, and then moved on without any particular feelings at all.

  "Mr. Rice."

  Her father let out a cough. "Harry," he said. "I know I'm a bit behind, but…"

  The man let out a long breath and settled into a chair. Caroline stood stock-still and hoped nothing was going to happen to her. Something told her that the instant she allowed herself to move a single muscle was the instant that things would turn sour, and it held her in place like a stone statue.

  "Please, Thomas. I know things didn't always go well, but I would have thought you'd at least call, and settle things up. Things could have been so much less… troublesome."

  Dad looked tired. He laid his head back and rubbed his head with one hand. "I can get you your money, if you'll get me out of this hellhole. Unless Mr. C started taking checks all of a sudden?"

  "Afraid not," the big man answered. His expression remained the
exact same that it had been when he'd looked at Caroline. He might as well have been watching a particularly uninteresting television show, for all the interest he took in anything.

  "Now what?"

  "Now, I've got something to ask you."

  The man was big enough to have killed Caroline with a blow, and with Dad in the state that he was, it wouldn't have been much more to snuff him out, either, if that was the man's goal.

  And yet, he reached into his pocket, and with the tiniest movement his hand reappeared holding a blued steel pistol, pointed in the general direction of the bed.

  "There's no need for violence." Dad's voice sounded unsteady as he said it, and he sat up a little straighter in bed, but he managed not to look too afraid, which was an accomplishment, at least.

  "I'm afraid that there's a right answer and a wrong answer this time."

  "Whatever you need to ask, just ask it."

  "Fine. Do you know a man, tall, auburn hair, muscular? Calls himself O'Brien. He's a fighter, from out of town."

  Dad's face twisted up in confusion, and Caroline hoped desperately that he wouldn't ask her. She knew instinctively that she couldn't manage the same look of absolute unknowing that he had on his face right now, and that expression might just be the only thing that would keep them both alive and out of trouble. So she looked away, out the door, praying for someone to happen inside and spook the big gangster.

  "I don't know anyone by that name. Nor that description, for that matter. Why. Should I?"

  The big guy frowned, looked at Caroline, and looked back at her father. "And you, miss Rice?"

  "Please don't shoot me," she said, her voice tight.

  "Look at me," he said. She looked. The gun was in his lap and she couldn't take her eyes off it.

  "Please, I can't…"

  "I'm not going to shoot you," he told her. His voice was low and almost soothing. "But you have to know, we know."

  "I don't know what you're trying to say," she lied. She hoped that her eyes wouldn't give her away, but her hopes were not nearly strong enough.

  "I think you have a very good idea, actually."

  She tightened her jaw up. "I don't know him," she said. "And if I did know him, then I wouldn't know where to find him." The last part made her feel better. At least it was mostly true. "So I can't help you."

  The man looked up at her with a frown, slipped the gun back into his pocket, and she could hear the sound of the safety clicking back into place. Caroline hoped that she didn't sound as relieved as she felt.

  "Good. Don't let me find out you were lying to me, you got that? You don't know anyone named O'Brien, and you aren't going to meet anyone by that name. Forget you ever heard it."

  He said it to nobody in particular, but he turned to her at the last. "And Mr. C would be very appreciative, if you were to forget that you'd ever heard his name, as well. If you were to forget the faces of the men who've had contact with you. And forget anything that might have happened."

  Then, with a very deliberate timing that left no question of how related the two parts were, he turned to her father. "Tom? Don't worry about the money. Get well soon. The old man doesn't want to get a reputation as some kind of bloodsucker, you feel me?"

  Dad nodded. "Thank you."

  The big guy left the room and Caroline finally managed to take a breath that actually filled her lungs up all the way. "Did you know that man?"

  Dad looked at her blankly. "I mean I wouldn't say he's a friend of mine, but I know him some, sure."

  "And he's…"

  "He's nobody, and that's the way I prefer to continue thinking about it. In fact, it was just you and I in this room."

  "Dad, what the hell did you get mixed up in?"

  "Forget me, what the hell did you get yourself mixed up in? You look like you about peed your pants right there, and he seemed to have some choice words for you in particular. Don't tell me you hired…"

  "I didn't hire anyone, Dad. Don't be stupid. I'm not some kind of vigilante."

  "Good," he said. "And make sure you remember that, because there's no way that is ever going to be a good idea. He sends his guys around from time to time, is all."

  "For, what, protection money so he won't destroy your shop?"

  "Well, you know," he said. The tone in his voice was almost joking, which worried the hell out of her. He must have seen something in her expression because he reacted immediately. "Come on, you know me better than that. It's like insurance. I'm not going to get my damn knees broken or anything."

  "But your shop might get torn up a little."

  "Well, I mean, that was just one time."

  Caroline fumed. The second part of the message ate at her, though. Something niggling in the back of her mind.

  The big man her father had called 'Harry' had known everything about the events of a few nights ago. He'd known enough to beat the tar out of some of his boys, and then slip her a picture of the beating.

  So he had to have known that she was out with the exact man that he had been asking about. He had to have known the lie for what it was. He didn't need to ask, didn't need to stage any of this.

  The only question he might have had, maybe, was whether or not Shannen worked for her dad. Whether he was a rival trying to muscle in on their territory. But he'd let her lie go. In fact, he'd been very clear, at the end there, and that was what worried her.

  She'd never heard the name Shannen O'Brien before. If she just forgot it, then things would be easier. He wasn't worried about Shannen showing up again. He wasn't worried about her talking to him the second that she got home.

  Wherever Shannen was, a sinking feeling in her gut told her that she wasn't at risk of accidentally running into him again. He almost certainly wasn't at risk of accidentally running into anyone.

  36

  There were things that Caroline didn't know. The truth was, she'd never wanted to know them. If there was some crime boss in the city, some guy who sent around knee breakers like it was the mid-40s and people still needed to fight over liquor distribution, that was fine.

  It simply wasn't something that kept her up at night. There was crime in the city, some of it gang related, and that was enough information for her. The rest of the information she wanted wasn't names, wasn't faces, wasn't how she could reach these people.

  She wanted to know how badly they were injured and how many more could be saved if there was one more woman in the field working her ass off.

  So it wasn't a surprise when she didn't know who Coogan was. It also wasn't a surprise that the cops knew the name, even if they didn't know where to go to arrest him or have proof of anything that he'd done.

  At least, not enough that they could arrest him. Not enough that they could put him away for good. That was all fine, but Shannen wasn't answering his phone. It went to voicemail for the tenth time.

  She hung up before the automated message started to speak, already knowing what it would say.

  It wouldn't say how he could be reached. It wouldn't tell her where he was being held, or that he was okay and just laying low. The big guy hadn't seemed like he was looking for Shannen. He'd seemed like he was looking for information on why Shannen had gotten involved, and if he'd found it then it wasn't enough to act on.

  That started her stomach twisting up, though. The fact was, he was involved because of her. She should have been worried about Dad from the beginning, should have spent all her waking time with him, because eventually, even though she hoped… no, she corrected herself, even though she knew, that he would be okay, he wasn't immortal. Eventually he'd move along, just like everyone eventually had to.

  When that happened, she'd be the one asking herself why she hadn't spent more time with him. Why she had thought that a fling that would never amount to anything was more important than her own Dad.

  The idea that he'd put himself in actual danger for her was another thing entirely. To think, further, he might have been kidnapped, maybe hurt, maybe hurt badly? Th
at was another idea entirely.

  A shiver ran down Caroline's spine, and she found herself chewing on her lip as she walked into the butcher's shop. That had been a little tip, and not one she'd enjoyed getting.

  As a nurse, it wasn't hard to find people who were looking to get high, trying to convince you that they were in desperate pain. It was too easy, in fact. It was so easy that it was hard to find the opposite, someone you knew to a certainty hadn't just taken a knife to their own leg for another hit of drugs.

  The woman had the look, and the man with her had the look that she associated with his type, as well. Like he owned the place. Like their wait was entirely the girl's fault. The girl had the look of someone who knew it was all her fault and felt terrible about it. It turned Caroline's stomach, but there was nothing to be done about it. There was no proof of anything, after all. Just a vague bad feeling.

  She pulled them aside and showed the peek of a bag of pills, and their eyes lit up in sudden understanding. The woman reached into her purse for something and Caroline stopped her with a gesture.

  "I need information." She hoped that they wouldn't be too careful in examining the pills, because sugar pills weren't impossible to identify.

  "What do you want to know?"

  Caroline took a deep breath. "You know a man named Coogan?"

  The girl looked at her boyfriend, pimp, whatever he was. The guy's face twisted up in doubt. "What about him?"

  "I need to find him."

  "I don't know where to find him," he said with a hint of apologetics. His eyes never moved far from the hand stuffed into her pocket, the pocket where she'd shown him the pills. She could have pulled out a gun with the other hand and shot him and it would have caught him completely by surprise.

  "Then no deal." Caroline hoped that her voice sounded hard and certain, because she didn't feel anything like that. It was a bluff, and if he called it then she was out and she'd have to hope that she could pull it again without too much trouble.