He scowled at the listings. If he pulled off here, he’d be going straight through the center of town. It wasn’t the wisest move, and Finn suspected it wouldn’t be the gang’s first choice.
He blinked as he spotted a smaller notice at the bottom of the sign, an advertisement for a truck stop a few miles after the main exit.
A truck stop.
It wasn’t one of the big boy franchises offering all the bells and whistles for the truckers looking for a safe spot to stop for the night, where they could get showers and wifi, rent movies and chat with other drivers. This was an independent, unlikely to be popular with the average driver, be it of automobiles or tractor-trailers.
Rest ‘n’ Relax.
Finn took the exit, curious as to what he’d find at the end.
Chapter Eleven
Finn slowed down and took the exit, not sure he was on the right road. The highway turned into a small one-lane road that turned into a gravel lane leading up to what he assumed had to be the Rest ‘n’ Relax.
To say it was out of the way was an understatement.
Finn turned into the parking lot and circled the business, wondering at discovering this oasis out in the middle of nowhere.
The gas station was an independent operator, free of the large neon signs signaling ownership by one of the big conglomerates. One diesel pump sat off to the side while four others offered regular gasoline, all them requiring credit cards to operate.
A small convenience store sat nearby, rows of potato chip bags stacked to the ceiling in front of the window. Neon signs advertised chewing tobacco and cold soda. A pair of tractor-trailers sat nearby, parked by drivers taking advantage of the large, empty lot during their stop, getting a bit more freedom and maneuverability without dragging the big rigs behind them wherever they went.
Finn pulled into one of the empty spots and got out. If he was right, and he had a feeling in his gut that he was, he’d discovered where the gang and their drivers would rendezvous.
He leaned on his pickup and studied the parking lot.
There.
A few steps took him to an area where old and new skid marks and oil stains marred the asphalt.
The skid marks were thin, way too thin for a regular car tire, and the turns at too sharp an angle, spinning around in circles and spirals.
Motorcycles. A lot of them. It had to be the Wolf’s Teeth—he didn’t see the gang tolerating any other group of bikers hanging around in their territory. It was too far from town to be schoolkids on their dirt bikes, and he doubted people were driving in for the sole purpose of doing donuts and burnouts in this specific parking lot.
He continued his imaginary scenario.
Pull off here in the middle of the night according to instructions. Roundtrip done, and now it’s time to collect your cash and go home to Skye.
Maybe you ask for the money too quickly. Maybe Smith is in a bad mood and wants to break in his new riding crop. Maybe they just don’t like you.
You can’t stop him, can’t fight him and his men as they beat you. They drag you off, and the darkness takes over.
Finn walked around the exterior of the store and found a series of security cameras pointed into the parking lot. The coverage was total, sweeping the entire area around the store.
He walked over and opened the door. A tiny bell rang, signaling his entrance.
A white-haired man standing behind the counter waved. He was a short man in his seventies or eighties wearing a light-blue polo shirt and black slacks.
“Welcome. Anything special you’re looking for?”
Finn returned the friendly smile. “Not sure. Saw your sign on the highway and pulled off, curious what you were all about.” He studied the shelves, seeing the usual food staples lined up in a row.
“Well, if you need something just sing out.” The senior sat back on the wooden stool. “We don’t carry everything, but we sure try.” He gestured at the display case near the back. “My wife has her fresh-baked cookies and pies. Treat your sweet tooth with something special.”
Finn sauntered over to study the case. His mouth watered at the sight of the wrapped chocolate chip cookies and single servings of apple pie laid out on paper plates and carefully covered in transparent wrap, the thick brown-sugared slices of fruit bursting through the flaky crust. “Wow. Don’t see that too often.”
“One of the reasons we’re still in business. Fellows drop by on the way to Vegas and back to Los Angeles especially for her pies and cookies.” The store owner beamed, sitting up straight. “Been married to her for over sixty years and I thank the good Lord every day for her.”
“You get a lot of business out here?” Finn opened the refrigerated case and pulled out a small container of cookies. “Sort of off the beaten path.”
“Mostly we’re used as a transfer point. Truckers meeting buddies halfway on their route to Vegas or points south. Just off the highway so they don’t lose time running ’round in circles finding each other.” He pointed at the large parking lot. “Most rest areas don’t have the space to allow big rigs to sit for a few hours or to turn around easily, at least not around here. If they go into town, they get all snarled up and get ticketed by the cops and told to keep on moving. So they either trade trailers here, or dump it to go get dinner and a drink.” He smiled. “I don’t mind as long as they pick up something on the way out. And they all do, sort of paying rent for using the parking lot.”
Finn walked to the counter and placed the cookies down. “How about motorcycles? I see a lot of them running around town. Any of them come out here?”
The senior shrugged, avoiding Finn’s eyes. “Everyone comes in here at some point.” His tone shifted, changed to a soft, low whisper.
The man didn’t want to talk about anyone on a bike coming to visit.
“That all?” He hit the buttons on the cash register as Finn slid the bills over.
Finn studied the small monitors sitting against the wall, showing various views around the station, including the parking lot. An old tape machine sat on the floor, empty and turned off. Whatever was happening at night in the parking lot wasn’t being recorded and wasn’t likely to be.
He suspected that was on purpose.
Finn smiled as he took the bag of cookies. “Thanks, Mr…” He looked over the man’s shoulder at the nameplate on the wall, hanging prominently under a framed picture of the couple. “Mr. Watley.”
“Sure. Have a good day. Come back again—Annie’s planning to bake some cherry pies next week. If you’re in the area, drop on by.” He smacked his lips. “Pure heaven on a plate.”
Finn frowned as he swung the store door open and walked out into the dry heat. He’d heard that name before…
He almost dropped the cookies on the blazing hot pavement as he made the connection between the owner’s last name and his previous discussions with Skye. She said she worked part-time at a truck stop as a cashier—the same truck stop he suspected was being used by the gang she wanted to take down.
Even the long odds paid off once in a blue moon.
This was one of those times.
…
“Are you kidding me? Are you fucking kidding me?” Trey’s voice rose in volume and tone with each syllable, the phone vibrating with every word. “She knows the old coot?”
Finn flinched at the phrasing. “He’s a nice old man with his wife.”
“Okay. Okay. I’m calming down now.” Trey grunted. “I’ve got Dylan coming in on this one. Don’t even think about cutting either of us out. Talk about flipping the table.”
Finn had driven back into town and parked at the diner, unable to think of anything else other than the bombshell he’d uncovered. He saw Skye’s Jeep in the parking lot but didn’t go inside, needing to verify the information before discussing it with her.
Dylan came on the line with a loud click. “You have a goddamn horseshoe stuck up your ass, Storm.”
“Sounds more painful than lucky,” Finn said. He gl
anced at the diner windows, hoping to catch sight of Skye.
“You think the bikers are using this truck stop to meet their drug mules,” Dylan said.
Finn nodded, still watching the diner. “It’s perfect. Not too far off the highway and closes at midnight. Plenty of skid marks in the parking lot from cars and bikes, burnouts and oil puddles. Elderly owner who won’t risk his wife and his business if all they’re asking is to turn the security cameras off and look the other way.”
“Makes sense to me,” Trey said. “Right, I got your info here. Edward Henry Watley and his wife, Ann. Been running that gas station for decades. Clean as a whistle with only one speeding ticket and that’s five years ago. Man’s one of the Greatest Generation. Got himself a Silver Star.”
“It’s a good spot,” Dylan said. “Their drivers come in late when the station’s closed and the bikers can meet the cars in relative safety. We need to know where that processing place is. Our federal contacts won’t move unless we give them more than a couple of bikers hanging out overnight in a secluded parking lot.”
“Then we give them more,” Finn replied. “I put those tracers on the men. They’re eventually going to go to the secondary site. It’ll be nice if we can get a shot of the actual operation, flipping the car from the mule to the gang and back.”
“Want me to send over another box of drones?” Trey asked. “Set them up on the store roof?”
“No.” Finn shook his head. “It’d be easier to turn those security cameras on at the Rest ‘n’ Relax and start recording. The Feds will love that evidence, and there won’t be any question about the authenticity.”
“Okay,” Dylan said. “Pitch me your plan.”
…
Skye stared at the Styrofoam container. It was almost too heavy to pick up, bulging at the sides with the spicy noodles. “I can’t take this.”
She’d come into the kitchen to say good-bye. The tips had been generous from her regulars, and she suspected part of that was sympathy for her brother.
Julius nodded. “You can and you will. I can only give you so many shifts, the least I can do is send you home with dinner. Save yourself a little time, spend it with your brother.” He gestured with his spatula. “Besides, I made too much stir-fry. Don’t want to toss it out. Go home and eat healthy.” He gave a hearty laugh. “Feed that nice young man you’re hiding from us.”
Skye looked down, hiding her embarrassed smile. “Thank you.” It took her a minute to wrestle the container into a plastic bag.
“I’m so sorry about Robby,” Julius said. He shook his head. “Who would have thought such a horrible thing could happen to such a good guy?”
Skye said nothing, not knowing how to reply. She’d run out of tears and fears and all that was left now was exhaustion.
“Just don’t be late on Monday. Noon, sharp.” He waved the stainless-steel utensil at the ceiling. “Go have a good evening.”
“You got it.” She snatched up her purse and waved at April who was busy refilling the sugar containers. “I’m out of here.”
The door banged against her as she stepped out, wincing as the hot air hit her in the face.
All she wanted right now was to go home and put her feet up before her cleaning shift at ten, maybe treat herself to a glass of red wine to go with the stir-fry. It’d make the late-night job a bit easier to deal with.
Skye hesitated as she spotted the red truck in the parking lot, sitting next to her Jeep.
Finn smiled as she approached. “Hey.” His eyes went wide as he stared at the plastic bag in her hand. “Dinner?”
“Beef and broccoli stir-fry. With the best damned noodles in town.” She raised the bag to the window, letting him get a whiff of the food. “If you behave yourself.”
The predatory grin caught her off guard, sending a rush of heat through her body as he smirked at her. “I can be very, very good. When I need to be.”
The smile shifted, turned serious. “But not right now.” Finn turned the engine on and revved the engine. “Let’s get back to your apartment. We need to talk.”
Chapter Twelve
Skye drained her wineglass and reached for the bottle. She hesitated for only a second before refilling her glass. She gestured at Finn’s empty glass, but he put his hand over the top and shook his head.
The jovial flirting was over, had been since they’d left the diner. She’d seen it in his eyes, the way he moved to open the door for her.
Something was up.
They’d eaten in silence, but she refused to deny herself the wine she’d been dreaming of all shift. When she’d offered him a glass, Finn had hesitated for a second before nodding, taking short sips to accompany her.
She put the bottle to the side. “Right. So, what do we have to talk about?”
Finn scraped his plate off and put it in the sink before pulling a container out of the refrigerator. She grinned, recognizing the familiar box.
He opened it and offered her a chocolate chip cookie. “If they taste as good as they look, we’re going to be fighting over crumbs.”
“They are. And we will be. Takes all my self-control to not collect my paycheck in pies and cookies.” She took one and began to nibble on the edges, savoring the rich, buttery taste. “You got these at the station?”
“Yes. You work there, right?” Finn helped himself to a cookie.
“I do.” She frowned, wondering where this conversation was going. “I’m going to be watching their place for four hours tomorrow, from eight in the morning until noon, when Edward comes back to take over. They only stay open until five on Sunday.” She kept talking, the fear creeping up her spine. “They run that place all by themselves with only me coming in for a few hours to let them go to church. Why?”
“Because I need your help to set up surveillance at the store and spy on the Wolf’s Teeth.”
If Finn had announced he was Lucifer and offered to show her his horns and tail, she couldn’t have been more surprised.
“Wait. What?” Skye grabbed her wineglass and drained it.
“Believe me, if I didn’t need your help with this I wouldn’t ask.” Finn shook his head. “You know the Watleys, and I don’t want to spook them by showing up at the front door with a wild request.”
“I’m listening,” she said. “I’m going to say yes, but I need this explained to me first.”
“I found the Rest ‘n’ Relax on the highway sign while I was trying to backtrack Robby’s route, figure out where he met the gang. There are motorcycle skid marks in the parking lot, it’s isolated and empty at night—a good spot for the bikers to meet and deal with their drug mules.”
“I had no idea. Damn it.” She shook her head. “The Watleys. They’re in danger.”
“Yes. Yes, they are.” Finn wasn’t in a mood to mince words. “But we’re going to take care of that. We’re going to take care of them.”
“How?”
“By using the station to trap the Wolf.”
…
She was burning up from the inside out, her mind exploding with the emotions raging inside her, the terror and the anger battling to see which would break first. Everyone she cared about was being put in danger.
Robby.
The Watleys.
Finn.
Skye closed her eyes, wishing she could go back in time and tell Robby to never take the job, tell him to pack up because they were leaving Whispering Willows forever.
Her world was shattering around her, and she didn’t know what to do.
“Hey.” Finn’s familiar voice soothed her. “It’s going to be okay. Between the two of us, we’ll handle it.”
She sighed, opening her eyes. “What do you need me to do?”
“I need you to come with me to the Watleys. We’re going to explain the situation before sending them on a vacation. Get them out of the line of fire.”
Skye nodded. “When do you want to do this?”
“Tomorrow. You need to go to work tonight, and I nee
d to do some more recon. We’ll talk to them together, after your shift. I’d rather do this in daylight.”
“It better be one hell of a vacation,” she said. “Edward’s pretty attached to his business.”
“It is.” Finn smiled. “Dylan’s willing to put them up at the Golden Drifter for a month’s stay. Give them some spending money, a second honeymoon.”
“Wow.” Skye gasped. “That’s an expensive hotel, and it’s going to run up a hell of a tab. Can you afford it?”
“Not on my salary. This is on Dylan and the Brotherhood. Point is, we’re going to take over the Rest ‘n’ Relax and run it for as long as we need to.”
“But the gang’s going to suspect something,” Skye said.
“Maybe, maybe not. They usually come around at night. You haven’t seen them on your shift on Sundays, right?”
She nodded. “I’ve only seen them driving around town. They don’t come into the diner. Julius wouldn’t put up with it.”
“Probably too early in the morning for them to be at the truck stop. But on the off chance they do come into the store, we’ve got an explanation.” Finn rolled his shoulders back. “The truth. The Watleys are on their second honeymoon, and all’s good. We’re running the store for them and don’t know anything other than to lock the doors at midnight and walk away. They won’t think anything of it as long as we play dumb. There still won’t be a tape in the old VCR, so it’ll look like nothing’s changed. Hell, if they’ve got connections in Vegas, they can check if the Watleys are registered at the hotel. We’ll keep the same routine, but we’ll be doing surveillance on them, sending the feed from the security cameras to Trey and collecting the evidence so the Feds can lock them up for a good, long time.”
“But…” Skye frowned. “That could take days. Weeks. We have no idea what their schedule is. They could be running drugs once a week or once a month. We don’t know when we’ll be able to get the footage of the drug deals.”
“That’s why the Watleys are going for a month. If need be, we’ll stretch it to two. They might be sick of Las Vegas by the time they come back, but I won’t put them in danger.”
Hard Run Page 8
