“Forty-eight pounds.” He fed that into his calculator.
She pulled that bag off and repeated the process with the second rolling case.
“Forty-three pounds.” He fed that into his calculator.
She put her shoulder strap soft side on last.
“Eighteen pounds. That leaves twenty-one pounds.”
Brandon returned looking scrumptious in jeans, a heather gray Henley, and a pair of scuffed brown Ropers. He stuffed his wet clothes and boots into the garbage bag with Cami’s things.
“You’ve got twenty-one pounds left,” Copeland said.
Brandon put his athletic bag on the scale. There wasn’t much left in it.
“Twenty-four pounds. You’re over by three.”
Brand unzipped the bag, pulled out his brown leather jacket, put it on, then set the bag back on the scale.
“Twenty pounds. Good to go,” he announced and slid his phone into a vest pocket.
“You’ve already done flight check?” Brandon asked.
“Yep. We’ve got wind resistance from the north, but we should have plenty of fuel to get there without stopping. ETA is six o’clock.”
“Good. We’ll be there before dark. You got snacks?”
“This ain’t Braniff first class,” Copeland said.
Brandon gave him a look of warning. “No. It’s not even Dogpatch economy, but that doesn’t answer the question.”
“I got a box of cookies. A couple of bananas.”
“Bring them,” Brandon said, making it clear to Copeland that an invisible line of acceptable behavior had been established.
Brand went back to the SUV to get the rest of their stash. They still had three bottled waters, six protein bars, and two apples. It wouldn’t be lunch at Emiles, but it would do.
He helped Copeland strap the luggage into the seat next to Cami to balance the load the best way possible. When they were all in the plane and settled, Brandon said, “You are instrument rated, right?”
“Yeah. I’m not suicidal. I want to live. Just like you.”
Brand blew out a breath. “Okay. Let’s see what you‘ve got.”
“Gonna be a little bumpy.”
“Understood.” Brand did understand that. There was no way to fly through that storm without getting knocked around a little. He looked over his shoulder with a silent question for Cami. She was nodding when the engines roared to life.
CHAPTER Eight
New York
It didn’t take long for Richard to reach a decision. Opportunities like the one he’d been offered by Trey Michaels didn’t come along often. Giving Michaels what he wanted certainly wasn’t illegal. And it wasn’t as if the man intended Cami any harm.
Richard had nothing against Cami. She’d always been decent to him. Like Trey had said, Richard could be the hero in the story of a marriage going through a rough patch.
He knew Cami was trying to lie low, out of pocket, until after the divorce. He didn’t know why, but he believed that heiresses were often high strung and frequently overly dramatic.
He didn’t want to play games and make Michaels wait for an answer. On the contrary, he wanted to nail the deal down before Michaels had a chance to change his mind. It wasn’t as hard to find a pay phone as he’d thought. He supposed he just didn’t notice them anymore, but they were still around. And at two minutes after nine, he was dialing the number he’d memorized.
“Just a minute,” Michaels said. He got up and closed the door to his office. “Go ahead.”
“I accept your terms.”
“Excellent. What do you have for me?”
“I don’t know where she is, but I do know that he hired a security service.”
“Who?”
“Sanctuary Security. It’s actually an offshoot business of a motorcycle club out of Austin, Texas.”
“Motorcycle club? Huh.”
“Sons of Sanctuary.”
“Like Hell’s Angels?”
“I only know what I’ve told you.”
“Good work, Richard.”
“If you learn more, call me at this number, but only at this number. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir. When do you…?”
Michaels ended the call and dialed the best private investigator/hacker he knew.
“This is Dalli.”
“Got work for you.”
“Listening.”
“I need to know everything you can find out about people associated with Sanctuary Security and the Sons of Sanctuary Motorcycle Club located in Austin, Texas.”
“Okay.”
“How long?”
“I can start on it in… just a minute, four days maybe.”
“Now.”
“Hold on, I’m…”
“Now. Whatever it takes.”
“Whatever it takes?”
“Don’t make me repeat myself. I need this information now and I’ll triple your regular rate.”
“Done.”
“How long?”
“Three hours. Look for a courier.”
“Alright. Send me an invoice.”
“Yeah. Count on it.”
By lunchtime Trey Michaels had made his office aware that he didn’t want to be disturbed and was looking through a treasure trove of information that had arrived on a flash drive by courier. The ability to scan information and quickly isolate critical data was one of the talents that had helped him amass extraordinary wealth and stature while still relatively young.
While there was plenty about the SSMC that was interesting, and under other circumstances might have even been entertaining, he wasn’t interested in the club or the security company. He was interested in the people. Starting with club members. If he didn’t find what he was looking for there, he’d expand the search to wives, girlfriends, and other relatives of club members.
In that case it wouldn’t be necessary to look at non-members. His uncanny ability to read people and identify weaknesses, even from afar and on paper, led him straight to what he was looking for.
Edgar Raymond Stiles.
Known by Sons of Sanctuary club members as ‘Edge’.
Looking at his history, Michaels could see that, over the years, club members had done well for themselves with ever increasing personal assets and responsibilities. Except for Edge.
He’d been working at Hollywood Wrecks and Rides, mostly answering phones so far as Michaels could tell, since he was nineteen. He made fifty thousand dollars a year, which was a fraction of what other club members were pulling in. He suspected that Stiles knew he’d been passed over for pretty much everything, which meant that there was almost certainly underlying resentment festering and quietly waiting for someone like Michaels to recognize and exploit.
He pressed a button near his right hand. Within seconds an assistant opened the door.
“Yes, sir?”
“Get Razenach.”
“Yes, sir.”
CHAPTER Nine
Austin, Texas
Edgar Raymond Stiles, known by SSMC club members as Edge, thought of himself as being unlucky. Even though he’d been loyal to the club and had never talked against management, he hadn’t been lucky enough to land one of the plum jobs that resulted in major scratch. At best, he felt overlooked. At worst, he felt ignored.
He’d been with the club since he was nineteen years old. He stole a car and got caught, but his dad, who wasn’t rich, bought him a community service sentence. Brant had known Edge’s dad since the days when Brant was head mechanic at the Yellow Rose. Edge’s dad had worked for Brant for a while before moving on and eventually opening his own German auto repair.
Reading the signs of more trouble to come, Edge was sent to Brant to straighten him out. Brant put him to work as a prospect and figured he’d spoil out in a couple of weeks. He didn’t. Edge did any and every job he was given, no matter how monotonous, ridiculous, or demeaning. And he did it without complaining. While that was to his credit, the other club members woul
d have had to struggle to find something else nice to say.
Because there wasn’t an apparent reason to dislike Edge and kick him out, everybody let him slide, secretly thinking that the problem with him must be their own issue.
So year after year, Edge answered phones at the Hollywood Wreck and Ride and flew under the club radar.
If asked, he would have said that he was just as unlucky with women. He studied the way other club members interacted with the ladies. He tried to mimic what they said, what they did, but instead of getting him an invitation to a bed, or even a parking lot, he got the cold shoulder.
Women seemed to recoil when he came near. He wasn’t gorgeous like Arnold, but he wasn’t bad-looking either. At least he didn’t think so. Didn’t matter though. He knew when he wanted to get it wet, he was going to have to pay. And because he’d come to think of the fairer sex as wicked withholders of what he wanted and needed, he paid extra for the privilege of meting out punishment.
It had been a while, which was why he was watching a double stuff porn on his laptop when Razenach walked into the showroom. Razenach didn’t know that because Edge had the sound muted and was sitting behind a mahogany reception console.
Normally Edge would have gotten up and gone to greet the customer, as he’d been taught to do, but he had a bit of a chubby. So he decided to stay put until he got that under control.
“Welcome to Hollywood Wreck and Ride,” he said without getting up.
When the man turned his gaze toward the greeter, Edge’s halfie went limp quick. The guy looked like a preppie throwback. He was wearing a pale gray Polo tee with color, the kind with the hem shorter in the front than in the back, untucked over Levi’s. The Sperry topsiders completed the look.
If it wasn’t for what Edge saw behind those blue eyes, he would have taken the guy for more money than sense.
Edge got up and approached the man with the wariness usually reserved for rattlesnakes.
“What can we do for you?”
“Edgar Raymond Stiles?” The hair stood up on the back of his neck, but Edge managed to nod. “I’m Mr. Razenach. I’d like to outline a proposal that I believe you’ll find attractive.”
Edge poured coffee from the showroom set up and sat down to listen to what the man had to say.
CHAPTER Ten
New Mexico
True to expectation, the flight was rough for the first forty-five minutes, but gradually became smoother until they flew out of the rain pattern. The dark clouds became lighter clouds and finally see-through mists before they broke into bright sun and clear blue sky.
They were flying low enough to see everything below. Cami watched the ground as they flew over the forests and lakes of Arkansas, the Red River, the desolate plains of West Texas, into buffalo country in New Mexico.
“You know,” said the pilot, “a lot of people don’t know it, but when the pioneers came through here this country was covered with grass high as a horse’s knees. The Indians burned the forests every now and then to keep the buffalo plentiful. And so they could see who was comin’.
“All this is the result of overgrazing a century before there was any understanding of land management. Thing is, once this happens, you can’t just snap your fingers and bring it back. Rain clouds drift over vegetation and drop rain where stuff is growing. If you take the vegetation, you invite desert. Permanently.”
“I didn’t know that,” Brandon said.
“That’s us.” Copeland pointed at an airstrip ahead. Within minutes they were on the ground with one of the smoothest landings Brandon had ever experienced. He certainly couldn’t have matched it himself.
They taxied to the hangar which sat about thirty yards away from the house, which was an enormous sprawling one story stucco complex with Monterey tiles on the roof. There was no doubt in Cami’s mind that the owner had some scratch.
The pilot pulled the plane up to the fuel station and shut down the propellers.
By the time Brandon had helped Cami down from the plane, the owner had walked over.
He extended his hand to Brand. “I’m Knox,” the man said. He looked to be about the same age as Brant, in other words, old enough to be Brandon’s father. He’d kept himself in decent shape and had probably been a heartbreaker in his twenties.
“Brandon Fornight.” He shook Knox’s hand.
Knox laughed softly. “You didn’t need to tell me that. You look a whole hell of a lot like your dad.”
Brandon put his hand on the small of Cami’s back, a possessive gesture that Knox registered immediately.
“Nice to meet you, young lady.”
Cami smiled. “You have a beautiful place here, Mr. Knox.”
“Just Knox. Come on inside.” He motioned to a man they hadn’t noticed before. “Alberto. Bring the luggage inside.”
“Oh we’re not staying,” Brand said. “My dad said there’d be a car.”
“There is. But it’ll be dark in four hours. Stay for the night. Got lots of room and you can get started in the morning.”
“I really appreciate the offer, Knox, and believe me, it’s tempting, but we need to get on the road.”
Brand didn’t want to give the real reason for declining the offer. The truth was that Brandon felt like he’d be endangering Knox and his people on the ranch. Knox had done a favor for his dad and for the SSMC, by letting them land there, but that was where it should end.
Knox smiled and nodded. “Well, another time maybe.” When Knox waved at something behind him, Brandon turned to see who or what it was. “Alberto. Bring that car.” The man lifted his hand in acknowledgement.
Raising his voice so that Copeland could hear him, Knox said, “Same for you. If you want to stay over, we got room and dinner.”
“Sounds good,” Copeland said.
“You need anything else?” Knox turned back to Brandon.
“I think we’re good,” Brand said.
“Well, hope you brought short sleeves. We’ve got a warm front coming up from the south this evening.”
Brand looked at Cami. The idea of a ‘warm front’ was clearly to her liking.
“After two days of being wet, sometimes wet and cold, warm and dry sounds good.”
Knox chuckled. “And it’s free if you’re in the right place at the right time.”
“Truer words were never spoken.”
They turned when Alberto stopped the car next to the plane where Copeland was unloading luggage. He hopped out and began transferring the bags to the trunk and rear seat of a car that looked like its better days were long gone. It was dented in places and missing plate in others.
“Don’t judge a book by its cover,” Knox said as if he was reading Brand’s mind. “This is a new Hyundai with a V8 and a few enhancements that would thrill Mad Max.” Brand and Cami shared a WTF glance. “It may look like a beater, but don’t let that fool you. I hope you don’t have to find out what she’ll do, but if you need performance, don’t worry. It’ll be there.” He looked at Cami. “Your old man must think a lot of you because this car cost him dearly.”
She wasn’t sure how to respond to that. So she smiled and said, “I’m sure I’m worth it?”
Knox laughed. “Sure you are, too, darlin’.”
She went around to the driver’s side.
“What are you doing?” Brand asked from beside her.
“It’s my turn.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m rested. I’ll take first shift.”
For a minute he thought she might launch a protest. He could see the conflict on her face. But she sighed and walked around to the other side of the car.
Three and a half hours of little traffic and sparse scrub brush later, he was still driving. It seemed the concept of taking turns had escaped him.
As they pulled into Alamagordo, Cami said, “I’m hungry. Let’s at least stop for dinner.” Brandon’s stomach agreed wholeheartedly. “Oh, look. Casa de Rosa. New Mexican food
sounds great, doesn’t it?”
“New Mexican food?”
“You’ve never been out of Texas before?” Brandon had to smirk at that. He’d probably logged as many international miles as the Secretary of State. “You thought TexMex was the beginning and end of enchiladas? Then you would be very wrong, my friend.”
Without warning he did a U turn that would make a stunt man proud. He expected Cami to shriek or offer up some respectable expletives, but she giggled instead. He couldn’t suppress the grin that resulted from hearing that sound and he wondered if she’d been a wild thing before Michaels.
“I’m going to eat until I look pregnant,” she said.
“No, you won’t. You’ll nibble at lettuce and complain about fried tortilla chips.”
She laughed that guttural throaty laugh that she saved for special occasions. He hadn’t yet figured out the code of her various sounds of delight, but he was working on it.
“Not today. Today I’m eating melted cheese and guacamole.”
“Guacamole doesn’t count. It’s healthy.”
“Okay. Well I’m also eating meat. Lots of meat. And did I say cheese?”
“You might have mentioned it.”
When he drove past the front door, around to the side, she said, “Wait! Where are you going?”
“Simmer down. Just checking things out.”
He drove around the entire building before deciding to park in the back as he had for breakfast. When they got out of the car, they realized that the ‘warm front’ had arrived. It felt more like a summer day than a New Mexico dusk.
Brand tried the kitchen door and found it open. The kitchen staff looked up with open curiosity. In response, Cami smiled and he shrugged.
They claimed the booth closest to the kitchen door. Again, Brand positioned Cami with her back to the front door and put himself where he could see everything.
The hostess who said okay to them sitting away from all the activity gave them menus and left. After a couple of minutes of looking at the selection, Cami said, “I’m having fajitas al carbon.”
“No. You can’t have fajitas,” Brandon said.
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