Smiling down at her, he lifted her hand and kissed her knuckles before taking the photo.
Two men were depicted on the glossy surface, with an enormous red flag covered with black swastikas spread out and tacked to the wall behind them. The man on the right was Chester Andrews, the leader of the Army of Righteousness, a short, stocky man wearing camouflage BDU with a jaunty little beret on his head that did nothing to hide his thinning hair. He stared almost belligerently at the camera through small, hard-looking eyes set in a round, pockmarked face that looked like a lump of raw biscuit dough. His beard was a line of short brown fuzz that stretched from ear to ear just along the edge of his jaw. He was smiling—at least Jesse assumed that was a smile. If so, he was badly in need of lessons, because whatever he called that particular expression, it made him look like a battle-hardened pit bull, mean and vicious.
The second man in the photo was…Hmmm. Jesse held it up, studying the figure on the left more carefully. It was Matt, all right. At least it looked like Matt. He moved it closer. “When was this supposedly taken?” he asked, turning it over to look at the back before lifting his chin to look at Bill Payton.
“Eight months ago,” Bill said, stroking his hand down his neat black goatee. “At the annual August rally of the Army of Righteousness outside of Pikesville, Kentucky. We have photos of Andrews with the other three men I mentioned, too.”
“This has been Photoshopped. That’s definitely Matt, and that’s most likely Chester Andrews, but I’m tellin’ you right now, these two men never stood side-by-side to pose for this picture.” Where the fuck did they get hold of a photo of Matt? More to the point, why?
Bill held out his hand to take the photo back, but Jesse didn’t give it to him. He leaned forward and tucked it into the back pocket of his jeans instead. Then Bill held out another photo. “This your guy?”
Jesse didn’t even have to touch the photograph to see that it was Ryder Malone, shaved head, prison tats and all. “Yeah, that’s him. He part of this?”
Payton glanced briefly at Sarah sitting between her two men. She seemed to be gamely hanging in there, the only indication of her stress being the death grip she had on Adam’s and Jesse’s thighs. “Yeah,” he answered. He looked back to Jesse. “You knew he’d been recruited into the Aryan Brotherhood at Red Onion, didn’t you?”
“No, but that doesn’t surprise me.” His lip curled up in a slight sneer. “He never struck me as bein’ particularly bright. Is this AR group affiliated with the Brotherhood?”
“From what we can tell. You know how secretive these fucking—sorry, Sarah—white power groups can be.”
“Don’t apologize,” she murmured, mustering up a smile from somewhere. “These two say it so often I don’t even hear it anymore. I’ve gotten used to it.”
“What do you need me to do?” Jesse asked.
“We believe Andrews is planning to turn the Porterville operation over to one of the four men we just mentioned,” Bill said quietly. “Although, for the time being, we’ll take Matt’s name off the list. We need you to…ah…” He hesitated awkwardly, flicking a quick glance at Sarah, as if it suddenly occurred to him that asking Jesse to do something illegal in front of the county attorney might not be the smartest move he could make. “Um…do some…um…research into—”
Fortunately he was saved by the bell. Literally. The doorbell, announcing the arrival of dinner.
“I’ll get it.” Sarah stood up, looking almost relieved to be leaving the group. Mark Austin set his beer bottle on the floor beside the sofa and rose himself, brushing his hands down the front of his jeans. “I’ll help you,” he said quietly, skirting the coffee table and offering her his elbow. “I know from personal experience that a Pig-Out Feast for Twelve from Porky’s can weigh upwards of forty pounds. These guys don’t know what a treat they’re in for. We’ll set up out on the patio,” he called back to the others as he escorted her from the room. The remaining seven men all leaned forward in their seats, lending a sense of urgency to Bill’s next words.
“We need you to search their homes and offices for anything that might connect them to this hate group. Hopefully, something that will tell us what AR’s plans are, where the guns are coming from, where they’re going, how they’re being transported, and, most important of all, when.”
“Don’t want much, do you?” Jesse asked with a grin. “Nothin’ like a bunch of illegal searches to start this new job off on the right foot.”
Bill grinned back. “Yeah, I thought you’d appreciate the irony. How soon do you think you can have some answers for us?”
Jesse glanced at his watch. “Town Council meetin’ is tomorrow night at eight o’clock,” he said. “They’ll all be there. Unfortunately, I have to be there, too.” He grinned. “I’m the honoree. It would look mighty odd if the honoree missed his own ceremony. Besides, there’s gonna be cake. Lisa’s cake. A treat not to be missed.” He turned to look at Adam. “You’ll have to do the recon.”
“And miss the cake?” he asked, putting his hand to his chest in feigned disappointment.
Bill handed Adam a tiny flash drive. “Just download everyone’s computer files onto this,” he said.
“Anythin’ else?” Jesse asked.
Bill hesitated.
“Spit it out, Wildfire. No use beatin’ around the bush.”
“We told Solo if we didn’t hear from him in four days, we’d send someone in. Tomorrow will be four days.”
The two men just sat and stared at each other, communicating without words, a skill developed from years of depending on each other, often in the direst of circumstances.
“Why don’t you come back late tomorrow night?” Jesse suggested. “Meetin’ should be over around ten, ten thirty. We’ll have the file downloads by then.”
“Sure, but what reason should I give for showing back up here?” Bill asked. “It’s not like I can say I just happened to be in the neighborhood. We don’t want Sarah to become suspicious, do we?”
“Leave something in the powder room,” Adam suggested. “We’ll tell her you forgot it and will be by later to pick it up.”
Adam pocketed the drive then shook Bill’s hand.
Jesse clapped both men on the shoulder. “C’mon, guys, let’s go eat.”
* * * *
The Town Council meeting was basically a meet-and-greet for Jesse. It was his official welcome as the new chief of police. As soon as he, Sarah, and Adam walked into the lobby of the two-hundred-fifty-year-old courthouse, he was swept up in a round of good-natured glad handing and back thumping, while she was equally occupied fending off curious questions about her living arrangements with two men. It probably helped that Lisa Wilson stood with her, her Goth look toned down somewhat. Her black hair was still spiky, her eyes still heavily lined with kohl, but the usual thick leather collar had been replaced with a solid gold necklace with a tiny padlock charm dangling from it, and her usual, chain-festooned leather had been discarded in favor of slightly more modest low-rider jeans and a tube top. A tube top which displayed her generous breasts and flat abs to perfection.
Within minutes of their arrival, Adam saw his chance and slipped out the back door unnoticed.
As soon as he got into his Land Rover, he pulled his Glock from the glove box, quickly checked the load then stuck it in his belt at the small of his back, covering it with his loose-fitting black knit sweater. His backup pistol, a small Makarov PM, was tucked snugly into his boot, along with his K-Bar combat knife.
He smirked. Okay, so two pistols and a combat knife—mentally he waggled his hand—were probably a bit excessive for what he was about to do. After all, this was Marshall’s Creek, Virginia, not downtown Kabul or the back streets of Baghdad. Still…it never hurt to be prepared.
He had to forego searching Mayor Sam Johnson’s office, because it was located in the courthouse, in plain sight of the meeting, so his first stop was Pelham Reynolds’s real estate office. Not bothering with the computer in the rece
ption area, he went straight into Reynolds’s private office, which was locked, but no match for Adam’s high-tech door-opening device, his American Express card. While the files were downloading, Adam turned on his tiny Mag-Lite, holding it in his teeth as he quickly scanned through all the files in the file drawers. Nothing was misfiled, nothing in code, no red-flag names. In short, nothing even remotely interesting, not even a file on the Harriman auction. Apparently the computer was more for show than substance. If Pelham Reynolds had anything to hide, it was not hidden in his office.
Kendall Malone’s Lexus dealership was a different story. According to an invoice in his files, he had sold a black Ford Super Duty pick-up truck with a gun rack and a dog cage last August to one C. Andrews of Porterfield, Virginia. Andrews had paid cash.
Adam spent several minutes just staring at the invoice, drumming his fingers lightly on Malone’s desk. Eight months ago. Eight months before the Harriman property had even been purchased, Chester Andrews was already a resident of Porterfield, Virginia. Definitely not a good sign. The Army of Righteousness had obviously had their eye on the sleepy farming community as the headquarters for their own little community of fascist rednecks for a long time. Much longer than the purchase date of the Harriman property would seem to indicate.
Had those fuckers actually been using the property all along, even while it still technically belonged to the Harriman family? Not that there had been much danger of their activities being accidentally discovered by anyone, even if that were the case. The property was so remote it was nowhere near anything that could possibly be considered a road. They could have had cult members camping out back there for the past year for all anyone knew. Hell, the airstrip could already be operational. They could have been ferrying heroin and guns in and out of there for months.
Fuck.
They no longer had a choice. Jess was going to have to drive over to Porterfield tonight and find out just what the fuck was going on over there. Having a skinhead militia camp so close to Marshall’s Creek was a direct threat to the safety of their own citizens. Besides, it wouldn’t hurt Alpha Control to know exactly what they were up against.
Carefully replacing the file, Adam locked up the building and headed straight to the Malone residence, though estate would have been a much better term. Apparently the auto business paid pretty well. It was a large Tudor mansion, set on several acres of professionally landscaped grounds, located in one of the ritziest neighborhoods in Marshall’s Creek. Deliberately driving past the house, he parked behind a vacant house around the block. Vaulting fences to slip stealthily through backyards, he did a slow circuit of the ostentatious two-story stone dwelling, checking the readout on the electronic device he carried. No active alarms were indicated and Adam grinned. This was going to be easier than he thought.
He had no trouble entering through the sliding glass door leading from the patio into the kitchen. Doesn’t anybody lock their doors around here? Seriously. Anybody could just walk in off the street and rob people blind. Tsk-tsk-tsking at small-town mentality, he went straight to what he knew from Jess’s briefing to be Malone’s study. Now, that door was locked. Interesting. But no match for a set of professional lock picks. Turning on the computer, Adam plugged Bill Payton’s flash drive into the USB port. While the entire contents of Kendall Malone’s files were being downloaded, Adam picked the lock on the desk and searched all the drawers. Aside from the loaded 38 police special and the half-empty bottle of Jack Daniels in the bottom drawer, there was nothing of interest. Adam sniffed the gun. It had not been fired in quite some time.
Noiselessly moving from the study, he took the stairs two at a time. One of the extra bedrooms was made up for guests, and the other served as a sewing and craft room for Kendall’s wife, Rita. Evidently she considered gluing beads and scraps of fabric and lace to small wastebaskets to be a worthwhile pursuit. There was no sign of Ryder’s presence in either room, no clothes in the closet or toiletries in the bathrooms. A quick search through the drawers in the master bedroom revealed a Glock 9mm automatic pistol and a neatly folded Army of Righteousness rally flag, red with a black swastika in the center of a white circle, its tips dripping red blood. Hidden in the back of the closet were two Army of Righteousness uniforms.
Returning to the study, Adam retrieved his flash drive, shut off the computer, and left the house the way he had entered it. He repeated the procedure at the Johnson and Reynolds homes then drove straight back to the courthouse, where the town meeting was still in full swing. He rejoined the crowd seamlessly, making eye contact with Jesse and giving him a slight nod before going straight to Sarah and placing a swift kiss on her upturned face. “Hey.”
“Hey, yourself.” She gave him a beatific smile. “Where’ve you been?”
“Oh, you know”—he waved his hand vaguely—“here and there, talking, schmoozing, listening to boring stories.” He lifted her hand, placing her palm flat against his chest before placing his hands on her waist and simply holding her in front of him. God, she was so gorgeous. Her ripe, softly curved body was sheer perfection. Dressed in a simple turquoise cotton sundress with spaghetti straps and beading across the sweetheart neckline, looking up at him with that sexy little half smile on her lips, she made his dick so fucking hard he could use it for a sledgehammer. “How about you, where’ve you been?”
“The same. The only good thing about this occasion is the cake. Did you get some?”
“I was just about to. Come with me.” He tugged at her hand. Shifting his grip to intertwine their fingers, he led her over to the plastic tablecloth-covered table where Lisa Wilson was cutting slices of an enormous red velvet sheet cake covered with cream cheese frosting. “Lisa made it,” Sarah informed him as a smiling Lisa handed him a Styrofoam plate with a generous serving of the scrumptious-looking dessert. “She owns the town’s only bakery, Cakes R Us. She’s going to be making our wedding cake.”
He muttered something around a mouthful of the delicious cake and looked beyond her over her head. The crowd was finally beginning to thin, and Jesse was heading toward them. When he got there, he put his arms around Sarah and gave her a hard kiss. After what seemed like both forever and mere seconds, he lifted his head. She gave a tiny whimper, gazing up at him through dazed, half-lidded eyes. Her lips were swollen, parted, letting him know without words, how ready she was for sex. God, so was he. He’d never been more ready!
“Let’s blow this joint,” Adam said, dropping his empty cake plate into the overflowing trash can and brushing his hands together. He gave Lisa a thumbs-up before bending his head sideways and giving Sarah a cake-flavored kiss. “I can’t wait to find out what you’re wearing under that dress.”
“I could show you now,” she offered helpfully with a sly, sexy smile that lit up his heart. Jesus, what she did to him! His cock was so hard he could use it as a cudgel. He needed to be inside her in the worst possible way. He needed to bury himself in her tight, wet heat as he and Jesse worked her together, fucking her until her inner muscles squeezed around both of them like a vise, milking the cum out of their spurting cocks, giving them all so much pleasure they wouldn’t be able to move afterward.
Watching Adam, Jesse knew exactly what the other man was thinking, because he was thinking the same thing—how badly he needed to be buried deep inside their woman, so deep he’d never be able to find his way back out. His dick was a throbbing ache, pressing hard against his jeans. It was a wonder the fabric didn’t split.
“Are you ready to go home?” Sarah asked, her voice husky with the desire they were all feeling.
Christ, he was so ready! But his pleasure would have to wait. He had a visit to pay first, to Matt Wilson’s garage to find out just what sort of shit his cousin was mixed up in. “Sorry, sugar, I won’t be comin’ home just yet. I’ve got an errand to run first, so I’ll be a little late. Probably around half an hour or so.” His arms tightened around her as he gave her a stern look and continued in his Dom voice. “But I definitely have p
lans for you once I get home, little sub. Plans that call for you bein’ in the Play Room on your knees ready to receive my cock.” He gave Adam a quelling look. “Don’t you dare start without me.”
Sarah’s breath hitched as Adam murmured, “Then you’d damn well better hurry, ‘cause I’ve got the hard-on from hell.” Her arousal, which had been building all evening, spiked off the charts. Her pussy clenched, sending a fresh rush of hot juice into her already sopping slit. Indeed, her inner thighs were slick with it, and she’d already been to the bathroom twice to wipe herself off.
Jesse’s smile was wicked as he palmed the side of her head. She leaned into his hand, closing her eyes. “I’ll try not to be too long,” he promised.
“I’ll be waiting for you.”
He raised one black eyebrow.
“I’ll be waiting for you, Sir,” she amended hastily.
“Then I’ll definitely hurry.” He kissed her, clapped Adam on the shoulder, and left, his long legs eating up the distance between them and the exit.
He drove straight to his cousin’s garage. As president of the Brigands Biker Club, Matt owned an entire complex of buildings that included the garage, a biker bar, and a clubhouse with rooms where members could crash if they were too drunk to go home. He also owned a custom motorcycle design and build shop.
Owning Sarah [Sequel to Loving Sarah] (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour) Page 8
