by Nic Starr
“I think he’d been angling for a while and managed to secure the votes of those members who weren’t happy with the direction the club was taking and wanted to go back to the old ways. Both deaths were ruled accidental by misadventure, but there’s always been some suspicion that Rocky played a role. He’s a psychopath with Machiavellian tendencies.”
“I’d like to review his profile. Let’s meet with Rowena when we get back to the office. We need to know Rocky backward and forward, especially now that Peter’s involved.”
Ross turned to give Mitch his full attention. “This isn’t going to be a problem, is it?”
Mitch raised a brow. “What? Me having contact with Pete again? Of course not. We ended things eighteen months ago, and I’ve hardly given him a second thought since.”
“Doesn’t mean it won’t be hard, mate. The two of you, you’ve got a past. You put a lot of emotional energy into that man, so no one expects you to be unaffected,” Ross said.
Mitch bristled. “I can do my job.” And, it’s not like I have any choice.
Ross shrugged, giving him the benefit of the doubt, and Mitch was glad the subject was dropped. He just hoped he was right and he could keep his past personal life separate.
Chapter FOUR
MITCH SAT at his desk reviewing the latest files. He’d obtained documentation Rowena Muddleton had prepared—an indirect personality assessment. Basically it confirmed what he already knew about Rocky. He lamented the direction the case was taking. Mitch itched to see things moving forward, but more than that, he wanted to talk to Peter. He needed to talk to him, to find out what the hell he was doing tangled up with Rocky and the Soldiers. The sleeplessness of the last couple of nights had taken their toll. He didn’t think he could handle another night of tossing and turning. His gut churned as he downed the last dregs of his coffee and tossed the empty cardboard cup into the waste bin.
“I take it you’re not a greenie, then, Mitch.”
He glanced up into the smiling face of Lana Jacobs. She planted her denim-clad butt on the edge of his desk and raised a brow. And waited.
“Jeez, Lana, you’re worse than my mother.” He leaned down and retrieved the cup, and placed it on the desk to take to the kitchen later. “With a look like that, no wonder you get all the confessions; no one would dare stand up to you.”
“Yeah, well, let’s just say I have my ways,” she said with a laugh.
“And how are those ways working with the Brutes?” Mitch asked.
Lana, like Mitch, had been on the gang task force, known as Operation Solo, for six months. A forensic accountant, she spent her time cloistered in the office, digging into the depths of gang-related activity and transactions. She looked for taxation abnormalities and breaches, providing evidence for issuing infringements—anything to disrupt the outlaw clubs. Her recent focus had been on the Brute Riders MC, the major rival of the Soldiers of Fury MC, but she had just started looking into the Soldiers. She and Mitch had become good friends during the time they worked together.
She laughed lightly. “I wish I had the chance to practice my skills on the Riders. I feel like I haven’t been away from my computer in months, and I’m mighty sick of the inside of this office. What about you? Itchy feet?”
Mitch swiveled his chair to face her. “Looks like I won’t be hanging out here with you for much longer.”
Her eyebrows rose. “Do tell.”
“It appears we have an opening to get some direct info on the Soldiers of Fury. An old… ah… friend of mine has started hanging out with them.”
She lifted her eyebrows even higher. “So you’re going in?”
“That’s the plan. At least try to make contact with the guy. Peter. There’s a full briefing shortly.”
“Well, aside from knowing your friend, you’re the perfect man for the job. I can just picture you in your leathers, all tatted up and astride that bike of yours.”
Mitch sat up straighter and pulled the collar of his dress shirt, flushing uncomfortably at the compliment. “How do you know I have a bike?”
“Your reputation precedes you. Everyone has heard of you and your bike.” She laughed. “Actually I only know because of that time you crashed and took a few days off work last year.”
Mitch rubbed unconsciously at his thigh, as if he could still feel the pain caused by dragging that leg over asphalt. The scars had faded, but he was reminded of them every day. “Oh right. I forgot about that.”
“Aren’t you going to ask how I knew about the tattoos?”
That did puzzle him. “Yeah, how did you know about my tattoos?”
Lana chuckled. “I didn’t know you had any, but I do now.”
Mitch rolled his eyes. “I can’t believe I fell for that one.”
Lana patted him on the arm. “Don’t worry about it, hon. It’s one of my special talents for getting information.”
“Well, now I’ve seen it in action, I’m officially impressed.”
“So when do you go?” Lana asked, suddenly serious.
“As soon as possible. It’s turned out to be hugely difficult to get Pete on his own. He’s forever in Rocky Cummings’s company, the two of them traveling between Rocky’s house, the motorcycle business Rocky owns, and the pub. They have minimal time apart. I don’t want to wait any longer, as every passing day is just another day for this goddamn turf war between the Soldiers of Fury and the Brute Riders to escalate. One of the Soldiers was found shot in the head a few days ago.”
“I heard about that.”
“The Soldiers will be pissed and no doubt planning their retaliation.”
“Good luck, then. I hope you can get some useful information from your friend.”
“Speaking of useful information. Any luck with the anonymous tip-off?” A note had been sent to the task force the day before, hinting at some tax evasion. It was the second they’d received, the first note providing the address of a house that was now under surveillance. Now they knew Pete was affiliated with the Soldiers, and due to his past relationship with Mitch, he was the most likely candidate to be the sender.
Lana sighed. “Just getting started. It’s more complicated than it looks and needs a lot of digging. We need access to more information and can’t wait to get our hands on the computers, but at least we know where to start looking.”
“Well, if anyone can do it, you can, Lana.”
She stood. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, but I guess I’d better get back to it. Take care, Mitch.”
A glance at his watch told him it was just after 1:00 p.m. He wanted to go downstairs, but a quick glance at Ross, who was on the phone at his desk, put paid to that idea. Mitch flipped the lid on the tin of gum and threw a few of the small squares into his mouth as he resigned himself to spending the next hour or so completing paperwork.
A couple of hours later, Mitch stood and stretched out the kinks in his back. He groaned at the instant relief to his tired muscles.
“Old man,” Ross commented under his breath as he walked past.
“Fuck you,” Mitch retorted but couldn’t keep the smile from his voice. He picked up his folders and followed Ross into the conference room, where a number of team members joined them. The briefing started immediately.
THEY DECIDED to send Mitch in straightaway.
They had to get things moving, and since they couldn’t seem to get Pete alone, he needed to confront Pete while he was with Rocky. Catching up with Pete in Rocky’s presence meant going undercover. It wasn’t hard for Mitch to put on the clothes and appearance of a biker, particularly as he rode regularly and already owned the gear. He swapped out the dark suit and white shirt for a pair of jeans, a white T-shirt, and a well-worn leather jacket. Biker boots on his feet and a couple days’ growth on his face, and he fit the part perfectly. It was amazing how much wearing a suit could change the appearance of a person and how little was needed to give them a completely different background.
As far as establishing his cover, i
t didn’t take long to rent a rundown apartment using Mitch’s cover name, and to organize false identification and critical supporting evidence of his new shady background. When the Soldiers of Fury did their digging, they’d find evidence of a man who lived on the wrong side of the law.
The main problem they faced was how Pete would react to seeing Mitch and whether he would blow his cover. But the consensus was, given Pete was most likely the person sending the anonymous notes to the police, there was only a small chance he would let Rocky know Mitch was a cop.
There were a couple of things going in Mitch’s favor. Firstly Pete probably wouldn’t want it known he and Mitch had a history together, that they’d been intimate. Peter was also unlikely to raise his association with a police officer. It was guaranteed knowing one of the newest members of their club had an active police officer as a personal friend wouldn’t go down well with Rocky.
Getting into Rocky’s home would be difficult. The sprawling house was situated overlooking the river, making the most of the water views. It was surrounded by high fences on the street side, and coming up with a reason to approach was difficult. Of course Mitch could go to the Fury Hotel and intentionally run into Rocky and Pete while they were at the pub. He could make it look coincidental, but that would not necessarily give him reason to have continued association with Pete. He could run into Pete at the pub and try to find a way to speak to him separately, then arrange to meet again elsewhere. But given that Pete and Rocky hadn’t been apart in days, there was no guarantee Pete would find the time to step away. There had been some brief times where Rocky went off to do his own thing, but the length of time was generally fairly short. Often it was Pete who drove Rocky from place to place when Rocky didn’t take his bike.
The final option was for Mitch to go to Rocky’s place of business. Rocky ran a bike shop with a retail showroom and a workshop out the back. Mitch could take his bike in for service or buy a new bike. Either way it gave him the opportunity to run into Pete and hopefully make a plan to catch up with him. And even if Mitch couldn’t meet Peter separately, there could be benefit in spending time in the company of him and Rocky. Mitch could be seen to have similar interests to the other members of the club and, if he played his cards right, could get an entry into the Soldiers’ inner sanctum.
Chapter FIVE
MITCH’S BOOTS were loud on the tiled floor as he stepped through the glass doors on Friday morning and into the brightly lit showroom. The Cummings’s motorcycle business was, at least on paper, successful, and it looked it. Glossy beige tiles, more suited to the entrance foyer of a grand home, covered the entire room, which was massive. Huge columns supported the ceilings, and raised platforms were scattered around. Mitch walked around the platforms, admiring the expensive machines on display. He’d always had a thing for bikes; there was something freeing about hitting the road with the power of the bike and the sound of the wind.
As he wandered, he scoped the place. The far wall displayed accessories with a reception desk in front. The young woman who stood behind the desk was on the phone. A couple of customers were talking to a sales guy who was showing them a motorcycle. Another staff member sat at a desk filling in paperwork with a suit-clad customer. Adjacent to the desk was a wall with a number of doors, most likely offices and perhaps storage. A large sign above a door at the rear indicated the exit to the service department.
From the corner of his eye, Mitch watched the sales guy approach. Jeans, heavy boots, and a navy long-sleeved shirt bearing the CMC logo of Cummings Motorcycles over the pocket. His sleeves were rolled up, exposing the ink on his forearms.
“She’s a beauty, isn’t she?”
Mitch turned to face the guy, schooling his features when he saw it was none other than Warren Jones, Rocky Cummings’s second-in-command. With his shaved head and jagged scar across his forehead, his appearance would have been confronting, but his smile was genuine as he gently stroked the leather seat of the Harley.
“Yep,” Mitch said. “Shame she’s out of my price range.” Over fifty thousand dollars would be out of a lot of people’s price range.
“You looking for a bike? Maybe there’s something else I can show you.” The guy waved a hand to indicate the showroom, providing a flash of the tattoo on his forearm. Fury flames.
“I wish, mate. Unfortunately I’m just here to see about getting my bike serviced.”
“Yeah? Whatcha got?”
“Harley-Davidson Sportster. It’s a few years old, and I’d love to upgrade, but money’s tight, you know?”
“I hear ya, mate. We just need to win Lotto.”
“Or rob a bank,” Mitch said. “There’s got to be an easier way to earn some cash than the bloody nine-to-five, and now they want to cut my hours. Boss is an arsehole.” Mitch allowed his voice to trail off. “Sorry about my whinging. You don’t need to hear my shit.”
“No worries, mate. I feel ya. There’s nothing worse than a crap job. Is there anything else I can do for ya today, or just the service?”
“Unfortunately just the service.”
“The workshop is out back.” He pointed at the sign Mitch had seen earlier. “You can walk through that way, but the main vehicle entrance is from the side street.” The guy indicated the direction. “You’ll need to take ya bike in that way. But if you head out back now, you can make an appointment. There’s an office attached to the workshop.”
“Cool.”
Mitch followed him toward the rear door. As they passed the doors Mitch assumed were offices, one of them opened, and the person coming out nearly knocked Mitch off his feet. He automatically raised his arms and caught the guy who barreled into him.
“Sor—” The words died in Mitch’s throat as Finn looked up at him, eyes wide. The deep golden color of his skin emphasized his eyes, which, now that they were up close, Mitch could see were a striking blue-gray. His face was beautiful, but the scruff ensured he bordered more on sexy rather than pretty.
Chest to chest, Mitch could feel the strength of the body against him and the puff of warm air against his throat. He sucked in a breath. Pine and sandalwood.
“Finn. Get your arse back in here. We haven’t finished talking yet.”
The angry tones of the man calling from the room broke their gaze, and Finn peered over his shoulder and back into the office. The muscles under Mitch’s palms where he gripped Finn’s arms tensed and bunched. Oh shit! He was still holding Finn close.
Mitch dropped his hands and stepped back. “Sorry. Are you okay?”
Finn snapped his head around to look at Mitch, but he met Mitch’s eyes for only a moment before dropping his gaze and mumbling an apology. “I’m fine. Sorry, it was my fault. I should’ve been watching where I was going.”
“No harm done.” Mitch nodded and walked away. He wanted to stay and talk but had no choice but to follow Jones, who was standing holding the external door open.
He couldn’t think of a single opening for conversation anyway, not with all the blood that had rushed away from his head.
FINN STORMED back into the office. “What the hell was that, Rocky?” he hissed.
“You don’t walk away from me when I’m still talking to you.”
“I think we said all we need to say.”
“I’ll be the one to say when we’ve finished. Don’t you forget that you work for me.”
“I—”
“If you know what’s good for you, you won’t finish that thought. Do you think I’m stupid? I know you’re pissed off that I’ve made you come back, but it’s time you paid back for everything I’ve done for you.”
“What have you done for me, Rocky? ’Cause I’m having trouble remembering.”
“Don’t be a smart-arse, boy. Who do you think paid for your education? All those fucking years at uni.”
Finn rolled his eyes. “It was Carl who supported me when I wanted to study. You didn’t want me to go. It was Carl who encouraged me and told you to back off.”
�
�And Carl isn’t here anymore, is he?” The cold in Rocky’s voice sent a shiver through Finn. “You’re just lucky I let you stay in Melbourne. I could have easily made you come home.”
“The only reason you allowed me to finish my degree was so you could get your pound of flesh.”
“Now that’s the smart boy I know. I let you get that stupid piece of paper so you could start paying back. We’ve had this little chat before, and I’m not going to keep rehashing the same shit. You’ll work here for as long as I tell you. You’ll do the accounts and oversee the pub finances until I say I don’t want you around anymore.” Rocky rested his hands on the desk and leaned across toward Finn, hatred flaring in his eyes. “And when I don’t want you around anymore, you will definitely know about it.”
Finn swallowed hard. “I—”
“Good. I’m glad we’ve got that clear. I need you to hit the ground running and clean up Stan’s mess. Forty fucking years and we’re left in the lurch.”
“The man had a heart attack, for God’s sake. I don’t think he actually planned to leave things hanging.”
“Whatever.” Rocky straightened and walked around the desk. “We’ve wasted enough time. Now come out the back and I’ll show you around, introduce you to everyone.”
Show no fear. Don’t be pushed around. Finn straightened his shoulders and followed Rocky out of the office. He shot daggers at Rocky’s back, but it was fulfilling. Arsehole! How dare he lord it over Finn and try to rule his life? Finn snorted. Who was he kidding? Rocky did rule his life. He had Finn’s head in a noose, and that rope was getting tighter and tighter every day until Finn thought it would be only a matter of time until all the life was squeezed right out of him.
The door closed with a bang, the heat immediately hitting Finn as he walked across the concrete parking area toward the large machine shop. Huge roller doors were open, exposing the inner workshop, where mechanics worked on a range of bikes. The sun bounced off the ground, and Finn wished he were wearing shorts, not the heavy jeans that encased his legs. It was a relief to step into the shade of the building, although the temperature in the workshop wasn’t that much lower than outside.
