by Freya Barker
“What about the other suspect? Nathan Phillips?”
“Paco. Yes, he’s in an adjoining room—both are guarded by local police—but I haven’t been able to find out much about his involvement. All I’ve heard is that he was in the passenger seat. By the way,” I add as an afterthought. “I believe the truck they were found in might well be the same one that was used in the chain of dispensary robberies in Colorado.”
“Where can I find you?”
“There’s a waiting room off the main lobby. I’ll head back there.”
IT HASN’T QUITE BEEN an hour when Agent Nylander steps into the waiting room and closes the door behind him.
“And?” I can’t resist asking, having sat on pins and needles.
“Looks like Mr. Phillips will remain a guest of the Ruidoso PD a little longer, mostly because he seems unwilling to cooperate.”
“Did you talk to him?”
“I tried. He won’t talk to me either, but perhaps you’ll have better luck.”
“What about Ouray? Mark Strongbow?”
A little grin tugs at the otherwise rigid looking agent. “He talked to me all right. Mr. Strongbow was quite forceful in his opinions. None of which were particularly complimentary to local law enforcement. I believe the term is spitting nails.” Brent Nyland is grinning now. “He also demanded to see you. Loudly.”
I’m on my feet with my hand on the doorknob in a flash. “Will they let me?”
“Absolutely. The local chief of police was quite forthcoming once I explained our joint federal investigation trumps his local one.”
All I want is to run to Ouray’s bedside, but Agent Nyland leads me down the hall to see Paco first.
“How is he?” Paco asks me when I’m barely through the door, and I don’t need clarification as to who he’s referring to.
“From what I understand he’s spitting-nails mad,” I tell him with a glance over my shoulder at my fellow FBI agent in the doorway.
Paco follows my eyes and scowls. “What the fuck is he in here for?”
“Making sure I don’t take off with the prisoners, I guess,” I attempt to joke.
Paco’s gaze return to me. “You forget I know you’re a fed as well.”
Right.
“I’m also Ouray’s—you know that too—and I’m pretty protective of my man. Which prompts the question: why on earth would you turn on him like that?”
“I didn’t. I know what it looks like, but I never—”
“Paco, your truck was packed with guns. That pickup is implicated in a string of robberies. Not only that, I have Ouray’s phone, which shows the last message he received was from you, claiming to be in trouble.”
“I lent the truck out to a friend, almost two months ago now.”
I roll my eyes at that. “Really? Let me guess, you forgot your friend’s name?”
He has a pained look on his face. “I rode down on my bike. You know I did. I couldn’t believe it when I saw my truck peel out of the parking lot at the concert last night. I followed it to a dingy motel, just a few blocks up from where we’re staying. I snuck around back and tried to catch a peek through the bathroom window, but that’s all I remember until I woke up in the ambulance.”
“Already someone has died, and another injured.” I know I’m taking a risk pushing him, but that name will finally give us something concrete to work with. “Who’s the friend, Paco? The only way we can corroborate any of your story is if we know his name.”
“Her.” I have to strain to hear him, but it’s enough to answer a few questions, and create some new ones as well.
“Britney,” I suggest and he nods, looking defeated. “You lent your pickup to Britney. When was that?”
“A few days before the club took off on our ride north for the rally just outside Denver. She mentioned her car had died and she needed a way to get to her new job. My old pickup was mostly just sitting there. I bought a new truck last year, and never bothered getting rid of this one. I only use it for the odd dirty job. I let her borrow it.”
“Britney,” I repeat. “Oh, Paco.”
I leave him staring out the window and close his door behind me.
“I don’t need you to come in here.”
Nyland stops with his hand on Ouray’s door and regards me quietly before getting out of my way. I step inside, leaning my back against the door. The big bulk of a man lying in the hospital bed is turned away, and I wonder if he’s sleeping. I must’ve made a noise, because suddenly his head turns in my direction, his blue eyes piercing the distance.
“Get your ass over here.” His voice is hoarse and he looks like he’s aged years since I saw him last night.
“You scared me.”
“I know. Come here.”
Closing in on the bed, I notice the bandage on the side of his head. “Are you hurting?” He doesn’t bother answering, but grabs hold of my hand and pulls me down on top of him, folding me in his big arms.
“Not anymore.”
“HAS HE FOUND HER?” Ouray asks when I end my call and sit down in the chair next to his bed.
The relief had been evident on his face when I mentioned what Paco had told me, but just as quickly had been replaced with anger. At Britney.
He’d been ready to call on his brothers, until I reminded him that they were likely setting up for the parade. Something Kaga suggested Ouray would want. He was right. It still took some convincing for him to let me call Dylan instead.
Britney may be involved, but as I pointed out patiently, she’s not the only one. I know for a fact she drove down with Jill, and therefore could not have brought the pickup, which means someone else had. I’d seen Manny talking to someone behind the wheel, which we now know hadn’t been Paco, but we still have no clue who it was.
It feels like the more information we get, the more lost we are.
“No. Apparently Jill’s been looking too. She hasn’t seen her since before the concert last night. All her stuff is still at their cabin, though.”
“Shit.”
My sentiments exactly. Having Britney disappear doesn’t exactly bode well for her. She may well have been a pawn in whatever game this is. It’s clear whoever is pulling strings wants Ouray out of commission. If it wasn’t for his inconsistent injuries, they may well have succeeded.
My biggest worry now is to keep Ouray safe, which is why I want to suggest keeping his release from police custody quiet for now.
“Right. It’s concerning. Since the person or persons orchestrating this clearly stepped up their game with this last attempt to implicate you—plus Britney’s disappearance—I think it’s safe to assume they’ll stop at nothing to get what they want.”
“We don’t even know what the fuck that is,” he agitates, running an irritated hand through his hair that does nothing for his serious bed head.
“It’s clear enough they want you out of commission, one way or another, and I’m not about to let that happen.”
That earns me a glare. “Since when is it your job to look out for me? Fucking hell, woman, I’ve been looking out for myself all of my life.”
“Since I’m the FBI agent in charge of this case. Since I don’t want any harm to come to the man I care about. And since maybe, it’s about damn time you had someone in your life looking out for you.”
CHAPTER 22
OURAY
“I can’t believe I let you talk me into running.”
I feel like I’ve fucking handed my balls over on a platter.
“It’s not running, it’s strategizing,” Luna fires back from behind the wheel.
Fucking doctor tells me no driving until I see a doctor back home to give me the all-clear on Wednesday. Load of bullshit. Of course Luna held on and ran with it. It took her all of ten minutes, and a couple of phone calls, to put together this plan to get me out of Ruidoso.
The guys are just finishing the parade tour, and we’re already almost in Albuquerque.
“If my bike gets trashed by
that snot-nosed—”
“Relax, Dylan is thirty-two—hardly a snot-nose—and he’s not gonna trash your bike.”
What had me cave to her plan was her mention of Nosh, Momma, Ahiga, and the other younger kids who stayed behind in Durango, virtually unprotected. The way this shit has been escalating, I can’t discount the possibility they’ll use anything in their power to get to me. Including the people I care about.
She also made a good point when she suggested we’d be more in control on our own turf. It’s easier for her to handle law enforcement in her own jurisdiction, and I’ll be able to get a better handle on things at home.
In the end I gave in, got in the back of the cruiser, and let myself be taken to the police station. This to throw off anyone who happened to be watching. There Luna was waiting with a black rental SUV we were going home in.
Since Dylan drove down with the bike in his truck bed, he’ll take my bike home strapped down beside his, although I’m not sure when that’ll be. He has the perfect cover to stay behind and make sure Paco is released from police custody, and kept safe as well.
I did call Kaga to fill him in on the plan. He’ll have to pack up our shit and take the lead tomorrow, getting the guys home. As far as anyone else is concerned, I’ve been arrested and will be held in Ruidoso.
It’s a fucking tough pill to swallow when you’re not even sure you can trust your brothers anymore.
“Are you hungry? Want to pick something up?”
I blink awake, I guess I must’ve slept like the dead because it looks like we’re just approaching Aztec.
“Jesus, you either have a serious lead foot, or those drugs they gave me knocked me right back out.”
“Drugs and a head injury will do that,” she says, her eyes on the road and a small grin on her lips. “And it’s possible I may have leaned a little heavy on the gas at times.” She throws me a quick glance. “Your color is a little better, though. The three-hour nap at least did you some good.”
“Hmm. I guess I could eat,” I answer her question. “Although I’m sure Momma has something cooking at the clubhouse.”
“You think so? It’s not like she’s expecting anyone back until late tomorrow.”
“True. Sonic drive-thru?”
“Fine by me.”
Conversation stills until we take the exit to get to us to the fast food joint, when Luna breaks the silence.
“How do you want to tackle this?”
“Tackle what?”
“With Nosh and Momma, are you going to fill them in?”
I look over and catch her glancing back. She’s being cautious with me. I can’t blame her, I haven’t exactly been a ray of sunshine. The events of the past days, my head is pounding so hard it blurs my vision at times—something I specifically avoided mentioning to the doc—and the fact I seem to have lost the careful hold I keep on my life, I guess I’ve been something of a bear.
Putting my hand on her knee, I twist in my seat to face her. “I haven’t thanked you for having my back—‘preciate it. It matters. As for Nosh and Momma, I’ll tell Nosh—he may have some valuable insights—but maybe we can leave it up to him to include Momma. Not that I don’t trust her, but she loves all her boys, and the possibility one of them may be involved in this would hurt her. I don’t want that on my head.”
“She’ll want to know what happened to you though. And so will the boy.”
Automatically my hand comes up to the bandage covering the cut on my head. “I mention I had a spill. Wouldn’t be the first time. Plus, it gives Momma a chance to vent her frustrations. If it were up to her, she’d make wearing a helmet mandatory.”
“She worries.”
“Every time we ride out.”
Luna seems to think on that when she pulls into the drive-thru. Before placing our order, she turns to me. “So why don’t you?”
“Some guys do, but it all boils down to individual choice. The last show of rebellion. If I take that away too, after taking the club straight, we’d be no more than a geriatric putt-putt club.”
She’s still snickering when a server comes to bring us our order.
Nosh comes ambling out of the clubhouse when we pull the rental up to the gate. With my keys back in Ruidoso with Dylan, I have no way to let us in.
The fuck happened to your head? Nosh starts signing the moment he gets a load of me through the windshield.
Fucking open the gate first, old man.
“Be nice,” Luna mumbles beside me.
Where’s Momma and the boy? I ask right away when I get out of the car, surprised the kid hasn’t come tearing outside yet.
Groceries. Damn kid’s a garbage disposal. Now what’s with this? He stabs a finger at my head.
Long story.
Got nothing but time, boy, he returns, clearly not in the mood to wait any longer.
“Jesus.” I throw my head back and let out a big breath. Fine, I could use a drink anyway.
“No alcohol until you get the all-clear,” Luna feels compelled to remind me.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake!”
Turning my back on both of them, I march straight into the clubhouse.
LUNA
Fucking knew it, Nosh says, none too friendly after we finish laying out the entire story, including my professional involvement. Had my doubts in the beginning, but you two fucking pulled the wool over my eyes. Gonna break Momma’s heart. Woman was over the moon you found your match.
We’re in Ouray’s office—both men are sitting on opposite sides of the desk—and I’m leaning against the wall. I blush at Nosh’s words. It doesn’t feel good to have kept this from them, but to be honest, it hadn’t felt like much of a deception to me for a while already. Our so-called relationship may have been arranged, but it sure feels real to me.
I glance over at Ouray when he sits forward and reaches out for me. The moment I put my hand in his, he yanks me to him, pulling me down on his lap.
I have. Nosh lifts a dubious eyebrow as he sits back and crosses one leg over the other, his sharp eyes taking us in. Found her, and gonna keep her, Ouray signs, his arms around my middle.
That a fact? This time the old man focuses on me and clearly expects an answer, so I give him a tentative nod. The pause that follows gets uncomfortably long before he finally adds, In that case, you tell Momma yourself. I’ll keep the pup busy.
AS IT TURNS OUT, I’M the one keeping Ahiga busy while Ouray talks to Momma.
We were just coming out of the office when they walked into the clubhouse, heavily loaded with bags and boxes of groceries. The moment the boy spots me, he drops the box he’s carrying and runs over, his spindly arms closing around my waist.
Touched, and more than a little confused, I look up to find Momma’s beaming smile.
“Boy got in a scuffle with one of the older kids and managed to deck him. Guess he’s feeling a tad grateful.”
I look down on his smiling face and ruffle his messy hair. Nailed him, did you?
He nods enthusiastically. I think I made him cry.
I bite my lip not to laugh. You’re gonna have to show me how you did that.
He immediately latches onto my hand and drags me with him, out of the clubhouse, and over to the garage. Half an hour later, both of us sweating buckets, I remember I don’t have a single piece of clean clothing with me.
“I stink,” I warn Ouray, who pulls me close the moment I walk in the kitchen.
“Impossible,” he mutters, his nose stuck in my damp hair.
Gross, Ahiga signs on his way to the fridge.
“Exactly. Which is why I’m going to have to run home. I don’t have any clean clothes.”
“Come with me.” The order is curt, and Momma doesn’t even look at me when she grabs an equally smelly Ahiga by the arm and heads past me, out of the kitchen.
“You best listen. She’s on a tear,” Ouray whispers in my ear, giving me a shove after her.
Great.
Like a lamb led to slaught
er, I meekly follow the somewhat intimidating woman out of the clubhouse.
The moment we walk into the cottage behind the clubhouse, Momma lets go of Ahiga. You hop into the shower, son. He doesn’t protest, but obediently heads down the small hall and disappears through a door. I can see how Momma coerces the kind of respect she receives from all these grown men. She starts them young.
“Now you.” I swing around at her stern tone. “I keep some stuff here for unexpected guests.” She opens a closet door in the hallway and pulls out a pair of black yoga pants, an old Deep Purple shirt and a fresh package of Hanes panties, shoving the lot in my hands. “You didn’t think I was gonna let ya run off without gettin’ my say in, did you?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Good. ‘Cause that would not’ve gone over well. Why don’t you grab a shower in the en suite in the master at the end of the hall? Clean towels and a fresh bar of soap on the rack behind the door. I’ll meet you in the kitchen.”
I guess it could be worse, I’m sure I’ll get a tongue-lashing, but at least she didn’t take me out back to shoot me.
The shower feels great, I realize I haven’t had one since yesterday morning, and the hot stream helps to relieve some of the tension in my body. Unfortunately I can’t stay in here forever, and eventually will have to show my face. I’d rather go straight to bed, but I guess that’s not happening.
There’s a teapot sitting in the middle of the small kitchen table, two mugs, and a plate of cookies. Not what I was expecting for what I assumed would be no less than the third degree.
“I liked you,” she starts, her folded arms resting on the table. “Now I don’t know if I should.”
“I’m so—” She lifts a hand to stop me.
“I ain’t done yet. This ain’t about me, it’s about my boys. You got one ass over teakettle for ya already, another gettin’ there fast. You walk when this case you’re working gets done, it won’t be skin off my nose, but you sure as shit will answer to me if either o’ those boys get hurt.” I don’t get a chance to respond before she does a complete one-eighty, lifts the teapot, and asks me sweet as punch, “What do you take in your tea?”
