by Avelyn Paige
Shaking his head, he stalks toward her, yelling for her to get her old ass off that table before she breaks her hip. The longer they’re together, I swear, the crazier she gets.
She’s still laughing when he hauls her off the table, but then her expression turns serious when he lays into her, and she slaps him hard across the face.
I don’t envy him. I tried a relationship once, and it didn’t work out. Ain’t ready to try that bullshit again. I have enough on my plate with Kevin and Natalie, and there’s no need to add anymore chaos to my nuthouse of a life.
Grace
After yet another night of sleeplessness, I took a deep dive into web searching motorcycle clubs. From fictionalized shows on television to real-life clubs, my brain is pounding from information overload. The only thing I couldn’t find much on was the Black Hoods MC specifically, apart from a few new articles about charity rides and mentions in local crime ring busts the last few years. Aaron’s warning was clear about staying away from them, but this case may not allow for that to happen. I have to hope he can find out more information for me without putting myself in danger if I can help it. If I can’t, so be it.
With the promise that Aaron would get back to me later today with the information I had emailed him after the call, I pull out the notes I’d scribbled down last night while listening back over the recordings.
The first thing on the list may be the most crucial piece of the puzzle. Where is their mother? And why did this so-called uncle have the kids? If things were on the up-and-up, there would be records. Looking up the number for the court clerk’s office, I place the call. After a few rings, someone picks up.
“Clerk’s office.”
“Hi. My name is Grace Halfpenny, and I’m calling from DFPS. I need to have some court records pulled for a case I’m working on.”
“Case number?”
“I have two previous case numbers in our system. Case Number 18746, and 19430.”
I listen as the click of a keyboard fills the silent end of their receiver.
“I can have the records for these two cases couriered over to your office in a few hours.”
“That would be great. I also need a search for any other cases involving the mother…” I trail off, looking at my notes. “Teresa Ann Tucker. DOB 7/31/1979. I’m specifically looking for cases regarding legal custody of her children.”
“One moment, please.” A few heavy-handed keystrokes later, she informs me, “I don’t have any additional records for a Teresa Ann Tucker with that DOB. Could she have had an alternate alias?”
My stomach drops. “Zero records?”
“Correct. The last two records for her in our system under that name were the two previous cases you mentioned.”
Crap. She’s a ghost in the wind, legally speaking. “What about the two minor children, Kevin and Natalie Tucker? Anything on them?”
After a few moments, she sighs. “Same for the children. Just the two previous records.”
I stifle a curse. No record of the mother. No record of the uncle’s custody. On top of everything else, this case just continues to snowball, going from bad to worse.
“Is there anything else you need?” she asks politely.
With a defeated tone, I reply, “No, that’s it.”
“The courier service will have these over to you soon. Have a good day.”
She hangs up, and my head falls into my hand with the receiver still pressed against the side of my face.
“Everything okay?”
I peer up and see Aaron’s thick stature leaning against the doorframe, cradling a stack of folders, his normally clean-shaven face showing a hint of dark stubble. His head looms nearly at the top of the door, but being almost seven feet tall would make any space look frighteningly small. Aaron’s muscular build has grown larger since I last saw him. He’s like a gentle giant with a cowboy hat and a pistol at his hip. It’s no wonder he’s done so well in law enforcement, as he certainly looks the part. If I was on the other side of the law against him, I’d have no chance of getting away.
His large boots step into my office and he turns, closing the door behind him before settling into one of my way too small desk chairs. His knees press against the front of my desk, like a parent trying to sit in their child’s desk at a parent-teacher conference.
“Didn’t know phones made good pillows.” I narrow my eyes at him. “Bad morning?”
“I don’t know how it could get any worse, to be honest. Please tell me you have some good news for me on the Tucker case?”
“I wish I did. I asked a couple of patrol officers to do a few more drive-bys of their compound, and the address you gave me last night to watch for the kids. So far, no dice.”
“Shit.”
“Wow.” His eyes flash with surprise. “Grace Halfpenny swearing? It has been a bad day.”
It’s not that I’m against swearing, but after years of living with a very strict Christian foster family in my early teens, their punishments for using said words still make me think twice about using them. Mama Marie, my foster mother, had a heavy hand for anyone who used them, or even a watered-down version of them.
“I’m sorry. It’s this case. Between not sleeping and all these curveballs that keep getting thrown at my head, I’m unraveling a bit.”
Leaning his gigantic frame forward, he takes hold of my hand, enveloping it wholly with his. “I know you want to help these kids, Gracie, but if your tip is right, anything to do with this club needs to be handled by the police.”
“I can’t do that, Aaron. I just can’t. This is my case,” I argue, taking my hand out of his. Sighing, he settles back into his seat. “I didn’t call you for help because I can’t handle it.”
He recoils, like I just shot an arrow through his heart. I know Aaron has good intentions and wants to protect me, but I’m not backing down from this case, no matter who’s involved. Bikers be damned. These kids deserve better, and if I can help them achieve that, I will.
“I’m sorry. I overstepped. You’re right, this is your case, not mine. I didn’t mean to pop by and make your day worse. That wasn’t my intention.”
“I know it wasn’t, but I guess that brings us around to why you stopped by out of the blue.” Outside of a few friendly lunches sparsely scheduled over the last few years, our friendship hadn’t included random visits at our places of work.
“I pulled some records on the mother’s past charges and thought I’d bring them over.” He slides a manila folder over to me.
“And?” I tease him.
“And I wanted to invite you to lunch. It’s been awhile, and I miss our visits.” His tone is hopeful.
“I wish I could, Aaron, really, but my afternoon is jam-packed with calls and meetings, so I had planned on working through lunch.”
His unmistakable disappointment breaks his normally cool and collected demeanor. “That’s okay. I knew it was a long shot, anyway.”
“What about tomorrow evening? I have court after lunch, and provided it doesn’t run over, I can be out of here early.”
A flash of excitement washes over his face as he smiles widely.
“It’s a date. I’ll make a reservation at your favorite place for six.” I wish he hadn’t used that word. It’s a work meeting, nothing more. But the way he said it makes a coil of guilt swirl in the pit of my stomach. Dating is the last thing I have on my mind, and he’d be better off finding a woman who would appreciate him for the great guy that he is.
“If court goes long, I’ll call you.”
Pushing away from the desk, he smiles at me. “See you tomorrow, Gracie.” Elation almost wafts off of him as he opens the door and heads out of my office.
Aaron has always been a good friend, but for me, that’s all it is—friendship. Aaron’s a great guy, but his line of work and mine don’t make for a good relationship. We’re both married to our jobs, and there’s no room for anyone else in them, especially now with his recent promotion to detective. An
d I barely have time to sleep. Adding a second person in my life just isn’t in the cards.
Shoving the thought from my mind, I return to my full case load for the rest of the afternoon. Meeting after meeting with current cases fill it to the brim before the last client walks out of my door around five thirty. My body is physically exhausted, and the idea of slipping into my clawfoot tub with a frosty glass of wine seems like the embodiment of heaven on earth. I check my email one last time before I gather up Aaron’s folder, along with the one the courier had dropped off to me between meetings to peruse later tonight at home before leaving my office.
The sun’s still beaming down with a Texas level heat, even this late in the day. Opening my car door, the interior heat flows out, feeling like a sauna. Normally, this late in the summer, things would start evening out temperature-wise, but Mother Nature seems hell-bent on making it stay miserably hot as long as she can. I should’ve known that little temperature break over the last few days would come back to bite me again.
I let the heat sift out before braving the scorcher still raging inside and crank the air the second the engine turns on. With my work ahead of me, and the thought of possibly sleeping later, I leave the parking lot when a large group of motorcycles swerve into the lane I was about to pull into without so much as even a wave of apology.
“What in the hell?” I mutter when one biker waves after he passes. I try to see a plate number to report them for cutting me off when my eyes spy the back of their vests.
They’re not just any group of bikers. They’re Black Hoods.
“Don’t do it, Grace,” I berate myself when the thought of following them pops into my head. “Aaron said they’re dangerous. Following them isn’t a smart move.”
My heart beats wildly in my chest while my mind plays devil’s advocate of toeing the dangerous line of inserting myself into their line of sight without a police escort. I could either be walking into my doom, or become the guiding light to helping these kids. Do I put my life on the line for them?
The light flicks to green. They take off, and so do I, right behind them.
This is either the bravest thing I’ve ever done or the stupidest. I’m leaning toward the latter.
Judge
“You fuckers,” I groan, but I can’t hide my grin. “I’m a little old for a surprise party, don’t you think?”
“You’re too old for most things,” Twat Knot quips. I nod to Karma, who lands a swift swat to the back of his head. “Don’t worry, old man. Us young bucks will make sure the ladies don’t give that old ticker of yours palpitations.”
A gorgeous blonde with fake tits strides up to me and hands me a beer. “Happy birthday, handsome.” Ladies love a silver fox, and at fifty, there’s more silver in my beard than there ever has been.
“Thanks, sweetheart.” She plants a kiss on my cheek, pressing her tits against my arm as she does it, then struts back into the crowd. I watch her go before turning to face the others.
“Now, who do I have to thank for this shindig?” Everyone looks away, avoiding eye contact at all costs. “Come on, ya bunch of bastards. Nobody knew shit about my birthday. Who was it?”
I narrow my eyes at Hashtag. Motherfucker.
He glowers back at me, and then finally throws his hands up in the air. “I had to enter your birthday when I did the paperwork for the kids. I thought it would be nice, okay? So drink your beer and enjoy the love, for fuck’s sake.”
I glare at him a moment longer. It’s not that I’m upset, exactly. I just don’t quite know what to do here. I’ve never had a surprise for anything. Hell, I’ve never had a birthday party. “Thanks, kid.”
Nodding, he clinks his bottle against mine.
Taking a seat, I stroke my beard. “Fifty fucking years old, GP,” I say. “That’s half a fucking century.”
Numbers had never bothered me before. But then, I’d never turned fifty years old before today, either. I motion for the waitress to bring another round before turning to watch the girls on the dance floor.
They’re all so fucking young. I could be their damn grandfather. That shit is truly depressing.
“Cheer up, old man,” Hashtag chuckles, clapping a hand on my shoulder. “Your present will be here soon.”
I love my club, and they know I’ve been struggling. First with Natalie and Kevin, becoming an instant dad to two damaged teenagers. And second, that I’m almost old enough to collect a fucking pension—if I had one.
That’s why they’d suggested a new venue. They’d brought me to Sharkey’s. This bar is perfect for a guy like me, or so they’d said. It had been once, about fifteen years ago, but now I feel like I should walk around, handing out condoms and ten-dollar bills to the barely legal boys staring at their first pair of fake tits.
“Excuse me?”
I turn to see who’d spoken, and take in the tall, slender woman in front of me. Her hair is pulled into a tight little knot at the back of her head, and her glasses are resting on the tip of her nose. She’s wearing a business suit, the kind you see in movies with the sport coat and matching skirt. She looks like a librarian, but the girl is stacked, and that’s when I realize just what kind of librarian she is.
“Halle-fucking-lujah!” I roar, looking around at my boys. “I thought you guys had gotten me something stupid, like a new helmet or a saddlebag for my ride, but this….” I look the librarian up and down with insurmountable approval. “Fucking hell. Happy birthday to me!”
The woman’s eyes go wide as she takes a step back. “I beg your pardon?”
“Do you just do the show, or do you provide the after-party too?” I reach for her, wanting to feel her on my lap.
“Judge,” GP blurts out from behind me.
“I don’t provide any show, sir,” she snaps back, her face twisted in anger. “And I don’t like what you’re insinuating.”
Laughing, I take another swig of my beer. “I’m insinuating that I can’t wait for you to take off that shirt and show me them gorgeous titties.”
“Judge!” GP hollers, but it’s too late.
The librarian’s hand comes up and slaps the side of my face, hard enough to send my chair sideways.
“I will not be spoken to like that. My name is Grace Halfpenny, and I’m a caseworker for Child Protective Services. I’m looking for a man named Eugene Grant.”
Oh shit. I sit up straight in my seat and place the beer gently down on the table. “I’m Eugene.”
I ignore the snickers from the guys around the table as Ms. Halfpenny huffs and pulls a stack of papers out of her briefcase, plopping them onto the table in front of me. “Mr. Grant, it has come to my attention that you’ve been caring for a Kevin and Natalie Tucker without legal right to do so. Those children are wards of the state.”
Realization washes over me that this is the Grace that was at the school. I may have offended her, but I don’t like her tone when it comes to those kids. “Those kids are orphans who had nowhere to go. They’ve had a fucked-up few years, and the last thing they needed was to be separated and shoved into some goddamn foster home.”
“Mr. Grant, you don’t have the right to make that call.”
I stand and move closer, using my size to intimidate her. “I will make whatever call I see fit. Those kids are happy with me, and that’s how it’s gonna stay.”
Her nostrils flare, and I have to remind myself that she’s a total bitch, because the look of her pissed off is one of the sexiest things I’ve ever seen.
“You haven’t heard the last of me, Mr. Grant.” Turning on her heel, she marches toward the door.
“I liked you better when you were a stripper!” I call out to her back, just trying to piss her off now.
It works. I smirk when my words stop her short, but she doesn’t give me the satisfaction of seeing her sweat. Instead, she keeps walking, straight out the door, and hopefully out of my life for good.
Yeah, right.
“Wait,” Twat Knot says with a laugh, clea
rly not getting the brevity of what has just happened. “Your name is Eugene?”
A nod at Karma shuts him up as he fends off yet another smack to the back of the head.
Grace
“There she is.” Aaron smiles as the teenage hostess leads me to the table in the corner of the little Italian bistro we both love. His dark hair is slicked back, a stark contrast against his crisp white button-up shirt and dark trousers. The owner, Piero, steps aside as Aaron pushes up from his seat and pulls out my chair for me. I settle into it, placing my bag next to my feet on the floor.
“Lei è bellissima.” Piero smiles, clapping his weathered hand onto Aaron’s shoulder as a server approaches with a large bottle of wine and two glasses in his hand.
“Are we celebrating something?” I ask Aaron as the server pours us each a glass.
“A night with you is always a celebration, considering how many times you’ve cancelled on me lately,” he teases.
“You know how much I work.” An excuse, but a truthful one.
“So do I, but you can’t forget to enjoy life. When you don’t, all you see is the dark part of our line of work.”
“I know, but—”
“But nothing. Piero picked out this wine especially for you. It’s from his family’s vineyard. Let’s not spoil it with the same old argument we always have, darling.” Picking up the glass, he swirls the dark merlot liquid in the glass before bringing it to his lips.
I scrunch up my nose. Pet names? When exactly did we make it to that level of familiarity in our friendship? The last time I checked, we were nowhere near that level. Catching my reaction over the brim of his glass, he frowns before taking another sip.
“Try it,” he insists, trying to divert the awkwardness away from his slip.
I finger the stem of the glass before grasping it and bringing it to my lips. The plump, velvety merlot hits my tongue. It’s good. One of the better wines I’ve had. But not even the alcohol sliding down my throat can deter me from his use of the word “darling”.
