Lily (The Regulators Biker Series Book 0)

by Carolina Mac

  We passed the ‘Welcome to North Bay’ sign around nine-thirty and I followed the directions the Marriot had provided when I made my phone reservation. Angel and I checked in to our ground floor room and unpacked. I filled up her bowls with kibbles and water, then spread out her blanket beside the bed. She flopped down, put her head on her paws and gave me the ‘where are we?’ look.

  After a hot shower, I changed into a black suit, put on make-up and left Angel to her own devices. The hotel had graciously printed map-quest directions for me, detailing the most direct route to the funeral home.

  It was a newly constructed building on the outskirts of North Bay, with a lobby big enough for a large hotel, plush carpets, quiet secluded seating areas for smaller groups and every amenity imaginable. The chapel chosen for Marcy’s service boasted lavish arched windows.

  The casket was closed. The arched cover buried in a sea of white roses, perfuming the air with their delicate scent. A framed photo of Marcy in happier times, was the only reminder of why we were gathered. When I looked at her smiling face in the silver frame my eyes welled up. I'd never met Marcy’s mother in person, but noting a family resemblance, I wiped away my tears and introduced myself to the woman in black, standing near the head of the coffin.

  “Oh, my dear, Marcy has talked about you so many times.” She covered my hand with her own, her eyes glistening with tears. “You drove a long way to be here. I thank you for that.”

  “I wanted to be here,” I mumbled.

  The service was short and gut wrenching. Both of Marcy’s older brothers spoke about growing up with her and how they loved her. At times they couldn’t speak at all, strangled by grief for their sister. Most of the people attending were friends and relatives from her home town and they were not taking her death in stride. Not by a long shot. Judging by the angry expressions on the faces of the male members of her immediate family, I was certain they did not believe for a second that she had fallen down the stairs on her own.

  Afterwards, during the reception, Marcy’s mother and I spoke again. She explained that Bob’s family was disposing of the house and contents, and there was no need of her making another trip south to Toronto. She seemed relieved not to be dealing with Bob’s parents. After saying my goodbyes and promising to keep in touch, I returned to the hotel.

  Angel was thrilled I was back. She probably thought in her little doggie brain that she was destined to spend the rest of her days booked into the Marriot with no room service. I found her leash, changed into sweats and Adidas, and took her for a run on the hotel grounds. She sniffed around all the forsythia bushes, tangling up her leash and muddying her paws in the flower beds. I had to rein her in, take her back to our room and clean her up. Those white towels and face cloths were not intended for dog paws.

  Driving home from North Bay gave me hours to reflect on Marcy’s tightly knit family. Images of Charley and Phil, her two older brothers, holding their mother’s hand and comforting her, all pulling together, and being there for each other in a time of tragedy. Thoughts of my childhood in foster care came bubbling to the surface. I had not been with any one family more than a year or two—always struggling to fit in with new parents and siblings that weren’t my own and never quite making the transition. In order to survive, I hadn’t allowed my feelings of loneliness and longing for family to surface. But now that I was a grown woman, with time on my hands, it might be the perfect time to probe a little deeper into my sketchy past.

  Night had fallen when I pulled the Jeep onto Hawthorne Lane and into my driveway. The security lights illuminated the perimeter of the property, and I started unpacking the Jeep in the garage. Angel emitted a low growl that sent a shiver snaking down the back of my neck.

  “What is it, girl?” I patted her head and surveyed the garage. I gasped, “Oh, my god. No. Not my bike.” I dropped my bag on the floor and took a closer look. Someone had scratched the word ‘bitch’ into the turquoise paint on the back fender. Tears rolled down my cheeks. My first thought was Kenny.

  Would he be that mean?

  How could he get into the garage without setting off the alarm? I retrieved my overnight bag and carried it with Angel’s bowls into the kitchen and called George’s cell.

  “What’s up, kiddo. You home now?”

  “Just getting in. Found a surprise waiting for me in the garage. Someone broke in and scratched up my new bike.”

  “That fuckin’ prick. I’ll kill that son of a bitch. I’m coming over.”

  “Thanks, George. I’m a bit freaked.” I hung up the phone and started to fill the coffee carafe with water. My shaky hands clunked the pot into the faucet. The glass shattered and sent a shard into my left hand. I let out a squeal and held the cut under a stream of cold water until the bleeding stopped. After I dried my hand and applied a bandage, I glanced up and saw the Apex fridge magnet.

  “Apex. Mrs. Talbot, are you okay?”

  “Vince, I was out of the city all day and returned to find that someone had broken into the garage and damaged my motorcycle. Could that happen without setting off the alarm?”

  “No, impossible, let me check the log . . . Okay, I see it here. The alarm went off at your address this morning at seven-ten a.m. A team was dispatched to check it out. When they found nothing, they secured the premises and reset the alarm.”

  “Why didn’t you call me on my cell?” I snapped.

  “We did try your cell several times, but it says here, the call didn't go through. Was your phone turned off?”

  “I was at a funeral.” I hung up, questioning the validity of paying for a high-priced security system when the benefit I derived from it had been zero thus far. Better to have a gun and a dog. I cleaned up the mess in the sink, took two mugs out of the cupboard, and boiled the kettle to make instant coffee.

  Ten minutes later, Angel bounded for the front door when the rumble of George’s Harley echoed in the driveway. She had become quite attached to George, and she wasn’t the only one. George lumbered into the foyer with fire in his eyes and his face flushed. “Let’s see it.”

  I led the way through the kitchen to the garage.

  He snarled. “That’s it. I’m throwin’ down.”

  I was shaking. George was a formidable sight when he was infuriated, a side of him I hadn’t been privy to before. He pounded his right fist into the open palm of his left hand and stomped back into the kitchen. I poured the coffee and took the carton of cream out of the fridge.

  “I can have it repainted,” I ventured, not knowing if I should speak.

  “That’s not the issue. That fuckin’ low life shit has to be taught a lesson.”

  “So, you think it was Kenny?”

  “You bet your ass it was him, but don't you worry about a thing, sweet cheeks. I've got this covered.”

  Tears welled up in my eyes. Nobody had ever stood up for me in my whole life. I hugged George and buried my face in his neck.

  “Don’t cry, little girl. He won’t be comin’ anywhere near this house again. Guaranteed. Guaranteed by George.” When he pulled back he chucked my chin and winked. “I need a smoke if I hafta think. Let’s take the coffee outside.”

  I slid the patio door open and we stepped out into the warm night air. Angel bolted into the yard, found her ball, and did laps around the fence like a dog possessed.

  I laughed. “She’s happy that you’re here. Can you tell?”

  “She’ll be happy for a while then, ‘cause I ain’t leavin’. Not until this Kenny thing is taken care of anyway.”

  I raised my eyebrows, “Really?”

  “Fuckin’ right. That arrogant little prick don’t let go when he doesn’t get his way with a woman. You ain’t safe, little girl.”

  “I thought he was getting even with me for helping that girl up at the range last Sunday.”

  “I don’t think that’s it.” George shook his head. “Lots of girls that have dumped Kenny have had accidents and worse. Not maybe right away, but in time.”

>   I leaned forward and held my throbbing head in my hands as my stomach swirled.

  Lady Killer Kenny.

  “Go to bed, baby doll. You look wrecked.” George went back into the kitchen and motioned towards the living room. “I’ll sleep down here tonight.”

  “Why don’t you sleep in the guest room? You’d be more comfortable.”

  “Fuck. I’m not here for comfort. I’m here to keep you alive.”

  This is bad.

  I couldn't shake the worry that George could get hurt if Kenny came back. I took a blanket out of the hall closet and spread it on the end of the sofa.

  “Good enough. Show me how to turn on the alarm. I have to leave at seven-thirty to open the store.”

  “Lot of good this has done lately,” I said, as I showed George the code and the sequence. “A complete waste of money.”

  “Never fuckin’ know. Might give you enough warning to grab your gun and get ready.”

  “Let’s hope so.” I plodded up the stairs.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  SLEEP had been sporadic at best, waking through the night with terrifying dreams of Kenny stalking me, coffins covered in dying flowers and empty chairs at my funeral. I forced myself out of bed, shrugged on a robe and went down to the kitchen to make breakfast for George. He was already up, sitting out on the patio smoking. When I opened the door the morning humidity hit me in the face. “Going to be a hot one.”

  “Good thing I got air at the shop,” George said, “or I’d have to serve customers naked. That’d be bad for business.” He chuckled. George lumbered up the stairs to get ready for work while I made his breakfast and made us both an instant coffee. He returned a few minutes later with his hair damp, his clothes from the day before looking a little rumpled.

  After breakfast a stone cold expression crossed his face, “Let’s sit outside. I need to talk to you.” He picked up his mug, moved out to the patio table and lit up a smoke. He always needed a smoke to do his best thinking. I took a seat across the table, studied his face and waited.

  “This is what we’re gonna do. You’re gonna pack your stuff and go to that cabin up in butt-fuck nowhere with Angel for the rest of the week. Give me a chance to sort out that little fuck, Kenny. Then we’ll talk about when it’s safe for you to come home.”

  I nodded. “That's doable. I could use a break and there are things that need my attention up there anyway.” I paused. “But it feels a bit like I’m running away.”

  “I want you to run away. It will make my end of things a lot fuckin’ easier. Take your piece and wear the holster all the time. Don’t let your guard down for a second. Lock this place up tight after I leave and don’t come back until we talk. Understood?”

  “I understand. Do me a favor, George. Don’t get hurt because of me.”

  “That won’t happen. I’m not as stupid as I look and Kenny is big in the looks department, but he ain’t long on brains.”

  “You have my cell number. There’s no landline up there that I know of.”

  George got up. “I have it. I’ll call when I have something to say.” He winked and headed out to his bike.

  After my shower, I dressed in cut-offs and a t-shirt and packed what I thought I might need for three or four days in the North Country. On top of my clothes, I placed the holster containing the Beretta, and shoved a whole box of ammo down the side of the suitcase.

  Downstairs, I packed Angel’s food, treats and water bottles for the trip. Not sure how I was going to gain entrance to the cabin, I rummaged through the desk drawer in the study and tossed the key ring into my purse. If one of those mystery keys didn’t work, I’d have to come up with a different plan when I arrived.

  I gave Vince at Apex Security a quick call to tell him I would be out of town for a few days. I set the alarm and locked the house up tight.

  Angel jumped into the passenger seat with enthusiasm. She loved riding shotgun, especially with the window down. The day was gearing up to be a scorcher, but as long as we were moving, with the wind blowing through the Jeep, it was bearable.

  THIS time around, I had no trouble locating the cabin. Since my first visit, the grass and weeds at both sides of the driveway had grown high and shaggy, almost hiding the narrow entrance from view. I stopped and peered into the bird’s nest in the mailbox. Three blue eggs. I smiled to myself. My own baby birds. At the top of the hill, I parked and let Angel out to explore while I tried the keys in the front door. No luck.

  Circling around to the back, a startled chipmunk jumped out of the grass, and I let out a shriek. I tried the key in the lock, turned the knob and presto, the door opened into the kitchen. My kitchen. I still had trouble believing this was my cabin. It felt more like I was breaking and entering. Angel ran up onto the porch behind and squeezed ahead of me through the door.

  The kitchen played out like a page from a log cabin magazine. The table was early Canadiana, three wide pine planks forming the top with turned legs underneath. The chairs were a matched set of pressed-backs carved in a wolf pattern. On the left wall, a Hoosier cupboard had been restored and held assorted pieces of Fiesta ware and a few stoneware crocks. The fridge and stove were reminiscent of the twenties or thirties, reproductions nestled between natural pine cabinets.

  I stepped further into the space and passed a fieldstone chimneywall separating the kitchen from the living room. The latter was furnished with rustic pieces and early Canadian dough boxes. A refurbished grain scale did double duty as a coffee table, and all of the mullioned windows were draped in homespun hung on black iron rods.

  Angel ran into the bedrooms sniffing and exploring, while I checked the fridge and stove for power. The hydro was on.

  When had Matthew been up here last? Where were the bills going?

  After unloading the Jeep and putting away the groceries, I dropped into one of the weathered wooden chairs on the back porch. This far north, the temperature was a few degrees cooler and the breeze eliminated the breathless humidity of the city. I relished being holed up here for a few days. Angel romped through the evergreens, chasing brazen chipmunks and rousting unsuspecting rabbits out of the brush piles. With the serenity of my surroundings and the warm May sun shining on my face, I dozed off in my chair.

  When I woke, I grabbed for my cell phone. I had forgotten to let George know that I had arrived safely.

  “Hey, little girl, what took you so fuckin’ long? I thought you’d be there way before now.”

  “Sorry, George, fell asleep on the porch. I’m here. Everything is good.”

  “Sit tight up there. Call me once a day at the store to check in. Got it?”

  “Got it.” I ended the call.

  Somebody cares about me.

  After dinner, I filled up my mug and ambled down the path with Angel to watch the sunset over the lake.

  I wondered what George was going to do to solve the Kenny problem, but decided I really didn't want to know.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  ANGEL’S barking woke me from a deep slumber. The room was dark, and I strained to see her at the other side of the room. Her paws were on the window sill and her nose was squished against the glass. She punctuated her barking and whining with low throaty growls. I stumbled out of bed and grabbed my gun. Standing behind her, I squinted to make out the cause of her distress. Through the gloomy predawn mist, I could make out a large shaggy form lumbering away from the porch towards the trees.

  “Oh my nerves, Angel, it’s a bear.” I patted her on the head and pulled her back from the window and got her a doggie treat from the kitchen. Reluctantly she settled down on her blanket. “You can’t go out right now. Not a good idea.”

  I tried for a few minutes to go back to sleep, but it was a lost cause.

  After the sun came up, I made coffee and sat on the back porch watching Angel sniff over every inch of ground the bear had covered. As the day started to warm, black flies swarmed around my head and attacked my neck. I had to retreat indoors, an opportune
time to explore the barn.

  An old two by four cradled by hand-hewn wooden brackets held the double doors closed. After I lifted the splintered beam, one of the doors swung half open with a squeak of protest while the other stuck in the dirt. A barn swallow swooped over my head, chirping her annoyance at my intrusion. I ducked as Angel plunged fearlessly past me into the dim interior.

  The air hung stagnant with mixed aromas of dried straw and moldy hay, punctuated with more than a trace of horse manure. Slits of sunlight squeezed through the cracks between the shrunken barn boards creating eerie patterns on the beams and the bales of straw.

  An old John Deere tractor with patchy green and yellow paint, and a torn seat was covered in a thick blanket of dust and grime. Antiquated tools hung on rusty nails along one wall. Two shovels, a hoe, a rake, four axes, a saw, and something with a short handle and a sharp curved blade that I didn’t know the name of. A rickety ladder with one rung missing, invited me to climb up to the loft and explore, but I saved that adventure for another day.

  The back corner was dark, and I squinted through the gloom to see the pile of old furniture covered with a ragged blue tarp. As I lifted a corner to take a peek, a mouse scurried out and ran over the toe of my boot. I shrieked, dropped the tarp, spun around and ran for the door. Angel passed me in hot pursuit of the little rodent, but she was no match for mouse speed. I propped the working door open to let fresh air and May sunshine work its magic.

  When I went back into the cabin to make a sandwich, I gave George a call.

  “Gun shop,” he answered with a growl.

  “Just me, checking in,” I said. “There was a bear prowling around outside last night.”