CHAPTER TWENTY
When Stella made her way into the police department, her thoughts continued to swirl around the Seven Tribesmen. Her head resonated with Stan's suspicions. Her heart fluttered at the very thought Bishop thought so highly to put himself – and, by proxy, the whole of the 7T – at risk for her. The swooning romance heroine in her thought it was romantic. Stella's practical side felt it was short-sighted and absolutely horrid to put the Seven Tribesmen on the line.
She was still mulling over these thoughts when she realized her feet had landed her in front of Stan's office. Her hand hovered over the doorknob as sudden dichotomy took over her thoughts. Could she talk to her partner? Trust him? Or was Bishop weaseling his way into her head, her heart, and her trust? She nibbled on the inside of her cheek before her ears registered the voices inside Stan's office.
“-no one saw me.”
Was that Delilah Sampson? Stella's eyebrows furrowed, her senses picking up on movement on the other side of the door. She scurried away from the door, glancing around the corridor. A few feet away, a door loomed with “supply closet” along its front. Stella raced to the small room just as she heard the blinds clatter. She ducked into the closet, heart racing and gasping quietly. A sick premonition danced among her thoughts, and she moved toward the wall adjoining Stan's office.
“I didn't have any make-up on, and I played the part of a demure nurse.” Delilah's voice wafted from overhead. Stella's gaze shot upward, eyes meeting a vent. Her heart shuddered as she hauled herself onto a metal shelving unit. If she could hear them, maybe she could even see them. As Stella climbed atop the shelving unit, arms wrapped around a supporting bean, she craned her neck. Peering into the grate, she could make out the inside of Stan's office.
Delilah sat, legs crossed at the knees, on Stan's desk. She smiled coyly. Somewhere to Stella's right, out of her range of sight, Stan answered the redhead, “Are you sure?”
The redhead flashed Stan a broad smile. “Well, if they knew it was me, sweetie, I'd have to call your boys a whole lot sooner.”
Stella's eyebrows furrowed. She had a feeling Delilah wasn't talking about the officers in the department.
“That's true.” The man finally entered Stella's field of vision. He wandered closer to his desk, hands folded behind his back. He stood ramrod straight, chin high as his voice infused with a sense of purpose. “I promise you complete protection against the Grave Demons and the Seven Tribesmen, Ms. Sampson.”
“I hope so!” A flurry of giggles flew from Delilah's mouth. She pressed her knuckles to her pink painted lips, hiding her saucy smile. Stella would have groaned if she didn't fear being caught. Delilah shifted her legs and smoothed her dressed down over her thighs. “You do call yourselves the White Knights after all.”
“As I have told you,” Stella could hear a flirtatious grin curl at Stan's lips, and her stomach lurched, “I am merely an affiliate.”
“Oh, handsome, you are the biggest knight of them all. Keeping little ole me safe from the big baddies.” Delilah slid off the desk, her long lashes fluttering rapidly. She advanced on Stan and traced a nail down his jawline, over his Adam's apple, and down to his shirt. She fiddled with his buttons as she playfully breathed, “How ever will I repay you?”
“Ms. Sampson, please restrain yourself.” Stan reached for her wrist. His long fingers wrapped around Delilah's wrist, stilling its coy gestures. Delilah glanced up to his face, body language screaming uncertainty for a split second. Stan leaned close to Delilah's face and, in a low voice that Stella had to strain to hear, heard her partner purr, “Or else I'll have to use my handcuffs on you.”
Agent Holmes jerked back as Delilah squealed under her breath. Stella's stomach lurched and roiled roughly as she heard the lip-smacking sounds next door. She climbed down from the shelving unit.
Her throat suddenly felt raw, and her lungs drained of air, her heart solidifying. Betrayal made Stella's limbs heavy and her thoughts contested. Stan had planned Bishop's overdosing. Stan had gotten Delilah's assistance to murder the biker. Her stomach churned as her mind felt unable to gain a foothold. How could a federal agent fall so low?
Her brain replayed the conversation once more, realizing a gang name had come up. Stan had connections to the White Knights, a notorious white supremacist gang. Stella's stomach jerked harder, nausea building up in her throat. She was partners with a dirty cop. She had gone out with a white supremacist. She had entertained the thought of having sex with him!
As she fumbled out of the supply closet, her gaze gleaned over the assembled officers. A few threw her cursory glances, many eyes alight in curiosity. Betrayal seared through Stella's thoughts. Who could she trust? Who else worked for the White Knights? Who else worked for the drug ring? Who else wanted her dead?
Who could she trust?
One name rang clearly through her head: Arthur Bishop. All previous skepticism and paranoia migrated into her thoughts concerning Stanley Jackson. Stella's fingers shook, and her knees quaked at the realization. She had no trust in anyone but an outlaw biker and his motorcycle club.
With the world as she understood it disintegrating under her feet, Stella rushed down the corridor. Away from Stan's office. Away from her corrupt partner. Away from the sickening revelations.
However, a small part of Stella trembled with excitement, knowing who she was inevitably heading toward.