CHAPTER THIRTY
Stella's own brain was making it just as difficult to forget Bishop. She had spent most of her morning at the First Stop diner, drowning her sorrows in a huge platter of flapjacks and a rather delicious muffin. Her own body sung with delightful aches, remembering the long weekend of physical exertion. Every movement made her muscles twinge and memories flutter about her brain.
She gripped tightly at her coffee as she entered the Grand River Police Department and resisted the urge to sigh. Local authority watched her with varying degrees of sympathy and interest. She and Bishop hadn't even hid their weekend tryst. Their original claim had been that Stella had opted for safety with the 7T president and Bishop needed a bit of assistance with his gunshot wound. Although, in hindsight, she doubted anyone believed the ruse.
Vaguely, she wondered if people would notice her stiff walk or could smell the sex on her skin—despite a very rough scrub down in the shower. Her ears and face burned with embarrassment as whispers followed in her wake. Today was going to be a very long Monday.
“Agent Holmes!”
“Yes?” Stella blinked and turned. A woman, younger than herself, walked over to her on heels. She wore a dark business suit that had been freshly pressed and carried a stack of folders and papers close to her chest. Stella raised her eyebrows curiously. This woman reminded her of her own first days on the job.
“Hi, I'm Agent Rebecca Grant. I will be taking over Agent Jackson's position.” The woman smiled and thrust out her hand. Stella stared at the hand, processing the new information. Before Stella could smile, introduce herself, or even return the handshake, the other woman's hand fell to her side. Agent Grant turned her gaze to the stack of documents in her arms. “I wanted to talk to you about a break in the cocaine case.”
Stella blinked, trying to keep up with the sudden introduction of new information. “There's been a break?”
“Yes, when Ms. Sampson made her statement against your former partner, she wanted extensive protection against...” Agent Grant trailed off, flipping to another folder. She visibly winced and scrunched up her nose. “Well, a variety of gangs.”
“Yeah, she dug herself a bit of a hole,” muttered Stella, shaking her head. She vaguely wondered where Delilah was now. Had she been transferred away from Grand River? Or was she holed up in a little known bunker close by? She shook the thoughts from her head and focused her attention back on Agent Grant. “What's this new information?”
“Well, long story short, the Grave Demons are pushing cocaine through the Devil Spikes.”
“The Devil Spikes?” Confusion continued to dot Stella's thoughts. Familiarity tickled at her synapses, as her head listed to the side. More to herself than Agent Grant, Stella murmured, “Why does that sound familiar?”
“Um, some witnesses mentioned the Seven Tribesmen had a scuffle at a bar with a couple of the Devil Spikes’ members,” supplied Agent Grant. She flipped the files in her hands, rifling through the information. Her blue eyes scanned up and down the pages, eyebrows furrowing in concentration. “Nothing was ever verified though.”
Stella puckered her lips. No, of course not. The witnesses would recant their statements or suddenly be booked until the Apocalypse, so any follow-up questioning would be denied. She had half a mind, among other things, to march right down to Bishop and demand information. Although, deep down, she knew she wanted to see him for other reasons, as well.
“Is something wrong, Agent Holmes?” Agent Grant's worried inquiry jolted Stella from her thoughts.
She blinked and focused on the woman, who peered at her with slight worry. “Oh, no, I'm sorry. I was just thinking.”
Agent Grant's voice softened, as if she were speaking of something forbidden, “About Arthur Bishop?”
“Excuse me?” Shock and annoyance filtered into Stella's tone. She couldn't blame the office for having their gossip center around her. However, wouldn't the other officers have the common sense and decency to not fill in Stan's replacement? Mortification burned at Stella's cheeks.
“He's the president of the local motorcycle gang, right?” Agent Grant squeaked. She stumbled back a step, as if Stella were about to slap her, and her arms tightened around the stack of files. “You have a rapport with Mr. Bishop. So, uh, you were thinking of asking him about the Devil Spikes?”
Stella's tense shoulders deflated. It wasn't Agent Grant's fault if she knew or didn’t know the dirty details behind their relationship. It wasn’t as if they had kept it a very good secret. Stella sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. “I'm sorry, Agent Grant. I really should get to my office. I'm sure I have piles and paperwork to see to.”
“Yes, ma'am.” Agent Grant nodded her head quickly. She skittered backward, away from Stella, and bowed her head.
A wisp of guilt tightened around Stella's mind. Her new partner hadn't known her for a full day and already Stella had botched up the first impression. Regardless, there were things she had to do—paperwork and contacts.
The fact that there was yet another gang the 7T had strained relations with piqued her mind—even though it annoyed her at the same time. Had Bishop known the Devil Spikes were involved? Or was this news that he was ignorant of? Hope grew in her mind, tangling around her thoughts like a creeping tendril. Perhaps she and Bishop could work together—although that was unlikely. Maybe, just maybe, she could talk some sense into him. After all, could the Seven Tribesmen genuinely do battle with another gang?
At that thought, Stella's hand automatically drifted into her pocket. As her feet carried her down the corridor toward her office, she sent a tentative text message to Bishop.