Chapter 16

Marc

“Detective Hannah. Are you giving me your full attention?”

Guiltily, I bring my eyes back to Sergeant Reynolds. I haven’t really been listening to all the excuses as to why after another two months’ recuperation he still doesn’t consider me fit enough to return to my job, despite a doctor’s letter declaring me fit. Yeah, I still get the occasional headache which can be debilitating when they hit, but little more than anyone who suffers from migraines. Most days I visit the gym and am probably the most in shape that I’ve ever been.

“What about putting me on light duties if I can’t do my full job?” Though, with Mouse’s help, I’ve got a lot to occupy me. I am getting bored staring at the same four walls and having little to no interaction with other human beings.

“I want you to see another doctor. And an occupational therapist.”

Why doesn’t he take the word of my own?

“It’s only out of concern for you, Hannah. Please understand that. I don’t want you back until you’re ready.”

What can I say? My hands are tied, so all I can do is agree to meet with the professionals he’s suggested who, I suspect, will say what he wants to hear. It’s obvious there’s something other than concern in his desire to keep me away from active duty.

Strangely enough, I’ve had no support at all from the department, either investigating the incident that almost killed me or during the time I’ve been recuperating. It’s only due to outlaw bikers that I can feel safe in my own home, and, having received instruction from Mouse, can safely delve into the police files without leaving a sign of what I’ve been doing. I was amused to discover the software he installed was developed by a sheikh’s wife who’s apparently an expert hacker.

What I’m working on could get me fired, but as my eyes fall on the seedy countenance of my sergeant who, I’ve become more and more convinced is as dirty as they come, I feel no remorse. As I’ve been rapidly learning, sometimes justice can’t be served by playing by the rules.

“I’m sorry, Sergeant.” I put my hand to my head.

As expected, he takes my gesture to mean I’m in pain, and a justification for the news he’s given me today.

I’m dismissed shortly after with insincere wishes for my continued recovery, and as I pause outside his closed office door, I wonder whether he was behind the attempt to kill me. It seems unbelievable, but I can’t think why he’s still blocking my report about Archer. And as for my erstwhile ex-partner, while I’ve been on sick leave the remains of Archer were buried with full honours. Now that was a ceremony that would have been interesting to attend, just to see who turned up.

I leave the building, go to the parking lot and get on my bike, picking up my shadow soon after. I know Drummer arranged for me to be followed for my protection, but damn it, it restricts what I can and can’t do. Wherever I go, Drummer will get wind of it.

But he’s forgotten what my rat bike is capable of.

A Harley’s got good speed on the straight, but even so mine beats it hands down. And as for the cornering? I can almost lay mine down. I take the prospect, Hyde, on a ride to remember, hoping he’ll give up rather than come off his bike. Soon he’s far back in my rear view, and only seconds later, nowhere in sight.

Now riding more carefully, constantly checking behind me, I drive down town to the business district, pulling up outside an eight-storey building which looks like any other office bloc. But this isn’t anything so innocuous, this is where the Herreras’ legitimate side of their business is conducted. Tucson’s major crime family with strong connections with Los Zetas, the cartel. Perhaps I’m being stupid coming here on my own, as Archer was related to the Herrera family. But Leonardo Herrera has a reputation for being, even in his decidedly crooked sidelines, a straight arrow.

Backing my bike into the kerb, I switch off the engine, pausing for a second to again question the wisdom of my choice coming here alone without the benefit of a trusted partner. But I’ve got frustrated, having gone as far as I can with my investigation. Now I need answers from the horse’s mouth. Setting my features into a look of determination, I enter the innocuous looking reception area.

“Can I help you?”

As I’d been meeting my boss today, I’ve dressed as neatly as I could while having to accept limitations due to my mode of transport. I’m wearing black slacks, teamed with a white blouse and black jacket. Over my arm I carry my leather jacket and helmet. I probably look a mixture of things. Putting my motorcycle attire at my feet, I stand tall and smooth back my hair, which is tied into a respectable bun.

“I’d like to see Mr Herrera, please. Leonardo Herrera.” I add the last, not wanting to be fobbed off with anyone lower than the head of the family.

“You have an appointment?”

I shake my head, get out my police ID and hand it over. She examines it for a second, then turning away places a call.

When she turns back she’s got a look of triumph on her face. “Mr Herrera has back to back meetings today. His PA suggests you make an appointment.”

A not unexpected setback, though my identification would normally get me seeing the person I want. But Herrera probably considers himself way above the law. “When will he be available?”

She consults a screen. “Not for another couple of weeks. It appears he’s going out of town.”

I can’t insist it’s police business. And can’t make waves. The last thing I need is for my visit here today to be reported back to Sergeant Reynolds. Dismissed, I leave with as much dignity as I can muster, get back on my bike, and point it toward home.

I get only halfway before half a dozen motorcycles swarm up and surround me. The sight of the Satan’s Devils cuts both reassures and worries me. What are they doing here?

Boxed in as I am, I’ve no option but to go with them, but they don’t deviate from the route I was originally on, and soon it becomes obvious what they’re doing. They’re escorting me home.

I’ve absolutely no idea why they’re here or how they knew where I’d be. Perplexed, I drive up to the garage, opening it with the remote. As some of the other bikes peel off, Drummer parks up beside me. “Get your bike inside,” he snarls. He turns to beckon at his VP.

The garage is a double one, and there’s room for both him and Wraith to park alongside my two bikes. As the door rolls down, all the bikes are out of sight except for that of the prospect waiting outside.

He pushes me into the house, and I’m still confused, particularly as I feel the waves of anger rolling off the MC president. Okay, so I intentionally lost his prospect, but would that amount to such a crime? His anger is palpable, his cheeks red, his mouth pursed, and his eyes… I suppress a shiver. I’m a police officer, he’s an outlaw. He shouldn’t be able to intimidate me.

As soon as we’re in the kitchen his hand grips my shoulder and he swings me around so fast I have to put my hand on the counter to stop myself falling.

“What the fuck did you think you were doin’?” He growls so fiercely I’m afraid of his bite. He grasps my other shoulder, and with both his hands shakes me. “You’re a fuckin’ idiot.”

My eyes go wide, and I bite my lip, not understanding what I’m supposed to have done wrong. I glance at Wraith, but he’s looking equally furious. Hyde, who’s also come in, looks a combination of embarrassed and angry.

“You don’t even know, do you?” He releases me sharply and runs his hands through his hair. “I’ve got two options now. Throw you to the fuckin’ wolves or bring you in under our protection.”

Finding my voice, I point to the front of the house. “I thought I already was. You’ve given me this prison with a prospect as a guard…”

“Fuckin’ lot of use he was.”

Flicking my eyes towards Hyde, who’s looking down at his feet, I jump to his defence. “My bike’s got better handling.”

He waves his hand in dismissal. “You really don’t have a clue, do you? Or have you a death wish?”

I still don’t know where I’ve gone wrong. “Look, Drummer, I went to see if I could talk to Leonardo Herrera.”

“And painted a huge great fuckin’ target on your back!” He just stares for a moment. “You were supposed to just stick to lookin’ at the files, not goin’ out investigatin’ yourself.”

“I didn’t get anywhere. I didn’t speak to anyone. Herrera was too busy to talk to me.”

“And thank fuck for that!” He looks around as if preferring to look any way but at me, before he turns back. “It’s a volatile situation at the moment. You could have got yourself killed.”

“I’m a police officer.”

“You think carryin’ a badge protects you? Christ, woman.”

It should. I’m one of the good guys.

I go into the living room, placing my jacket and helmet on the table by the door. “Drummer, I’m grateful for what you’ve done and the help you’re giving me. But I need to do my job…”

The sound of machine gun fire reaches me only an instant before Drummer grabs me and throws me on the floor, covering me with his body. I start to shake as the shots ring out. I should have been more careful after the first attempt on my life, but I really didn’t believe I was still under threat.

It seems an age, but probably could be measured in seconds until the shooting stops, and there’s the sound of a vehicle speeding away.

“Now will you fuckin’ believe me, woman? And stay the fuck down.”

But as Drummer gets to his feet, I follow, getting to mine. I can’t cower on the floor, I’m a professional. Wraith and Hyde are brushing themselves off.

“Fuck, Heart will have his time cut out keepin’ you under control.”

And while I don’t understand his explanation, my eyes widen as I look around the room, and then at the glass in the windows, which are incredibly starred but still intact. “Drummer?” I indicate where I’m looking.

“Bulletproof glass,” he explains, almost absentmindedly. “Heart wanted every protection for his wife and daughter.”

And thank goodness for that. It’s quite possibly the second time my life has been saved. Realising how close my call with death could have been, my legs start to shake and I drop down onto the couch. Someone tried to kill me. Again. It’s only because Drummer allowed me to stay in this house that I’m alive and unharmed. If I’d had a normal house without such safety features, I could even now be dead or fatally wounded.

Drummer’s talking fast on the phone. In my dazed state I pick up a few words. ‘Crash truck’, ‘SUV’, and ‘as fast as you can’.

I’ve got to do something. But Drummer’s quicker, and snatches my own phone out of my hand. “What the fuck are you doin’?”

“Calling it in.” I look up, confused. That’s exactly what I should do, isn’t it?

Drummer’s face softens, and he sits down beside me. “You’re in my world now, sweetheart. We have to rely on ourselves.”

“But my colleagues…”

“You know any you can trust?”

He seems to be waiting as I quickly run through everyone in the department. I’m certain they’re not all dirty—surely I’d know?—but eventually I shake my head. Due to my habit of not letting people in close, I don’t go out for an after-work drink with the team, or make time to socialise with anyone. Could I really swear who to report the shooting to with any conviction they weren’t behind it? A rogue tear comes to my eye.

He notices and wipes it away with his thumb. “It’s not gonna be easy, not for you or for us. But things are changin’, and fast. We can’t protect you here, that’s for certain. Next time, and there will be a next time, however much you want to deny it, they’ll come better prepared now they know what they’re up against.” He points to the windows, now looking like they’re covered in spider webs, like a stone breaking against a windscreen. “They might stop a bullet, but not a bomb or a grenade. I can’t risk my men to keep watch, so you’re comin’ to the clubhouse, where we can make sure you’re safe.”

That’s unexpected, but he gives me no further time to question his statement. “Go pack your stuff, darlin’. The boys will be here soon, and I don’t want to waste time gettin’ back. Need to get you clear of here before we find how determined they are to take you out.”

“I’m on the right track. With the link to the Herreras.”

“There’s things you don’t know, but I’m not discussin’ it now. Go get packed.” As I walk away to the bedroom I’m still using, having refused to move into the master, I pack up the clothes that I’d slowly been replacing.

“Drum? I can’t get this all on the bike.”

He appears in the doorway. “You won’t be ridin’. We’ll get the bikes back on the truck. You’re a target now, remember?”

“You going to let my Kawasaki and Suzuki onto the compound?” It’s the first thought I’ve had today that amuses me. I can’t hide my grin.

He grimaces. “Can’t be as bad as lettin’ in a cop.”

I might not have called it in, but surely someone must have reported the sound of gunshots? I wait to hear the comforting sirens and official help that must be on its way, but outside the road is silent. The lack of the noise of my comrades responding is what helps make up my mind. I’m not safe here anymore.

The crash truck arrives, and as I watch my two bikes being loaded, I feel that my life’s spinning out of control.

I’d taken up my career as I wanted to work for justice for all. While I had personal experience how the system regularly failed people, I wanted to do my part to make it better. And, in my previous posting, I’d excelled and received recognition. I’m still not able to understand what’s gone wrong for me in what was supposed to be a fresh start and new opportunity to shine in Tucson.

And now, rather than working to put these members of an OMG behind bars, I’m not only agreeing to their protection, but am going to be accepting their hospitality. And it’s getting harder than ever to think of them as criminals and in terms of what my police colleagues would call them, less of an outlaw gang, and as they prefer to be called, a motorcycle club.

My world’s done a complete one-eighty.