Six months later –

The girl Jett looked for rounded the corner. He waited at the end of the block. It'd taken breaking into social services office to find out where Sydney was taken. After the State of Washington failed to find her a home within the system, they'd locked her up in Tacoma's Juvenile Detention Hall.

He found it bullshit that he could break into a state-run office easier than visit the inside of a children's facility during daytime hours.

During his search for Sydney, he'd found the reason behind her continually trying to run away and why she'd become despondent while staying with him.

And, that reason was walking straight toward him.

His chest tightened. He'd left his Harley, along with his MC vest, around the corner so not to frighten the child. There wasn't much he could do about his looks, but he'd remember to keep his voice softer than normal. All he needed was a few minutes to find out the information he needed.

The closer the girl got to him, the more Jett's pulse beat. She looked like Sydney, except for the sloped posture of her shoulders. The girl had the same hair length, except blonde. The flawless complexion hinted that if the girl raised her head, he'd be looking in eyes that were the same as Sydney's.

She got within ten feet of him without noticing. He cleared his throat, hoping not to startle her. "Kylie?"

She looked up and stopped, her eyes widening. He raised his hands in front of him in a non-threatening way. The last thing he wanted to do was scare her off or draw attention from the houses on the street.

"I'm a friend of Sydney's. I'm not going to hurt you. I only want to talk," he said, keeping his voice quiet when all he wanted to do was force her to answer his questions.

"I know who you are." Kylie shifted her backpack to the other arm and glanced around. "My sister told me about you."

Sydney was a year older than Kylie. From the information out of their file, their mother gave both children to their father's mother and ran off before the girls were two years old. The state took them away from their grandmother when Sydney was four years old. It turned out the grandmother was showing signs of dementia. With no family member around to look after the girls, they entered foster care. A year later, their grandmother passed away.

"Good." The tension in his chest eased. It would go a lot easier if the girl weren't afraid of him. "Do you have any contact with Sydney?"

Kylie nodded. "I'm allowed to write her letters, and she calls me twice a week."

He had to strain to hear her. She barely moved her lips.

"They don't let you see her at juvie?"

She shook her head.

Okay, he could work with this. "Do you think you could pass on a message to her?"

"I can't see—"

"No, I know." He slowed down. "Writing it in a letter is fine."

Kylie bit her lip, glanced around, and finally said, "Okay."

"Tell her to take care of herself, and I'll be here for her when she's released." His throat tightened. Unused to talking to others about his private life, he wanted to tell Sydney face to face. "Tell her I can't get her out. Tell her...tell her to look for the clouds above her."

"Mr..."

"Just Jett," he said.

"I'll tell her but—" Her gaze shot to the street.

He followed her gaze. A cop car rolled toward them slowly. Fuck.

Jett walked backward away from Kylie, not wanting to get caught talking to a minor. "Appreciate you passing on my words, Kylie. Take care of yourself."

He turned and headed toward his motorcycle. Acting as if the cop car wasn't a concern, he never looked behind him. At his Harley, he put on his vest.

Rain splattered on his motorcycle seat. He latched his helmet on his head.

The cop car came around the block toward him as he threw his leg over the motorcycle. The urge to race away stolen from him when the patrol car crossed the center line and pulled in front of his motorcycle, blocking his path.

He got off his Harley and stepped up on the curb.

The driver's door opened, and the officer stood, using the door as cover, and pointed a pistol at him. "Hands in the air."

He raised his hands.

"On your knees," said the policeman. "Now."

He lowered himself to his knees.

"Lay down and put your arms out to the sides."

Jesus Christ. He hadn't done anything wrong.

He followed the policeman's instructions. The officer's shoes walked past his head. A knee landed on his back. He grunted, tightening his stomach against the added weight and felt his pistol slide out from under his belt.

God Damnit. He'd taken off his vest to talk to Kylie, leaving his gun in sight for any cop driving by to see.

A hand gripped his wrist, pulling his arm down and behind him. Then, his other hand, until he was cuffed.

"I.D.?" asked the police officer.

"In my wallet. Back pocket." He stared at the bushes off the sidewalk. He was up shit creek. Once the officer ran his license, he'd find out he was a felon with a weapon. He'd be going back in a cell. Alone.

Sydney would wonder why he never came for her when she was released from juvie.

He'd lost her.

The muscles in his arms strained to move. The club needed him. Sydney needed him.

He lifted his head and looked at the cop car. Squinting, he peered through the windshield. The cop was on the radio, getting his information.

His gaze wandered to movement in the passenger seat, and his whole body hardened. Sydney's sister sat in the cop car.

He'd been betrayed.