Chapter 11

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"Put the blue, two-door vehicle up on the top deck section 3E," yelled Jerry, the sub-foreman on dayshift at Port Loader.

Wayne raised his arm in answer and side-jogged between the cars parked on the lower deck of the ship. There was barely enough room to squeeze his body out of the driver's seat when parked, much less work both decks and get enough cries done in a day.

He checked his phone as he wound his way to the vehicle waiting to be loaded. At the car, he started the engine and backed off the ramp. The air horn signaling the end of the shift would go off in ten minutes. The other employees for swing shift were already lined up in the parking lot waiting for their turn. He drove down to the second ramp, crossed the water, and followed the spotter's arm direction.

The new rubber on the tires squealed with each tiny turn of the steering wheel against the slick deck. He drove past the empty spot between two cars and backed into the tight line. Turning the car off, he left the keys inside and wrapped his fingers around the edge of the door. His hand hit the car parked beside him, protecting the vehicles, and he squeezed his body out of the narrow opening.

Catching sight of Glen, he slowed his step. He wiped the sweat from his forehead with his arm. The sun was a bitch on the top deck. Below deck, he dealt with the mugginess of not having the breeze coming off the river to cool him. Warmer temperatures made summer days drag ass. Hell, he'd rather work in the rain, something he was lucky enough to have a lot of in the Pacific Northwest.

"Horn is gonna blow." Glen reached his side and walked with him toward the ramp. "Have you heard from anyone today?"

"Not a word." Wayne unclipped his employee badge and walked down the ramp. "I'm going to stop at Vavoom's before we head out."

Several other employees already stood beside the watchman's shed ready to punch out. He got in line, impatient to get on his motorcycle and check in with Gomez to find out if any headway happened on the Hillard case while he'd been working.

"Are things getting serious with you and the twin?" Glen stepped forward as the line moved.

"Fuck, there's been no time." Wayne slid his badge through the scanner, clocking out.

He stepped away when he heard someone call his name. Turning around, he looked through the crowd of employees and caught Stan Bailey lifting his chin.

"Get ready for Jerry to bitch you out in the morning. You didn't put your cries into the computer." Stan grinned. "He's up there using your name as an example to the spotters of what won't fly anymore."

"Maybe the way I work will show those lazy motherfuckers how I got to the top of the seniority list." Wayne flipped off Stan and caught up with Glenn, who'd already met up with Chuck and Thad.

"Problem?" Thad sat his motorcycle.

Wayne removed his vest out of his duffle tied to the back of the bike and shoved his arms through the holes. "Nope. Same shit about the cries and if the foremen have a problem with me, they can take it to the Union and have them shove their grievance up their asses."

Chuck amusement sobered. "Are we meeting at your garage?"

"Yeah." He slipped on his helmet. "I'm stopping and getting dinner for us all, and I'll catch up with you at the house. In the meantime, I'll talk to Gomez and fill you in while we eat, then we're riding out."

Knowing everyone had a key to his house and could get into the garage without him, he rode off, letting the wind cool his skin. Once he talked to Clara, saw for himself she was okay, he'd settle down. He hated the danger having a killer in St. John's put on the whole city. As of yet, the police were keeping everything about Megan Hillard low key and treating her like a runaway, despite none of her friends hinting at her having a secret boyfriend after Notus questioned five of them.

The P.D.'s focus and the concerns of the residents were on finding out how Annie Morgan was killed. From the talk going around, people were more curious than alarmed. Until the autopsy came back on little Annie, which could take two to three weeks, law enforcement wanted to keep their initial findings quiet, less they fuck up the investigation if they manage to catch the killer.

He hated the required steps needed to follow the law. It tied everyone's hands on finding answers. Yet, he understood the need if the situation aroused a killer. Nobody wanted someone deserving life in prison to get off on a technicality. That fuck up happened more times than he liked, at no fault of Notus, and a killer walked free. In that kind of case, Notus Motorcycle Club had to take care of the person on their own time and make the murderer disappear. In which, the killer probably wished during the last five minutes of his life that he would've gone to jail.

Wayne pulled up in front of Vavoom's and lifted his chin at the others passing him on the way to his house. He took off his helmet and hung it on his handlebar. Shoving his fingers through his hair, he looked up and down the street, then pushed through the front door and stopped, searching for Clara. He spotted her and was halfway across the room when she turned around, and he realized his mistake.

"Hey, Gracie." He looked around. "Clara busy?"

"She's in the kitchen packaging the food for you." Gracie slipped her hands into her apron and set a piece of paper on the counter. "It's been quiet in here so when she comes out, I'll cover the bar, and she can catch up with you."

"Appreciate it. And, the food, too." He leaned against the counter.

She filled a glass with ice and held it under a tap before setting the drink in front of him. "Go ahead. It's straight Coke."

He took a long drink. The coldness took the edge off the heat zapping him of energy. He set the glass down and removed his wallet, removing a hundred-dollar bill. "Let me know if this is enough to cover the food and drink."

Gracie slid the bill back toward him. "It's on Vavoom's. We'd do the same thing for the police or anyone else helping in the search if they came into the bar. It's not much, but in our opinion, every little bit helps bring someone back to their loved ones."

He dipped his chin, taken back by the sincerity in Gracie's voice. Usually, her serious personality leaned toward the stuck-up side. The empathy in her eyes reminded him so much of Clara, he blinked and looked away.

"Here's my sister." Gracie exchanged spots with Clara, who held two large sacks in front of her. "Go ahead and take a booth. I've got the customers covered."

He held out his hand, taking one of the sacks from Clara and walked with her to the first booth on the back wall. He waited until she slid onto the seat, and then sat beside her on the same side.

She turned toward him, and he kissed her. One of the perks of ownership that he had no right to take, but he took what she gave him. He had every intention of making sure she belonged to him as soon as they had more than fifteen minutes to spend with each other.

Besides, the more customers who witnessed them together, the more word would get around that she belonged to him, to Notus, and had protection. That added security made him feel better with a killer on the loose.

"Mm," she murmured while kissing him back.

He broke away, kissed her hard, and pulled back. "Everything going okay here?"

"Normal day." She rubbed her lips together. "I've been thinking about you."

"Yeah?" He trailed his thumb over her bottom lip. "What's been on your mind?"

"I want more pancakes." She leaned forward and whispered. "Your pancakes. Out in the yard with you."

His dick pulsed in pleasure. There was no way he could go much longer without having her again.

"It'll happen." He hooked her neck with his hand. "Keep thinking those thoughts."

"You have to leave, don't you?" She rubbed his thigh under the table.

He kissed her forehead as she leaned against him. "The guys are waiting for me back at my house. Then, we're going to go out and try to find some sign of Megan. If we can find something, anything, they can bring in the dogs."

She lifted her head. "Can't her parents give one of her shirts or a sock that she's worn for the dogs to pick up a scent?"

"The trail is already cold. We need something newer. Fear changes a person's body smells. If a shoe or an article of clothing is found, it will give the dogs a trail to go on." He slid out of the booth, leaned over, and kissed her again. "I need your cell phone number."

"Okay." She took his phone from him and put her information in his contacts. "I don't have yours."

"You will as soon as I call you tonight when I'm done for the day. If you need it sooner, Gracie has it on her phone." He put his cell in his pocket and picked up the two sacks. "Make sure you answer when I call."

She nodded, grinning at his bossy tone. Anyone overhearing him would assume he controlled her, which was fine with him. Clara understood that his order came from how much he wanted to end his day listening to her voice. At least, he hoped she understood. It was important to him that she realized what he'd started with her was only the beginning.

Gracie walked by and told him goodbye. He looked one more time at Clara, received validation she understood him and walked out the door of the bar.

Back at his house, he joined Thad, Glen, and Chuck in the garage. While he ate the food Clara sent with him, he looked at all the areas on the map that they'd covered.

"Double check to make sure we haven't missed an area, thinking it was covered because of the timing so close to the Morgan case." Wayne kicked his boots up on the desk.

One by one, they all checked off the areas they covered. Those done on a motorcycle and the off-road areas they walked on foot. An athletic cheerleader, Megan Hillard could cover a lot of ground in a short time if running away. Plus, she was old enough to take public transportation, make it to Portland, and from there she could go anywhere to escape or hide. Street kids clustered in Portland in what they called The Underground. Not a place, but a society made up of kids as young as ten up to thirty, living on the streets, shacking up in abandoned houses, living under bridges, and hanging out in Pioneer Square during the day, eluding police.

Megan could hide in plain sight if she ran with The Underground.

Homeless shelters wouldn't let anyone enter until ten o'clock at night and required those that chose to stay to shower and sleep separated from the opposite sex. But, it was common knowledge they checked each one against the runaway roster they kept. Most kids refused to submit to the interview, leaving them out on the street.

"With the active Amber Alert, the shelters will be on the lookout." Wayne tossed the wrapper that came wrapped around the sandwich he consumed into the trash can. "Considering her age, I think we need to go where the police haven't."

"Her parents and friends said she wasn't a partier," said Thad.

"Those close to us don't always know what darkness lurks below the surface. She's got good grades, she's a cheerleader...that's a lot of pressure on a kid. Maybe she wants to be viewed as perfect and is afraid of disappointing everyone in her life, so she seeks out a pill or a smoke to relieve the stress." Wayne picked up a notepad and tossed it to Glen. "We'll go in order across town starting on Lombard and go east. What houses do we know that would open their doors to a pretty little cheerleader looking for an escape?"

"Nah, man." Chuck shook his head. "The girl has class, she's not stupid. She'd never go over to the Kenton area. She'd go to University Park, thinking the college guys would invite her to party because she's cute, and they would."

Wayne tapped the desk with his thumb. "Older guy infatuation...eager to please. She'd go with him in a heartbeat at that age."

"There's fraternity houses where we could walk in and ask around." Chuck stood. "I think that's our best guess tonight."

"Let's go." Wayne reached into the bag and removed the extra sandwiches and tossed each of his MC brothers one for the road. "Take it with you. Everyone needs to stay alert and awake. We're already running on little sleep. We need all the energy we can get."

He grabbed his helmet and walked out of the garage, picking his shoulder holster and pistol off the table by the front door and putting it on. He never went out expecting to use the weapon. He had a concealed weapons permit because he wanted protection because he wouldn't allow anyone else to be a victim.