Chapter Ten
His first stop was the clubhouse, parking far down the street and using binoculars to zoom in on the front gate. He could have studied the feed coming in from the drone still sitting pretty on the roof, but he’d learned the hard way that the best data, the most reliable data, was best done in person.
It was still early in the morning, but the bikers were active, standing around the compound and smoking cigarettes while drinking coffee out of cardboard take-out cups.
The interaction with Skye was still fresh in his mind, pushing everything else out.
The woman was damned complicated.
A loud screeching of metal on metal brought him out of his reverie and back to the present.
He peered through the binoculars at the building half a block away. Another small group of bikers was at the gate, revving their engines as they waited to be let through. A pickup truck tailed the group, pulling up to the curb.
Finn noted the man standing in the compound, having come out from the garage. He matched the physical profile with the image Trey had pulled up.
Mick Smith.
There was no doubt he was the alpha dog, his swagger and attitude affecting everyone around him. The man wore a dark T-shirt and jeans, his leather vest tight on his shoulders. He barked orders to the men unloading bottles of alcohol and water, along with what looked like motorcycle parts, from the back of the pickup.
The light gleamed off the man’s bald head as he swung a riding crop around, swatting members he thought were going too slow. The men scurried to obey him, carrying in spare tires and boxes filled with chrome and metal.
Finn watched, mentally taking notes. Smith wasn’t a large man, but what he lacked in bulk and strength he made up for volume and rage. Spittle flew from his lips, sticking to his goatee as he berated an unfortunate member, cursing and swearing.
It was easy to imagine him beating Robby Harris to the edge of death.
Finn’s cell phone rang, interrupting his mental exercises.
He studied the caller ID before hitting the button.
“Trey.”
“Good morning, sunshine.” Trey yawned. “Don’t tell Dylan, but Jessie can’t make coffee worth shit.”
Finn grinned, feeling some of the tension lift from his shoulders. “You think I’m suicidal? I don’t get how she messes it up—it says right on the machine, one scoop and all that. Yet somehow it becomes damned turpentine.”
“I just gave Patrick the whole carafe to help clean out an engine. Still, it cleared my mind enough to run over the data. The trackers are live and feeding us back info. I don’t have enough yet to give you an idea of where they’re going. The bikers you tagged have only had them on for a few hours, and they’re all over the place, wandering into apartment buildings and stores, looking like ants trying to find a picnic.”
Finn peered through his binoculars. “Smith runs a tight ship. Just caught him beating one of his own people, and not in a good, fun way.”
“Can’t say I’m surprised. He didn’t strike me as a man given to talking things out.”
“Cursing might be the best you get before he knocks you cold.” Finn looked toward the headquarters. He watched a pair of bikers leave, their engines loud and snarling as they spun out of the compound. “I’m going to hang around here for a bit longer, see what I can see. After that, try to run down where they’re meeting up with the drivers.”
“Just be careful,” Trey warned. “I’ll call if I have any new info.”
The screen went black. Finn put the binoculars down and stretched out his arms, feeling the muscles ache.
Touching Skye this morning had stirred up another ache, fired up his desire for her.
The sadness in her gaze had almost broken his self-resolve. He’d wanted nothing more than to sweep her up in his arms and take her to bed, send all her angry thoughts about the Wolf spiraling away with hours of hot sweet loving.
But it would only be a temporary solution, albeit damned fantastic for both of them.
The only way to solve it permanently was to finish his mission. Put Smith down and put him down hard.
He sighed and focused on Smith swaggering around the compound, swinging his riding crop.
…
Skye’s skin crawled every time she walked by the biker in the waiting room, like a thousand tiny spiders were swarming over her. It was hard not to stare at him now that Finn had pointed him out. Every time the man shifted position, changed chairs to get a better view of the hallway or refresh his drink, she wanted to walk up and punch him, tell him to get the hell away from her brother and go back to the Wolf to tell him he was about to be destroyed.
But she couldn’t—at least, not yet.
Ace was on duty this time, standing by the window as she entered.
“Everything okay?” she asked.
“Fine.” He peeked out through the blinds. “Never hurts to take a look around, see what’s happening outside.”
“Shouldn’t we talk to someone about the biker in the waiting room?” She kept her voice calm. “He’s just sitting there.”
He looked at her and raised an eyebrow. “You want I should go roust him? Maybe toss him out the window?”
“I’d like that quite a bit.”
“So would I.” He grinned back. “Except that’s not an option. Believe me, I’d love nothing better than to go stick my cowboy boots so far up his ass he’d be tasting leather, but it’s not the right time for that.” He came over to her. “We’ll move on him when it is. Until then, you stay away from him.”
Now it was her turn to give him a glare, annoyed at his dominant tone. “Excuse me?”
“You leave him to us. You focus on Robby.” Ace went to the door. “Anything happens to you, I’ll be answering to Finn, and the man’s got one hell of a temper. I’ll be in the hall.”
Before she could respond, he walked out.
Anger flared up, quickly tempered by the realization that Ace and Wyatt thought there was something going on between her and Finn. Obviously, Finn had given that impression.
Progress, in a way.
Skye settled herself next to the hospital bed. She brushed a piece of dark hair out of Robby’s eyes.
“Sorry about being late,” she said, picking up his limp hand. “I had coffee with a man this morning. Finn. I’ve talked about him before.” She imagined Robby’s scowl. “Don’t get all grumpy with me. You’ve had your share of girlfriends, and I’ve had to sit through plenty of your ramblings and rantings. I never gave you a hard time about any of them.” She waited for his hand to twitch, for any sign of a response. “Finn told me he’s gone through something like this. His mother. Long story short, some damned doctor got her hooked on pain pills and she ended up dead.”
She checked the IV drip, making sure it was flowing. “He came back and was so angry that he hunted down the dealer. Turned out to be his old buddy.” She sighed. “I wish I knew who put you onto this. I might not beat him to a pulp, but I sure as hell would come close.”
She imagined her brother answering. “Don’t start with me. I’m your sister. We’ll get through this.” Skye reached over and touched Robby’s cheek. “Don’t worry. Finn’s on the job, and I have faith in him. I believe he’s going to make sure Smith never hurts anyone ever again.”
She glanced toward the waiting room, and it took a concentrated effort to keep her voice below a shout. “Never again.”
…
Finn stared at his cell phone, studying the live feed from the clubhouse. Nothing concrete had come through yet from the tagged members, no clear lead to their secondary base of operations.
Time to do some tracking of his own.
He turned the phone off, put the truck in gear, and headed out onto the highway, trying to put himself in Robby’s shoes.
Okay. You’ve driven down to Mexico, met with some sleazy dealers who have stuffed your borrowed car full of drugs. Now you’ve got to bring it back to the gang and collect your money without getting picked up by the cops.
Where would you end up?
Finn drove away from Whispering Willows, headed south on the main highway. After two hours, he stopped for gas and turned around. He began the trip back in the slow lane, minding the speed limit.
It was unlikely this was the exact same route Robby had taken, but it’d have to do for his simulation.
He checked the side mirrors, keeping an eye out for any police, as Robby would have.
Don’t do anything to alert the cops. Don’t speed, don’t give any reason for them to pull you over. Calm and collected, slow and steady wins the race. You’re thinking about your sister. You’re already planning which debts you’ll pay off first. You’ve spent the money three times over, and that’s okay. You’re going to do this a few more times until everything’s evened out.
Finn studied the upcoming exits. Only one was coming up for Whispering Willows, advertising the various restaurants in the area, including the Lucky Dollar.
He scowled at the listings. If he pulled off here, he’d be going straight through the center of town. It wasn’t the wisest move, and Finn suspected it wouldn’t be the gang’s first choice.
He blinked as he spotted a smaller notice at the bottom of the sign, an advertisement for a truck stop a few miles after the main exit.
A truck stop.
It wasn’t one of the big boy franchises offering all the bells and whistles for the truckers looking for a safe spot to stop for the night, where they could get showers and wifi, rent movies and chat with other drivers. This was an independent, unlikely to be popular with the average driver, be it of automobiles or tractor-trailers.
Rest ‘n’ Relax.
Finn took the exit, curious as to what he’d find at the end.