satisfied. “Good. You get going.
I’ll sort the guys out. Knuckles should be good to go, too.”
He was, too. The crazy bastard was climbing
onto his Harley and gave Fritter his customary grin. “What the fuck
happened to you?”
“Threw myself in front of a bullet to save
you,” Fritter mumbled, tightening his helmet strap and swinging a
leg over his ride.
“I still ain’t putting out.”
In spite of the adrenaline and pain and holy shit rattling around in his head, Fritter had to
laugh.
“Let’s ghost,” Knuckles shouted, engine
rumbling awake. With another whoop he tore off, back the way they’d
come. It would mean passing through Hazeldale again but
whatever.
Fritter followed, noting that Buck was
pulling in behind Knuckles. Rusty let Fritter by, then pulled out
behind him. He pointed at Tank and then Mickey, who was climbing on
the back of the big guy’s Fat Boy. Mickey flipped him off, but Tank
was just shaking his head as he fired her up.
Laughing was good. Laughing would do, for now
anyway.
Chapter Five
“Really?” Downey mumbled, raising an eyebrow
at Martin. “You drop a stolen vehicle report on my desk?”
“Look at the vehicle,” he suggested, bemused.
Little fucker was less scared of her now for some reason.
She sighed, turned away from her keyboard and
flipped to the second page of the report. Then she frowned.
“Grainger Garage’s cargo van disappeared last night?”
Martin shrugged. “Jolene Grainger just called
it in. Funny thing is, I saw it go by on my way to work today.
Driven by Mickey and followed by a bunch of guys on
motorcycles.”
“Jesus Christ,” she mumbled, rubbing her
forehead. “You know wherever than van is, it’s going to be noisy.
Right?”
Martin shrugged. “At least they keep it
interesting.” Then he was gone, leaving her shaking her head.
“You’re an idiot!” she called after him, a
laugh his reply.
She didn’t want to know any more about this
than she absolutely had to. Some days it irked her that she was all
but taken for granted when it came to a certain criminal element of
Markham, but at least for all outside appearances her little county
had one of the lower crime rates in California.
Mostly because a lot of it went unreported,
but ... details.
Still, a report of a stolen vehicle meant it
was going to be found and it was going to be messy and a headache.
And she wasn’t getting any help from the MC, which meant their
investigation couldn’t possibly go anywhere.
She really didn’t need this during an
election year.
At least they wouldn’t have to go looking for
the stolen property. She set the file to the side and went back to
her paperwork that was already a week behind schedule.
When the phone rang she reached out absently,
eyes scanning all the fields of her annual budget report due for
city council. “Sheriff Downey,” she barked, swallowing a curse word
as she realized she’d put a period instead of a comma. No, the
department had not spent thirty-point-four dollars on fuel.
Thirty-four hundred, yes.
“Umm, Sharon?”
She frowned, turning away from the screen yet
again. “Yes? Who is this?”
“It’s ... it’s Jasmine.”
She sank back into her desk chair, swiveling
around to the back wall of her office. Ah yes, the other woman. Her
ex-husband’s current wife. There was no jealousy, though. They’d
been married for thirteen years now, and that was longer than Susan
had worn Steven’s ring. Jasmine was actually a lovely woman. They’d
likely never be friends, but they could be amiable and tolerate a
dinner party together.
“Jasmine? How are things?”
“I’m at the hospital. Steven ... he ...” She
fell into sobbing and Sharon suddenly sat up.
“What is it? What’s happened?”
“There was an accident. A drunk hit Steven as
he was driving home last night. I’ve been at the hospital all
night. He was in surgery for ten hours.”
Sharon closed her eyes, took a deep breath.
“Okay. What’s
I’ll sort the guys out. Knuckles should be good to go, too.”
He was, too. The crazy bastard was climbing
onto his Harley and gave Fritter his customary grin. “What the fuck
happened to you?”
“Threw myself in front of a bullet to save
you,” Fritter mumbled, tightening his helmet strap and swinging a
leg over his ride.
“I still ain’t putting out.”
In spite of the adrenaline and pain and holy shit rattling around in his head, Fritter had to
laugh.
“Let’s ghost,” Knuckles shouted, engine
rumbling awake. With another whoop he tore off, back the way they’d
come. It would mean passing through Hazeldale again but
whatever.
Fritter followed, noting that Buck was
pulling in behind Knuckles. Rusty let Fritter by, then pulled out
behind him. He pointed at Tank and then Mickey, who was climbing on
the back of the big guy’s Fat Boy. Mickey flipped him off, but Tank
was just shaking his head as he fired her up.
Laughing was good. Laughing would do, for now
anyway.
Chapter Five
“Really?” Downey mumbled, raising an eyebrow
at Martin. “You drop a stolen vehicle report on my desk?”
“Look at the vehicle,” he suggested, bemused.
Little fucker was less scared of her now for some reason.
She sighed, turned away from her keyboard and
flipped to the second page of the report. Then she frowned.
“Grainger Garage’s cargo van disappeared last night?”
Martin shrugged. “Jolene Grainger just called
it in. Funny thing is, I saw it go by on my way to work today.
Driven by Mickey and followed by a bunch of guys on
motorcycles.”
“Jesus Christ,” she mumbled, rubbing her
forehead. “You know wherever than van is, it’s going to be noisy.
Right?”
Martin shrugged. “At least they keep it
interesting.” Then he was gone, leaving her shaking her head.
“You’re an idiot!” she called after him, a
laugh his reply.
She didn’t want to know any more about this
than she absolutely had to. Some days it irked her that she was all
but taken for granted when it came to a certain criminal element of
Markham, but at least for all outside appearances her little county
had one of the lower crime rates in California.
Mostly because a lot of it went unreported,
but ... details.
Still, a report of a stolen vehicle meant it
was going to be found and it was going to be messy and a headache.
And she wasn’t getting any help from the MC, which meant their
investigation couldn’t possibly go anywhere.
She really didn’t need this during an
election year.
At least they wouldn’t have to go looking for
the stolen property. She set the file to the side and went back to
her paperwork that was already a week behind schedule.
When the phone rang she reached out absently,
eyes scanning all the fields of her annual budget report due for
city council. “Sheriff Downey,” she barked, swallowing a curse word
as she realized she’d put a period instead of a comma. No, the
department had not spent thirty-point-four dollars on fuel.
Thirty-four hundred, yes.
“Umm, Sharon?”
She frowned, turning away from the screen yet
again. “Yes? Who is this?”
“It’s ... it’s Jasmine.”
She sank back into her desk chair, swiveling
around to the back wall of her office. Ah yes, the other woman. Her
ex-husband’s current wife. There was no jealousy, though. They’d
been married for thirteen years now, and that was longer than Susan
had worn Steven’s ring. Jasmine was actually a lovely woman. They’d
likely never be friends, but they could be amiable and tolerate a
dinner party together.
“Jasmine? How are things?”
“I’m at the hospital. Steven ... he ...” She
fell into sobbing and Sharon suddenly sat up.
“What is it? What’s happened?”
“There was an accident. A drunk hit Steven as
he was driving home last night. I’ve been at the hospital all
night. He was in surgery for ten hours.”
Sharon closed her eyes, took a deep breath.
“Okay. What’s
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