Black Sheep (22 page)

She sighed. “Yeah. I guess.”

The phone rang again. Caitlyn pushed herself to her feet. “Thanks, Sheriff. I appreciate
your time.”

“You need anything, just holler. Do me a favor, though. Stay away from the Reapers.
We got enough on our plates right now with so many of them being around for the poker
run.”

“I’ll try.”

His glare said she’d best do better than try.

“What can you tell me about the Reaper you arrested last night? Goose, they called
him.”

“Goose? You mean Jacob Clay. Never caused me any problems until last night. Some kind
of computer software guy from Asheville until his job got downsized. Moved here full-time
a little over a year ago.”

“He still in lockup? I’d like to have a little chat with him.”

“Sorry. Nothing to hold him on—he had a carry permit for the gun. He probably made
it home before you did last night.”

Great. “And the other one, Weasel?”

“Lionel Underwood. Nothing to hold him on, either. But he’s a mean one. A few arrests
for assault, extortion, one for kidnapping.”

“So why isn’t he locked up?”

“Never made it to trial on any of them. Witnesses all either recanted or vanished.”
He shrugged again but this time it was less resigned, more defensive. “Not much I
can do about it. I just pick ’em up. Up to the DA to see they stay behind bars.”

Caitlyn made it to the door but then turned back. “Look, you knew my father, right?”

“Sure. Small department. We all knew each other pretty well.” His eyes narrowed. Then
he opened his hands and spread them wide. “What do you want to know?”

“Well, I guess—” She swallowed, shifted her weight from one foot to the other, suddenly
feeling like a little girl. “What was he like? Was he good at his job? I mean, why—I
just don’t understand—how could—”

She hung her head, blinked fast, trying to force back the emotions that suddenly overwhelmed
her. Some professional. She raised her head, ready to let Markle off the hook and
beat a hasty retreat with at least some of her dignity intact.

Markle surprised her. He stood, left his desk, and closed the door, shutting out the
sounds from the outer office. He gestured to the chairs but Caitlyn shook her head;
she didn’t trust herself to move without crumbling into a giant jellyfish of grief.
Markle leaned against his desk, facing her, but staring past her, giving her some
privacy.

“Was Sean Tierney a good deputy? Yes. One of the best. Stubborn, but with a good head
on his shoulders—always seemed to understand the truth behind the truth, if you get
my drift. Good people skills. Had a way of sizing up a situation, or a person, real
fast, then surprising them by coming at things from a whole other direction from what
they’d expect.”

“But then, why—” She couldn’t finish, the image of her father’s bloody corpse choking
her into silence.

“Why did he do what he did?” She appreciated his tact. So many cops would have used
shorthand—
ate his gun
or the like. “I’m not sure. Sean was, well,
intense
is the best word for it. He’d get an idea in his head and you couldn’t knock it loose
with a two-by-four. And loyal—guess that was his downfall. Too damn loyal. He just
couldn’t accept it that Eli Hale, his best friend, would go and do something like
what he did to Tommy Shadwick.” He grimaced. “I guess, in a way, what Eli did broke
Sean’s heart. You ask me, I think he did it because after being betrayed like that,
after realizing how wrong he’d been about a man he trusted, he just couldn’t face
thinking about what else he could have gotten wrong.”

Markle pushed off his desk and reached past her to open the door once again. “I hope
that helps in some small way, Agent Tierney.”

Her smile was bitter. “Yes. Thank you. I guess it does.” Then she remembered why she’d
come here in the first place. “Did Eli Hale have any connection with the Reapers?”

He looked surprised by the question. “No. Hale always stayed clear of any of that.
Hardworking family man, surprised us all when he killed Shadwick. Guess it just shows
how little you know about anyone.”

“What about my dad?”

“Involved with the Reapers? You mean other than arresting them?”

“Yes.”

“Guess maybe through your mom. But I doubt it.”

“My mom?” Now it was her turn to be surprised.

“Well, her brother. Jimmy McSwain used to ride with the Reapers. Was about ready to
join them for real, until your dad set him straight.” They reached the outer door,
and he opened it for her. “You take care now.”

She walked through the door and was halfway to the Impreza before she realized it.
Uncle Jimmy had almost joined the Reapers? She couldn’t picture him without a suit,
much less hanging out with a bunch of bikers. The thought of Uncle Jimmy in biker
leathers made her smile. A little piece of family history best left buried.

She got into the Subaru and debated. Where to next? It was only nine forty, plenty
of time before brunch and the archives wouldn’t be open yet.

Nothing she’d learned here explained why the Reapers were so damn interested in finding
Lena. God help Lena if they found her before Caitlyn did.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

A bright light stabbed at Bernie’s eyes. He squinted them tighter, squirmed in his
chair. His arm throbbed with pain and a metallic taste filled his mouth. Lena. The
leopard. It was going after … “Lena, look out!”

He opened his eyes and she was right there. Sitting beside him at the table. “It’s
okay,” she said. “You had a bad dream.”

Maybe he was still dreaming. To have her here, in his house, taking care of him. Best
dream ever. “What happened?”

“The leopard clawed you. I stopped the bleeding but I think you should see a doctor.
I’m worried about infection.”

His arm felt heavy; even turning his head to look down at it hurt. But he couldn’t
leave her. Not with the Reapers after her. “You, you said you came looking for me.
Last night. You knew my name.”

She got up, poured him a glass of water, and handed it to him. “I was looking for
the owner of this land.”

“You want to buy the Teddy Roosevelt?”

“No. I’m interested in the freedmen’s land. I found an old copy of the pact that said
it was in this corner of the reservation. Your land and the national park share boundaries
with it. I was going to ask permission to cross your land, see if there was any evidence
of my family ever living there.”

He frowned. The water wasn’t helping to clear his head. Of course, it was hard to
think with her big doe eyes staring into his like he had the answers to everything.
“Freedmen land? What’s that?”

“Land the Eastern Band granted their emancipated slaves. Including my family.”

“And you think your family lived up there?” He shook his head, regretted the movement
as pain shot down his arm. “No one has ever lived up there. Hunted, yes. But lived,
built homes? No. It’s too steep, rock ledges, crevasses, waterfalls—about the worst
land you could imagine to build on.”

She sat back, disappointment clouding her face. Bernie was sorry he was the one to
put it there. “No houses? Not even back over a hundred years ago? Maybe there’s just
no evidence of them left anymore.”

He couldn’t bear to tell her no. “Maybe. But we have more important things to worry
about. You know people are looking for you, right?”

She pushed her chair back, got up to stand behind it, as if she needed protection
from Bernie. “Are you the one who drugged me? Why? What do you want? Is it about my
father?”

Bernie couldn’t face her. He stared down into the empty glass, trying to make sense
of how tangled everything had gotten. He’d only been trying to do the right thing.
How had it all gone so wrong? “I was trying to save you. That night when you came
to the clubhouse—”

“I was looking for you.”

“Something you said upset Poppy—he’s the leader of the Reapers. Anyway, he sent Weasel—you
don’t want to meet Weasel, believe me—after you. They were going to hurt you. So I,
I—” He fumbled for words to make what he’d done seem less awful. There weren’t any.
“I needed to get you out of there fast and quiet, so I gave you the drugs I had for
the animals. And I brought you here.”

She backed away from him, as far back as she could go, until the wall stopped her.
“What do you want?”

“Not me. I only wanted to help. I had no idea the drugs would make you so out of it
for so long—you were singing and talking gibberish. That’s why I locked you up when
I had to go back to work. If I didn’t show up, they’d know and come looking for you
here. So I had to leave. But I was worried you’d hurt yourself or wander off and get
lost or something. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to leave you that long.”

“How long? What day is it?”

“It’s Saturday.”

“Two days. You left me two days in that room?”

“A day and a half.” Her eyes widened with anger, and he held up his good hand. “I’m
sorry, Lena. But they were going to hurt you and I couldn’t let that happen. I was
trying to protect you, save you.” He hung his head. “Guess I didn’t do such a good
job of it.”

So typical, his father’s voice echoed through his brain.
My son, the loser.
Dad was right. He was a loser. Only now it was Lena who might pay the price.

She was silent for a long moment, thinking. “Why? What do they want from me?”

“I was hoping you could tell me so we’d know what to do next.” His stomach churned,
acid biting the back of his throat. He fumbled in his pocket for his Tums. “Because
I have no idea.”

*   *   *

Caitlyn decided that despite the sheriff’s request, her only option was to talk with
Oren Parker, aka Poppy. Given what she’d seen last night, they were probably still
at the clubhouse partying. She might even run into Jacob Clay, aka Goose, again—or
better yet Weasel, aka Lionel Underwood.

Too bad she didn’t have enough proof to arrest the men; wouldn’t that be a great way
to start the day? But they didn’t know that. She might have enough leverage to get
a few answers and a direction to follow.

Unless Paul turned up something in his research, learning why Lena had been at the
Reapers’ clubhouse was the only clue Caitlyn had left.

Both the clubhouse parking lot and the old service station across the street were
filled with motorcyclists registering for the poker run, tinkering with their bikes,
vendors selling official, licensed Reaper paraphernalia, and food stands. There were
even several TV news crews covering the festivities. A Reaper directing traffic stopped
her.

“Spectators can park down near the river,” he told her, gesturing to a narrow lane
on the other side of the clubhouse. “There’s free public parking down there, plus
a picnic area.”

The temperature hovered slightly above freezing, but apparently to the Reapers this
was picnic weather.

“I’m here to see Oren,” she said, hoping Poppy’s real name would get her in.

He frowned and tapped his Bluetooth, passed on her request. “Name?”

“FBI Supervisory Special Agent Caitlyn Tierney.” Technically she wasn’t here on FBI
business, so she didn’t show him her credentials, but it wouldn’t hurt reminding Poppy
that she had a bit more clout than the locals.

The frown turned into a scowl. Then he gave her a grudging nod as he hung up. “You’re
clear. Go down the drive, past the trailer, to the large white house.”

Past the trailer translated into a mile along a gravel drive that climbed up a bluff
overlooking the river. The topography and crowded evergreens shielded her from view
of the clubhouse, the road—well, just about everything and everyone.

She called Paul, to let him know where she was. No answer. Great. She left a voicemail,
hoping he hadn’t forgotten his phone in the room. Constantly hounded while at work,
he tended to disconnect from communications devices when off duty.

A large white house sat in a clearing that hugged the side of the mountain on one
side and had a sheer drop down to the river below on the other. It could have come
out of a Norman Rockwell painting. True-blue Americana.

Except for the thirty-odd assorted Harleys parked in the grass and along the drive.
Each accompanied by a Reaper.

The drive was circular, which gave her some comfort as she pulled past the glowering
bikers. The lane behind her was too narrow to turn around. She decided to forget about
confronting the Reapers’ leader, simply follow the drive until she was headed back
the way she came, and get the hell out of there. Talking to Poppy one-on-one or even
half-a-dozen-on-one she was comfortable with. Three dozen to one? No bet.

She almost made it. But just as she passed the house the men up ahead mounted their
bikes and blocked the road. The ones behind her closed off any chance she had of backing
up. Seemed like Poppy was as anxious to talk with her as she was with him.

Too bad. She shifted down to second and steered the Impreza across the lawn. He could
bill her for the landscaping later. Despite the ground being a bit soft from the melted
snow and frost, the Subaru responded nicely, barely a shimmy when she splashed through
a large puddle.

Unfortunately, the Reapers had her outnumbered and outflanked. Before she could reach
the road again, they had her surrounded, circling their bikes in ever-tighter circles
until she had to choose between stopping the car and running one or more of them down.

Mood she was in, she actually considered the later. But they hadn’t shown any weapons,
hadn’t threatened her, were merely trying to intimidate her, so she stopped the car.
Besides, if she had run them down, the paperwork would have taken the rest of the
weekend—and who would look for Lena?

If she wanted answers she had to play by their rules. They stopped, their bikes circled
bumper-to-bumper, revving their engines until the noise was enough to shake the ground.
Bullies.