Black Sheep (23 page)

Play by their rules? They had no rules, other than their code: till Death do us part.

Smart money and the FBI’s bible would have her remain in the relative shelter of her
vehicle. Just sit there and ignore their rude gestures as they laughed at her and
suggested couplings that weren’t anatomically possible.

She thought back to the agent in training she’d made cry two days ago. The bad guys
are just as blinded by adrenaline—and in this case, testosterone—as the good guys,
she’d told her. Think beyond that, search the possibilities.

Great advice. So what possibilities did she have here? The Reapers didn’t want her
dead—that would bring a reign of terror down on them, unwanted scrutiny from every
domestic law enforcement agency, local, state, and federal. They did want to send
her a message, that much was as obvious as a gorilla beating its chest warning off
the competition.

What were they competing for? Lena?

Why?

The rank and file wouldn’t know. Poppy might. Which meant getting out of the car.

Only question left was whether to play it like a wolf in sheep’s clothing or a sheep
in wolf’s clothing. They were used to treating women like property. Should she go
all meek and docile? It had saved her and Paul last night.

Or give in to her anger and face them head-on?

Then it struck her. They played by their rules—and they’d be assuming she’d be playing
by the feds’ rules. Which would basically prevent her from striking first or doing
anything other than defending herself.

She glanced at all the mirrors in turn as she pulled her ASP from her pocket and made
sure her Glock was clear of her coat. She’d be most vulnerable when she climbed out
of the driver’s seat. Only one chance to get this right.

A few of the Reapers got off their bikes, including one guy the size of the Jolly
Green Giant who climbed off a lovingly restored classic Harley with a custom paint
job complete with a naked blonde named
DEEDEE
.

Time for Caitlyn to unleash her inner bitch.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

The sheriff’s station made sense, Goose thought as he followed Tierney’s Subaru. But
Poppy’s home? On the morning of a run when the national president had just arrived?

Woman was either a fool or had a death wish.

He sped down the drive to Poppy’s house, hoping he was in time to see which. Not that
he cared, of course. He had to stay focused on the money. Three million cash. Nothing
to sneeze at. Virtually untraceable, given that it came from illegal drug, weapons,
and prostitution transactions.

Despite the Reapers’ focus on racing and partying, Poppy and Caruso had built a finely
tuned criminal enterprise. Almost seemed a shame to throw a wrench in the works. But
three million was too much to let the opportunity pass.

When Goose arrived at Poppy’s house he saw Tierney had also thrown a wrench in the
day’s program. The Daytona Reapers, freshly arrived after tearing up the highways
in an all-night party/predawn run, had her little Subaru Impreza WRX surrounded. He
held back to see how she’d get herself out of this one.

One thing about the fed. She was damn entertaining to watch in action.

One of the Daytona guys, nicknamed Tiny because he was built like a brick wall, got
off his bike and lumbered toward Caitlyn’s door. Tierney didn’t wait for the Reaper.
Instead, she threw the door open and popped out of the car in one fast movement. Tiny
stopped, shooing the rest of the crowd of Reapers back. Not because he was scared
of the gun in Caitlyn’s hand—he wanted room to maneuver.

Caitlyn stared him down. Tiny just smiled and shook his head like a buffalo getting
ready to charge. The air was so cold his breath steamed, heightening the illusion.
But Caitlyn didn’t back away or retreat to the relative safety of her car.

Instead she flipped her left wrist, snapping open a weighted extendable baton. Now
she had the longer reach, despite Tiny’s towering almost a foot above her. His smile
turned into a grin, enhanced by the fact that he was missing a few teeth. Beauty and
the Beast.

Tiny shuffled like a boxer, moving to his right. Caitlyn did the same, moving to her
right. She was also smiling. Why was she smiling? Goose wondered. It was a real smile,
showed her dimple, so she wasn’t faking it in a show of bravado.

She twisted her wrist, making the ASP crack through the air like a whip, took one
more step to her right—and he had his answer.

“Move another step and DeeDee gets her head gasket blown off.” She placed the muzzle
of her Glock against the naked woman painted on Tiny’s Road King Classic.

The Reapers didn’t gasp but the air clouded as they all exhaled simultaneously and
bared their teeth. You could mess with a man, but mess with his ride? A hanging offense.

No Reaper would risk Tiny’s bike. Without shedding a drop of blood, Caitlyn Tierney
had taken the entire crowd hostage.

*   *   *

Caitlyn used the ASP like a lance, touching a Daytona prospect on the shoulder. “You.
Run inside and tell Poppy I’d like a word.”

No one moved while the prospect jogged to the house, up the porch steps, and vanished
inside. Well, no one moved unless you counted various grunts and growls and hissed
promises as movements. Caitlyn decided it was best to ignore them.

Thankfully the prospect returned before the fire in the not-so-Jolly-Green-Giant’s
glare could spontaneously combust. “Poppy says come on inside.”

Right. Like she was an idiot. “Out here will be just fine, thank you.”

The prospect turned toward the house with an elaborate shrug. Moments later Poppy
appeared, accompanied by a second man. If Poppy was a cross between Willie Nelson
and Jerry Garcia with Charlie Manson’s dead eyes, the second man was more of a John
Travolta minus the
Pulp Fiction
suit. He wore jeans, biker boots, and a black tee under his black leather cut, but
no tatts were visible; he was clean-shaven with a haircut that spoke of an hour in
a stylist’s chair and a twenty-dollar tip.

She would have pegged him for a hanger-on, some banker biker wannabe, if not for his
eyes. Same I-always-get-what-I-want stare as Poppy. Like the men around them were
objects, not humans. Then he drew close enough for her to read the patches on his
cut. National president. This was Caruso himself honoring her with his presence.

The other Reapers parted, clearing a path for Caruso and Poppy, their expressions
filled with respect and macho deference. A few cut their eyes her way, eyebrows raised
in anticipation, as if they expected Caruso to call down lightning to strike her dead
for her blasphemy.

No wonder they called their club meetings Church.

Caitlyn took the initiative. “Good morning,” she called out in a chipper tone. “Beautiful
day, isn’t it?”

Poppy’s glare darkened. Caruso chuckled. “Yes, yes it is. A great day for a ride.”
Guy even sounded like a bank manager.

They reached the circle of bikes surrounding her and her vehicle. Poppy gave a curt
nod to the others and they quickly sped away, leaving just the two of them, Caitlyn
holding her gun on the painted nude, and the Giant shuffling from one foot to the
other, torn between protecting his bike and obeying his leaders.

Again, Caitlyn took action before they could request or demand anything. Keeping the
upper hand was imperative in these kinds of confrontation, but she also didn’t want
to do anything to push their anger to the point where they’d be forced to act to protect
their status.

With a flourish she bent on one knee to slam the ASP against the Subaru’s front tire,
collapsing the baton. Then she nodded to the Giant and holstered her weapon. He rushed
to his bike, rubbed his palm over the nude, checking for the most minute scratches
in the paint.

“Go,” Poppy said. The Giant gave Caitlyn a death stare that said she’d better never
meet him in any dark alleys then revved his bike and pulled away to join the other
Reapers gathered in front of the house.

Now it was just the three of them. Oh, and there was Goose, her hunky shadow. All
this party needed was Weasel. The hairs on the back of her neck rose at the image
of him out there wrecking havoc—and she thought of Paul. She’d left him parked in
a front booth at the casino’s café, in full sight of anyone on the gaming floor or
helping themselves to the buffet. Hopefully he had the good sense to stay there out
of harm’s way. Knowing him, he was so lost in his research he probably had no clue
where he was or what was going on around him. Just like when he stared at videos of
angiograms, following the trail of dye through arteries, veins, and capillaries one
frame at a time.

“Do you know who I am?” Caitlyn asked.

“The bitch who won’t keep her nose out of our business?” Poppy said.

Goose closed the distance between them, staying within earshot in case he was needed.
She kept her hands on her weapons, her weapons at her side, and favored him with a
quick glance of acknowledgment. He nodded, keeping his hands where she could see them.
Showing a little respect. About time.

“Besides that,” she said.

Poppy blew out an exasperated breath. Gestured to Caruso then Caitlyn. “Meet FBI Special
Agent Tierney.”

“Supervisory Special Agent,” she corrected. “Sorry to interrupt.” She kept her voice
contrite, realizing Poppy needed to save face in front of the national president.
“I just have a question or two for Mr. Parker.”

Caruso stared at her long and hard before nodding. “Make it quick, we’ve our own business
to attend to.”

He turned on his heel and walked back into the house. Caitlyn arched an eyebrow at
Goose, but instead of leaving he sidled closer to Poppy and crossed his arms over
his chest, settling his weight like he was the Rock of freaking Gibraltar. Fine. Whatever.

Poppy rocked on his heels, appraising her. “You’re the spitting image of your old
man. He was a pest, too.”

Caitlyn decided to take that as a compliment. “Thanks. How about if you tell me about
Lena Hale? Make life easier for us both.”

“I wish I knew anything. I really do.” He sounded almost sincere. Except for the flat
gaze that never wavered. Usually Caitlyn’s habit of staring made others look away,
but this time she was the one fighting the urge to break eye contact. “If you find
her, let me know. I have my guys searching—figure last thing we need is blame for
some missing law student lost in the mountains.”

“Seems funny the last place she was seen was your clubhouse.”

“Told you. She asked for directions and left.” They stared at each other in silence
for a few seconds. This time Poppy was the one to break. “You calling me a liar?”

She was silent, assessing any potential chinks in his armor. Caruso appeared on the
porch steps, beckoning to Poppy.

“Let me know if you find that girl. It’d surely ease my worries.” He walked away,
Goose falling in step behind him.

Frustrated, Caitlyn hopped into the Impreza and drove off before any of the Reapers—especially
DeeDee’s owner—got the bright idea of stopping her. If she hurried, she’d make it
to the VistaView in time for brunch.

*   *   *

Lena sank to the floor, hugging her knees to her chest. She almost wished she was
back in her tiny closet. Things were so much easier there. Just her and God working
a plan. Who knew escape would lead to more danger and confusion than ever before?

“You thought some bikers wanted to kill me and that’s why you kidnapped me?” She was
glad she had the gun. Maybe Bernie wasn’t the nice guy he appeared to be. But, despite
doing all the wrong things—oh, so very wrong—he genuinely seemed to be doing them
for the right reasons.

“Yes. I couldn’t let them hurt you.” His voice was pleading for her to understand
and trust him. Could she?

“But you don’t know why they wanted to kill me?”

He frowned, his eyebrows coming together in one scraggy ridge that shadowed his eyes.
“Poppy told Weasel they couldn’t take any more chances that you wouldn’t find out.
That’s all I heard.” His face cleared and he met her gaze. “Does it help?”

“Wouldn’t find out what?”

He shrugged, winced with pain. His face was flushed, and she wondered if he was getting
a fever. Who knew what kind of germs leopards carried?

“Why do you have leopards and chimps here in the middle of the mountains?”

“I saved them.” His grin made him look like a little boy on Christmas morning. “The
Reapers were going to let them loose, have hunters pay to shoot them. So I took them.
Just like I took you. Gave them a new home.” His smile faded. “Only the leopard worries
me. Won’t eat. And the chimps got away the first night—they’ve been running around,
teasing me ever since.”

His concern for the helpless animals—well, not as helpless as Bernie thought, obviously—made
her want to like him. And stealing them from a biker gang? He’d risked a lot to save
them. Just as he’d risked everything to save her. “Aren’t you worried about the leopard
being loose? What if it goes after someone else?”

“No one else up this far on the mountain. It’d have to go through the woods around
to the other side to reach the trout farm and below that the Tierney house and of
course your dad’s old place.” He stirred in his chair. “I read that they’re nocturnal,
so I’m hoping it goes back for the meat I left in the lodge. I left the front door
open. Maybe I can trap it again before it gets hurt.”

“Leopards don’t eat chimpanzees, do they?” she asked, worried she hadn’t seen Smokey
since last night. She pushed to her feet and ran to the window. Nothing moved outside
except for wind pushing snow across the lawn in swirls of white.

Bernie struggled to stand and joined her. “No. I don’t think so.”

He didn’t sound very certain. She looked at him once more. He seemed different from
the guys she usually hung out with. Not dumb. Just … simple. Innocent. Childlike.