Chas's Fervor: Insurgents Motorcycle Club (Insurgents MC Romance Book 3) (18 page)

The boardwalk teemed with people, locals and tourists alike. The oceanfront restaurants served variations of Latin cuisine, and the vendors yelled out to passersby as they hawked their wares. Jogger, walkers, and runners breezed by.

The DA Ian had been hired to kill was an idealistic man in his late forties. He had been a deputy district attorney since he left one of the most prestigious law firms in Miami twelve years before. Wanting to serve the community and make it a better place to live, he left his high-paying job and bonuses for a low-paying government salary, and he never looked back. Married with three children from ages twenty to fifteen, he was a devoted husband and father. The previous year, he’d been elected District Attorney.

He was eager to bring the hammer down on illegal drugs, smuggling, and guns. The problem was his views on a better life for his community didn’t jive with what the corrupt politicians needed to continue their lifestyle. The newly elected DA had been warned, but he thought he was invincible, and that was where he’d made his fatal mistake. Ian was the one who would show him
no one
was invincible, but
everyone
was dispensable.

As the lean man passed by Ian, he looked at the ocean and smiled. Ian quietly stood up and began his jog, inching closer to the DA. No one paid any attention to the joggers. In Ian’s line of work, he existed in the shadows, like a ghost, then disappeared. He was a master at his craft: cold, calculating, meticulous. Many hitmen were greedy, taking jobs without considering every possible angle—not Ian. He’d turned down many jobs. The ones he took, he
knew
he’d be successful—sliding in, exterminating, then slithering away without a trace. He was a pro, and it helped that his talent lay in killing without remorse. Detachment and detailed planning made him one of the top in his business.

Jogging next to the DA, Ian heard the man’s panting breaths as he pushed himself along. Executing his plan would be easy thanks to the hordes of people milling around, eating cotton candy, and resting on the wall to watch the ocean—a tranquil depiction of life on a Saturday morning in Miami. If Ian were an artist, he’d be tempted to break out pencil and pad to sketch the scene for a later watercolor.

Bumping the DA’s elbow, Ian put his head down and muttered, “Sorry.”

The fellow smiled and said, “No problem,” then picked up his speed a bit.

Ian followed, once again getting next to him. Ready to “bump” into him again, a small dog—broken free from his leash—intercepted their paths, causing the DA to trip and lunge forward. Ian bent down, picked up the bruised man, and effortlessly injected a syringe he had been carrying up his sleeve into the DA’s upper arm—a tiny, pinhead prick loaded with the lethal poison, ricin.

Ian would be sipping a cup of coffee, admiring the view of Lake Michigan from his Chicago penthouse, by the time the man succumbed to the poisoning. The unfortunate DA would suffer the fate of the ricin infecting the cells of his gastrointestinal organs as they passed through his body, leading to the failure of his kidneys, liver, and pancreas and ultimately, to his untimely death.

A few days
later, Ian scoured the
Miami Herald
online. On the front page of the paper, the newly elected DA, Jeffrey Romer, grinned. The article went on to say that he’d died of poisoning and an investigation had been launched to determine whether foul play was involved or if it was a case of ingesting something bad.

Ian smiled, mentally checked off the job as complete, and decided to use some of the two hundred and fifty thousand dollars cash to bolster his efforts to find his wife. Picking up her framed photograph, he stared into her green eyes and remembered how surprised he’d been to discover she was a good fuck. It turned out to be a bonus he hadn’t expected from a young, virginal woman. Ian was her first, and he wanted her back even though he didn’t love her—never had.

The truth was he’d never loved anyone in his life, not even his poor mother, who’d slaved to put food on the table for him and his two sisters after his bum dad up and left them when he was seven years old. When he turned eighteen, Ian left and never looked back. Not even a Mother’s Day card to his mom. He liked being without entanglements—always had—but he didn’t like
anyone
walking out on
him
.

He’d met Lizzie at a party, but it was no accident. Ian had checked out her background after he saw her face in the society page—smiling, long red hair flowing, green eyes twinkling, and dripping in gold jewelry. He’d been intrigued, perhaps a bit smitten. Garnering her name from the paper, he learned everything he could about her. Lizzie came from a solid family background. She was an only child—like his first wife, who’d met her death by apparent suicide—and stood to inherit a shitload of money when her parents died. It was a pity her parents never liked him.

She was easy to woo, barely out of college, and not having had much experience with men. He was suave, older, good-looking, and knew how to charm his way into any woman’s heart—a chameleon who could adapt to be whomever the woman desired.

When her parents were murdered, Lizzie became a rich orphan, minus the millions of dollars in gold and jewels stolen during the robbery-murder. She was his financial planning for when he was tired or too bored with his profession. In less than five months after her parents’ murder, they were married. Thinking he was CEO of a gold company, Lizzie lived in ignorant bliss for two years. Never thinking she’d find out about his
real
job, Ian became sloppy around her with his details.

Lizzie thought he was having an affair, so she’d followed him the day he’d killed the wife of a prominent doctor in the area. Ian never contracted for local jobs—they were too risky—but he couldn’t resist the price tag the good doctor had offered. Ian had no idea Lizzie had followed him. The look of complete horror she had given him stuck with him. She was too surprised not to have realized that she’d left her prints all over the place, while his were nowhere to be found. At that point, she was listed as a person of extreme interest, and the most likely suspect. She was also a witness. He’d come too far and worked too hard to leave loose ends.

Where the fuck is she?
He’d distributed her pictures to all his connections throughout the country. Maybe she
did
skip to Canada or Mexico. Making a mental note to send out her photo and information to his contacts in those countries, he looked at her picture again. “Where the fuck are you? When I find you, Hell will follow,
sweetheart
,” he said aloud, then slammed his fist into the picture, shattering the glass frame.

“I
t’s all cleared
up?” Addie closed her office door and sat behind her desk.

“Yes,” Cara explained. “I confirmed it. Brianna went in early this morning and told them it was one big misunderstanding. She told them she was so distraught by her fear of losing her son, her reason was muddled, and she jumped the gun.”

Rolling her eyes, Addie said, “Oh, please…”

“I know. It’s totally unbelievable, but your case will be dismissed. I spoke to the deputy district attorney handling it, and he confirmed everything with Brianna and the police. All you have to do is show up in court at three o’clock, and the judge will dismiss your case.”

Breathing a deep sigh of relief, Addie said, “I can’t thank you enough for helping me. How can I repay you?”

“No worries. I’m glad things turned out so well. I do have one question. Who is Lizabeth Quinn, AKA Lizabeth Delaney?”

Addie held her breath.

“Hello? Hello?”

“Who?” Addie said in a small voice.

“I received the fingerprint information from a friend of mine, Josh, who works for the sheriff and police department. He called me when the report came through. Why did your prints come back with another name? Addie, is there something you need to tell me?”

In a barely audible voice, Addie said, “Yes, but not on the phone. Can we talk after court?”

“Sure, we can go back to my office. Are you okay?”

No, my fuckin’ world is collapsing around me.

“Yes.”

“I’ll see you later in court, then.”

Addie stared at the silent phone. Severe tremors took hold of her and she shook like a leaf, her teeth chattering, and her eyelids fluttering.

What am I going to do? I have to get out of here. I can’t go back to Chicago. I can’t go back to Ian. I can’t… I can’t…

With her head in her hands, she sobbed—deep, gut-wrenching sobs. Like a spinning top, her mind whirled in a hundred directions. She should pack up and leave before they came for her, handcuffing and shoving her back in the gray, dank cell. With her heart hammering against her chest, Addie pushed herself up only to collapse back down on the chair—her legs were like jelly.

I have to run away—far, far away where no one will ever find me.

One of the problems with being a fugitive was she couldn’t access any of her money because if she did, the law and Ian would be breathing fire down her back. Since she didn’t have much money saved, she couldn’t go very far, but anywhere was better than her current predicament. She was trapped like a goldfish in a small fishbowl, swimming around in circles over and over.

As she stuffed her tote bag with the personal belongings in her office, Jack’s smiles—wide and infectious—crossed her mind. His eagerness to learn and his total trust in her caused her to hesitate. And then Chas’s dark, penetrating eyes lodged front and center in her mind. When she’d seen him waiting for her as she’d left the jail, relief had washed over her, and the tenderness reflected in his eyes melted her heart. Memories of his protective arms around her, his unique scent, his mouth on hers—demanding, possessive, and so delicious—weakened her resolve.

How can I leave them behind? If this is where it’ll end, then so be it. I need to give a chance to—

A knock on her office door startled her.

“Who is it?” Addie said.

“Jordan.”

“Give me a sec, okay?”

Quickly wiping her eyes and blowing her nose, she applied her lipstick and gloss, ran a brush through her hair, and hurried to the door.

“What’s up?” Addie asked in a cheerful voice.

“I need some help figuring out which books need to be archived,” Jordan said.

Grateful for the distraction, Addie had Jordan follow her. The two spent the rest of the late morning archiving and updating inventory.

As the day slipped toward one o’clock, Addie—crouched down, rearranging the books on a shelf—heard the clack of heavy boots on the floor. The boots stopped next to her. Glancing at them, her heart soared when she saw they were biker boots. As she straightened up, she said, “Hey, sexy. I want to thank you for everything.” Positive she’d gaze into Chas’s ebony eyes, she gasped when she saw the tanned face of a man dressed in leather and denim, staring at her with raised eyebrows.

“You’re pretty sexy yourself. Why don’t you show me how thankful you are?” He smirked while his eyes crawled over her body, making her feel dirty.

“I’m so sorry. I thought you were someone else,” she apologized, as a beet-red blush heated her face. “Forget what I said. May I help you with something?”

Leering at her, he said, “I can think of a couple of things you could help me with, but they require you getting back down on the floor, on your knees.”

“What?” With narrowed eyes, she crossed her arms across her chest. “I think you’d better leave.”

“Are you gonna make me?” As he came closer to her, her heart raced as adrenaline pumped through her.

“Hi, Snake. What’re you doing?” Jordan asked.

Addie’s hands trembled.

Whirling around, a wide grin cracked over his wan face. “How’s my girl?” he said, pulling Jordan to him.

Giggling, she hugged him. “I’m okay. What’re you doing here?”

“Came to take you out to lunch. I had to see my pa about somethin’, so I’m here for a few days.”

“I don’t have my lunch break for another hour. Can you come back?”

Staring at Addie, he stated, “We’re going to lunch, and my girl will be back in an hour.”

His piercing gaze bored into her, and a slight chill skated over her skin. Clearing her throat, she said, “Make sure you’re back by two o’clock. I have to be somewhere.”

“Are you sure it’s okay, Addie?” Jordan asked.

Addie just nodded, still unable to form words.

As they left, arm in arm, she overheard Jordan tell Snake, “You were rude. Don’t blow this job for me. I need the money. She’s a nice boss.”

Snake looked over his shoulder and threw Addie an evil sneer. Placing his hand on his woman’s ass, he squeezed it as they exited the front door.

Addie shivered, and goosebumps carpeted her skin. The guy gave her the creeps. When he swaggered, she noticed the back of his leather jacket had an emblem. It read,
Deadly Demons MC. New Mexico
.

At two o’clock, Jordan came back from her break, thankfully without Snake.

“Did you have a nice lunch?” Addie asked.

“Yeah. We got some sandwiches and went to the park. I want to apologize for Snake’s rudeness. Sometimes, he comes off as a jerk. He’s a biker with an outlaw club. Well, he’s just rough around the edges, but he really has a heart of gold.”

I’m positive he comes off as a jerk all the time because he
is
a jerk!

“It’s okay, Jordan. Apology accepted. Does your boyfriend live in Pinewood Springs?”

“No. He lives in Rawlins, New Mexico. That’s Deadly Demons territory. His dad moved to Pinewood a few years ago. I live in New Mexico, but like I told you at the interview, I’m here helping my mom out ’til she’s stronger and back on her feet.”

“You’re a nice daughter, and I’m sure your mom appreciates your help.”

Jordan just shrugged.

Addie checked the time then said, “I have an appointment. I’ll see you later.”

She dashed down the stairs and to her car. She couldn’t wait to have her case dismissed and put the ugly incident behind her.

*     *     *