Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 63763 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 319(@200wpm)___ 255(@250wpm)___ 213(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63763 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 319(@200wpm)___ 255(@250wpm)___ 213(@300wpm)
Bex’s breath hitched, and I kissed the rapid pulse beating in her throat before straightening.
Her face was ten shades of red, but her eyes were burning with desire. She swallowed hard, but then her lips curled into a wicked smirk as she smoothed one hand over my cut, gliding down until her fingers dusted lightly over the bulge in my leather pants. “Guess that gives you plenty to fantasize about while you go do your club business, Corbin.”
A growl rumbled low in my chest, and I contemplated just how pissed my prez would be if I was late. Despite how obsessed he was with his woman, I had a feeling he wouldn’t care that my tardiness was because I’d dragged my woman to the nearest empty room and fucked her until we both passed out. Especially since he’d called the meeting so I could share the information I’d uncovered. I sighed before kissing Bex’s forehead, then her mouth because the first one didn’t satisfy me.
When I entered the office, Stryker sat behind his desk with Hawkeye leaning against one corner. Bishop occupied one of the leather chairs, looking. Judge, Ghost, Ledger, Nomad, Falcon, Smoke, and Skyfall filled the remaining chairs, their attention shifting to me as I connected my tablet to the secure display.
“Six confirmed,” I told the men around the table before bringing them up to speed on everything I’d learned over the past three days. Finally, I pulled up a stripped-down timeline. “Darren Pike appears to broker the work, physically verify locations, and pass information to the buyer. An unknown county employee supplies confidential case information, victim details, and patrol gaps. Eric Stowe, or someone using his vendor credentials, cleans the digital trail before or during the job.”
Judge rested both forearms against the table, his eyes narrowing on the overlaps. “You certain we’re looking at three different people?”
“No. Three functions. Could be two people if the county insider stole Stowe’s credentials. Could be three if Stowe’s involved.”
“Pike meet anyone useful yet?” Stryker asked Nomad.
He shook his head, but I jumped in and answered for him. “Kept his normal routine. Office, courthouse, coffee, and home. Except a quip skip trace in Vista. No visitors either.”
Falcon leaned back, the quiet stillness of the former Green Beret making his answer sound more certain than emphasis ever could. “He’d never notice ours, but he knows how to spot a lazy tail. Changed lanes twice yesterday, doubled around a shopping center, and watched his mirrors at every long light.”
“He’s nervous,” Hawkeye observed.
“Or careful by habit,” I mused.
Stryker nodded. “We’ll watch until he leads us to the county contact. Pike’s the only conspirator with a name and face, which makes him more useful moving than restrained.”
“For the moment,” Smoke added.
Nobody disagreed.
I narrowed the pool of county personnel whose schedules overlapped with the six jobs, then cross-referenced the vendor-access windows associated with Stowe’s company. We had eliminated enough innocent employees to make physical surveillance practical without spreading the club thin, but every remaining name had legitimate reasons to move through the department and contact technology vendors.
My tablet vibrated against the conference table before Judge finished asking about one deputy’s overtime pattern. The protected-family profile had registered Bex leaving the lounge, and I opened the camera tile in the upper corner without interrupting him. Bex walked through the common room beside Jacqueline, both women carrying empty mugs as they headed into the kitchen.
I switched to the kitchen feed and watched Bex rinse the cups while Jacqueline opened the refrigerator. Nothing about the movement suggested danger, but I tracked them anyway, enlarging the next tile when they crossed to the rear door and stepped onto the covered porch. Bex settled into one of the chairs facing the back acreage, and only after I confirmed Wraith remained visible near the steps did I return the tablet to the timeline.
Hawkeye had watched the entire process. “She survive the fourteen-foot journey to the back porch?”
“Twenty,” I corrected.
Bishop leaned back in his chair. “Good thing we have military-grade surveillance.”
My stare moved between them. “You boys done?”
Neither answered, although the line beside Hawkeye’s mouth deepened and Bishop’s eyes carried open amusement. Stryker gave me a look containing more understanding than humor, probably because he had spent the past several months checking every camera pointed toward wherever Jacqueline was while out of his reach. Then he shifted his attention back to business.
“We’re talking about people who sold confidential victim information to predators, handed stalking victims’ routines to the men hunting them, and sold patrol gaps to anyone willing to pay. I don’t give a fuck whether they wore a badge, carried a county contract, or convinced themselves they were only passing on useless information. Every willing participant is a Black Crowns target.”
The ruling was what each man expected. We already understood that using official systems to isolate vulnerable people violated everything the club protected, and putting Bex in the operation’s path had only sharpened consequences that were coming anyway. Pike, the unknown deputy, and whoever controlled Stowe’s credentials had built their business around the belief that frightened victims possessed less power than the people buying access to them. The Black Crowns were going to correct that imbalance.