Chapter 3 DASH #2
“No, she’s . . .” He blew out a long breath. “We were waiting to tell everyone but Emmy’s pregnant. Or, she was pregnant. She miscarried last week.”
“Hell, brother.” My hand flew to my heart. “I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, me too. Emmy’s having a hard time. So if she wants to get Nora’s ears pierced and have a mommy-daughter day in Bozeman, I’m not going to say a damn thing.”
“Can I help?”
“No, we’ll get through it. What’s up?”
I pinched the bridge of my nose. The last thing I wanted was to add this to Nick’s burdens, but he had to know. “Got some bad news. Wish it could wait.”
“Tell me.”
“Someone was murdered last night. And either Dad did it, he knows who did it, or someone’s trying to frame him for it. They arrested him about thirty minutes ago.”
“Fuck,” Nick spat. “What else do you know?”
“Nothing. The cops aren’t talking.” I wasn’t going to admit that the only reason I knew half of what I did was because of a sexy, devious reporter. “Dad lawyered up. Once Jim meets with him, I’ll learn more.”
“Let me call Emmy. We’ll get there as soon as we can.”
“No, don’t,” I told him. “There’s nothing you can do here. Just wanted you to be aware.”
“Dash, we’re talking about a murder here.”
“Exactly. You, Emmeline, the kids. You don’t need to be anywhere near this shit.” He needed to stay in Prescott, playing catch with his son, kissing his daughter and holding tight to his wife.
“Fine.” Nick blew out a long breath. “But if you need me, I’m there.”
“I know. I’ll keep you posted.”
“It’s always something,” he muttered.
“Hasn’t been for a while.”
“True. Did he . . . do you think he did it?”
I stared at the gray siding of the police station, picturing Dad inside those walls in an interrogation room. His hands cuffed and resting on a cheap-ass table as he sat in an uncomfortable chair.
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “Maybe. If he did, there was a reason. And if he didn’t, then Clifton Forge is definitely not a place I want you bringing those kids.”
Because if someone was after Dad, they could be after us all.
“Watch your back,” I said.
“You too.”
I ended the call and started my bike. The feel of the engine, the vibration and noise, was a comfort as I sped through town. I’d spent long hours in this seat, driven hundreds of miles, thinking through club strategies.
Except the last year, there hadn’t been club business.
There were no squabbles to settle. No crimes to hide.
No enemies to outsmart. My time behind the handlebars had been spent simply enjoying the open road.
To think about the garage and how we could increase our custom jobs and sock away a pile of money for a rainy day.
When it came to dealing with a murder arrest, my mind felt sluggish and rusty.
It surprised me how quickly I’d forgotten the old ways.
Though we’d been tapering things off for years, the Tin Kings had only disbanded a year ago.
The last arrest I’d had to deal with had been nearly four years ago, and even then, it had been for one of Leo’s drunken bar fights.
I pulled into the parking lot, walking my bike back into its space. As I walked to the office, I glanced down the lot toward the clubhouse.
The yard was overgrown, and I needed to find an hour to mow. The inside was no doubt musty and covered in dust. The last time I’d been inside had been during winter when a raccoon had snuck inside and tripped the motion sensors.
On a day like today, when I needed information and answers, I’d give anything to walk inside the clubhouse, call everyone to the meeting room table and get to the bottom of this.
Instead, I’d have to settle for the garage’s office and a few people who were just as loyal to us now as they had been when we’d worn the same patch.
Presley was on the phone when I opened the office door. She held up one finger for me to be quiet. “Okay, thanks. Call me back if you hear anything else.”
I went to the row of chairs on the wall beneath the front window. Presley’s desk was the only one in the waiting area, and though Dad and I had our two offices along the far wall, we normally congregated around hers.
Presley’s official title was office manager, but she did a lot more than we’d put in her original job description.
She made sure bills got paid and customers were happy.
She shuffled paperwork to my desk or Dad’s for signatures.
She ran payroll and forced us all to talk about retirement plans once a year.
She was the heart of the garage. She set the rhythm and the rest of us followed suit.
“What’d you find out?” I asked.
“I called the salon.” Her face paled. “Stacy said she saw a bunch of cop cars at the motel on her way into work this morning. There’s a rumor that a woman was found dead, but she’s not sure if it’s true.”
Goddamn it. It was probably true. “Anything else?”
She shook her head. “That’s it.”
What I needed was to talk to Dad, but given Marcus’s attitude, that wasn’t happening. So for the time being, I’d have to funnel information through the lawyer.
The door to the office opened and Emmett walked inside, followed by Leo.
“Heard I missed some stuff this morning,” Leo joked.
Not in the mood for it, I shot him a scowl that wiped the grin off his face. “Where the fuck were you?”
“Overslept.”
“That’s been happening a lot lately.”
He ran a hand through his messy blond hair, the strands still wet from his shower. “Am I not getting my work done?”
I didn’t answer. Leo was the artist in the bunch, doing all the paint and design while Emmett, Isaiah and I preferred the mechanics and fabrication.
His work was getting done, but he’d been drinking a lot more lately.
His arrival time in the morning getting later and later.
Every night he seemed to have a new woman in his bed.
He was still acting like the club’s playboy.
“I think we’ve got more important things to worry about at the moment than Leo’s degrading work quality, don’t you?” Emmett asked, taking the chair next to me.
“Degrading work quality,” Leo mumbled, shaking his head as he sat in the last open chair. “Assholes. I hate you all.”
“Gentlemen, do me a favor,” Presley interjected. “Shut. Up.”
“What’s the plan, Dash?” Emmett leaned his elbows on his knees.
I ran a hand over my jaw. “We need to find out whatever we can about the murder. Dad will stay quiet so the cops aren’t going to get anything from him.
But they have something. Need to find out what it is.
Isaiah has the garage covered, but Pres, limit jobs so he doesn’t get swamped. Emmett and Leo, start asking around.”
They both nodded. We might not be a club anymore but we had connections.
“What are you going to do?” Presley asked.
Emmett and Leo didn’t need my help, and unless the work in the garage was too much, I’d let Isaiah and Presley handle it. Because there was another person in town who had information, and she’d either give it up freely or I’d drag it out of her.
“Research.”