CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Cody—
I hang out at Lucky’s while Heather works. I sit at a table in the corner and mostly play on my phone, knowing the rest of the club is on lockdown until we find and deal with the two nomads from the Death Heads MC.
I stroll outside and meet them in the parking lot.
Heather’s going back to the clubhouse with the prospects to spend some time with her son while Billy, TJ and I take a turn searching San Jose for those assholes.
I walk her to the van to kiss her goodbye. Cupping her face, I smile into her eyes. “How’d it go tonight?”
“It was hard work, and my feet hurt.” She makes a pouty face.
“You’ll live. Did you notice anything suspicious?”
“Not yet. I doubt they’re going to do it with you sitting in the corner watching them.”
“I didn’t see anything either,” I admit. “Least you get to see Tucker tonight. We’ll stay at the clubhouse tonight. When’s your next shift?”
“Same time tomorrow, three to nine.”
“The prospects will take you to the clubhouse.”
A frown forms on her face. “Where are you going?”
“Got some business to take care of with the boys.”
She searches my eyes. “You’re going after Snake, aren’t you?”
“Just trying to get a location on him. It’s better if we know where he is.”
“Please be careful.”
“That’s why we’re taking the van. He won’t see or hear our bikes comin’.”
“I’ll still worry.”
I press a kiss to her forehead. “Don’t. We’ll be fine.”
One of the prospects opens the passenger side door for her and waits.
“Let me see your phone.”
“Why?” she asks but unlocks it and passes it over.
I find a text from me and click on my face, then press Share My Location, and pass it back to her. “Text me when you get there,” I tell her, then duck my head and speak to the prospect driving. “Use a back route and call in if anyone is following you. Got it?”
“Yes, sir.”
“This is precious cargo, understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
I help her in, then reach across to buckle her belt and give her one last kiss. Then pull back and wink.
Even though I know she’s worried, she manages a small smile for me.
Shutting the door, I hear the locks click, and the prospect pulls out.
I join TJ and Billy, and we roll out behind them, splitting off at the light.
“How’s she doing?” TJ asks.
“She’s still pissed about losing that income, but she understands the reason,” I mutter, scanning the streets. “Has the club put the word out?”
“Yeah, every hang-around and club friendly will be on the lookout for these fuckers,” Billy says.
I meet TJ’s eyes. “What about Gypsy Soul?” I know he has to be worried about his wife being at her tattoo shop.
“She’s got two other artists working in the shop. She’s in lockdown at the clubhouse with everyone else. There’s no way I’m taking a chance with her safety.”
“Bet the clubhouse is busy,” I murmur.
“It’s a madhouse with all the kids running around and babies crying. Billy and I were glad to get out of there. We’ve been working in shifts all last night and today searching the town but haven’t found a trace of ‘em.”
I drag a hand over my jaw. “They might not even be in town. Even if they stuck around, they could be in Oakland or Freemont or Los Gatos or a million other places.”
“Some sign of them will turn up.”
“What about Sonny’s?” I ask.
“Cole’s upped security there, too.”
We drive up and down San Jose in a grid pattern and search every bar and motel parking lot we come across.
It’s almost 1am, and we’re about to be changed out for a new team, when Billy gets a call from a hang-around.
His wife works the desk at a motel in Sunnyvale, and when she showed up for work at midnight, there were two motorcycles parked in the lot.
Billy gets the name of the place, and we make a beeline for it.
“This it?” I peer through the window as Billy slows the van.
“Yeah. Sunset View Motel.”
There’s a restaurant in front and a gas station next to it. Behind is the motel. We roll through, and Billy makes a circle of the place. It’s two stories just off a six-lane highway. Behind it is a side street with two entrances giving access.
There’s a pool between the restaurant and the motel.
The building is an L shape, and we pass a walkway with several vending machines but still don’t spot any bikes.
Then we round the last corner of the short side of the L and find two Harleys in a parking spot in front of the last door, room number 125.
Billy keeps driving, moving onto the side street, and we all study the bikes.
“I think that’s them. I remember those brown saddlebags,” I say.
“Bet they’re in that room. They’d park right next to their door if they could so they can keep an eye on their bikes,” TJ says.
“Call our contact, TJ,” Billy says. “Have him ask his wife who’s checked into room 125.”
TJ texts the guy, and we park half a block down, with a full view of the room on the end and the two bikes parked out front.
While we wait for a reply, Billy shifts in his seat, then looks at TJ. “You got any of those trackers with you?”
“Yeah. I’ve got ‘em.”
“I say we tag those bikes. I’d feel a lot better if we knew where they were at all times.”
“Gonna take some stealth.”
“Yeah, but we’ve got one thing workin’ for us. They’re at the end of the building.”
“True.”
I stare at the curtained windows. There’s flickering light beyond it. “The television is on.”
“Yeah, but they could be passed out,” Billy says. “Plus, that means they won’t hear us.”
TJ gets a text.
“She says it’s a guy named Robert Carlyle.”
I text Heather.
ME: The name Robert Carlyle mean anything to you.
I get a response almost immediately.
HEATHER: That’s him. That’s Snake’s real name… the one his phone is listed under.
“Bingo,” I say, looking at my brothers.
“All right,” Billy says, studying the building. “How do you want to do this?”
“I’ll go,” I volunteer. “It needs to be me.”
TJ digs through the glove box and passes the trackers to me. “They’re magnetic. Make sure they’re in a good spot.”
“I’d try under the seat if you can manage. If you try the tailpipe, they’ll most likely get jarred off,” Billy adds.
“Got it.” I’m in a black hoodie and jeans. I pull my 9mm and check the clip, sliding it back into place. TJ tosses me a black knit hat, and I glide the cargo door open.
“Watch your back,” Billy says.
Trees and shrubs line the side street, and its pitch dark.
I slip into the shadows and trot toward the back of the motel, easing along the rear wall.
With my back pressed against it, I inch toward the walkway.
I can hear sound coming from the television.
It’s a wrestling show. I listen for either of the men talking.
A commercial comes on, and there’s still no conversation.
I wait until the show comes back on so that if they’re awake, they’ll focus on it. Creeping slowly and keeping low, I make it to the first bike and jam the tracker between the seat and the oil tank, then I move to the next one, doing the same.
Moving behind the wall, I jog across the street and walk toward the van.
We drive a block away, and TJ pulls out his phone.
“Are they working?” I ask.
“Yep.” He turns the screen toward me, and the two circles show in the exact part of the parking lot we were just at.
“I called Cole. He wants us at the clubhouse. He’s sending replacements out. We’ll have someone watching this place all night, plus Wolf and your dad are going to monitor the devices,” Billy says.
We ride to San Jose, and I shoot a text off, telling Heather I’ll be there soon.