16. Morgan
MORGAN
My knuckles curl into the door handle, trying to calm my searing jealousy and hurt.
“That’s a biker establishment,” Warner rambles on. “Damn good food, but I don’t trust any of them. They have to be washing their dirty money through all of them.”
I blink, trying to dispel the image of Creed with the woman tucked into him. “All of them? How many do they have?”
He snorts. “Half the town at this point. That’s the fucking problem. No way those fucks are making enough to buy up as much land as they are.”
I frown a little. “If they have that many businesses, it’s possible. It’s not necessarily about cash flow but collateral when getting loans.”
Warner scoffs. “Not when all their businesses never ran red. One, we can see, but every business turns a profit every year? That’s unheard of.”
“How do you know this? I can’t imagine a judge signing off on their financial records.”
My partner laughs, shaking his head. “Devil’s Tide may try to front like a weekender club, but they were one-percenters not that long ago.
We can ask for whatever we want and the judge will sign off on it.
Hell, sometimes we don’t even have to ask.
Can’t wait to see them get what’s coming for them. ”
I try to calm my heart, thinking about Creed and the club that he talks about proudly. Even in Arizona, the Sedona Sinners rarely gave us trouble. I’ve never been one to harass people for the hell of it without cause. They can live their lifestyle until I see them break the law, then I’ll step in.
I purse my lips. “What’s coming for them?” And why? I’ve never heard of anyone in town being harmed outside of the normal crime here and there.
“Chief didn’t tell you?” His suspicion isn’t hard to miss.
I shake my head. “No. If anything, he pushes me a little harder than everyone else so no one can accuse him of favoritism. I’m probably too new in his eyes.”
Warner hums under his breath. “He’s a bit of a hardass.”
We exchange a tentative glance while he tries to smother his hesitant smile before clearing his throat. “Some rich hotshot from Vegas is looking to run them out of town, buying up all their loans out from under them so he can drive them out of the space.”
“I didn’t know that was possible, but I’m also not an expert or anything.”
He nods. “Me either, and I don’t try to understand. I just do what I’m told. Like look the other way when some kids want to mess with the restaurant or break into some shops overnight.”
Oh, is that all? is what I want to sneer. Instead, I calm my angry heart and raise my eyebrows. “That why you’re switching to overnights?”
He sighs. “Yeah, Marla ain’t happy about it.
Macy might have some ear infections again.
” Warner doesn’t speak often about his family, and the small reminder has me calming a little.
I can’t fault a man for trying to protect them, but I can find the level of corruption that’s bleeding into the force despicable.
“Well, I can take them. I don’t mind switching, just…give me a route to cruise.”
I try to tell myself this isn’t for Creed, but to get an idea of what’s going on. It’s a little of both; I need the space from him and what we’re going to do about the tiny peanut growing in my belly.
Seeing that woman wrapped around him leaves a sour taste in my mouth, but I can’t help feeling protective of the club, or more so Creed.
Warner glances at me, then back at the road. “Yeah?”
I nod. “Yeah, can’t report what I can’t see, right?”
My mind wanders back to the file I still have stashed on my desk and all the other things that the sheriff is just overlooking for the sake of trying to drive the club out of Bluport. It doesn’t make sense to me; they don’t seem like bad people, or really even criminals anymore.
“Morgan—” Warner is interrupted by dispatch calling in a possible homicide. My stomach drops, knowing we’re the closest unit. “Shit,” he curses before calling us in to answer the call. Everything to do with the bikers is forgotten as he switches the lights on and we race to the scene.
As soon as he pulls into the parking lot and around the back of the building, tingles of trepidation skitter up my spine.
“Something doesn’t seem right,” he mutters under his breath.
I nod, agreeing silently as we climb out of the car. He takes his flashlight out and nods in the direction he’s taking.
“Bluport Sheriffs! Is everyone okay?” he bellows out.
I keep my hand on my hip, right over my gun as I follow Warner behind the building. A drawn-out moan that sounds painful has my heart jumping into my throat. We slow our pace and Warner unclips his gun, steadying it with his flashlight over the barrel.
“Bluport Sheriffs. Is everyone okay?” Warner calls again.
Another groan, and I unholster my gun as well, nodding at Warner that I have his back.
We come around the corner and pause to take in the situation with our guns drawn. There’s a large man slumped over next to a dumpster. Dirt smudged all over his shirt and jeans, a blood spot pooling on his bulging belly.
“I’m going to call Med,” I say, paging it into dispatch.
Warner moves closer, kicking the guy’s boot gently. “Hey, man. You okay?”
He slouches over more, not responding to either of us as his breathing becomes more shuttered than I’m comfortable with. I put my gun away before jogging back to the patrol car and grabbing the small medical kit.
I kneel at the man’s side as Warner stands over both of us, looking around while I slip on a pair of gloves, pressing wads of gauze into the man’s wound. The man grunts but his eyes don’t flicker open.
“See any sort of weapon nearby? Better for the paramedics if we can gauge the depth of the wound,” I say.
Warner hesitates. “I can’t leave you.”
I look up at him. “His pulse is so low I can barely feel it, and his bleeding has slowed. I’m okay.”
He nods, finding a thrown knife in the next dumpster just as the medics pull up and take over for me. I stand, carefully peeling off the gloves as Warner puts the knife in an evidence bag.
We head to the hospital as the detectives take over the scene and wait in the lobby for information from the doctors. My knee bounces in the chair. Something about this case is making me uneasy, and I can’t put my finger on it.
An hour later, a nurse meets us in the lobby, telling us as much information as she can. “ID says Jason Bellfield. Stab wound to his abdomen. His vital signs aren’t strong. He lost a lot of blood. Who knows how long he was sitting out there?”
Warner swears, running his hand through his hair. “Emergency contact on file?”
The nurse shakes her head. “No, but we all know who he belongs to.”
He nods. “Just keep it on the down-low until I can get a handle on what happened.”
“I will, but I won’t deny the family if they find out.” She leaves, giving Warner a look I can’t decipher.
We leave the lobby, already spending too much time with this call.
“Is he someone important?” I ask.
Warner blows out a breath. “Depends who you ask. His road name is Bear, and I’m sure the club will want to know where he is.”
My heart skips a beat. “Devil’s Tide?”
He nods. “Yup. He’s an old-timer, but I know he still belongs to them.”
“Why wouldn’t we let them know? I’d want to know if my family were in the hospital.”
Warner turns to me with a raised eyebrow. “Will your family tear apart the town in revenge to find who hurt you?”
No, my father wouldn’t do that. In fact, he’d probably question why I put myself in a situation to get hurt in the first place.
But the worst part is that I wouldn’t exactly fault the club for wanting to go after whoever hurt the man.
Isn’t that what family is supposed to do?
I keep silent, making a note to mention Jason to Creed the next time I see him.