Chapter 51
Scott’s cell buzzed again as he stared at Tori’s retreating back. If only she could understand that God was in her corner. He jerked his cell from his pocket. “This better be important,” he muttered.
Howard Wilson’s name showed on his phone. His undercover coordinator. There was only one reason he would be texting—it wasn’t safe to talk. Suddenly Howard’s name flashed on his caller ID. It must be really bad if he was now calling. Scott jabbed the answer button. “Sinclair.”
“We need to meet. Now.” The clipped tone was terse even for Wilson.
“What’s happened?” Scott gripped the phone. He knew better than to question his coordinator, but why couldn’t Wilson, just once, open a conversation with the weather?
“We have intel your location has been compromised.”
The motorcyclist from earlier today. Scott hadn’t recognized him, but that didn’t mean the rider wasn’t part of the gang.
“Where do you want to meet?” He choked the words out as his mind raced. If they had intel on his location, they knew about Tori, that she was staying with him at Oak Grove.
If she got hurt, it’d be his fault.
“Meet me at McKay’s.”
“McKay’s?” He looked around to make sure no one had heard him. If Tori thought he was going to McKay’s, she would think the worst. Something was going on with her anyway—Eli Livingston had probably sowed seeds of doubt in her mind about him. Scott lowered his voice. “Why there?”
“It’s less than five minutes from where you are . . . and I’m already here.”
“OK, I’ll see you in ten.”
“Make it eight.”
Easier said than done. He needed to get backup from Ben and time to explain to Caleb what was going on. Scott called his friend. “You upstairs?”
“No, walking the perimeter.”
“Could you come back to the house? My handler called, and I’m meeting him ASAP.”
“Be right there.”
He disconnected and texted Ben, requesting a couple of deputies to drive by the house.
He pocketed his phone and hurried to the kitchen to let Amy and Tori know he was leaving.
They were nowhere to be seen. He checked his watch.
It’d been a long day. Tori had probably retreated to her room .
. . and Jenny’s laptop was gone so Amy probably had as well.
He quickly texted them both that he was leaving.
His fingers hovered over his phone. This couldn’t have happened at a worse time. He wanted to tell Tori how much she meant to him. Instead, he typed “I’ll be back as soon as I can.” Then he added “DON’T LEAVE THE HOUSE.”
Scott hurried to the gun safe and grabbed his Glock 19 and a couple of magazines. With his gun locked and loaded, he jogged to his pickup just as a text chimed on his phone. Tori.
I don’t know where you think I’d go.
Scott groaned. She was still upset, and he didn’t have time to respond. Howard was waiting for him. And no telling who else.
Eight minutes later he parked at McKay’s and checked out the parking area.
One good thing about McKay’s—the parking lot was fairly well lit.
Even so, there were shadows where evil could hide, but as far as he could tell, there were no motorcycles.
He’d half expected the gang to be here. Zack’s vehicle was here, though.
His son was missing and he was drinking instead of looking for him? Scott had hoped he’d finally wised up.
Scott entered the dark tavern. Friday night was in full swing, which could be bad if the motorcycle gang showed up.
Cigarette smoke created a haze as couples danced to Hank Williams Jr.’s “All My Rowdy Friends.” Once his eyes adjusted to the lighting, he scanned the crowded room for his coordinator.
Howard sat in the back corner with his back to the wall. And to his right was an exit door—that might come in handy. Judging by the white shirt, black pants, and a jacket thrown over the chair beside him, his coordinator must have come straight from the regional office in Memphis.
The guy screamed FBI. At least he’d loosened his tie and rolled up his sleeves. No sidearm in view, which meant he was conceal carrying, probably in his pants pocket.
Scott paused at the bar and nodded to the bartender.
“What can I get for you?”
He would prefer water but doubted a freebie would go over well. “Iced tea with lemon.”
The bartender looked at him over his glasses. “You kidding me?”
“Nope. If you don’t have tea, I’ll take a Coke.”
“One Coke coming right up.”
While he waited, Scott felt a presence at the bar and turned.
“Surprised to see you here,” Zack said.
“That goes two ways.”
“I’m not drinking, if that’s what you mean. And neither are my friends. They want to help find Drew.”
“That right?” Scott couldn’t keep the skepticism from his voice.
“No, really. Smell my drink.” He held out his cup “We thought somebody here might know where Drew is.”
He didn’t smell alcohol and hoped Zack was telling the truth. “Any luck?”
“Nah. We’re heading out soon. Gonna ride the back roads, see if we see anything that don’t look right.”
“If I hear anything, I’ll let you know,” Scott said as the bartender set his drink on the bar. He paid and took it to the table where Howard waited and sat to his left so he could watch the front door.
His coordinator tapped his watch. “You’re a minute late.”
“Sue me.” He grinned. Sometimes the man could be a pain, but he’d been good at keeping Scott safe until his cover was blown. “Good to see you again . . . I hope.”
Howard made a face. “Memphis police picked up J-Dog two days ago for felony possession of a controlled substance. We were notified two hours ago, but he’d already made bail and disappeared. Oh, and good to see you again.”
J-Dog. The name made him sick, and he took a swig of the Coke.
Scott should’ve known that if there was a price on his head, J-Dog would come after him.
He’d been the head of the Iron Wolves when Scott’s cover was blown, and J-Dog had vowed to track him down and kill him.
Looks like he’d found Scott. But J-Dog hadn’t been the rider on the motorcycle he’d seen when they were driving home from the hospital.
Scott turned and scanned the room. “Know how many are with him?”
“No.” Howard crossed his arms. “MPD said he put up the full bail—five thousand.”
“How’d he get such a low bail?”
“Overcrowding at the jail. Have you seen him?”
He turned back to Howard. “I saw someone on a cycle earlier, but it wasn’t him,” he said and described the man.
Howard took out his phone and scrolled. “This him?”
Scott studied the photo of a wiry man with a scraggly white beard. “Pretty sure it is.”
“He goes by Blade. Usually runs with four other members.”
Out of habit, Scott turned and swept his gaze over the crowd again. If the motorcycle gang showed up here, it wouldn’t be good. “So, we’re probably looking at six in total?”
“I hope that’s all.” Howard shrugged. “At least a backup team will be here in the next couple of hours. They’re coming in from a job in St. Louis. You have anyone at the house with you in case they decide to attack?”
“Caleb Jackson.”
“He’s a good man, but that won’t be enough until the team gets here. I’ll join you and we can offer Tori Mitchell and Amy Bradsher protective custody, if you’d like.”
Oh, he’d like all right, but he doubted Tori and Amy would accept. Scott checked the room again and groaned when three rough-looking men in leather jackets entered. He recognized them as part of J-Dog’s gang. “Looks like we have company,” he said softly.
An uneasy silence rippled through the crowd, but when the men sauntered to the bar, most conversation resumed. Howard jerked his head toward the exit, and Scott nodded. As much as he would love to take the motorcycle gang down, someone would get hurt if they initiated it inside McKay’s.
Howard grabbed his jacket, and they eased the door open and slipped out of the room. The fresh air was a welcome relief from the smoky bar. Their feet crunched on gravel as they walked in the dim light around to the front of the building.
“Where’re you parked?” Scott asked. The skin on the back of his neck tingled. He didn’t like being in the dark.
Howard pointed toward a white SUV. “You?”
“Three spaces over—the red pickup.”
“I’ll follow you to your house,” he said and Scott nodded.
Seconds later, two men materialized on their left, cutting them off from their vehicles. Howard and Scott kept walking. Scott quietly pulled his Glock from his back holster and glanced at his friend, catching a glint of steel in his hand. He also caught a glimpse of another biker on their right.
“Target at two o’clock,” he murmured. “When they get closer, you take the one on the right, then come help me out.”
“Gotcha,” Howard said softly.
The two to the left stood with their feet spread, and one smacked a lead pipe in his hand. “I thought my boys would smoke you out.”
Scott flinched at the raspy voice. He would recognize J-Dog’s voice anywhere. Beside him, Howard planted his feet.
“Drop the pipe,” he ordered.
J-Dog laughed. “I don’t think so.”
A force slammed into Scott from behind, knocking him down. The men from inside. They’d let the three in the parking lot distract them.
Another gang member tackled Howard, and he pitched forward, his gun skittering across the dirt.
A steel-toed boot came at Scott, barely missing his ribs. He grabbed the foot, flipping the man backward. Blade. Scott jumped to his feet.
J-Dog came at him with the pipe. Scott head-butted him just below the rib cage, and the gang leader went down, sucking for air. He grabbed J-Dog’s pipe and came around swinging, connecting with another member of the gang.
The blessed wail of an approaching siren was music to Scott’s ears. They had to hang on a few minutes more. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that Blade had sprung to his feet and waved a knife in one hand. A man dashed out of the shadows toward the biker, tackling him.
Someone grabbed Scott from behind in a bear hug while another biker barreled toward him with brass knuckles. Scott leveraged his weight and executed a double kick and made a solid connection with the man’s chest. His attacker stumbled back before going down.
The man holding Scott pressed his meaty arm across Scott’s windpipe, blocking his air. He kicked at the man’s knees. His assailant roared as he pulled back, squeezing Scott’s throat tighter. White dots appeared in his vision. In a last-ditch effort, he slammed his fist into his captor’s groin.
With a howl, the man dropped his hold and fell to the ground, writhing. Scott sucked in air. A shadow moved in his peripheral vision, and he wheeled around, his hands fisted, ready to take on the next attacker.
Flashing blue lights raked the night sky as cruisers converged on the parking lot and deputies spilled from their vehicles.
It was over. He looked to see what had happened with Blade, and his eyes widened.
The biker was out cold, and Zack stood guard over him.
“Thanks, man,” Scott said when he reached him.
“You looked like you could use some help.”
He high-fived Zack as a deputy cuffed the biker, and then Scott looked for Howard. His coordinator held his gun on one of the motorcycle gang. J-Dog.
Scott stalked to the gang leader, and Howard tossed him a flex-cuff. “You want to do the honors?”
“Gladly.” He nodded at J-Dog. “Hands behind your back.”
J-Dog narrowed his eyes, then complied. “How’s that pretty little friend of yours?”
“Shut up.”
“You might want to make sure she doesn’t stroll down the street again.”
Scott jerked the zip tie cuffs tight. “That right? You’re admitting to attempted homicide?”
“Naw. Just giving you a friendly bit of advice.”
“That’ll be the day.” Scott stared the motorcycle leader down. “If so much as a hair on her head is damaged, I’ll come after you.” Then he grinned. “Expect I won’t have to go far. Jail is just ten minutes away.”