Chapter Nineteen
Hayes
By the time I reentered the Buoy, the place was packed, the parking lot full.
The music was blasting, and Margo’s coworker, Rachel, was behind the bar.
Thus, the beer and alcohol were still flowing.
My eyes scanned the space, the scent of dead fish, fried fish, musk, and beer filling my nostrils.
Above the L-shaped bar and shelves of spirits sat five flat-screens, each of them showing a different game from different parts of the country.
Nearly every barstool and table were taken.
It was a full house, and if I was a different kind of man, I would feel guilty about taking Margo’s tips away from her.
Tonight was an opportunity for her to make some money.
But I wasn’t a different kind of man.
I was the kind of man who provided for my woman.
This lost money was no skin off my back.
Out of the corner of my eye, the kitchen door swung open and Joey stepped through.
He was just a few years older than me, a recovering alcoholic and gambler.
And according to his background check, he had done a pretty good job staying on the right side of the law after his mental break a few years back.
He had thinning black hair, a scruffy black beard, and tired gray eyes.
He, as Margo stated, had no idea about Gordon.
She’d asked me to be nice to him, but if he wasn’t willing to talk, then my mercy would be limited.
I weaved through the patrons, ignoring the howling laughter of hard-working fishermen and women as half of the bar booed at the touchdown on one of the screens.
Once I was at the bar, Joey’s head snapped to me, eyes going wide, and suddenly, Rachel was at his side, whispering in his ear, her golden eyes on me.
He looked at her for a moment and then back at me.
Then he jerked his chin, telling her to get back to work before making his way to me.
“Is Margo okay?” he asked.
Yeah, he was a good guy.
“She’s fine.”
He scratched the back of his neck. “Look, I don’t know what kind of history she has with Gordon, but when he came in here yesterday, I figured it was for me, not her.”
My head jerked. There was nothing in his file about him being involved with Gordon. I bit down and tipped my head to the kitchen door. “It would be best if we discussed this in your office, Mr. Adams.”
His throat bobbed. Once we were in his office, I remained by the door, watching him navigate through the cramped space.
There were stacks of old newspapers against the wall, an overflowing trash can at the corner of his desk, and several white coffee-stained mugs littered across the desk, sprinkled in with the mountain of paperwork.
“I take it Rachel doesn’t do the bar’s taxes in here,” I noted, testing him.
He did a double take as he sat in his chair. “How in the fuck do you know that?”
“My job is to know that,” I returned. “I know everything about you, your father, your gambling problem, your wasted inheritance, and that Rachel is the only reason this bar is still functioning.”
He blinked. “Are you a cop or something?”
“Or something,” I answered, pulling out my phone, shooting a text to the Red Snake group chat.
Me: Got something. Margo’s boss at the Buoy, Joey Adams, has a history with Gordon.
Jake: The fuck? That wasn’t in his file.
I gave him the address and Internet provider and told him to hack into the security system.
Ash: Maybe you didn’t look hard enough, pretty boy.
Jake: Digging into it now. Ash—STFU.
I pocketed my phone and looked back at Joey, noting the line of sweat that had manifested across his brow, the way his hand was shaking as he tried to log into his computer, and if I looked under the desk, I would find an anxiety-induced bouncing knee.
“I’m pulling up the security feed from yesterday,” Joey announced.
That wasn’t necessary, but I appreciated it.
He turned the screen toward me and pressed play.
My jaw tightened at Gordon’s body language as he swaggered into the bar as if he owned it.
He scanned the empty space, and when Joey appeared a second later, wiping his hands with a dish cloth, Gordon’s steps halted.
Not deliberate, but in surprise. There was no audio, but I didn’t need any to see that Joey was terrified.
“He didn’t expect you to be here,” I said, folding my arms over my chest.
“No, he didn’t.” He sighed, running a hand through his thin hair. “He asked me what I was doing here, and I lied to him.”
“Do you have cameras for the parking lot?”
He nodded, bringing up another feed. Then the cursor snapped up to the top of the screen. Joey raised his hands, looking down at his keyboard and mouse in horror. “What the fuck?”
“My tech guy is taking over,” I told him calmly. Joey blinked up at me. “We need to analyze these videos,” I clarified.
“Who the fuck are you people?”
I pulled out a business card, stepped up, and handed it to him. “Red Snake Investigations.”
Once my back was against the door, he said, “You can take a seat, you know.”
I shook my head once. “I need to make sure no one tries to come in.” His silence was deafening. “To protect Margo, I need to know everything. It would be best if you started talking now. She asked me to be nice to you.”
“And this is you being nice?” he quipped. “Having someone I don’t know hack into my computer?”
“Yes.”
“What if he hacks into my damn bank account?”
“He doesn’t need or want your money.”
“I—”
“Joey. Talk. Now.” My command was swift, leaving no more room for argument.
Over the next few minutes, I listened patiently as Joey told me about the few run-ins he’d had with Gordon during his gambling days, the underground poker club in Portland, the fighter rings that Gordon ran, and the drugs that came from Seattle.
“Does he run Nightwalker?” I asked, pushing off the door.
“Nightwalker? Not when I knew him. He was just dealing heroin, LSD, weed, and cocaine back then. Nightwalker is a nasty fucking drug. I wouldn’t let anyone touch that shit.”
“So you know about it?” I pressed, putting my hands on the back of the chair across from him.
“Yeah, there was a fisherman who used to get into that shit,” he explained, his voice sad.
“His name was Lucas. His old man and mine used to be good buds. Lucas could never keep his fishing business alive, though. He disappeared last year, took off on his boat and got lost at sea. At least that’s what the rumor is. ”
Lucas didn’t get lost at sea.
Grayson put a bullet through his head and Dominic dumped his body twenty miles from the shore.
But that was old news.
I pulled out my phone again, shooting a text to the chat.
Me: Did we ever find out where Lucas got his Nightwalker from?
Grayson: Please don’t fucking tell me that asshole is somehow involved in all this.
Jake: I’ll have to pull his file. Why? You have a connection?
Me: Possibly. Nothing definitive.
“Are you texting Margo?”
“Nope.”
“Oh. Who are you texting?”
I shoved my phone into my back pocket. “I don’t think that’s any of your business, Adams. There’s going to be someone from Red Snake here tomorrow morning to install some additional security to your system.”
“What?”
I turned toward the door, ignoring him.
“What the hell do you mean?” he called out to me as I walked out.
I was ready to be back upstairs with Margo, to give Grayson a debrief, kick him the fuck out, and finish what I started with her. As I headed out the back, my cock twitched at the thought of being inside her again, feeling her body submit to mine, melt into me as I gave her everything I had.
Fuck.
I rounded the corner of the building, eyes and ears alert as I scanned the parking lot.
Gordon coming to Astoria was another problem entirely, and it had me considering whether I should take her to a safe house.
After what happened with Carrie, and seeing how it tore Grayson apart from the inside out, I wasn’t going to take any chances with Margo.
Keeping her out of the line of a fire was a priority.
“Hayes?”
I halted, my shoulders tensing as my eyes landed on a familiar pile of snow-blond coils on top of a pretty head. Carrie was standing beside Grayson’s truck, wrapped up in her bright yellow puffer coat, staring at me in disbelief.
“Carrie,” I greeted, tipping my head to her.
How in the fuck was I going to navigate this?
She looked up at Margo’s apartment and the warm light coming from her living room window and back to me. Her blue eyes were shining, tears of confusion and betrayal filling them. “What’s going on? Grayson told me he had to leave for a job.”
I cleared my throat and took a step toward her. “Yes, he did.”
“Then why is he at Margo’s?” she demanded to know. “Why are you here?”
Carrie wasn’t a stupid person. She could easily put two and two together if she wanted to.
But right now, in this small alleyway between the docks and the Buoy, she didn’t want to do that.
She wanted me to spell it out for her—to give up the lie that Margo had begged everyone at Red Snake to maintain.
“Carrie, I need you to listen to me,” I began, taking another step.
She shook her head. “No. I want you to tell me what the hell is going on. Right now, Hayes.”
“I can’t do that.”
“Why can’t you?”
“Go home, Carrie,” I ordered. “Go back to your warm bed with your orange cat. Your fiancé will be there soon.”
Her voice was small then. I hadn’t heard her voice like that since I found the girls in the shed. “Margo’s in danger, isn’t she?”
“Again, I can’t tell you that.”
“God dammit, Hayes!” she cried, charging toward me. “Margo is one of my best friends! If she is in danger, I have the right to know.”
I put my hands on her shoulders. “Go home, Carrie.”