Chapter 12
twelve
ISABELLE
I slept fitfully in my old bed and emerged in the morning, just as my father’s secretary left the house and got into a waiting taxi.
Rosie was already in the kitchen, brewing the most delicious-smelling coffee in the world.
“You should have come in later, seeing as you worked late last night,” I told her, perching on a barstool and accepting a cup of coffee. Rosie’s coffee was what had kicked off my rather serious addiction to caffeine, and now, here I was, back for another fix. I couldn’t even pretend to quit.
“Here is more my home than my house lately, with Finn out at all hours,” Rosie fretted.
“I saw him last night,” I told her.
She stilled and stared at me with wide eyes.
“He doesn’t know who I am, don’t worry. He doesn’t think you’re having him stalked or anything. I saw him at The Clutch. He was fine, just hanging out, talking to people.”
“Was he drinking?” she asked, a pained look on her face.
I shook my head firmly. “Nope, and I’m pretty sure all the bartenders are on strict instructions not to serve him. He won’t get any booze from there.”
Rosie nodded, looking relieved.
“Was he getting mixed up in their business?” she asked next.
I shook my head ruefully. “Honestly, he was trying, but it looks like he’s not a member of the MC and isn’t going to be one any time soon.”
Rosie crossed herself and muttered a prayer under her breath. “Thank God.”
Before we could talk any more about it, my father wandered into the kitchen. He paused when he entered, surprised to see me.
“Were we expecting you, Isabelle? When did you arrive?”
It was early, but he was already dressed. He was an early riser and proud of it. It didn’t matter if he was tired, he always got up at five. The appearance of success and discipline was so much more important than comfort.
“Last night,” I said shortly.
My father raised an eyebrow and then sat across from me at the counter, quickly dismissing me in favor of his newspaper. He didn’t bother explaining himself. He hadn’t done anything wrong in his eyes. He never did.
“I’m glad you’re here, actually. I have a meeting shortly that I think you’d find interesting.”
“You do? Why would I find it interesting?”
“You’ll see.” He smiled at me and then focused on his breakfast, ignoring me altogether.
The meeting was with a business acquaintance of my father’s.
His name was Grant Elwick, and he was just getting started in politics.
He was the son of one of my father’s old time business contacts, apparently, though I’d never met him before.
I listened as they talked about the local city elections and the candidates.
Apparently, someone had a scandal brewing over their love life, and another had brushed embezzlement charges under the rug.
After a few minutes, I started to take notes.
Was my father seriously throwing me a bone for an interesting story? It was hard to believe, but it really seemed to be happening.
“It was lovely to meet you, Isabelle. I can see why your father speaks so highly of you,” Grant said as we walked him to the door.
“Does he?” I wondered, genuinely surprised that my father would bother.
Grant nodded. He was younger than my father, maybe in his mid-forties, and pleasant looking. Very inoffensive. If mild-mannered, country-club chic was a look, Grant Elwick had it down.
“Of course, he does. He has big plans for you, and high expectations. He wants the world for you.”
I didn’t know what to say to that, so I settled for shaking Grant’s hand. My father had disappeared for an important phone call.
“Oh, should I get your number, in case I have follow-up questions?” I wondered.
Grant smiled and nodded. “Absolutely, I’d be happy to take any follow-up questions over dinner, or drinks next time.”
“Um, sure, whatever you want,” I agreed readily, saving him as a contact after he rattled off his phone number.
“It’s a date then,” Grant said, and left.
A date? I watched him drive off before coming back inside.
“What did you think of Grant?” my father asked.
“He’s nice enough, I guess. I can’t believe that info about the city council though. So interesting.” I chewed on my lip and looked at my notes.
“Yes, well, that was all confidential, you know. Don’t go gossiping about it.”
I stared at my father. “Gossiping about it? I thought you wanted me to write a story about it.”
My father laughed. “Why would I want that? If these kinds of secrets became common knowledge, then that wouldn’t make for very good leverage, would it?”
Words left me. The disappointment was huge, and yet, unsurprising.
“Why did you invite me in there then?” I asked angrily, getting up and swiping my notebook from the couch.
My father tilted his head to the side and gave me a shrewd look.
“The only thing Grant is missing is a family image. With a wife, he’d go much further.
With a wife like you, with the connections that entails, he’d practically be a shoo-in…
and I would have a son-in-law with sway over the zoning commission, finally. ”
I bit my tongue so hard, blood filled my mouth. I didn’t have words for my father. I just stared at him.
He sighed. “Don’t give me that dramatic look.
I’ve been telling you to find someone that you like yourself for years.
You’ve dragged your feet so long, I’m having to step in.
There’s nothing to be upset about. This is how society matches work.
They should benefit all parties, including the parents.
It’s how your mother and me met. There’s nothing wrong with it. ”
I turned around and walked away. I couldn’t stay there one more second, looking at his smug, unfeeling face, and not scream.
“Call Grant and set up that date, or I’ll do it for you!” he called after me.
It sounded like a death sentence.
I headed back to campus, stopping in town to grab a coffee as I drove through.
Sure, I was meant to be off the hard stuff, but after last night, I deserved a break.
I’d barely slept. A motorcycle roared past while I was sitting outside at a table, staring into space, and I flinched.
Amid all the drama with my parents, I’d nearly forgotten about the mysterious rider from the night before.
Who had he been? Someone Cole had sent from The Clutch? Checking up on me? Making sure I left? Or had it been someone else?
I sipped my coffee and enjoyed the way the caffeine charged through my tired veins. Goddamn it, that felt good.
I pulled my laptop from my bag and opened it.
I navigated to the document where I’d started to keep my preliminary research into the Hounds.
I’d hit a dead end in my research. It was going exactly nowhere, and now my father was upping the pressure.
“Call Grant and set up that date, or I’ll do it for you.
” If that wasn’t a fire under my butt to make something happen in my life, nothing was.
If I wasn’t careful, I’d turn around and be my mother by this time next year.
I tapped my lip, staring at my meager research. I needed a new angle, because looking into Cole was going nowhere.
I pulled up a browser and instead typed in: Rosie Collins, Hade Harbor.
Bingo.
A small obituary in the local newspaper for a man named Beatie Collins.
It said he was a lifelong motorcycle enthusiast. There were a few lines about the only family he left behind, a son named Finn, and of course, Rosie, his wife.
My heart squeezed at the thought of Finn being left completely alone.
No wonder he was tangled up with the club.
It wasn’t just a desperate act to look cool or get attention.
It was his legacy, and an open wound. The last line was a quote: “Beatie was a good man and a good father. I have always seen Finn as a little brother. That won’t patch his loss, though. ” -C. Bailey.
I leaned back in my chair, fingers still hovering over the keys, my heart beating a little faster.
This fit into what I’d seen the night before.
Finn didn’t seem to be a part of the crew, at least not officially, but Cole had let him stay.
He slapped his back like a warning instead of a threat.
Brotherly. That meant that Finn was close enough to Cole that he might know something.
From the way he talked to me last night, I knew he was naive enough to let more slip with the right encouragement.
I felt bad about potentially using Rosie’s son for info, but I was also doing it for his own good. His mother was worried sick about him.
I scanned through the next few articles and found another one describing a fight gone wrong, leading to a man getting shot: Beatie Collins. There were no leads and no charges filed. Just a dead man and the son he left behind.
I quickly pulled out my notebook and wrote down all the new information I had found, plus everything I remembered Finn telling me the night we’d met.
I felt like an undercover cop writing a profile for a suspect.
Later, I’d copy them onto my laptop. Something about a pen and paper got my wheels turning.
The sum of my info so far was barely anything, but it was more than I’d had before.
A nagging weight sat on my conscience when I thought of continuing a story about Cole, given what had happened last night.
Wasn’t that an ethical breach? I’d gotten too close to my subject…
. But then his casual dismissal filled my head.
He wasn’t the kind of guy to take one BJ and a little dry humping very seriously.
I’d heard all about how promiscuous bikers could be.
Cole would barely remember our encounter by the time my article came out.
Right? I packed up my things, knowing I was about to be late for a class if I didn’t get a move on, and headed in the direction of my car.
“Isabelle?” a voice asked, shaking me from my thoughts. I turned to see who had spoken.
Grant Elwick stood on the street, a proper old-fashioned newspaper folded under his arm. He gave me a warm smile.
“Getting a coffee on the way to class?”
I nodded, not sure what to say to the guy my father thought I should marry. A guy in his forties, no less. I supposed that tracked with the kind of age difference my own father preferred with his girlfriends at the office. Truly vomit-worthy stuff.
“It really was great to meet you earlier. Your father has really talked you up, and I’m surprised to say he might have undersold you, now that I’ve met you in person.”
His eyes scanned over me, and I bristled.
“Undersold?” I gave a hollow laugh. “I’m not a product for him to sell. I’m not sure that he’s aware of that yet, but he will be.”
Grant’s eyebrow rose at my cool tone.
“Understood,” he smiled. “I can see he has his hands full with you.”
“Not really. I’m an adult, and I don’t need his guidance, or control,” I muttered, a movement over Grant’s shoulder catching my eye.
Now that I thought of it, wasn’t it odd that Grant had appeared, seemingly out of a random backstreet? It was little more than an alley, with back access to a few restaurants.
The movement that had caught my eye was someone leaving out the back of one of the restaurants.
A man in a black, scarred-up leather vest. A cut.
A cut with a Harbor Hounds patch on it. The man was old, grizzled.
I hadn’t seen him before. He pushed past us without a backward glance.
Grant didn’t look at him either, and yet, there was an awkward feeling in the air.
My reporter senses tingling, I turned to watch the biker getting on his ride.
“Who’s that?”
Grant followed my gaze and shrugged.
“No idea.”
“Weren’t you just talking to him?” I peered down the alleyway behind Grant. What else was there to do down there but meet someone?
“Why would I be doing that?” Grant sounded amused. “I know playing reporter is fun, Isabelle, but you shouldn’t let it go to your head. A man might get annoyed at being asked silly questions, even by a beautiful girl.”
My revulsion at his wording and condescension must have shown on my face for a moment, because Grant laughed and patted me on the shoulder. I shrank back. Dickhead.
“Don’t take it personally, I’ve just seen many a beautiful young woman get caught up in their degrees and professional dreams, just to be embarrassed by that gauche ambition later, when they’re married and settled with kids to look after.”
I laughed; what else could I do? I could hardly slap my father’s old friend’s son.
“I’ve got to go. Don’t want to be late for my fun little class for my gauche degree,” I sighed as I turned on my heel and walked away, happy to leave this asshole behind