GATOR: Wolves MC (Riding With Wolves Book 2) (16 page)

September 16, 2015–Los Angeles, California

Case solved! That’s the end of the mystery of “who killed John Berry.”

Ah, if only it were that simple!

After I made my phone call to L.A.P.D., I turned my head as Hammer fled the scene. It wasn’t necessary for him to get dragged any further into this, and I owed him my ignorance for saving my life.

Once Hammer was gone, Gator kept steady watch on Tony Ink, and after I put my panties back on, I called my chief and updated him on what had happened. (Well, on
most
of what had happened.) He seemed pleased that the real culprit was apprehended, and he gave me the go ahead to stick around and wrap up business.

The boys from L.A.P.D. showed up at Gator’s house within less than ten minutes from the time I placed my call, and I joined them when they returned to the station. Naturally, I wanted to stick around and spend time with Gator—both to be comforted and to pick up where we’d left off before Tony Ink interrupted us—but there was work to be done, and I was the one who had to do it.

I gave the folks at Central Station a very accurate description of the two other lowlifes I’d seen at the diner with Tony the day before, and they sent out beat cops, almost immediately, to look for them. We may have been from different jurisdictions, but we all had the same fraternal blood running in our veins—and local wanted to do whatever they could to help nail a cop killer.

Tony had been taken to the hospital, rather than the station, where he remained unconscious for a few hours. He was still unconscious when L.A.P.D. found one of his friends—the young girl—and she, like Adam Michaels, sung like a canary as soon as she was questioned. She gave us everything that we needed to know in exchange for leniency regarding her involvement in the crime, and we had more than enough to book Tony before he even woke.

He’d already confessed in front of me, but his friend’s statement was icing on the cake, and it was a sweet victory as far as I was concerned. But still, as sweet as it was, I was left soured.

I’d covered everything and tied up all of the loose ends for this case—in a professional sense—in just a matter of hours. However, there were still some things left dangling. And as I sat at the desk where Barnes had conducted his research the day before, finishing my paperwork, I couldn’t help but think of those things and wonder how I was going to take care of them.

I was just about done with my work when I heard someone say something from just beyond my desk.

“Detective Knowles?” a young male officer asked, and I was harkened back to only yesterday when another young male cop addressed me in the same feeble way.

I looked up from my papers and saw a fresh-faced L.A.P.D. rookie. He wore the same ambition and potential Barnes once wore, but he was a different size, shape, and color.

“Yes?” I asked back politely, mindful not to treat him in the same callous manner I’d treated my late ad hoc partner.

“Sorry to interrupt you,” he said. “And I know this may sound a little strange… but there’s someone here who wants to see you.”

“Me?” I asked. I couldn’t imagine who it could be.

“Yes, ma’am,” the rookie replied. His nametag said “Huckinson,” and I imagined he got a lot of guff for a name like
that
.

“Well?” I asked, growing agitated and a lot less mindful. “Who is it?”

“Um,” Huckinson answered. “This is the part that may sound a little strange… It’s one of our clerical volunteers.”

“A priest?” I blurted out, raising my eyebrows.

“A reverend actually,” Huckinson said, correcting me. “He asked to speak with you. He said he heard about some of the things that happened to you over the past day or so—losing your partner and all—and he wants to talk it out with you.”

“I’m fine,” I fired back immediately. It was standard protocol for the department to extend and recommend counseling services to officers and detectives who just lost their partners, but I figured I’d take care of that kind of stuff when I got back to San Francisco.

“This reverend is a really solid guy,” Huckinson said, no longer speaking feebly. “You might want to talk to him.”

“Are you sure he’s even a reverend?” I asked, recalling the lawyer who’d slipped past Central Station’s front desk to see Gator the previous day.

“Yes, ma’am,” Huckinson replied with a chortle. “He’s been here many times before, and he’s helped out with a lot of the inmates, namely the junkies. Plus, I personally saw his L.A.P.D. clerical volunteer badge.”

I looked at Huckinson and sighed.

“For real,” the young man said, “he’s a really solid guy. And he’s requested to speak with you. I don’t think it’d do you any harm to oblige him.”

If I had been back in San Francisco, at my home station, and one of
our
rookies gave me unsolicited advice like Huckinson just did, I would’ve told him where he could shove it. But I wasn’t at my home station. I was away, and I decided, what the hell, I might as well respect this station’s customs.

“Alright,” I said. “I’ll talk with him. Just give me a few more minutes to finish up here, then I’ll see him.”

Huckinson’s face lit up like a lightbulb, and he grinned from ear to ear, which made me wonder if he was some sort of member of whatever cult this “reverend” he wanted me to see might be leading.

“Great,” he said. “I’ll tell him, and I’ll have him wait down in conference room number one.”

“Mmhmm,” I hummed, flipping through my paperwork.

I decided to respect the station’s customs, but that didn’t mean I had to be enthusiastic about it.

September 16, 2015–Los Angeles, California

“Okay,” I said. “Where is he?”

Huckinson looked up at me from behind his desk.

“Huh?” he asked, intimidated by the pissed-off look on my face.

“This reverend guy, the one you said wanted to talk to me,” I replied. “You told me he’d be in conference room one—but conference room one is empty.”

“Huh?” Huckinson repeated, like a broken record.

“I finished up my paperwork and went down to conference room one,” I explained. “But there was no one in there… So what the hell happened? Where did this reverend so-and-so go?”

“It’s Reverend Greg Thomas,” a voice said from behind me. “And I stepped out to use the restroom. I’m sorry to have kept you waiting.”

That voice… That voice sounded
so
familiar.

I turned around, and as soon as I saw the face across from me, my lips curled into a smile and my pulse quickened.

“Detective Knowles, I presume?” Revered Thomas asked. His bright eyes glimmered beneath his glasses.

“Yes,” I replied, holding out my hand to shake his.

“It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” he said. “Though it is rather unfortunate that it had to occur under such grave circumstances.”

I nodded my head, still smiling, but holding very much of my smile back.

“If you will,” the reverend continued, “I’d like to sit and speak with you for a bit.” He gestured his shaved head toward the conference room, then he turned and walked in that direction—and I, of course, followed.

“You’re a
reverend
?” I asked as soon as Reverend Thomas and I were behind the conference room’s closed door.

“Indeed,” he replied. “As I told you, I am a lot of things.”

Again, I felt foolish for ever thinking this man was a butler.

“So what am I supposed to call you then?” I asked. “Reverend Thomas or Crete?”

“You’re a smart woman, Detective,” he replied. “You can figure out on your own what to call me under which circumstances.”

I shook my head up and down, then leaned forward and asked another question. “Why are you here?” I inquired.

“I’m sure you already know why I’m here,” he replied.

I looked at him inquisitively.

“I’m a good judge of character, Detective,” Crete continued. “And I believe, with all of my heart, that before you left L.A., you had every intention to find
me
and speak with me. And the reason I am here now is for the same reason
you
would have tried to find me.”

“To tie up loose ends?” I asked. Of course, Crete and his situation with Katy was one of those things I’d left dangling.

“Yes,” Crete replied. “In a manner of speaking, I’d like to tie up loose ends… as best we can.”

I nodded my head and felt a tear form in my eye.

“I’m sorry,” I said, looking away from Crete.

“For?” he asked.

“We got the guy who killed John Berry and Barnes,” I replied. “But we didn’t find anything out about Katy.”

“I know,” Crete said. “I met with Hammer and Gator, and they filled me in on the details of Tony Ink’s apprehension.” I should have known he was a man of the cloth much earlier on. His affable calmness was part and parcel of his charisma.

“But nonetheless, we’ve made great strides here,” he went on. “We’ve learned that some of the things we believed were true are not, and that we should never underestimate the good, or bad, of the people around us.”

I turned back to Crete and regarded him with respect, as I attempted to decipher his double message. I knew he was talking about what
we
“learned” both in terms of what I learned about my past with Gator (which was a lot), and in terms of what he learned about Katy’s abduction (which was nothing).

“It seems as though my suspicions were not confirmed, but my worst fears were,” Crete furthered. “The Wolves are not being attacked by one source, but by many, which will make it even harder for us to find Katy and will also make us more vulnerable.

“But at the same time, just as our family has been put at greater risk, it has also grown stronger. As I told you but several hours ago, you are now a member of the Wolves family—not only because of the sensitive information I shared with you, but also because of the bond you share with Gator.

“The two of you have been through not one, but
two
, near-death experiences. What he felt for you already was powerful enough to keep him connected to you, without your knowing, for well over a decade. And now with this new notch on your belts, that connection has only grown stronger, and I assure you, it will be part of Gator until Gator’s last day—and beyond.”

My heart ached. Everything Crete said was true. And quite simply, there was nothing more I could add to or take away from it.

“I… I….” I started to say, but no other words came out.

Crete must have sensed my difficult position. He stood up and smiled at me and started toward the door. “I’ll be on my way now, Detective,” he said. “I’m sure you have more pressing matters to tend to.”

“If you ever need anything—” I began, ready to express my gratitude and offer my services.

“I know,” he interrupted, placing his hand on my shoulder. “We’re family,” he added, letting go of me and gaining on the door.

“Thank you, Crete,” I said.

“And, thank
you
, J.T.,” he answered before leaving.

After Crete left, I sat in the conference room for a moment longer and collected the thoughts this most recent set of revelations had scattered. My heart still ached, but it ached differently now, and I knew there was only one way to calm it.

There was one more loose end I had to tie up… And I knew that this one would be a lot harder.

September 16, 2015–Los Angeles, California

It was almost noon when I pulled into Gator’s driveway.

I’d gone back to the motel—the one where Barnes was murdered—after leaving L.A.P.D. Central Station. And I spent just enough time in the room to shower and get changed. Then I made a beeline for Gator’s house. I wasn’t sure that he’d be there, but it was a gamble I was willing to take.

When I pulled in, I was pleased to see that his bike was there, and I nearly ran it over in my eagerness to see him—but luckily, I didn’t.

I hopped out of my car and walked, very, very quickly to Gator’s back door. His house looked different in the daylight, and it unnerved me a little. After all, I’d almost been killed there approximately ten hours earlier.

But as unnerved as I was by the place, I was twice as excited by it, and I wouldn’t let the horrors that had happened there in the wee hours of the morning stop me from finding the treasure that waited within.

As soon as I got to the back door, I turned the knob and pushed on the door—and surprisingly, I was met with resistance. The door wouldn’t open, or budge.

It was locked.

Just to be sure, I turned the knob again. And sure enough, again, I was met with resistance.

I knocked on the door and waited a moment, but got no answer. So I knocked again and tried to peer through the tiny window.

Nothing.

I was weighing my options and considering whether I should knock again, try the front door, or leave, when I heard Gator’s voice from somewhere in the distance.

“I decided to start locking it,” he said.

I turned around and saw Gator walking toward me. He’d just emerged from the garage at the end of his driveway, and as I looked at him, I finally understood what it meant when someone referred to another person as a “tall glass of water on a hot summer’s day.”

Gator was wearing a weathered pair of jeans that were torn and stained, but he was shirtless. His muscular chest was glistening with sweat and soiled with motor oil and dirt, and his hair was tied back into a messy ponytail, with random tendrils clinging to his ruggedly handsome face. Looking at him made my mouth—and other parts of my anatomy—water. He made me drool. He made me yearn. He made me feel the way a person would feel when they saw a tall glass of water on a hot summer’s day—and then some.

“But keeping it unlocked was a good thing,” I said with a broad smile. “That’s how Hammer got in to help us.”

“But it was a bad thing, too,” Gator replied. “That’s how Tony Ink got in to hurt us—and to take my shit to frame me.”

“True,” I responded with a nod.

“I decided that, from now on, I ain’t gonna wait for good or bad to come find me,” Gator said, wiping his hands on a shop rag he’d had in his back pocket. “If it comes a-knocking, I’m gonna be the one to choose whether or not to let it in.”

Gator was only inches away from me now, and I could smell the sweat, motor oil, and sunshine on his body. It was a good, manly smell, and it stimulated more than my senses.

“What about
me
?” I asked coyly. “I came a-knocking. Are you gonna let
me
in?”

“Hell yeah,” Gator replied, shoving the rag back into his back pocket. “But not yet.”

“Not yet?” I asked, stepping away from the doorway toward him.

“I wanna show you something first,” Gator answered, looking back toward his garage. He held out his hand for me, and I reached out and took it.

Gator walked me back to the garage, and as soon as we entered it, my jaw dropped. I stared at the old, outdated blue pick-up truck he had parked there, shook my head, and giggled.

“Is that—?” I started to ask.

“Yep,” Gator responded before I could finish my question. “When my dad died, I went back to N’Orleans for the funeral and to settle his final affairs. He didn’t have much of anything left—at least not much that I wanted…except this ole truck. I threw my bike in the back of it and drove it back to L.A. when I left, and I’ve been workin’ on it ever since then, for the past five years. Just been tinkerin’ with it—taking the engine apart and rebuilding it.

“I don’t use it much—not at all, really. But I hold onto it—ya know, for sentimental reasons.”

I stepped closer to the truck and ran my hand along the side of the bed. I couldn’t believe it.
This
was the truck… The one Gator drove to the prom twelve years ago. The one he and I “gave” ourselves to each other in.
This
was the truck.

“So, what do ya say?” I asked, bringing my hand to the passenger’s door handle. “Wanna step inside and revisit the past?”

Gator stared back at me from the other side of the truck, and without saying a word, he opened the driver’s door and got in. I pulled open my door and, literally, jumped in as well, then I slid over, across the bench seat, and leaned my body up against his.

I put my hand on Gator’s knee, looked him in the eyes, and smiled. “This brings back memories,” I said, as I raised my face to his. My mouth was close to his, but our lips weren’t touching, and I could feel his breath on my skin.

“Sure does,” Gator replied. He reached his hand up to the back of my head and ran his fingers through my hair.

“And it gives us a chance to make new ones,” he added, arching his head forward and kissing me firmly.

I got lost in our kisses after that, and I let my hands wander from Gator’s knee, to his thigh, and to the tent he had pitched in his pants. Before I knew it, I was on top of him—just like I had been twelve years ago—and our passion was mounting.

Gator pulled off my top, carefully removed my bra, and started sucking at my tits like a hungry kitten, which made me purr and grind my body up against him. His lips felt divine, and in a matter of seconds, he had me moaning, groaning, and grunting.

But then the most unexpected thing happened.

I was in bliss. I was aroused. I has happy and content… And I was crying.

“What’s wrong?” Gator asked when my tears dribbled down onto his face. He pulled his mouth away from my chest and looked up at me as I straddled him.

“Nothing,” I said, pressing into him.

“Do you want me to stop?” he asked.

“No,” I replied, grabbing at his belt buckle.

Gator reached his hand down and placed it on top of mine, halting my progress.

“Tell me what’s wrong,” he said, pulling my hand away from his raging hard-on.

I leaned back a little, wiped the tears from my eyes with my hand, and sighed.

“I have to go back to San Francisco,” I said plaintively.

“I know,” Gator replied just as sadly.

“And you’re here in L.A.,” I said.

“For now,” Gator responded.

I tilted my head and looked down at him.

“Twelve years ago, I traveled across the country to find you and be with you,” he went on. “And over the years, I gave up hope and thought I’d lost you forever. But now that I’ve found you again, I ain’t gonna let you go that easily.

“I came all the way from Lou’siana to California for you, so going from L.A. to San Francisco ain’t nothing. And it’s something I’m willing to do, but not yet. We both know there’s business I still gotta take care of here—and once I do, I’m yours forever, if you’ll have me.”

I wrapped my arms around Gator’s neck and hugged him tightly.

“Do what you have to do,” I whispered in his ear. “Find Katy… And then come find me in San Francisco.”

“I will,” Gator said softly. He brought his lips to mine and kissed me gently. “I promise.”

“I know,” I replied, breathing my words rather than saying them. “I know.”

###