Protect (2 page)

Hell, every girl in Markham noticed
that
.

In an ill-advised fit of rebellion shortly
after her nineteenth birthday she attended an infamous Friday night
clubhouse party. She drank too much, likely could have put herself
in a very dangerous position by doing so. But Jayce found her, just
as drunk. He’d taken her virginity that night, and he didn’t even
realize it. Or remember it. She hoped to hell the club didn’t know
that, but she certainly remembered it. Hazy, sure. But she’d never
been one to put a mystic opinion on sex. She’d been curious what it
was like, and he showed her. Jesus, had he ever. She was one of the
lucky few that had actually enjoyed her first time. Although, being
drunk had left her a bit less inhibited than most women.

Now Sharon knew McClune better. Knew he was a
good man, despite what the club had to do, and knew that the town
owed the club a bigger debt than most residents fully realized. She
played her part in that, left the club to handle their only garbage
knowing full well it kept her department looking somewhat
competent. The really dangerous drugs were hard to find, and when
they
were
found the problem was run out of town limits.
Because of that the randomly violent gangs stayed away. The only
shoot-out she knew about had happened right at the clubhouse a
while ago. The club had called her in, asking for a head start, in
case they couldn’t contain it and it got out of hand.

Just to keep Markham safe.

Her own fear at finding a member, one member
in particular, hurt when she’d arrived that night, was her own
issue, nothing to do with the town, and more to do with her own
dwindling intelligence. Apparently.

The Markham PD was a squat, square,
utilitarian building with a long, barely sloping concrete staircase
leading up off the parking lot. The metal railing was painted the
same yellow-beige as the building. There was a black sedan parked
parallel to the staircase, definitely not in a parking spot. She
barely got her cruiser into the sheriff’s spot at the sedan’s rear,
then headed into her domain.

One man in a well-cut suit turned as she came
through the doors, offering his hand and a too-white smile. His
hair cut was as precise as a military watch and his ruddy face
clean shaved. “Sheriff? I’m Agent Terence Hogan. DEA.”

Detective from Kern County, indeed.

The other man stood from the vinyl seat where
he’d been slumped. He was in dark jeans and a white button-down,
slightly rumpled. Dark sunglasses were hitched into the neck of the
shirt, his hair under a Red Sox ball cap. He offered his hand too,
then when he said, “Downey,” in an amiable tone she placed him.

Jesus. It was Agent Townsend. Also known in
certain circles of Markham as “Bark.”

She froze, staring, wondering if he was
fucking insane coming back here. Certain criminal elements thought
he was dead, which was great for his changes of staying above
ground, all things considered.

“May we talk in private?” Agent Hogan asked,
realizing Downey knew his colleague.

She shook her head and nodded. “Sorry. Of
course. Follow me gentlemen.”

They did, falling into line as she made for
her office, and she moved behind her desk as Agent Townsend shut
the door and Hogan sat down across from her. As standard practice
he tossed his card on her desk.

“So you know who we are, and I’m sure you’re
wondering why we’re here.”

“Yes, terribly curious.”

“As you know, recently the Mad Gypsys chapter
in Hazeldale was ... well, wiped out.” Agent Hogan was speaking.
Townsend preferred to hover near the door, and she supposed that
was understandable. “Their president, Jacob Todd, also known as
Thor, was just found dead barely inside Hazeldale town limits. He
was beaten and mutilated.”

Good
, she thought, but kept her face
indifferent.

“The Gypsys worked with the Galiendo cartel,
transporting pharmaceutical-grade Thebaine out of Mexico up into
British Columbia. It’s being made into incredibly potent Oxy. I
know you’ve seen it popping up in Markham.”

Now she nodded. “The orange stuff.
Sunshine?”

“G-Town is your nearest distributor in
Bakersfield. With the Gypsys out of the picture there’s a hole, a
vacuum in Hazeldale. The Galiendos were recently overrun by the
Castillos, who only moved in for that Thebaine pipeline. I’m
letting you know all of this because your club here in Markham
could be a viable candidate for the pipeline.”

She cleared her throat. “I appreciate the
warning. The Red Rebels have never engaged with any narcotic trade
other than marijuana.”

“Which is still illegal in California,” Hogan
pointed out with that toothy grin.

“Your Red Rebels are running weapons for the
Sachetti crime family,” Townsend spoke up. That gave her pause. She
hadn’t
known that. “Sachetti has dealings with the
Castillos. He keeps them at arms’ length because they’re so
unpredictable. But it’s a business relationship, and if he sees the
Rebels as his lackeys he wouldn’t hesitate to offer their
help.”

She digested that. It was good to know, but
it didn’t explain what they were doing here. A memo could have told
her that Thor was dead.

“There’s something else,” Hogan spoke up, his
eyes dropping to his hands, then he looked back over his shoulder
at his partner.

“Another body was found outside Bakersfield.
Advanced decay, but it’s Louis Dénis. Gertie’s father.”

Sharon inhaled and sat back. So that was why
Bark was here.

“We know usually this would be handed off to
your department to deliver, but we also know that David Buckingham
is out of town at the moment.” Hogan’s eyes went from Townsend and
back her way. “My colleague wanted to tell her in person, and we’d
like you to be there.”

Sharon nodded, keeping Gertie’s father in
mind as she stood. He’d gotten into some bad debts with the
Sachettis, gone into hiding, and when G-Town found out how much her
old man was worth they kidnapped her to get the Sachetti ransom and
handed her over to the Gypsys for safe keeping. Not the best tactic
since she’d already been tied to a rival club’s Sergeant At Arms.
Even when given video evidence of how his daughter was being
treated in that Hazeldale clubhouse, Louis Dénis had not turned
himself in.

Sharon had no sympathies to hear that Dénis
had met his end. But she
was
worried about Gertie, and one
look at Townsend told her she wasn’t the only one.

“It’s still morning,” she finally spoke up,
getting to her feet. “She’ll be at work. She’s only working
mornings now that she’s pregnant.”

“She’s ... she’s pregnant?” Townsend said,
smiling as his hand went to his own stomach.

Sharon studied him before nodding. “Yeah,
she’s due in about two months.”

He nodded, still smiling, and pulled her
office door open. “That’s good. That’s really good.”

Her DEA guests followed her cruiser to the
far end of Main Street where Ink Junkie was located. The tattoo
shop was one of the newer ventures in town, and Sharon knew they
were already enjoying great success. The owner, Brady Clark, was
already setting up a reputation for himself for the quality of his
artwork, and his visiting artist friends drew people from as far
away as Denver just to get a custom design. He’d also earned the
right to do club ink for the Red Rebels.

The big windows on the front were wide and
inviting, making the mural on the back wall completely visible from
the street. That was aided by a bar of directional lights in the
ceiling that shone down, making it glow all on its own. The artwork
was Gertie’s. She had some real talent.

The cherry-red acrylic counter at the front
door was a half-circle, and sitting right in front of them was
Gertie. She was reading a book and when she looked up she turned it
over, setting it down. It was a book of baby names.

Sharon offered her a wide smile, which was
returned. Gertie was one of those red-head stunners that didn’t
have to be tall to be formidable. She was curvy and pretty with
wide hazel eyes, an open and friendly expression at all times.

“Sheriff,” she greeted their group warmly,
eyes flicking over to the other two men warily but the smile never
faded. “Anything I can help you with?”

Sharon swallowed, eyes going to the back of
the space. Brady Clark was already getting up from his stool where
he’d been working, peeling off latex gloves as he did so. “Is there
somewhere we could talk, Gertie?”

Now the smile slipped and her hands went
instinctively to her impressive tummy. “Is everything okay? Is it
Buck?”

Shit, she should have led with something
else. “No, no. I’m sure Buck is fine, Gertie. I just want somewhere
quiet to talk.”

Brady was now behind Gertie, hand on her
shoulder. “Come on back to the office, Sheriff.”

Sharon nodded. Yeah, this was good. Brady was
a good friend, they’d met in rehab. He was the perfect person to be
there if Buck couldn’t be.

Brady’s office was more of a storage room
with a desk shoved along one wall. Gertie sat in the chair, Brady
behind her, perched on the edge of his desk. Sharon stood just
inside the door, the DEA agents behind her. They left the door
open.

“Gertie, I’m just going to say it, okay?” The
redhead swallowed and nodded. Brady’s hand returned to her
shoulder. “A body was found outside of Bakersfield, and it’s your
father. I’m sorry Gertie, but he’s dead.”

She blinked about four times. “Oh.”

“I’m so sorry. It will be investigated, so I
want you to be ready for detectives asking you questions,
okay?”

She nodded again, then Sharon shared a look
with Brady. He nodded in return.

“Do you have any questions these gentlemen
might be able to answer?”

Now Gertie looked up as though she hadn’t
even noticed the men before. “No,” she said softly, shaking her
head. “I don’t ... I don’t think so ...” she trailed off, staring
behind Sharon.

She had to turn to see what had drawn
Gertie’s attention. It was Bark, of course. He nodded to her,
taking off the ball cap.

“Bark?”

He nodded. “Yeah. I’m ... I’m leaving
California. I just wanted to say goodbye before I did.” He smiled
again, hand gesturing to her. “You’re pregnant. That’s great,
Gertie. It looks really good on you.”

Gertie was staring, mouth hanging open.
Sharon didn’t know if it was shock or what, but she was getting
ready to ask them to leave when Gertie got up and walked past her
to the door.

Townsend, for his part, was also waiting to
see what her reaction would be. He was tense, as though he expected
a slap or some other assault.

“Bark,” Gertie repeated.

“Gertie,” he returned, voice soft. “I’m so
sorry.”

In a flash she was hugging him, and after a
pause he hugged her back.

Sharon averted her gaze, feeling a weird
prickling in her nose like she might tear up. That brought her
attention to Brady who was outright crying, hand over his
mouth.

Great. Emotion was always uncomfortable for
her to be around. She never knew what to do.

“Just had to see you, make sure you were
okay,” Bark was saying, stepping back and holding her shoulders. “I
can tell you’re going to be just fine.”

Gertie grinned, tears on her cheeks, too. “I
am. I really am. Thank you.”

Bark grinned, terribly handsome when he did
it. “Take care of that little bean,” he instructed, and Gertie
laughed, hands returning to her stomach. “I will,” she
promised.

Hogan, off to the side during all this and
undoubtedly as uneasy as Sharon was with all this, cleared his
throat. “We need to get to LA to catch your flight,” he said.

Townsend nodded, then let go of Gertie and
put his ball cap back on. “Okay, let’s go.”

Sharon waited a minute as they left the shop,
then she cleared her throat. “Did you want me to call the clubhouse
for you?”

Gertie came out of her reverie watching the
agents depart, and she gave an uneasy smile. “Oh, no thank you. I
can call Buck. I’m fine. Thank you, Sheriff.”

Now she was an outsider. Knowing her cue, she
nodded, gave a wave to Brady, and headed back outside into the
sunshine on the sidewalk. She made her way back to the department
on her own.

His shoulders felt tight, his lower back was
stiff, but this was when he was happiest. Another Sachetti run
down, a few more grand in his pocket, and this one would pay off
his mom’s mortgage. The run had gone beautifully, it was a gorgeous
day to be riding, and now they were pulling into a truck stop motel
where he could rest his head and pay for a bit of female company if
he so desired.

But first, food.

They checked into side-by-side-by-side rooms,
then headed to the attached diner. These places all had, with few
exceptions, one large corner booth, and it was the perfect size to
accommodate their group.

Everyone ordered their meals, then their
waitress left them to grab their beers.

“That was an interesting run,” Tank rumbled
in his slow, halting way. They were already used to the fact he
didn’t speak as quickly as he once had.

“It was perfect, everything went as planned,”
Tiny insisted.

Tank shot him an unimpressed look. “Road
construction. Truck full of sensitive cargo. Sitting in one place
for two hours.”

Tiny grinned. “I know. What road captain in
his right mind would send us into construction?”

Tank was laughing now, too. “You’re fucking
nuts.” It was funny; when he swore he had no trouble talking at
all.

“I like to think of it as the perfect cover.
Like no one had any plan to be there, but nowhere to be that was
all that important. So fucked up it had to be a pleasure ride for
all us.”