Reckless: Backsteel Bandits MC (19 page)

Upstairs, the bank tellers were calmly instructing the patrons out of the bank. Customers lined out the door, a child cried, verbal worries lit through the air. As they crested the stairs, Miranda watched the older man from the corner of her gaze. His attention flickered around the lobby, obviously attempting to spot the disastrous flames or telltale signs of smoke. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. That didn't erase the danger. A fire in the bathroom, a burning electrical wire, a trashcan in a bathroom. Any number of things could cause the bank, and the valuables inside, to go up in flames.

For the moment, he forgot her presence and bustled toward the concerned, exiting patrons. Miranda didn't mind. His worries for his customers gave her the split second she needed to peel away from his awareness. In the mild chaos, no one noticed as she sneaked behind the teller desks in a half-bent crouch. She carefully picked her way around abandoned office chairs, intent to not make any noticeable sounds. Though, with the blare of the fire alarm, it would be immensely unlikely anyone would hear her drop a piece of paper or step on a fallen pen.

Finally, she made her way to the end of the desks. A wall stretched before her, hung with neutral decor. Her eyes flickered to Mr. Cross's office, his door wide open and his nameplate shiny in the flashing lights. She glanced to the front door. Tellers peered around the bank, making sure everyone was out. She ducked down just as the bank manager glanced across the tellers' desks.

“Hey,” a hiss caught her attention. She looked around, wildly seeking the source. Finally, her gaze fell on her partner in crime. Tyler squatted down inside Mr. Cross's office, out of sight of the tellers and manager. He peered to the front door before his gaze whipped back to Miranda. He motioned for her to cross, “C'mon, c'mon. We don't have a lot of time!”

Miranda, in a half-crouch, jogged across the bare expanse of floor, feeling more vulnerable than ever. The overhead flashing lights and alarm were drilling into her head, coaxing a migraine from the darker synapses of her head. She couldn't bother to concentrate on that, though. She had a job to do.

As soon as she ducked into the office, Tyler – after checking the lobby of the bank – shut and locked the door when the last people filed out. She wasted no time, trudging over to the bank manager's computer. The monitor whirred to life as soon as her fingers touched the mouse.

The screensaver flickered and the desktop sprawled before her. Mr. Cross, despite all of his gold star security measures, didn't use a password. Well, that was quite a few points off the overall inspection, figured Miranda, as she point-and-clicked.

By the office's window, which peered into the depths of the bank, Tyler squinted through the blinds. Though far off in the distance, he heard the scream of fire engines roaring closer. The empty bank felt eerie, especially with the lights flashing. He tried to ignore it, though his own headache nibbled at the sides of his brain. Joining the cacophony of sounds, Miranda's keystrokes clattered through the air. It set his teeth on edge and irritated his nerves, but little could be done. They needed information on Pete and this was their best bet.

He couldn't still the anxiety gnawing away at his thoughts. The increasingly nearing sirens were not helping him, any. He jolted when the printer growled.

Glancing over his shoulder, Tyler hissed, “Did you find it?”

“I didn't find anything about Pete, but there's someone of interest,” replied Miranda as she mentally goaded the printer to spit out the papers faster. The hair on the back of her neck stood on end. Her ears thought she could hear the firefighters just outside the bank, smashing their way through the windows. She stilled her anticipation by turning back to the computer and fumbling through the other files.

Something orange flashed on the task bar. Miranda's curiosity guided her into opening the bank manager's e-mail application. She glanced at the inbox header – wrinkling her nose seeing Mr. Cross's unread number in the triple digits – before her gaze drew to the e-mail subject titles:

Memo: New Procedures for Signing Into…

Reminder: Please Reset Your Password….

(no subject)

Miranda's eyebrows shot up. Every other inbox message had a subject and remained unread, so an empty and read header looked somehow suspicious. Her gaze flicked to the sender's column.

“Mir, they're at the door. We need to take off.” Tyler's words shattered her concentration. He moved across the office, peeking through the blinds. After confirming the coast was clear, he threw up the blinds and struggled against the window's locks.

“Okay.” Quickly, she scribbled the e-mail address down on a post-it note. She closed out of the files and programs, before hopping off the chair. Outside the office, heavy footfalls and barked orders echoed around the bank. Her heart jolted to her throat. She snatched the papers from the printer just as Tyler swung the windows outward.

The voices drew closer, the barked orders becoming more irritated. They were going to figure out it was a false alarm, any second now. Miranda's stomach twisted at the thought of being caught in Mr. Cross's office. She scrabbled out the window, trying to ignore the feeling of her stockings catching and tearing on the windowsill. Tyler's broad hands caught her by the waist, helping her up and over the barrier without a word exchanged between them. He climbed out after her, closing the windows gently behind him.

They moved in tandem, in a half-crouch jog to the back of the bank. Everyone had their attention on the front of the bank, watching the firefighters enter. They parked out back, just behind the dumpster. The heat of the day grazed over their flesh, coaxing nervous sweat down their backs. Miranda's hands, slicked with sweat, gripped her clipboard to her chest. She hoped the fresh printouts weren't smudging.

Both of them rounded behind the dumpster, trying not to inhale the stink surrounding it, and shot into the car. Miranda sunk into the seat as Tyler jammed the key into the ignition. The engine puttered to life, but with the excitement at the front of the bank, would go easily unheard. Despite the adrenaline raging through his veins, Tyler forced himself to pull the car gently out of the back drive.

Silence filled the car as they rolled through the back streets of San Marta. Miranda's fingers worried the edges of the paper, still trembling from her burst of adrenaline. Her skin tingled with a mixture of glee and shame. They had pulled it off! At the cost of her integrity. Similar feelings of joy and guilt tickled at Tyler's thoughts. Round and round, his happiness and rue danced, manifesting itself as fidgety fingers on the steering wheel.

They were one step closer to proof of Pete's transgressions against the Backsteel Bandits.

“We did it,” sighed Miranda, eyeing Tyler from the corner of her gaze. A grin tugged across her lips and something hot stirred in her lower belly. The way they had worked together, seamlessly, sent an overjoyed prickle through her body.

The atmosphere in the car changed. Relief still strewed across the air, but something heady and sweet laced between them. Tyler swallowed heavily and his fingers flexed around the steering wheel. The plastic creaked under his grip. His heart rate spiked as fantasies poured into his excited synapses. Focusing on his surroundings, Tyler realized he had driven them out of the city. It was a scantily wooded area, but – judging from the amount of dirt on the road – very scarcely used. Opportunity gleamed in his mind's eye.

He pulled off to the side of the road, skillfully tucking the car away behind a line of trees.

“What are you–” Miranda was cut off as the sounds of Tyler's seat adjustment cranked through the car. His chair pressed back as far as it would go, he eyed her with his dark, lusty gaze. Her heart shuddered, reading his mind.

She tossed the clipboard onto the dash, before climbing into Tyler's waiting lap. He caught her by the lips in a fervent kiss, his erection already stiff against her thigh. She gasped, her mind a flurry of hormones and adrenaline. Her fingers curled around his jaw, her fingertips stroking his jawline. Her hips rolled and rollicked against his groin, coaxing his cock to harden and press into her thigh.

A grunt escaped his lips, his sensitive erection throbbing beneath the thin layer of dress pants. His fingers, driven only by lust, scrabbled up Miranda's skirt. The fabric of her stockings teased at his tactile senses. Hotter strings of pleasure tickled at his groin. Her thighs slid by under his fingertips until he found the crevice of her upper thigh and torso. His fingers trailed along her stockings and she trembled beneath his touch. Finally, he felt her panties beneath the frail fabric.

Without warning, Tyler punctured her stockings and hooked his thumb around her panties. Heat intensified in his gut as he realized Miranda was already dripping wet. He leaned back, enjoying the view of her moist, swollen pussy lips peeking out from her stockings. His free hand fumbled with his pants, unbuttoning and unzipping them.

Even drunk on pleasure, he knew they didn't have much time. It just took a bicyclist on an adventurous journey to ruin their moment. His cock sprung from the folds of his pants, his bulbous head almost slamming right into Miranda's bared slit. Only his thin strain of self-discipline kept him from immediately thrusting into her.

It didn't matter. Her own body keened for sexual satisfaction. Her hips rolled forward, feeling the heat of his dick against her. She braced herself against his shoulders, her nails digging into his shirt. Miranda dropped her weight onto him, immediately engulfing his erection in her hot, wet pussy. Excitement clawed up her body. Anyone passing by could peer in. Sunlight filled the windows, filtering in hot, making the interior boil.

A tremor raked over his body, the molten heat of her insides clamping on his pleasure receptors. Miranda desperately bounced up and down on Tyler, his girth grazing her excited nerves. She gasped and moaned, her heart slamming in her chest. Beneath her, he shuddered and twitched, bringing his hips up to meet her erratic movements.

Pleasure and heat filled the car, pressing down on their bodies. Sweat fogged the windows and dampened the air with moisture. Beneath them, the vehicle rocked and squeaked. The heat squeezed at them, coiling around their cores. Tyler's fingers dug into her hips, slamming her down harder and harder. His balls tightened under her soft, jigging thighs. He inhaled sharply, pleasure tingling into his brain and searing over his body. Her muscles milked and pulsed around his cock, taunting his sensitive flesh.

The heat crested over his barriers, slamming into his groin. Tyler seized and moaned, throwing his head back as he spilled liquid heat into Miranda's throbbing sex. She gasped and whimpered, her body slowly becoming harder and harder to command. His cum licked at her insides, tickling her most sensitive nerves. Her thighs trembled, her pussy throbbed, her lower tummy clenched tightly. Miranda's moans spilled from her lips as she braced herself against Tyler's shoulders.

Clenching her eyes, she threw her head back and slammed down, one final time, on Tyler's still-hard cock. A satisfied moan split across her lips. The heat of release melted through her body, like wax hardening over her bones. Her body trembled under the sudden force of her pleasure. She rollicked atop Tyler until his arms clamped firmly around her body. Her tremors sifted beneath his muscles. Until, finally, her body spent and slumped against Tyler's chest.

In the heat of the car, he stroked her back gently. She mewled and shifted against him. The pleasant glow of a job well done filled the car.

So far, the day had gone completely in their favor.

Back at the motel room, after a well-needed shower, Miranda and Tyler continued their investigation. He paced the length of their room, occasionally glancing through the blinds while she sat at the small table. It was unlikely anyone would come looking for them. Even if they had, the motel had their name as Mr. and Mrs. Johnson, a couple of newlyweds enjoying a trek across the country. Short of eyewitnesses, Miranda and Tyler seemed to be in the clear.

Well, unless that bank manager wised up, though, luckily, Miranda had already handled that suspicion with some cockamamie 'family emergency' excuse. He didn't know what she planned to do if they ran into Mr. Cross during their stay in San Marta.

When Miranda sighed and leaned back, Tyler turned to her. “What did you find?”

She rubbed the bridge of her nose, reigning in her fluttering thoughts. For the last hour, she had tugged apart the information they had. Her mind had strung the facts out in her mind, knotting pieces together until her thoughts were a tangled mess. So many strings of thoughts puttered about her synapses. She motioned to her printouts, when her thoughts were reasonably organized. “This woman, Francesca Munoz, deposits a hefty check about three days after Peter withdraws a lot of money.” She moved over to her laptop, where Pete's account glowed across the screen. “I've pored over Peter's files so much, I nearly have them memorized.”

Tyler seated himself next to her, leaning heavily on the table as he stared at her computer screen. “So, you think this woman, this Francesca Munoz, has something to do with Peter?”

“Maybe,” Miranda sighed, resisting the urge to rub at her eyes. She had no clue. The seedy, underground dealings with the less-than-reputable were lost on her. Trudging on, she clamped to the only other information she had gathered. Pointing to the papers, she tapped her finger on a specific name. “There's a secondary on her account, Paul Larson. Sound familiar?”

Tyler searched through his mental files. Plenty of Pauls brightened in his mind. A couple of Larsons dotted his thoughts, as well. However, he came up short. “No, it doesn't.”

“Well, I noticed something on the computer back at the bank,” Miranda procured the sticky note she had hastily scribbled on. “There was one e-mail that had no subject and had been read. I only got the sender's e-mail address, but I ran it through some reverse search engines.”

“And?” Tyler eyed the fluorescent yellow square of paper. Miranda's crisp scrawl stained the paper. The handle was the only important part and it was the most vague: PL2015.

Miranda continued, smoothing the adhesive of the note on the table. “I found some usernames linked to this e-mail address.”

Tyler's eyebrows furrowed. Usernames were good, right? They could be traced back to people. However, if someone was able to continuously create e-mail addresses and online identities, they could hide behind countless layers of redundancy. Tyler's hope briefly deflated at the prospect.

“Most of the usernames are on gambling sites, so I think Pete is laundering it through online casinos.” Miranda paused, waiting for this information to sink into her companion's mind. It was a stretch, but brick-and-mortar casinos were involved with laundering, weren't they? Why not utilize the anonymity of the Internet? Plus, it meant that Pete could have lackeys operating under the same name while he created alibis for himself. “Maybe this Munoz lady is helping him out by playing the casinos.”

“But why?” Tyler cocked his head to the side.

Miranda shrugged, uncertain about her own personal theories. “The Internet can keep you anonymous, you could have multiple people operating under one name. There's tons of reasons.”

Tyler fell silent, letting the knowledge digest in his head. Pete was scraping money off the top from the Backsteel Bandits. From there, he was using pseudonyms to launder the money, digitally. Where did this Francesca fit in, though? Was she helping him? If so, why? Or was the name just another alias for Pete or his wife? There was too much that was unknown. Pete could have wallowed into countless crimes.

Instead, he hinged on the one lead they had. “Did you find an address for Munoz?”

“Yeah,” Miranda glanced down at the papers. Munoz's address had been updated just two weeks ago. “5234 Terrace Drive.”

“All right,” Tyler hefted himself up. He groaned and stretched, his muscles achy from tension and stress. He strode across the room, but paused at the door. The laptop clicked quietly shut behind him. It almost sounded like Miranda dreaded to shut it. Glancing over his shoulder, he watched her slowly stand. Something held her back.

Was she scared, now, after their chaotic stint at the bank? Tyler's heart softened. She wasn't in the motorcycle club. She wasn't used to breaking rules to get her problems solved. Perhaps, a break was called for. Even his own body seemed to react in content to the very thought. “Well, I think we've done enough for this evening.”

“You sure?” She eyed him, curiously. The strain of her muscles whined at her to sit back down. Her limbs felt heavy and her eyelids wanted nothing more than to flutter shut. But, didn't they have a job to do? Then again, maybe waiting until tomorrow would be best. Through the slats in the blinds, she caught the reddish light of a setting sun. It'd be dark soon. “I suppose we could stay here, order in, and figure out what we're going to say to her first.”

Tyler's muscles cheered and a smile flicked across his face. Instead of opening the door, he flicked the lock shut. A night in after a busy, successful day out. It was almost domestic, if they didn't take into account what their day had been like.

* * *

In the late morning the next day, Miranda and Tyler took off for 5234 Terrace Drive. She felt her stomach coil in anticipation. Though she wore a hat and sunglasses, the worry that someone would recognize her from the bank still clasped at her thoughts. The tingle in her tummy intensified as Tyler pulled to a stop.

Her eyes focused on the street. It was a middle-class neighborhood, with neat green lawns and painstakingly tended to flower gardens.

“I'll park around back in the alley.”

She nodded, her heart thrumming in her chest. They had agreed Tyler should remain unseen unless necessary. Two people knocking on Francesca's door and interrogating her about Pete Delaney may be construed as threatening. Miranda, being a woman, would be far less threatening alone.

That thought didn't stop her fingers from shaking as she opened her door. Tyler's hand on her elbow caused her to pause. She snapped her attention to his face, cocking an eyebrow. “You sure you can handle this, Mir?”

She smiled with far more bravado than she felt, “Yeah, I'll be fine.”

Before Tyler could press her further, she eased herself out of the car. Her heart throbbed with fear the second he pulled away from the curb, but she ignored it. She would just walk up to the house and knock. She replayed the instructions in her head like a mantra.

The targeted destination was a cream white, single story home with golden yellow trim. Brilliant red and pink flowers filled the flowerbeds in front of her house and ringed around the yard's sole tree. The lawn was immaculately kept. Miranda made her way up the clean walk, up the front stairs and onto the porch. Anxiety clamped around her guts. As her knuckles rapped against the yellow door, a thought struck her.

Hopefully, Francesca was home.

* * *

It took Tyler ten minutes to maneuver to the alley behind Francesca's house. It took him five more minutes to locate the house. When he did, he parked the car and glanced up and down the alley. Weekday morning, school in session, adults at work. No one populated the small stretch of hidden road.

Acting confident, he strolled into Francesca's backyard. Thankfully, a tall privacy fence circled the perimeter of her property. He'd be able to peek into the house and check on Miranda's progress. Without an ounce of shame, he sidled up to the house and peered into the first window.

It took four tries, but he eventually located Miranda through a partially opened window. She stood in a dining area, hands moving and lips flying with chatter. The woman she spoke to was stunning. Tall and curvy, with tawny-golden skin and thick black hair that spilled down her back. A beauty mark dotted her upper lip on the left side. Across her chest, a tattooed rosary decorated her ample bosom. The woman – presumably Francesca Munoz – wore an off-the-shoulder red dress that hugged her curves so tightly that Tyler almost thought she'd pop.

Feeling like a peeping tom, he glanced around. The house behind him seemed devoid of life, the occupants at work and school. No other house was in such a good position to see him. He returned his gaze to the window, trying to ease his nerves. Still, anything could go wrong if Francesca held ties to Pete Delaney. The fact Miranda was inside, instead of himself, ground against Tyler's thoughts.

He'd just have to wait and hope nothing went wrong. He crouched lower, listening to the conversation inside.