The Seventh Sons (Sycamore Moon Series Book 1) (19 page)

"I'm already inoculated," continued the ex-CDC operative. "You could say this was a common job hazard. As long as I'm pumped with antibiotics to keep from getting any infections, I can get out of here soon enough."

Maxim nodded away the man's insistence to be released. "You're lucky it was your shoulder and not your neck."

Diego shifted in the bed and grimaced. "I could say the same thing for him. I cut him pretty deep. If I had gotten his heart, you would have found him by now."

The detective scratched his scraggly neck. "I don't get it. Both Deborah and Doka are ghosts. No one's reported seeing or hearing from either of them. Considering the added resources from Coconino, it's troubling that they haven't turned up."

"Wolves have learned to run their entire lives." Something caused Diego to halt the line of conversation. His thoughts had turned to another topic, and Maxim saw the worry in his countenance.

"They're not looking for Angelica, are they?" he asked. "I don't want her in the middle of this."

"Don't you worry about her," assured Maxim. "My office is leaving the two of you out of the detailed reports. Even the motorcycle club is doing everything they can to skirt interest. Blame is landing solely on Deborah and Doka. Even Nithya is being investigated as a possible victim."

"But where's Angelica?" Diego didn't care about the investigation as a whole. He kept hammering at the point about his sister, and Maxim didn't blame him. He had been so close at the train yard.

"It must be rough. You almost saved her and lost her on the same day." The detective fumbled with the words he had meant to be comforting. "If she's a wolf, then she should be healthy and able to defend herself."

"I've gone over that myself," said the biker. "She was gunned down right before my eyes. I'd thought she was dead—probably the only reason she's isn't is because of the evil we've uncovered in Sycamore. But if that's the case, if she is safe and out of trouble, why wouldn't she come to the station?"

Maxim sighed and looked around the serene room as if an answer would come to him. All he could muster was, "Sometimes the ones we love don't always do the things we want them to."

The two men said nothing as Maxim's sentiment echoed through their thoughts. The words were not profound but they were profoundly true, and even though acceptance of the dictum conceded a loss of power, Maxim felt that it allowed him to somehow be greater than what he had been before.

Lost in thoughts of salvation, Maxim didn't notice Barney Hitchens enter the room.

"Sorry that I didn't keep up with her out there," said the gruff man.

They both turned at his announcement. The man was in his fifties, set in his ways, liked to complain, and rarely apologized. He was wearing his blues and standing with his arms crossed, leaning against the door frame. Running through his wiry black and graying hair was a black strap holding an eye patch over his left eye. Maxim almost laughed for a second until he realized what the face reminded him of.

Diego also recognized the man. "The gray wolf."

Maxim's jaw dropped and he took an instinctive step in retreat. Hitchens? A werewolf?

"Son," said the man in a surly voice, "don't look at me like that. I'm the same man you knew. Mostly." The sergeant peeked down the hallway and then approached the bed to speak more discreetly. "Not all wolves are bad. For instance," he said, looking to Diego, "your sister is one now."

Maxim was still amazed at the man's secret. "That's why you were never around the station on new and full moons. You always had a day off, like yesterday, or just disappeared."

Hitchens nodded and showed his big teeth. "I guessed it would be hard to hide it from you any longer. Do you realize I need to wait two weeks for this to heal up? I'm telling everybody I had cataracts surgery."

The man laughed it off, but Maxim was still in shock and wasn't ready for humor. He wasn't quite sure that he liked the ramifications of this development.

"Who else knows about this?" he demanded.

"Nobody," said the sergeant. "And I'd like to keep it that way."

"Not even the marshal?"

"Especially not the marshal! He is close to the mayor and the feds, including the CDC. You think I want to be on their radar? You see what Nithya did with her knowledge of the club. She extorted them into doing her illegal business. That is not happening to me, you can count on that."

Maxim swallowed. The thought of Nithya being the mastermind left a sour taste in his mouth. He didn't want to believe it, but he couldn't deny what Hitchens said. Still, the man's statement didn't absolve him of any involvement. "What did you know of Nithya and the Seventh Sons?"

Hitchens shook his head vigorously. "Whoa, don't put that on me," he reassured. "I'm not one of them. The people in this here building are my team. I've never seen the CDC in the station before and had no way of knowing what the MC was up to. We're told to stay out of their affairs—as acting sergeant, I enforce that. That's my job."

"It's not much of a job," said Diego, visibly upset about the policy.

The sergeant flashed the man an indignant look. "This didn't happen overnight," he said. "It was a long, slow burn that got us here. But, I tell you, that match is nearly out. The marshal is lucky that none of this shit is landing in Sanctuary, but he'd be downright negligent if he didn't start keeping a closer eye on things from now on."

Maxim wanted to trust his friend, but it was his nature to ask questions. "If you had the day off yesterday," he asked, "how did you know where we were?"

"I followed you," said Hitchens smugly. In response to Maxim's suspicion, the sergeant's face was overtaken by a grim expression. "Maxim, I could see that you're were trying to get yourself killed over this whole Lola business. We both know that there is death at the end of that road. I just want to make sure it's not you who's dead."

The older man glanced around for something sturdy to place his weight on and settled for the nightstand next to Diego's bed. "What I need to know from you is if your sister's going to be a problem out there."

Maxim thought Diego would've acted offended if he weren't so banged up. "She's fine," said the biker. "She hasn't made the best decisions in her life but she isn't violent."

Hitchens nodded in satisfaction. "That's good. The last thing we need is a bunch of new wolves flooding into this already waterlogged town. Not now."

"Angelica's the only one," said Maxim. "It appears that all the others before her succumbed to the rabies."

"Does that mean the woman finally found a successful formula?" asked Hitchens.

Maxim shrugged softly but it was Diego who answered. "I don't know," he admitted. "Twenty people died in service to those experiments. Did the injections have any beneficial effects at all, or was Angelica just lucky?"

Maxim pondered the question. "There wasn't any significant evidence left behind in the train car after what Nithya burned and what went missing." He was talking about the case of medicine that he had seen Nithya use on herself. The woman's duffel bag had been wrapped around her shoulder and was dragged off with her.

Hitchens shook his head and released a long hiss from his lips. "So what, all that, for nothing?"

The three men's thoughts were clouded with the cold reality. Evil didn't always make sense, thought Maxim. In his line of work, he'd had to get used to it.

"Don't worry," said the detective, "she'll be put to justice. I'm more worried about Deborah Holton. She's the one most dangerous to us."

"And she's likely already in Mexico," said Diego.

Hitchens laughed heartily. "That woman don't know a lick of Spanish."

Maxim waved their comments off. "She's still here and the Seventh Sons have turned their backs on her. The clubhouse is locked down. Interestingly," said Maxim, turning his attention to Diego, "I found out that the only other club member missing is Melody. I can't get in touch with her, and she's not working at Sycamore Lodge."

"And you think she's hiding Deborah?" asked Hitchens. "It seems risky for her to be an accessory to that kind of heat."

"Not if she was Deborah's daughter."

Diego nearly jumped as he heard the news, but Maxim could tell that he understood. It made sense in retrospect. Maxim found himself in the roadhouse a lot but had a habit of staying away from women. Diego didn't find himself with a similar liability. He was closer to Melody in the few weeks he had been in town than the detective ever had been.

"I'm sorry," said Maxim, "but I already searched your hotel room on the way here. I would have called, but we both know you don't carry your phone on you and I couldn't take the chance of missing her just in case she was there."

The sergeant leaned forward. "And?"

Maxim just shook his head.

"I know," said Diego, putting his hand to his forehead. "I know where she has a small cabin that she uses when she wants... privacy."

Maxim Dwyer stretched his lips into a larger smile than he had managed since he had known the biker.

Hitchens suddenly jumped up from his lazy post. "I'm backing you up with Cole and Gutierrez this time, and I won't take no for an answer." The heavyset man stormed to the door and stopped in his tracks with a surprising agility as the marshal entered.

"Where do you think you're going?" asked Boyd in his brisk, condescending manner. He shoved his way past the sergeant and approached Maxim. Even though he looked like a man who hadn't slept in days, his crisp blue eyes were sharper than ever. "If we have a lead in this case then we must notify County."

The two officers looked at each other cautiously; their plan seemed to be in jeopardy.

"They don't know about the wolves," pressured Hitchens. "It's a risk."

Marshal Boyd put his hand up to silence the man and raised his head to the ceiling with impatience. "I cannot—"

"He has a point," assured Maxim. "Marshal, if Coconino gets involved, then the CDC gets involved. They created this mess and will likely burn everything in their path to disassociate themselves with it. You and I both know that this town is built on secrets." Maxim locked eyes with a man who likely had very different motivations than he did. He just had to hope that he tugged at the right one. "How much of Sanctuary will be left standing?"

Boyd gritted his teeth and mulled over the thought.

"He's right, sir," added Hitchens. "We can handle it."

The marshal met Maxim's stare and fumed for a moment. He quickly shook his head and then spun around and walked to the door. The detective looked to Hitchens in a moment of panic, but Boyd suddenly froze.

"We'll need deniability," he said.

The sergeant tried to stutter out some words, but Maxim was already on top of it. "We're not even after Holton, sir. This is a routine follow-up with Melody."

The blond man gave a curt nod. "Good enough." As he prepared to leave them to it, he turned halfway. "And Maxim," he said, abandoning his diplomatic reserve, "get your answers and come back in one piece."

 

Maxim braced himself against the passenger door of the squad car as Gutierrez hit a dip in the road at full speed. The suspension seemed to buckle on the landing, but the tires held their traction and the rookie pressed on.

It was difficult to see. Red sand filled the air where Hitchens and Cole weaved ahead, sirens blaring. Their cruiser skidded to a halt on the gravel in front of Deborah's safe house. Gutierrez pulled up beside them and the four officers jumped out of their seats with their weapons ready.

As Maxim was getting into position on the small porch, Cole was the first to the door. The brawny man kicked it down on his first try. The detective wondered if the man was a werewolf like his friend and realized that life would be much more complicated with his newfound revelation.

As the two veterans stormed inside, the detective signaled Gutierrez to go around the back. Maxim paused a moment to decide what to do with himself but his decision was made for him as the officers surrounded Melody as she sat on the couch, sobbing. She put up no resistance as the pistols were trained on her.

"Keep going," said Maxim, stepping out of the crisp air. Even though the afternoon hours still lingered, temperatures had been dropping earlier in the day, and it wouldn't be long before it was coat and scarf weather. Hitchens and Cole continued clearing the premises and Maxim surveyed the scene.

The kitchen, dining room, and living room were all combined in a quaint open area, and it was all in a shambles. A shelf was knocked down, a lightweight breakfast table was snapped in half, and various objects had been thrown about the room. A sliding glass door connecting the kitchen to the backyard had been shattered and a small amount of blood was spattered on the glass and anything else that was remotely sharp.

As for Melody, she was wiping her eyes as she curled up in a corner of the sofa. It was clear that she had been crying for some time because her eyes almost matched the deep red of her hair. Even worse, however, was the fact that she was bruised up and held an ice pack to her head.

Maxim gave the girl a sympathetic glance and holstered his Glock. "You okay?"

She sniffed and simply shook her head.

Maxim approached her and took a better look. She had some blood on her, but her wounds appeared superficial. The blood in this cabin didn't come from her.

"Melody, what happened here?"

Her tears slowed but the damage had been done—black lines of mascara ran down her moon-colored cheeks. It was an element of flair that seemed to fit her gothic image except for the fact that it was genuine. Her presentation was stripped down, less deliberate. What remained was very honest.

Maxim took in a deep breath and moved a wicker footrest to the girl. He gently sat down and showed Melody his true concern. "Diego's in the clinic, by the way. He's okay. I thought you might want to know."