Page 87 of Single Mom's Biker Brigade
“When did you get those?” I’d been right with him. I never saw him make a move for the faked ledger.
He grinned at me, a tiny little sideways smirk that set me on fire. “I have skills.”
“Was that…a joke?” Colt put a hand against his forehead. “Callie, do I have a fever?”
“Funny.” Diesel crossed his arms and pressed his lips together.
“Oh, so he’s done talking now.” Colt snorted and half fell into the nearest chair.
“Medical’s here.” Dylan stuck his head in the door. “Want me to send them in?”
“No. I’m happy to keep bleeding all over the floor.” Colt waved one hand when Dylan froze. “Send them in.”
“This is all we have. You have names, payoff routes, and meeting windows. Wade confirmed the information you had.” Hawk didn’t give Hart the full story, but they connected the dots pretty damned fast. “How do you make this stand up in court?”
The two of them bent over the paperwork. “The ledger isn’t just dirt. It’s a map. There are probably routines in there we can figure out once our analysts are on the job. If the map matches what I can pull from cameras and plates, it becomes probable instead of rumor.” Hart drummed his fingertips on the table.
A man in a blue uniform carried a bag in and set it beside Colt. “Guessing you’re the one needing treatment.” He pointed at the blood trail. “Might want to work on that if you need to be sneaky in the future.”
“Oh great, I got the one with jokes.” Colt rested his head on the back of the chair.
“Laughter is the best medicine.” The EMT took the wad of soaked shirt from Colt’s shoulder and let out a low whistle. “But I think I’d better patch you up the old-fashioned way too. Just to be safe.”
Conversations blurred around me as it all settled. The adrenaline I’d been riding for a day and a half rushed out, leaving my knees weak and my head fuzzy. My hands shook. I locked them against my thighs and breathed. Cody was safe. Colt was upright. Diesel and Hawk worked on next steps. I’d done my part. I stiffened my legs to keep on my feet.
Colt slid a hand around my waist and guided me down onto his leg. “I got you, Callie. We’re all here. We’re all okay.”
He talked to me the way he did Cody, like I was precious and worth reassuring.
Hart pointed at the ledger. “That one. I know that name. It came up when I ran plates tonight.” He grinned, and it had a malicious edge to it that I appreciated because it meant he wanted this bad enough he wouldn’t be bought off. “This is your shooter’s crew.”
Hawk pulled the ledger around, his body going stiff as he looked. He nodded once, the movement clipped and certain. “Then we take off their head.”
32
HAWK
The rules went down before Hart unpacked the second tablet. I laid them out on the table with a splay of my hands while Diesel stood behind me and four of my men watched the perimeter.
“Your people don’t set foot on this property without my say. Evidence stays in your chain of command. Nobody,” I paused and gave him a look that made most men turn pasty. “No one pulls a trigger unless they’re already being shot at. You get the collar, you get the case and the credit. We stay out of the paperwork.”
Hart held out his hand. “Agreed.”
That was why I’d agreed to work with him and not the county sheriff. Hart understood, and based on what I’d seen and heard, he had his own vendetta against the Hellhounds.
Good. We needed another man like that in our corner.
He built a warrant stack while I watched. The ledger photos became the backbone of the setup, the names, routes and all the juicy information Callie had saved matching up with activesightings. He layered the drone card timestamps over that, putting the Hellhound surveillance assets on our property on three separate dates. Once he added in the school sign-out footage and cross-referenced his database with Diesel’s found footage, we had a name he tacked onto the list.
The plates from the vehicles that chased us last night went down next, then he backed up to the traffic cam footage from the fire at Callie’s shop. Every single piece lined up. It was a fucking masterpiece of interconnected layers that not even Ridge would be able to wiggle out of. “You getting him too?” I pointed at Ridge’s name on the papers.
Hart’s mouth pulled to one side. “He’s either the luckiest asshole on the planet or has half the force in his pocket. I’m close to getting him, but I need a little more to make sure it sticks. If I take him down, it needs to be one hundred percent perfect or he’ll slip through my fingers.” His jaw tightened. “I’m not letting that happen, but I need a little more time for Ridge.”
I didn’t like it, but I had nothing else to offer him.
By two in the morning, he had what he needed, including a warrant signed by a judge he trusted.
“Diesel.” I barely had to turn my head to spot the man who hadn’t moved from just behind my right shoulder.
