Page 90 of Single Mom's Biker Brigade
Agent Hart stood in front of a glass door leading to a conference room. He took a step forward and held out his hand. “Thank you for coming.” His left eyebrow twitched upward. “Hawk. What brings you here?”
“Oh, you know.” He hugged me to his side. “Moral support. Making sure the paperwork doesn’t have our names splashed all over it.”
“Mm-hmm.” Hart took a step back, pushing the door open as he moved into the room. “By all means, come inside and see for yourself. There are some things I can’t show you, of course, but you’re welcome to ask as many questions as you want.”
“Who are you, and what did you do with the grumpy guy?” I crossed my arms over my chest and looked him over.
Hart grabbed a chair and pulled it away from the table. “He’s locked up because I finally got those assholes locked up.” There was almost a sense of childish glee in the way he rubbed his hands together. “Let’s get started.”
I sank into a chair and crossed my ankles, pulling them underneath me and gripping Hawk’s hand tight enough my fingers ached.
Hart sat across from me and tapped the recorder in the middle of the table, then turned on a camera. “Please state your name for the record.”
I did as he asked and he scribbled in a yellow legal pad in tight, pinched handwriting I couldn’t read from this angle. I gave Hart everything from Wade’s voice on the phone to my recollection of the fire, the shots fired at us, anything and everything I could possibly remember.
Hart pushed printed copies of the ledger toward me. “The entries on pages four through seven. Can you confirm these match what you photographed from the original document.”
“Yes.”
“And the names on the margins on page nine?” He watched me with a careful expression, doing everything by the book.
I nodded. “Yes, those are the same. I remember them from when Wade lived with us.” I shuddered at the reminder, and Hawk squeezed my hand. “Some are men that Wade mentioned as owing him favors. A few others are men he collected from.” I’d known more than I understood. All those years living under Wade’s thumb, and I’d blocked out several memories that came flooding back these last few days.
“What can you tell me about the route notations on page thirteen?”
I picked up the pictures and squinted at the handwriting. “Wade used those routes. He always said they were his favorite because they took him through beautiful country.”
We went back and forth like that for an hour before Hart turned off the recorder and camera. “This ledger gives us more thanroutes and payload. It pins leadership on Ridge, and the photos we gathered from the hits last night turn this from random violence into organized pressure with a chain of command. This gives us everything we need.”
“Good.” I took a second to examine the room. Now that I could breathe, it helped to recalibrate my system. A whiteboard covered in roadmaps with dots pinned in various locations and pictures of half the Hellhound crew took up most of the back wall.
Agent Hart set his hands on the table and leaned forward. “The Iron Vultures are not going down for any of this. I might not be the highest agent in the ranks, but this is my case. I made the calls, and I did the arrests. This is mine all the way through. You have nothing to worry about.”
“Yeah. I’ve heard that before.” Hawk sat back, his legs splayed open in a casually aggressive pose. “I’m trusting you, Hart. I don’t do that often or lightly.”
Hart dipped his chin in a tiny nod. “Understood.”
An hour later, we pulled to a stop outside the house and Hawk cut the engine.
Colt met us at the gate with Cody on his hip. Cody had refused to take off Colt’s hoodie but he’d stopped hiding his face even though he locked his arms around Colt’s neck and chewed the strings.
“How’d it go?” Colt held out a hand to help me from the truck.
“Good.” I ran my fingertips over Cody’s cheek. “Have you eat?”
“Colt made eggs.” Cody’s nose crinkled. “Again.”
“I make good eggs.” Colt huffed his usual laugh that came out easy and light.
Cody straightened and placed his hands on Colt’s cheeks. “You always make eggs. There are other foods.”
“Name one.”
“Pasta.” Cody pinched Colt’s face between his hands. “I like pasta.”
“I don’t know how to make pasta.”
Cody shrugged. “Mom can teach you.”
