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  He was just reaching for the door to leave when he heard the click of a keycard being swiped from the hall. Plastering himself to the wall behind the door, he hoped she’d walk far enough into the room that he could slip out without her noticing.

  The door opened. He held his breath and sucked in his gut, fists at the ready in case it came to that—although he’d never actually hurt her. Poppy’s orders were hands off; they didn’t need the feds raining down on them like the wrath of Khan.

  The room was in darkness and she’d have to pass the entrance to the bedroom in order to reach the lights. If he was quiet, he should just make it.

  Caitlyn moved past him. He grabbed the edge of the door to keep it from shutting, ready to sidle around it once she was far enough away not to notice the movement.

  Before he could make his move a man barreled through the door, blindsiding Caitlyn and knocking her into the bedroom. Goose left the safety of the shadows and was ready to intervene when he saw it was Weasel. Trying to help him, no doubt.

  Caitlyn landed an elbow to Weasel’s side, but she was fighting from a disadvantage, on her knees beside the bed, Weasel’s heavier weight on top of her from behind. Before she could twist her way free, Weasel grabbed the coverlet from the bed, threw it over her head, wrapped it around her tight, and pushed her to the floor. He held her in a choke hold, his mouth next to her ear.

  “Go home, fed. Forget about Lena Hale. You’re messing in something ain’t none of your business.”

  He shoved her headfirst half under the bed. Then he and Goose raced from the room, pulling the door shut.

  “Hey, what’s the deal?” Goose protested once they were safely behind the locked door of the room next door. “Poppy doesn’t trust me? Sent you to spy?”

  “I just saved your butt.” Weasel waved him to silence as they both listened to Caitlyn’s door slamming open, footsteps stomping down the hall, then back again to her room. Goose ran over to where his laptop was set up on the desk and activated the bugs he’d just placed.

  “What’s she doing?” Weasel asked, keeping his voice low.

  Goose listened on the headphones so there was no chance of the sound carrying through the walls. “Calling her uncle. Asking if he can pull security tapes for this floor.” He turned to Weasel. “Shit. We’re screwed. All because you had to play the heavy. Poppy said to keep things quiet.”

  “Relax. These feds aren’t as tough as they think.”

  “You sound like you have some experience there.”

  “You been with the club long as I have, you learn there’s a public side of things and a private side of things.” Weasel narrowed his eyes at Goose. “Let’s just leave it at that.”

  Goose pulled up the video feeds. Caitlyn had changed into jeans and was loading her Baby Glock and strapping on an ankle holster. “What about the security cameras? She’ll know we’re here, see our faces.”

  “Don’t worry. Poppy will take care of it. Let’s roll.”

  “Don’t you want me to stay here, monitor things?”

  Caitlyn grabbed her leather car coat and left her room. Her footsteps echoed past their door and down the hall again.

  “Only if you want to miss all the fun. I’m betting she’s heading to the clubhouse right now.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Once Lena poked a few holes higher up, the section of plaster wall collapsed under its own weight, filling the small room with dust, choking her as she dodged the heavy slabs. The crash shook the room and left her ears buzzing.

  If her captors were nearby there was no way they’d miss hearing that. Before the dust had a chance to settle, she climbed over the rubble and began clawing at the wire and wood lathing separating her from the outside wall. The lathing was thin, popped free of its nails easily when she leveraged her weight against it, but the wire wouldn’t budge. Eyes tearing with dust, fingers bleeding, she searched for the end of the wire where it was anchored to the wood beams supporting the wall.

  Adrenaline and anxiety sped her heartbeat through her veins with the force of a hammer driving nails. What she wouldn’t do for a crowbar, she thought as she wiped blood from her hands onto her pants, mixing it with the plaster dust. All she needed was a few inches clear between the two-by-fours, just enough for her to shimmy through to freedom.

  The chimps had done their part. Once Smokey began tearing at the siding, her three buddies had joined in on the fun. The outside siding was now riddled with gaping holes, including a sizable one directly across from Lena.

  Lena shivered against the night air hitting her sweaty skin. She wanted to howl in frustration. Only the wire separated her from the outside world.

  Clawing her fingers through the holes in the wire, she shook it, leaning her entire weight against it. She knew she couldn’t tear it apart but hoped to bend it enough to loosen it from whatever anchored it to the wall. When that didn’t work, she tried weaving one of the thin pieces of wooden lathing through it and leveraging it away. It gave slightly—at least she imagined that it did—but refused to pull free.

  She tunneled through the plaster debris on the floor—the stuff was heavier than sin—and searched for the bottom edge of the wire sheet. It was anchored all right. Not just stapled in place. No, the sick, twisted bastards who’d built this place had nailed it to the outside of the two-by-six-footer with thick eight-penny nails bent over, the sharp edges of their heads driven into the wood. She might have been able to pull them out, given enough leverage, but she was on the wrong side of the footer and there was no way she could reach them through the wire.

  Okay, Lena, okay. No need to panic, just because you’ve pretty much destroyed half the house and there’s no way the bad guys won’t notice it when they come back and that could be anytime now and they’re going to be so very angry and who knows what they might do … Stop it! Work the problem.

  An encouraging chrumph-hurumph sound came from outside. Lena looked up to see that Smokey had returned. The chimp squatted beyond the hole in the siding, regarding Lena, tilting her head one way then the other as if examining Lena’s predicament.

  “Think you could help me again?” Lena asked. The chimp didn’t move for a moment, then bounced up and down. “Here, can you pull here?” Lena wiggled her fingers through the bottom of the wire, pointing to its edge. “Be careful, it’s sharp.”

  Smokey touched the wire, tapped a finger against the nails, making a gurgling noise in the back of her throat, like asking an uncomfortable question.

  “I know, it’s not going to be easy,” Lena said, making eye contact with the chimp. “It’s probably going to hurt.” She pressed her palms against the wire, forcing it as far forward as she could. The chimp leaned into the hole in the wall, sniffing the blood on Lena’s hands, the short hairs on her snout tickling.

  She screeched and reared back, agitated.

  “Wait, don’t go!”

  Too late, Smokey had disappeared into the night.

  Lena wiped her face on her sleeve, ignoring the tears and mucus and plaster dust she smeared over her best wool coat. Her job-interview coat, the one she’d found at a thrift store, the price tag still on it. Anne Klein, only five bucks. It’d seemed like a sign from God that good things were coming her way, she remembered thinking at the time.

  Idiot. She knew better than to put her faith in signs and portents. There was only one thing that could help her survive this: God. She just had to trust in Him.

  A wave of tranquility swept over her, the night noises, the rasp of her breathing, the pounding of her heart all vanishing into a peace-filled silence. She closed her eyes, the better to see His vision for her. Whatever you need, God. I’m trusting in you. Please just give me the strength and courage to walk the path you lay before me. Amen.

  A deep breath in filled her lungs with crisp, clean air. Another one out, expelling her doubts and fears. She opened her eyes, renewed energy tingling along her nerves.

  Smokey had returned and sat watching Lena, arms wrapped
around her chest. She looked very sad.

  “It’s okay,” Lena reassured her, perching on the pile of debris and mimicking the chimp’s posture. “We’ll think of something.” She tugged the belt on her coat tighter, trying to block the wicked winter wind. Then she looked at the belt buckle. Nickel. And the fabric was wool. Strong enough?

  Thank you, she whispered to the heavens. She wove the belt through the wire immediately above the nails. The wood footer and heavy-duty nails were stronger than the wire—especially where it had been cut along the floor. All she needed was enough leverage to tug a few of the wrapped strands free.

  Once she had the belt secured she braced her feet against her side of the wall and leaned all her weight back, stretching the belt taut. With loud grunts and screeches, Smokey cheered her on.

  The wire fought, bent, and twisted. Smokey clapped as Lena strained, pushing with all her might. Finally, the bottom strands beneath the nails popped free. One inch, then two, then pop-pop-pop, the wire gave up the battle. Lena fell back, releasing a fresh wave of plaster dust while Smokey flew head over heels then somersaulted back to the wall, banging on it in victory.

  “Thank you, Jesus!” Lena shouted, doing her own jig, floundering over the chunks of plaster.

  She tossed bottles of Ensure through the opening, followed by her coat. Wrapping her scarf tight around her face to prevent being ripped by any stray splinters or nails, she sucked in her stomach and crawled through the wall to freedom.

  The night sky was filled with stars, shimmering with halos as the mountain mist scudded across them, carried by a brisk westerly wind. Never had shivering felt so good.

  Hope filling her heart, Lena slid back into her coat, filled the pockets with all the Ensure she could carry, and looked out into the darkness of a black vista of trees with no signs of civilization in sight. Smokey returned, cautiously, taking her time as she walked around Lena, assessing her. Lena stood still, holding her hands out, palm down.

  “It’s okay, it’s just me,” she cooed to the animal.

  Smokey stopped, cocked her head again in consideration, then stepped forward and slid her hand into Lena’s. An act of complete trust. Lena’s tears broke past her willpower. Together they faced the wilderness surrounding them.

  Which way, Lord? I will follow, wherever you lead.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Caitlyn winced and rubbed her left shoulder as she steered the Subaru down Route 19. Six months ago she’d broken that collarbone. It’d healed fine—until some Reaper goon decided to tackle her and throw her to the floor to land on it again.

  She knew it was a Reaper because she’d torn a Reaper lapel pin from his collar while grappling with the asshole. At least she’d gotten in one or two good shots. Still, it rankled. Definitely not her finest moment.

  How the hell did that guy get the drop on me? was the question foremost in her mind. He’d come from the direction opposite the elevators, from the guest rooms down the hall. Must’ve been in a room not too far from hers, because he wasn’t in the hall when she unlocked her door.

  Maybe a room across the hall? He could have been watching for her, familiar with the layout, aware that she’d be in the dark for a few steps, her back unguarded? She made a note to ask Jimmy to check which rooms were occupied and if any maids were missing keycards. Unfortunately, since she had no idea what the guy looked like, until they got the security footage, it might not help much.

  Jimmy wasn’t even sure if the security cameras covered that far away from the elevators and ice machine area. Protested that they’d never had any problems—like it was somehow her fault, coming into town and stirring up trouble. He’d acted more concerned that none of his other guests heard the commotion than he had been about her safety.

  Her breath steamed the windshield, and she cranked up the defroster. In a way, she guessed it was her fault. Trouble sure as hell seemed to find her no matter where she went: a secure federal penitentiary, a crowded resort. She passed Santa Land and drove through Cherokee headed south. This time she was taking trouble to them. The Reapers weren’t going to assault a federal agent and get away with it.

  It was amazing how much Cherokee had changed since she was a kid. Where there’d once been only a few ramshackle trading stands selling traditional Qualla crafts or housing bingo parlors, there were now strip malls and motels and a brand-new hospital. All thanks to the VistaView.

  The Pit Stop, now the Reaper clubhouse, was just as Caitlyn remembered it. A long two-story log building with a few smaller outbuildings behind it. Tonight the parking lot was filled with Harleys, many sporting out-of-state licenses, as well as an assortment of pickup trucks, SUVs, and even two minivans. The lighted sign out front announced a charity poker run over the weekend. That explained the out-of-state plates, especially as the Reapers’ home chapter was in Daytona Beach.

  Caitlyn didn’t even try to find a parking spot in the lot. Last thing she wanted was to get boxed in; she liked having an escape route handy. She pulled into the lot of the abandoned service station across the street, backing into the shadow of the unlit sign at the front edge of the lot. This way she could pull right out when she was ready to leave and had an unobstructed view of the clubhouse while she decided on her approach.

  The crowd was going to make things both easier and more difficult. Easier to blend in as a stranger; more difficult to actually learn anything useful. Not like the Reapers were going to be talking club business in a bar filled with outsiders. She debated showing Lena’s photo around, but it didn’t feel right. More likely to bring her attention than answers. Best to wait until she had a better feel for the Reapers.

  She slipped a knife into the front pocket of her jeans where it was just about unnoticeable, slid her ASP retractable baton into her coat pocket, but locked her service weapon in her trunk. The Glock 22 was too easy to spot and would mark her as law enforcement immediately. The smaller Glock 27 at her ankle would have to suffice.

  Besides, if she did this right, her best weapon would be her smile. And the lapel pin she’d ripped off the Reaper who jumped her. She pinned it to the collar of her shirt, pulling the collar over her leather coat so it was easily visible.

  Hanging offense for a non-Reaper. Bring it on, boys.

  She strolled across the street and wove her way through the rows of bikes to the main entrance. The building was surrounded by a wide veranda that—despite the windows facing out from the front room—remained mostly in shadows. The heavy bass line of rock music made the wood floor dance beneath her boots as Buckcherry wailed about a crazy bitch.

  “A chick walks into a biker bar alone,” a man’s voice greeted her as she crossed the porch. “Sounds like a opening to a bad joke.”

  She was going to let it pass as a drunken come-on that backfired except he didn’t sound drunk. Turning to face him, she saw the blond from the VistaView’s check-in desk leaning against the outside wall of the bar, his black clothing blending into the shadows. He nodded to her, raising a bottle of Yuengling in greeting.

  “You following me?” she asked.

  “Looks to me the other way around,” he said. “After all, I’ve been here long enough to have a beer, get tired of the smoke and noise, and step outside for air.”

  “You’re a Reaper?” He wasn’t wearing a cut—the leather vest with patches designating a member’s status and home charter.

  “I can be anything you want, darling. You looking for a Reaper? With the charity ride there are tons here tonight. Lots of folks who aren’t Reapers, too. Motorcycle enthusiasts. Like me.”

  Didn’t answer her question, but she wasn’t going to push the issue. She almost went inside but the thought of leaving him behind her ruffled her instincts. He noticed her hesitation and smiled that sloe-gin smile again. The one that had irritated her so when she’d met him earlier.

  “Would you like an escort?” he asked, pushing away from the wall. Then he noticed the silver Grim Reaper on her lapel. “Maybe you don’t need one? Wou
ldn’t want to tread on another man’s territory.”

  “Look, mister—”

  “Goose.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Goose. That’s my name.” He waited. “And you are?”

  She hated pushy guys like him. Arrogant bastards. Controlling. But in a place like this, that was going to be all she found. Of the bunch this “Goose” was probably least objectionable. Certainly better looking than most. She softened her expression, managed a smile, and said, “Caitlyn. Nice to meet you, Goose.”

  He inclined his head as if he’d watched too many Gary Cooper movies. “Pleasure’s mine, ma’am. I don’t suppose you’d care to dance? Or maybe play pool,” he hastened to add when she hesitated. “At least let me buy you a beer.”

  “No to the dancing, but yes to the beer and a game of pool.” Hard to talk or overhear conversations while on the dance floor, but around a pool table she was much more likely to get some idea for the lay of the land. Maybe even hear a familiar voice, like that of the guy who’d blindsided her earlier this evening. One could only hope.

  “You sure you’re supposed to be wearing that?” He nodded to her pin once more. “Didn’t just pick it up in the parking lot or something, did you?”

  “Trust me. I know what I’m doing.”

  “If you say so. Right this way, then.” He opened the thick, rough-hewn log door, releasing a barrage of misogynistic lyrics from the Ying Yang Twins—the Reapers’ musical tastes seemed more focused on degrading sexual acts than any particular genre—and followed her inside the clubhouse.

  The tables and chairs had been pushed back to make more room for dancing. If you could call it dancing. More like dry-humping, the way the women were grinding on the men. Caitlyn was seriously overdressed compared with the other women who, no matter their size, all seemed to have bare midriffs, jeans that barely clung to their hips, and spaghetti-strap tops—the ones that had straps. And tons of colorful tattoos to draw attention to all that naked flesh hanging out.