Page 71 of Sweet Temptation

“I guess that’s what you’d call it,” Naveen said. “But he’s got no bike.”

I considered that. “So, he’s a wannabe?”

“Guess so. Seems crews are full of them these days. Sinners especially. I talked to one of my contacts in Organized Crime at VPD, ran Sanchuk’s name by him. Seems he wasn’t on their Christmas wish list until recently. They know who he is, but they’ve got nothing on him. Our tail managed to get pretty close to the action last night, though. From what he could tell, looks like Sanchuk rolls with a few of the Sinners’ prospects.”

“A hangaround.”

“Yup.”

That’s what they called guys who weren’t yet official prospects, and maybe never would be, but socialized with the clubs and sometimes even did minor dirty work for them. Hangarounds.

I’d known some guys who were hangarounds with the local MCs myself. Back in my teenage years, when I was far less discerning about the company I kept.

Fuck.

This was a major detail I couldn’t exactly not report to Jude.

I really didn’t want the Kings deciding to involve themselves in my work. At best, they were a complication. At worst, they were dangerous. Frankly, they were fucking criminals.

But I both trusted and respected Jude Grayson. He’d hired me for this detail, and I knew he wanted to keep Summer safe.

“So,” I asked Naveen, “what else has our archaeological dig on this asshole uncovered?”

Naveen had been doing a deep dive on Sanchuk for me, and I was hoping to dig up something that would tell me exactly who this guy was and what he wanted with Summer, soon—give me a better picture of what exactly I was protecting her from.

Dumbass meth addict on a one-time, poorly-thought-out mistake?

Creepshow obsessed-fan-turned-stalker?

Targeted attack with farther-reaching motivations? Money? Property? Retribution?

If there were bikers involved… who the fuck knew.

“Not much,” Naveen said, which was the last thing I wanted him to say. “But VPD definitely thinks he’s dealing.”

I took that in. I walked over to my office window and looked out. Sometimes, just looking out at the mountains helped to infuse me with a sense of rightness when everything was starting to go wrong. I’d been on this job a day, and the frustration was already starting to creep in.

Know your enemy, right?

I fucking hated not knowing everything there was to know about this guy. And yet everything I found out had the potential to be bad fucking news.

“Anything else?”

“He’s pretty new in town,” Naveen said. “Popped up maybe six months ago. Grew up out near Hope. Lived there all his life, until now. Worked as a contractor on residential construction crews.”

Hope was a small town about two hours east of Vancouver on the junction of the Trans-Canada Highway and the Crowsnest Highway. Probably a decent location for a dealer. Just one of several commuter communities to be hit with a serious meth problem in recent years, but it was hardly part of my domain. I had no idea who was supplying that meth. Didn’t particularly want to know.

“So…” I ventured, “I’m guessing his newfound interest in big city life has more to do with his extracurriculars involving street drugs than it does his career in home construction?”

“I’m thinking so. Have you got anything more on your end?”

“Not really.” I sat down in the chair behind my desk.

Last night, I kept thinking through what Summer told the police over the phone when she requested the restraining order, and what she’d told me.

And what she hadn’t told me.

Like the fact that someone had set off her neighbor’s house alarm the night before Sanchuk tried to break into her place—which Naveen had learned in one of his conversations with VPD—and the fact that she’d had one of her wardrobe cases stolen from a gig the same night—which Brody had told me.

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