Page 141 of Snared Rider

“You and your entire operation think you run this town but you don’t.”

Dad sighs dramatically. “I have no idea where this animosity is coming from, DCI Morgan. The Club is just a group of lads who like motorcycles. That’s all. I don’t know where you get all this shit about operations and whatever the fuck else.” Dad gives him a shit-eating grin and Morgan’s body goes wired. “Maybe you’ve been watching too much television.”

“I know exactly what the Lost Saxons are.”

He and Dad are practically chest to chest and my heart is pounding. Are they going to throw down in the middle of the hospital? The last thing we need right now is Dad arrested.

“I’m not like my colleagues, Jack; I’m not going to stand around with my thumb up my arse watching while you conduct your business under my nose, and you’re not going to be able to pay me off either.”

“You really have got the wrong idea,” Dad reiterates. “But, hey, if you’re ever in the market for a motorcycle you come to us. The Club builds great machines. We’ve got some bloody talented kids on the payroll.” He pulls out a business card (I assume for one of the garages) and hands it to Morgan.

He doesn't move his gaze from Dad’s face, nor does he take the card.

“I’ll be seeing you around, Jack.” He pushes past Dad to reach the door, but he pauses on the threshold, turning back. “If you remember anything, Miss Goddard, you call.”

He indicates the card he’s left on the seat he just vacated. I didn’t notice him doing that. Sneaky bastard. I also don’t move to take the card, but I do give him a thin smile.

“I’ve already told you what I remember.”

“Well, if something comes to you.” Morgan turns to Dad. “Jack.”

Then he leaves the room, closing the door behind him. Dad watches him go, his shoulders practically touching his ears.

“That fucking guy,” he mutters under his breath.

“He seems kind of angry with the Club.”

My pointed response earns a snort, but Dad offers no explanation, not that I expect one. Whatever the Club’s beef with Morgan is, it is undoubtedly Club business—something I’m not, nor will I ever be, privy to.

“He buy your story?”

“I didn’t have a story, Dad. I didn’t see anything,” At least not today. “And that is exactly what I told him.”

He nods. “Good girl.”

Yeah, good girl. I did exactly what I was told. A gold star for effort.

He leans down and kisses my head. “You doing okay?”

What I am is confused, tired, hurting and worried. Relaying this is pointless, however, so I don’t.

“Tell me you’re at least close to finding this lunatic.”

Dad shifts uncomfortably. “We’re getting there.”

“Which means no.” I flop back into one of the chairs and regret it immediately as pain lances through my chest. I curse loudly.

“Easy, sweetheart,” Dad chides. “You’re still sore?”

“Funnily enough broken ribs don’t just magically heal in a few days.”

Dad gives me a look. “Cut the attitude.”

I sigh. “Sorry. I’m just—I’m worried. This guy is still out there and he’s not exactly shy about making grand statements, Dad.”

This gives my father pause and I notice the slight tightening around his eyes. “Did you see anything before the shooting? Anything at all?”

“Like what?”

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