Page 83 of Welker

That’s right, assholes. I’m here, Moira said to herself.

She drove up the driveway, parked, then slowly emerged, her hands in the air.

Margaret’s front door opened, and…

“Well, well, well,” Moira tsked and shook her head. “If it isn’t the president-wannabe of the 227 MC. How’s that working out for you, Mick?”

“Shut up, bitch. And drop the gun.” His own firearm was in his hand, pointed directly at her head.

“Nope. I want proof Margaret is okay, first,” Moira demanded, putting her hands down, widening her stance, and crossing her arms over her chest in a position of power.

Mick shook his head and snarled. “You get nothing, cunt, until you come in the house. And I ain’t letting you in with that gun.”

It was a standoff of sorts, but what Mick didn’t know, was that Moira was playing a role. She plastered what she hoped was an indecisive look on her face, then gave a huge sigh, lowered her arms, and unsnapped her holster. She took out her Glock and slowly bent over to put it on the ground. While she was down, her phone rang again in her pocket.

Huh. She’d already heard from Hayden…

“That’s my phone,” she told Mick.

“Don’t even think about answering it,” the man sneered. “Take it out and lay it next to your gun.”

Moira withdrew it and looked down at the screen.

Shit. Everlee.

The woman was going to assume something was wrong, and rightly so, when Moira didn’t pick up. She’d probably think Moira had suffered a relapse or something, and would go directly to Welk, who’d also try calling her and getting no answer.

But…

Ever, always level-head, would call someone nearby to check on Moira, and since the team was all engaged, the only reasonable person to hit up would be…Hayden.

Okay. The team—along with Welker—would almost immediately get an earful from the woman about Moira’s current situation. But there was nothing they could do about it. By the time they mobilized to get back to town, the whole thing at Margaret’s should be wrapped up. At least that’s what Moira hoped.

She tossed her device to the ground by her weapon, and straightened up. “Now what?”

“Now, you walk into the house, where Pidge is going to pat you down. Then we’ll let you see the old lady before you, me, and Pidge go for a ride.”

“Where to?” Moira asked, scowling but moving unhurriedly forward.

“A nice, remote place,” Mick smirked. “A waterfall, actually.” He warmed to his story. “You were bored because your team was out of town, so you went sightseeing, and…oops, you lost your footing and fell in, hitting your head in the process.” He shrugged gleefully. “The autopsy will eventually determine whether you died of blunt trauma or drowning. Not that it will matter. You’ll be dead.” Mick laughed like it was the funniest thing he’d ever uttered.

Moira narrowed her eyes and focused on one aspect of what he’d said. “How do you know my team is out of town?”

Mick laughed. “Who do you think lured them away?”

“A fake robbery,” Moira hissed. Whoever was orchestrating this had a bigger brain than Mick’s, that was for sure.

“Yup. With all our people long gone from that scene by the time your piss-ass SWAT team arrived.”

That had to be why Ever had just called. To fill Moira in on the call-out being a false alarm. Would they have their suspicions that it had all been a diversion to get them out of town? Moira wanted to snort. If they hadn’t figured it out already, when Ever called Hayden, the team would get an earful.

She posed a second question.

“How did you know about Margaret’s house?”

“We’ve had it under watch since the old broad bought you all that bird-shit.” He sneered. “We staked out the store, thinking you or your boyfriend would be in, and we heard the old bitch talking about you, and knew we’d scored. We screwed up, not jumping on that right away, then had to wait until you’d recovered enough before we lured you in.”

Mick looked at his big, pretentious watch. “Enough talk. We haven’t got all day. We need to be done with this by the time your posse gets back.”

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