Page 95 of Welker

“Let’s see what we’ve got,” Alvero stated perkily, his stethoscope now looped over his neck. “Welk, you want to help me ease her gear off?”

Welker nodded, and between the two of them, they seemed to divest her of her Kevlar without causing her too much distress, other than a wince or two.

“I didn’t feel a thing when I put it on,” she grumbled.

“You hadn’t been in a fist fight with a Mick-Truck then, either,” Alvi snorted.

“Smart-ass,” Moira scolded, then her attention turned to a spot across the lawn. “Chief?” Moira yelled for Mason’s attention. The boss had been waylaid, watching Mike handcuffing Pidge and reading the injured prick his rights before the ambulance arrived.

Welker’s eyes turned to the other man on the ground.

Nobody had yet bothered to deal with Mick. Instead, he’d become a source of amusement, as team members stood around him attempting to say the most rodeo-like things they could come up with, all while Boone stood by and laughed his ass off.

“Yeah, Moira?” Mason turned his attention to her and jogged over.

“I have a recording for you,” she said, as Alvi poked, prodded, and listened to her lungs.

The boss raised a brow.

“A good one?” he asked.

“Mm, hmm,” Moira said, slapping at Alvero’s hands as he felt around under her armpit. “Ticklish there, man. Just warning you so I don’t accidently throw a punch.”

“Noted.” Alvero smartly moved on to new territory.

Moira answered Mason. “Mick was very forthcoming about who was in charge of everything. I think you’ll find enough evidence here,” she tapped the wire running from her chest to her belt, “along with what Tex is digging up, to put the heretofore esteemed Gladstone behind bars.”

“Best news I’ve had all day,” Mason returned, helping Moira divest herself of her listening device. “In case you missed it, we had a shit morning, chasing down a non-existent robbery.”

“So I heard. You know that diversion took some thought. It wasn’t that sorry steer over there who orchestrated things.”

“We figured,” Mason returned. “It had to be Gladstone.

Moira nodded. “The sheriff’s not in it alone, boss. Murphy, the new guy, is a member of the 227 MC. Gladstone hired him to take my place in Bar Harbor once they got me out of the way, but oddly, Pickenstahl isn’t dirty. He’s just a dick.”

“That’s too bad,” Mason chuckled. “I can’t stand the guy. But we can’t always get everything we wish for.”

Welker snorted, holding Moira’s hand while Alvero continued his exam. When the medic was finished, he straightened up with a smile.

“Well?” Welker asked.

“In my opinion, she’s good,” Alvi apprised them. “But I still want her surgeon to check her out and give her the all clear. So that means another ambulance ri?—”

“Nope,” Moira cut in, easing herself off the tailgate. She looked pretty solid on her feet, so Welker held his tongue. “I’ll go, but Welk can drive me. I’ll call the doc on the way, and let him know I’m coming in.”

Alvero looked as if he were about to disagree, but Welker shook his head. With Moira, it was better to take the inch she’d conceded, rather than risk it all by arguing.

Sirens sounded in the distance, but the ride would be for Pidge, alone.

“You ready to—?” Welker noticed Margaret trotting over. She’d been in a lively discussion with Sin, but clearly had something to say to Moira before she and Welk took off.

“How are you feeling, dear?” she asked Moira, reaching up to lay a papery hand on Moira’s face.

“I’ve been worse,” Moira responded with a huge yawn. “But my head is coming off, and I feel like I could sleep for the next twenty-four to forty-eight hours.”

Huh. It seemed like Margaret was able to get the truth out of Moira

“You do that,” the older woman nodded. “But when you’re feeling better, Sin and I have talked it over, and we’re going to throw a nice, big party in your honor.”

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