Page 96 of Welker

“For what?” Moira asked, blinking.

It occurred to Welker, at that very moment, that nobody had ever thrown a bash just for Moira. And that was just sad.

Margaret didn’t hesitate. “To celebrate your big bust, of course.”

Welker and all the officers surrounding Moira laughed, with Moira also trying to hide her giggle, and her impulse to…fluff. It was pretty hilarious, hearing the nonagenarian use the slang term for arrest, which also meant boobs.

But Margaret wasn’t finished. “…as well as to honor your promotion within the sheriff’s department.” She squared her shoulders. “I’m sure that once Gladstone’s position becomes vacant, you will easily become the next Sheriff in charge.”

Welker agreed with the sentiment behind Margaret’s proclamation, but considering the current hierarchy in the department, Pickenstahl would most likely be elevated to Sheriff. That, however, didn’t mean Moira couldn’t take Pickenstahl’s position as Under-Sheriff…

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, Margaret,” Moira said as Welker quirked his head toward his truck and they began walking in that direction. “But right now, I’m not ready to think about anything except getting my health cleared at the hospital so I can go home and crash.”

“Understood, dear,” Margaret nodded sagely. “And don’t worry about a thing. Lady Guinevere and I will be by to visit you tomorrow to make sure you’re comfortable and have plenty of things to eat.”

Welker silently gagged. Not about the food, though. This was all about Lady Guinevere. The last time Margaret had brought her dog to the house, the smell had remained inside for several hours after they’d left, despite opening all windows and employing all the fans.

But Moira beamed like it was the best news, ever. “I’m holding you to that,” she said without even a hint of a wrinkled-up nose.

Yup. Moira was a better person than he.

Three hours later, Welker practically carried Moira in through his front door as she leaned heavily against him. She was beyond exhausted from the morning’s activities, as well as from all the poking and prodding she’d undergone at the hospital. The good news? She’d not only been cleared of any additional damage to her chest wall, they’d iced her jaw, and cleaned the balance of Mick’s blood off her face.

Now it was Welker’s turn to take charge. “I want you to drink some water, then I’ll tuck you in and let you sleep for the rest of the day.”

Moira, half asleep, only nodded, which, in itself, told of her fatigue.

Welker steered her into the kitchen where she downed a full glass, then without asking, he scooped Moira up in his arms and carried her up to bed.

“My hero,” she said drowsily, patting his face as he stripped off her clothes, then tucked her in.

“I don’t know about hero,” Welker demurred. “You, Hayden, and Boone seemed to have everything wrapped up…or should I say tied up, by the time we got there,” he teased.

Moira snickered half-heartedly. “I mean…for everything else you do. I…” Tears filled her eyes. “I don’t know what I would have done if I’d had to deal with all this shit on my own. You make life…easier.”

Welker bent and kissed the top of Moira’s head as her eyes closed. “And I love you so much, I’ll continue to do that for the rest of our days,” he promised.

Maura must have heard him, because as her breathing evened out, a smile graced her beautiful lips.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

“Yes. I’m good, and…” This was hard for Moira. The phone felt heavy in her hand. Her father had never bothered himself with her before; never been a part of her life. It was odd, after all these years, that he was checking on her; that he wanted to…connect. It had been three weeks since the scene at Margaret’s and everything was looking up.

Moira took a deep breath, one that was no longer painful in any way, and gave positive recognition to her father for the first time, ever. “Thank you. For checking in on me, and for putting pressure on the local politicians and the judges you know to move Gladstone’s case along so fast.”

Yeah. It would have sucked if things had been dragged out, but Gladstone wasn’t going anywhere.

Tex had been able to provide definitive intel regarding money-trails that led right to Gladstone, not only from the 227 MC, but from other periphery gangs in the area who were running drugs and paying him off. Along with that and Moira’s tape, Tormentor, now facing life in prison for the murder of Deputy Alstead, had sung like the proverbial canary, cementing Gladstone’s fate.

The sheriff’s trial had been swift, with the defense unable to come up with any evidence that would exonerate him from a first-degree murder rap for his part in not only Alstead’s killing, but also in the attempted murder of Moira.

The racketeering charges had also been a slam-dunk.

After less than two hours of deliberation, the jury had come back with the verdict. Guilty. On all counts.

The man hadn’t been sentenced yet, but there was no doubt he was headed away for the rest of his life.

Mick and Pidge had yet to stand trial, but they also faced attempted kidnapping and first-degree murder charges. Their day was coming.

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