Page 11 of Accidentally Kidnapping the Biker

“What do we know about Jefferson Cross?” I ask the men sitting around the table.

“He’s local, grew up in the area,” JD Dobermann says. He scratches his cheek, which is clean-shaven for the first time in years. “His folks are still around. They, well, mostly Mrs. Cross, ran Camp Sunny-Lu for years until the housing crisis hit and they had to close. Mr. Cross did seasonal work and had some landscaping contracts with the town till he retired.”

“They sound like fine folks, but what about Jefferson. He drives a seventy-thousand dollar truck. How did he pay for that?”

“He subs when we need an extra barback,” Duck says. “He’s reliable enough. Does the job.”

“He’s picked up and made some deliveries for us,” Mason adds. “We’ve never had a problem with them. The count has always been on and we haven’t had any complaints.”

“He picked up some of his dad’s contracts around town, but not all of them,” Picnic says. He references the laptop screen in front of him. “Most of the ones that have come up for renewal have gone to other bidders.”

“I don’t think that’s seventy thou worth of work,” I say. “Can we look closer?”

“You’re awfully worried about a woman you’ve known for two days,” Tolk says.

“He did shoot at me too, but yeah, I’m worried. The Bar and Grill got an audit notification, and two visits from inspectors in the last quarter alone. Somebody is looking for something to leverage us with. I don’t want Cross to be in a position to give them any information.”

“He’s working tonight,” Duck says. “We’ll keep an eye on him. See if he’s asking any questions he shouldn’t be.”

I catch a couple hours sleep before my shift starts. I’m annoyed when the bar is hopping. I was hoping for a slow night so I could take off early and stop by Kat’s to see how she was doing.

Jefferson Cross is on hand to do his job. He cruises tables picking up empties, and brings fresh cases of beer up from storage to refill the coolers. I’m busy so I can’t keep my eye on him all the time, but it seems to me that he’s gone for longer periods than he needs to be. I text Picnic and ask him to keep an eye on the security feeds to see where Cross is disappearing too. Ihave a feeling it’s more than just taking an unannounced smoke break in the storage room.

At least I’m not giving anything away whenever he’s behind the bar. I’m known for being a hard-ass. He does whatever I tell him, and the booze keeps flowing. He takes off as soon as we’re closed for the night and the clean-up is done.

That’s when Picnic calls us into the office. “Boys, we have a problem.” He calls up an already-cued surveillance video and presses play. There’s no sound, but we see Cross nod at someone, then head down the corridor to the bathroom. He bypasses the men’s room and heads out the fire door. Another regular—Curtis Cort—follows him a minute later.

Picnic changes the feed to the outdoor security cameras that cover the back parking lot. In the bottom of the screen, we see Cort handing over some folded bills, and Cross pulling a small packet out of his pocket.

“He’s fucking dealing on club property?” Duck’s voice is so cold it gives me chills. As soon as anybody hears “former military”, they have an opinion. Same goes for hearing “motorcycle club.” When you add the two together, a lot of assumptions are made. We’ve been fighting against an unearned bad reputation since we first formed our new brotherhood. If this gets out, it would be disastrous.

“We need to wipe all the security footage and the back-ups so there is nothing to find,” Picnic says. “Plus find a way to sweep the bar and grill to make sure he isn’t storing any of his product here. Has he been inside the clubhouse?”

“Fuck,” Duck says again. “Contact everyone. Church tomorrow morning. Ten o’clock. I don’t know if he’s just stupid or if he’s setting us up, but either way we need to come up with a solution to our Cross problem.”

I had considered heading over to Kat’s once I finished work, but this meeting has destroyed that option. I have nothing usefulto tell her, and my brain will be racing trying to connect this news to the fact that he’s trying to get his parents’ property back. The women have been through all the buildings and haven’t said a word about stumbling across a drug stash. There must be more involved. Until I know what it is, I don’t want to bring any more trouble to Kat’s door.

Chapter 9

Kat

Yesterday, I woke up to a text from Wylie saying he was following a lead about both the arson and my would-be kidnappers. This morning, I find myself signing for a bouquet sent to the salon.

I’d rather have orgasms. I texted him to thank him but haven’t heard anything back. I had a great time with him, and it sucks that it seems our one night was only payback. I thought having lunch with his friends meant something but it seems I was wrong. It’s too bad. He may have spoiled me for other men until his memory fades.

I look around the dining room and kitchen and I’m filled with a sense of accomplishment. It was a chore, but it’s finally empty. Romy is calling the general contractor she used for the salon to come and give it a once-over so we’ll know what it will take to get it operational. I agreed to meet with him once she has a date; Romy will have her hands full with clients.

I recognize the sound of the motor outside, and it doesn’t belong to a work truck. It’s joined by several more. I go outside to see what’s happening and spy JD and his cousin Bishop heading to the salon while Wylie breaks off and stalks over to me when he sees me.

“Are you here alone?” he barks.

He’s straddling the line between concern and assholishness, but given his reaction to his kidnapping and the fire, I’ll give him the benefit of the doubt. “I know you’re not calling me an idiot. No, I’m not. Romy and Rhiannon are two buildings over. They are talking to the insurance adjustor. The sheriff is due any time to talk to her, and the deputy has already done a drive-by to show the flag and make sure the arsonist hasn’t come back.”

Stress bleeds off his face with each name I add to the list. “I have some new information. Cross is involved in all kinds of shit. I can prove some of it, but nothing that I can link to the guys who tried to grab you or to the arson,” Wylie admits.

“Can you give me a hint?”

He presses a finger to a nostril, then raises his other fist under his nose and mimes inhaling. “Or something similar. We think.”

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