Page 56 of Rebel

Chapter 20

Rebel

Just as we were heading back to the clubhouse, someone’s phone rang. It was a call for Storm. When he pulled out his phone, he jerked his chin at us to hold up. “It’s our contact from the Griffinsford PD.”

They talked back and forth, but their conversation was cryptic, and I couldn’t understand much of it. When it was over, he dropped us a clue.

“Our contact wants to meet right away at the usual place. He says it’s important.”

“Any idea what this is about?” I asked, growing more curious by the second.

As he shoved his phone back into his pocket, he replied, “I hope he’s got intel on these break-ins because this case with your woman is running us in circles. He just said he has news for us and wants to deliver it in person.”

“That sounds fucking promising. We could use a break about now.” I felt excitement thrumming in my chest. I was way past ready to track down whatever asshole did this and make him pay so Lacey and I could put this behind us for good.

Storm said, “Yeah, I agree. I’m getting good and tired of dealing with these assholes.”

Celt pushed past me to get his bike and added, “How the hell did yer sweet lassie deal with those two dickheads?”

I grinned at him. “She didn’t deal with them. Lacey fired them both first thing in the morning on day one of being in charge. Let’s just say they didn’t take it very well, but Mark was such an asshole to her that I thought about cracking his head open like an egg.”

Storm chuckled as we climbed onto our bikes. “You always did have a way with words, Rebel. I’ll give you that.”

Celt, who was Storm’s cousin, teased him. “Don’t sit there and act like you’ve never cracked a skull or two, ‘cause I know better.”

Storm didn’t miss a beat. He flung back, “I can guarantee that every single skull I cracked thoroughly deserved it.”

I loved their useless banter. It felt carefree, more like brothers than cousins. I’d mostly avoided the club officers and hung around with other prospects during my time with the Slayers. The officers were turning into real friends in my mind instead of just authority figures. I never thought I’d warm up to Storm and Celt. They were both pretty rough and ready for just about anything. Neither of them were slackers. If there was work to do, they pitched in. Storm was always leading the way, like a good club president should.

We jumped on our bikes and headed to the police department. It was weird that our contact liked meeting up near his workplace when he’d never want to be seen associating with bikers. It felt like this was his way of living life dangerously or something or maybe thumbing his nose at the boss. I didn’t know what was going on with this dude. I just wanted to know if he had any intel on this case we were working on. He’d called earlier to say that Lacey’s parents’ house had been cleared as a crime scene. While I was pleased it hadn’t taken days like withthe office, the fact that they cleared it in only a matter of hours made me wonder how thorough a job they had done.

I already knew from talking to Storm on a prior occasion that he usually met his contact in the back parking lot of the movie theater across the street. He drove a van, and we kind of dove into the back where no one could see.

The moment we were in the van, he tossed a file at Storm. “We got an ID for the Livingstone break-in perp. His name is Richard Livingstone. He’s Mr. Livingstone’s nephew.”

Shock filled every corner of my mind. Family should have been at the top of our list of people to investigate. “Is this for the office break in or the home?” I asked.

“The home. We got clear prints from the safe. Once we got a fingerprint match, I contacted his parents. Well, his stepfather. His father died when he was a kid, and his mother remarried. She died some years back, but I spoke to his stepfather. He reluctantly admitted that his stepson is addicted to drugs and had burned his bridges with every single member of their family, including himself.”

“That sounds about right,” I told him.

“He explained that he has a history of stealing both money and big-ticket items from them which he pawned to feed his drug habit.”

“That actually makes more sense than former employees and ex-boyfriends,” I mused aloud.

“This stepfather believes Richard might have hit rock bottom and is just trying his luck. Being excommunicated from your entire family when you’re jonesing for a fix would be rage-inducing enough to explain the massive amount of property damage to the office.”

Storm looked up from scanning the file. “So, we’re just going to assume that because his fingerprints were found in the home, that he also committed the break in at the office?”

“Yeah, it’s looking likely. We won’t know for certain until we pick him up. I put out a warrant for his arrest already.”

I grumbled, still upset about the deplorable job his co-workers did on investigating the office break-in. “If your colleagues hadn’t totally botched the investigation, we’d have prints to match there too.”

“Look, offices are difficult. You’ve got so many people coming and going. Just because no viable prints were found other than yours, Ms. Livingstone’s, and the other employees, doesn’t mean we missed anything,” our contact shot back. “We’ll have him in custody soon enough and by the time I’m finished with him, he’ll be confessing to every damn shitty thing he did since grade school.”

“That’s usually how it goes with these addicts,” Storm commented.

We chatted about the case a bit more and then parted ways. I felt better about the situation, but knew myself well enough to realize I wouldn’t be able to let the situation go until he was in custody and they had a confession. I’d love to be a fly on the wall when they interrogated him.

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