Page 6 of Cruel Savior

On that final note, JD turned and headed out the back door. Presumably to the big cabin out back where he lived. Almost all of us lived on the property. Some years ago, I'd had the idea to populate the property with a nice collection of hand-built tiny houses and mid-sized cabins. Depending on your rank in the club, you were assigned one or the other. It was yours whether you lived in it or not.

The property had once housed a lumber mill and lots of housing for their seasonal employees, so we also had a pretty damn nice bunkhouse for the prospects and guests. Everything was spread out so that no one felt confined or lacked in privacy.

I turned in the opposite direction of JD and headed towards my cabin. If I was going to be spending all my time at the Turner ranch until this situation resolved itself, I needed to pack some shit.

I walked through the quiet woods with a light misting rain falling, and the fog clinging to the trees around me. The Pacific Northwest had a vibe that I couldn't get enough of. One minute, it might be light and bright, and the next it could be shrouded in a doom and gloom that I enjoyed almost as much as the bike riding weather.

A few minutes later I entered the clearing at my cabin and took a deep, relaxing breath. I loved this place. To most it might seem a little too rustic, but with one bedroom and all the amenities I could possibly want, it suited my lifestyle perfectly. It also gave me quick access to the club and my brothers there.

My cellphone pinged in my pocket and I pulled it out to read the message. Zook and Tel were ready to go and waiting at the front gate. I shoved it back into my jacket and headed into my bedroom. The weight of dread in my gut solidified into a hard, rotten ball.

There was no point in delaying the inevitable. Me and Amanda Turner were about to crash together in the worst possible way.

Chapter Four

Amanda

After hoursof studying the map of the surrounding area, I was struggling not to pass out from straight up exhaustion. I'd stayed up all night trying to piece together a plan.

I'd even tried to call one of my contacts at the Bureau, but my call had been refused. I urged my father to call the police—at least then Danvers’ death would get reported appropriately, and dear old Dad wouldn't get charged down the road for obstruction of justice.

My stomach turned again with the memory of my former coworker's head spilling out of a box and onto the patio floor. It didn't help that my ears still rang from all the screaming Theresa did.

What a freaking nightmare.

She'd screamed at my father that I had to go, and I honestly didn't blame her. Whoever had killed Danvers had to be some kind of psychopath. I didn't want them near my family any more than she did. However, my father had been adamant that I not leave so we'd compromised and I'd moved out here.

First, though, I'd made a big show of packing my bags and dragging them out to my car in case anyone was watching the house.

I didn't want anyone but my father to know exactly where I'd gone. So, after hours of driving to Seattle and to various spots in the city and changing cars in a garage not connected to anyone that could be traced to me or my family, I'd driven the backroads to arrive at my father's hunting cabin on the edge of his property.

Since I'd never been here, I didn't know what to expect, but I should have known it would not be a rustic shack. While itwasfilled with taxidermy from my father's hunting expeditions, the rest of the place was as luxurious as it could get. It may have been smaller in size than the main house, but it rivaled it in every other way.

I'd bypassed the master bedroom completely and chosen one of the oversized guest rooms as my base camp. I had my maps pinned to the wall, and the desk covered with old case files. Case files I technically wasn't supposed to have.

They were government property, and I'd been required to hand over all of that information when they placed me on leave. We all knew that was a mere formality. As soon as the medical leave ended, there'd be a misconduct hearing from the Mazzeo case, and afterward I would be dismissed.

But my working amidst multiple agencies had created a lot of government red tape so all of that was going to take a little more time.

Until then, I was supposed to maintain a low profile and stay out of government business. The staying out of any legal trouble had not been mentioned, but it went without saying.

Of course, I'd kept copies of my files anyways. After everything I'd been through, I wasn't going to get tangled up in the legal or moral ramifications of my actions. That ship had sailed a long time ago.

And as it turned out, it was a damned good thing I'd kept them. After being locked out of all federal networks I wouldn't have had anywhere to start my investigation.

Now, I had a short list of cases that both Danvers and I had worked on that might contain clues. Although none of them immediately stood out as great possibilities when it came to this. The murder of an FBI agent was one thing. The delivery of a severed head took it to another level.

I stood, needing coffee. My brain didn't feel like it was firing on all cylinders, and the lack of sleep was starting to get to me.

Although the idea of attempting sleep with nothing more than a security system to rely on for protection wasn't giving me great vibes either. Eventually I would require some rest, but I'd been through enough training to know my limits, and I wasn't there yet.

However, staying caffeinated would be key.Before I could reach for a fresh coffee pod, the alarm system I'd rigged went off.

I ran to the bank of security screens I'd set up on the fireplace mantle and searched them for the intrusion. It didn't take much effort because whoever had come for a visit wasn't doing so in stealth mode. Not only could I see the motorcycle bearing down on the house, but I could also now hear the pipes all the way inside.

My stomach sizzled with nerves at that familiar sound and the memories of the man it came with. Something I had no business even thinking of. That chapter of my life had ended the night I was ripped away from my home and forced to leave everything and everyone I loved. Including him. Now he hated me, and for good reason.

Yet, I couldn't hear that sound without thinking of him. Even back then, before he'd become an official motorcycle club member, that life had been ingrained in him, and by association—me.

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