Page 32 of Property of Saint

It all falls into place. Saint’s bike was parked up where I was run off the road. Of course, they couldn’t directly link him to the accident as a motorcycle would be unlikely to be able to run a car off the road, or not without showing damage. And if the sheriffhas passed even a basic law exam, Saint’s bike would have been the first thing he’d have inspected.

“You can question him here,” Bullseye offers. “In my office. With me present.”

Saint, having been quiet for quite some time, decides now to speak. “You’ve already said I’m not accused of anything.” He holds his hands out. “Happy to tell you anything I might have witnessed, but would be more comfortable doing it on my home ground.”

“And you’d be obstructing the course of justice.” The sheriff sounds like he’s got the upper hand. “I need you at the precinct where I can speak to you on record.”

Bullseye takes a step toward his VP and speaks into his ear. After a murmured conversation, Saint sighs. “I’ll come in. But I’m not saying a fuckin’ word until my lawyer gets there.”

“Fair enough,” the sheriff agrees, and kudos to him, he doesn’t gloat at his victory, or not openly at least. Bullseye follows his brother and the lawman out of the door, the three men disappearing.

Have I just done something really stupid? Thrown away the only chance I might ever get to let someone know I’m here? Or would the Kings have killed both the sheriff and me? In the now quiet clubroom, I clearly hear a car engine start outside and gradually fade as it drives off into the distance. Do I regret letting him leave when I had the perfect opportunity to try to escape? Why is it I’m ambivalent about when I need to be rescued or not, when the Kings are most definitely about to end my life?

That I didn’t want to betray them is probably evidence that I’m suffering from a traumatic brain injury.

Whatever. I’m in no mood for company now. I decide to return to Saint’s room.

I’d gotten myself into a swing of moving my crutches to inch me down each step. But now, as I turn to get them under me toclimb up, I get myself in a muddle. This time, I do let one drop, the clattering it makes is as loud as an explosion.

Within seconds, a man’s taken possession of the crutch, and another is blocking my way.

“What the fuck you doing out of your room?” he hisses. “If you’re thinking of getting the sheriff to help you…”

“Fuck that,” I snarl. “I’m trying to get upstairs. I’ve been here listening to everything that’s going on.”

“Fuckin’ spy,” Short retorts, shaking his head as if he’d known it all along.

I see red and refute none too politely. If I could have stamped my foot, I probably would. “I’m no fucking spy. Saint left me loose. I took it as an invitation I was allowed in your club room, but stopped here when I heard the sheriff arrive.”

“You were just about to make a noise to attract the sheriff’s attention?—”

I cut the first man who’d spoken to me off. “I’ve been here since I heard the knock at the door. When I heard the sheriff, I fucking froze. The last thing I want is to draw attention to myself.”

Short starts to spurn, “I…”

The other man waves him down. “Why not? You know what you risk staying here with us. Why wouldn’t you take the first chance you got to expose yourself to a lawman?”

It’s a good question. One I’ve been asking myself. In a slightly shaky voice, I admit, “I don’t know who to trust.” Lawmen can also be taken in by a conspiracy. The sheriff could be a demon or an angel for all that I know.

The front door opens, and Bullseye reappears alone. The man who’s been speaking glances around, then, looking back, stares at me as if he’s trying to see right down into my soul. Then he changes the direction of his eyes and focuses on his prez. Bullseye mouths something, but I’m no lip reader.Returning his full attention to me, something unreadable crosses my questioner’s eyes, and he steps down a stair. “I’m Tempest, sergeant-at-arms.” He introduces himself, then waves downward and suggests, “You want a drink or something?”

I’m stunned. I knew I risked running into Freak as I ventured out from Saint’s room, and if word had gotten around about Ace outing himself, then any of the brothers might have wanted to take their chance. In the event they’d tolerated my presence, I’d expected them to ignore me. What I hadn’t expected was hospitality.

I leap at the olive branch, which is probably temporary, and grab it with both hands. I’m anxious to know what the outcome between Saint and the sheriff will be, hoping, as stated, he’s just a witness, and the law won’t try to pin my murder on him. As I’m unlikely to find anything out hiding in his room, I nod. Tempest steps aside, and without offering support, watches me laboriously work my way downward, amateurishly getting to know how crutches work on stairs. At the bottom, he waves his hand in the direction of the bar. And it’s Short who steps up, offering his arm so I can prop myself on a bar stool.

“You hungry?” A voice barks from beside me.

As I turn to see Bullseye, I have to stop myself snapping to attention and instead reply truthfully, “I could eat.”

Jerking his head toward the bar, he instructs Heathen. “Burger. And quick.” As the prospect disappears, he points to Short. “And you get her a fuckin’ drink.”

Short does salute, albeit in a sarcastic way, and goes around the bar. “What’s your poison?”

Mindful I’m on prescription strength painkillers, I decide to be sensible. “Just water, please.”

“Get her a fuckin’ beer,” Tempest growls.

To be honest, I want to thank him. The sensible route is to keep a clear head, but even if I got so drunk that I became loose-lipped there’s only the truth would could come out. I’ve nothing to say that could worry them, and at least alcohol can help numb the pain. Keeping my face blank, I put my hand around the opened bottle that’s been put in front of me. Taking a sip, I address Bullseye. “Has Saint been arrested?”

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