Page 30 of Splintered Security
“Well, nothing much to tell. All accounts say he was a decent dude. Messed around with the wrong crowd and got sucked into something he couldn’t extricate himself from.”
Sounds about right.
The man continues, “Autopsy showed no residual drugs. My intel says he wasn’t much of a drinker, never used. Was quiet and stayed to himself. Went along to get along and his heart wasn’t in the club. Sounds like he was stuck.”
Ren doesn’t have a chance to say anything because I take that time to come around the corner. I’m sure the look on my face doesn’t saygood morning and welcome to our homeas my hands hit my hips.
Ren jerks as the bald man lifts his eyes to me. He has hard eyes, a body that he clearly has honed into a weapon, and an unruly red beard that would make the members of ZZ Top green with envy.
The stranger stares at me. There’s no interest there, no anger, no anything. It’s clinical and calculating. After a moment, his bored gaze slides back to Ren.
“Liam, this is my wife, Anni. Anni, meet Liam Murphy.”
I say nothing. Liam Murphy simply nods once.
I slice my eyes to Ren. That wholefacing him after climbing him like a treething wasn’t that bad after all. Dropping my hands, I turn my back on the men and make my way to the coffee maker. At least there’s caffeine.
Once that’s poured, I settle in the corner of the kitchen, pushing my hip into the counter and raise my mug to my lips. I want to hear the rest, almost as much as I don’t.
Liam’s eyes flash to mine before resting back on Ren’s. “That’s all I have for now. You’ll know if and when I get more. Can’t push too hard without compromising my contact. And without a good reason, I won’t do that.”
Ren extends a hand to the man. “Appreciate it more than you know.”
“Be smart.”
“Always.”
And with that, the scary man with the shaved head and finger tattoos lets himself out of the front door. It takes no time for the pipes of a motorcycle to roar to life before fading into the Denver day.
That sound reminds me of Aug in a most heart-wrenching way. How did I miss Liam Murphy arriving? Oh yeah, lust-filled haze.
“Anni—”
“Don’t. Just don’t.” I take my mug and stalk back to the bedroom and lock myself in.
13
zigzag through minefields
Ren
I follow Anni, but there’s no answer to my knock on the bedroom door. I’ll give her that play.
I’ve had a couple of friends with benefits relationships over the years, but nothing serious. There’s been no one I’ve committed to. I have no clue how to deal with relationship drama, even less so with a woman I care about.
I told her through the door to take whatever time she needed and escaped to my office. I’ve spent hours digging into what I can find on Giltenhouse’s crew with the leads Liam provided.
How he uncovered all of this in the less than eight hours since I messaged him is insane. But Christian’s brother-in-law isn’t known for being level-headed or on the right side of the law. The man is steady, but diabolical. No one wants him opposing them. I didn’t even ask how he knew where I lived or why he was ballsy enough to pound on my door with no warning.
The data provided an infinite data trail. Following the money is no easy feat with as much as has changed hands and asoften, but the Lost Mountain Rebels will never be accused of being the smartest motorcycle club out there. I hate when the enemy is stupid. It’s harder to plan an offensive when you can’t count on common sense or smarts to factor in. It means any operation could go sideways with any or all members going rogue, and that’s more difficult to anticipate.
Smart people plan and have a back-up plan, and at least some sense of self-preservation. Those with no forethought zigzag through minefields just hoping. Hope is no strategy. Hope is a water gun in a firefight.
So I use the skills I haven’t in a decade to begin strategizing an operation—one against a known enemy. An enemy with soldiers who are of the ride-or-die variety and some who will bounce at first challenge.
The key is who Giltenhouse surrounds himself with and if I can control that. I need to distract the assholes who would go to their graves at his side, and keep the flakes and less enthusiastic members of the MC in play.
That means I need to be a buyer or a seller with enough product to warrant interest. The only in I can think of is the Troy Smith-David Rosen connection. The question is whether Smith or Giltenhouse know that Rosen is dead. The paper hasn’t released names yet, but it won’t be long, and all leverage I have is gone at that point.
