Damned: Seven Tribesmen MC (15 page)

Stella crossed the bathroom quickly. She opened the door, catching Coyote's eye. With a determined nod, Stella swallowed down all her sickness and uncertainties. “Yeah. That was Stan.”

Bishop's voice cut across the room as Coyote moved out of Stella's way, “We figured. What did he say?”

“He was checking up on me.” A sudden need filled Stella as her feet drew her toward Bishop. Qwerty danced out of her way as she neared the bed. Stella didn't notice, her mind too intent on the grey-eyed Bishop. She lowered herself beside him on the bed, Bishop's arm sliding around her waist. “I have time off, I took it. But, he wants to check up on me.”

Bishop's fingers tightened against her hip. His voice dropped an octave, anger in his voice. “Did you tell him to fuck off?”

Despite Bishop's reaction, Stella laughed and shook her head. Her fingers clenched in her lap as she stared at her knuckles. “No, I don't want him to realize I know anything.”

“Probably for the best,” Coyote interjected, drawing both Bishop and Stella's attention to him. The green-eyed man shifted under their dual stares. “If he's willing to abduct her, he's willing to kill her when she becomes a liability.”

Silence fell in the room. Bishop pulled Stella closer, without realization. Stella's mind swarmed with thoughts and worries. What were they going to do? How much evidence would be enough? The video, his license plate, the bottle of chloroform? Just thinking about it made a terrified shudder lick through her stomach.

“I won't let anything happen to you, Stella.” Bishop's voice wafted through her concerns. Her eyes focused on his face. His grey eyes were dark and stormy, determined and ready to defend her. Her worries hiccupped in her head. Inexplicably, she drifted toward his chest, attracted to him without reason. Pressing her head to the man's shoulder, Stella forced herself to breathe deeply, inhaling his scent. Bishop wrapped his other arm around her, stroking her back.

The atmosphere shifted in the room. It became warm and intense with something other than disgust and hatred. With one glance to his men, Bishop nodded to the door. Coyote and Qwerty nodded and sidled for the exit. As the two men disappeared into the corridor, off to accomplish their respective duties, Bishop knew he didn't need to worry. Coyote and Qwerty had it handled.

Right now, he had Stella in his arms. She needed him, and Bishop would be damned if he ignored her unspoken pleas.

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

Soreness teased all over Stella's body as she marched into the police department. It reminded her of her first night with Bishop. However, there was one notable difference: after four days together, the throbbing aches were encompassing her whole body. It was a wonder Bishop hadn't pulled something during their forays.

She shook her head, forcing her newest memories from her head. Stella didn't need to be thinking about Bishop when talking to Stan. Her partner was perceptive when it came to her feelings about the Seven Tribesmen president. She didn't want him picking up on that today. She had a plan to complete.

As she crossed the threshold, Stella's heels clicked across the tiles. She counted down from ten, awaiting interception from Stan. Barely at six, the man nipped at her heels from his office. “There's the stranger!”

Plastering on a megawatt smile, Stella turned to Stan. She resisted the intense urge to cringe. “Sorry, I missed your calls. I caught up on sleep this weekend.”

Relief peppered across Stan's face as he rubbed the back of his neck, “Ah, it's fine.”

Awkward silence descended between the two of them. Thankfully, an officer approached Stella. He handed her a dark brown folder as he spoke. “Agent Holmes, Miss Sampson is waiting for you in the interrogation room.”

“Thank you,” replied Stella, accepting the folder. Inside, it detailed Delilah Sampson's arrest record and the statement she gave to Stan. She flipped it open, gleaning over the first page as she absently dismissed the officer.

“Miss Sampson?” Curiosity reverberated through Stan's words. He tried to peer over Stella's shoulder, as if to discern her intent from the folder itself.

She snapped the folder shut, half-turning to hit Stan with a confident smile. “A thought occurred to me over the weekend. Thought I should double-check it.”

Stan's brows furrowed, his lips screwing into a frown. Stella could see the caution signs light up in his gaze. “But, I already took her statement.”

“Just covering all our bases, Stan.” Stella smiled as she turned and patted him on the shoulder. Before Stan could burble an answer or excuse, she turned on her heel and made her way to the interrogation room. Stella listened to Stan's footfalls behind her, electric adrenaline razing over her skin with every step. Instinct screamed at her to turn and fight or dash off down the corridor. Stella stilled her reaction. Any action out of the ordinary would pique Stan's attention.

Relief flooded through her as she shut the door to the interrogation room shut behind it. A firm barrier between herself and Stan was a godsend. She turned to face the redhead, a new wave of emotion flooding into her thoughts. Barely contained anger sifted through her thoughts as she stared at Delilah.

The other woman still looked as gorgeous as when they first met. Bitterness twinged at Stella's guts. Shouldn't the woman appear horrific, especially after what Stella now knew? The lighting should at least seem unflattering.

Instead, Delilah appeared bored as she leaned back in her chair, her legs crossed at the knees. When Stella stepped in, the redhead was studying her fingernails intently. The sound of the closing door roused Delilah's attention.  Stella stilled her inner rage as she briskly greeted her, “Hello, Miss Sampson.”

“What's this about?” Delilah inquired, cocking a perfectly plucked eyebrow.

“Just a follow-up concerning our statement.” Stella placed the folder on the table and seated herself. In her head, the script she and Bishop had concocted fluttered through her head. This part would be the easier step of their plan. “Miss Sampson, what can you tell me about your connection to the Grave Demons?”

“They own the strip club in Fairview. I worked there.” Delilah sat up straighter in her chair. She folded her hands with the perfectly manicured nails in front of her.

Stella kept her eyes on the paper in front of her. She didn't need to pretend to read it.  She had her own copy at home, made during her quick weekend visit while Stan was on his way home. Every line felt seared into her brain. Still after everything, Stella wanted to hear the words from Delilah's mouth. “What was your position there?”

“As a stripper, ma'am,” Delilah levelly replied. Stella's gaze flickered up to find the redhead's attention focused on the wall behind her.

Without taking her gaze away from Delilah, Stella asked, “And what do the Demons have to do with the Tribesmen?”

“They're colleagues,” Delilah's eyes fell down to her folded hands. She gave a one-shouldered shrug, her voice dropping softly under Stella's gaze. “The 7T helped the Demons set roots in Fairview.”

Which meant the two motorcycle clubs were on friendly terms. For now. Bishop's snarled complaints over the weekend told a different story. However, the Seven Tribesmen weren't sure what Delilah's role had been. Was she betraying the Grave Demons? Did she work for the Sugar Skulls exclusively? Or was she coerced into the role by Stan?

Those thoughts were getting ahead of the current situation. They would deal with Delilah in time. For now, they had to corner Stan and get some evidence against him. Questioning Delilah was bait for Stan Jackson. Which meant riling Delilah enough for a reaction. “How are the Demons involved with the transportation of cocaine?”

“The Sugar Skulls are pushing snort, not the Demons.” Delilah shot the agent a look, quickly correcting her. Delilah's shoulders stiffened for a split second while a muscle in her jaw flexed. Her hands shifted on the tabletop, splaying out against the surface.

Unless it was Stella's imagination, the connection between the Demons and the cocaine was not met. She made a mental note to herself. Her mouth worked on autopilot, plucking out the next best inquiry in her mind, “What's your relation to the Sugar Skulls, Ms. Sampson?”

Delilah's fingers twitched against the table. Her lips twisted, just slightly, downward and she seemed to worry on her bottom lip. Then, her gaze flickered to the papers before Stella. With a jerk of her head, Delilah muttered, “Agent Jackson already took that information down.”

Stella made a show of looking down at the papers. Her gaze skimmed over the lines, every word old news to her mind. Finally, after a breath and a half, she paused. Tapping the paper with a fingertip, Stella mused, “Oh, I see. You acted as an escort to the vice-president of the Sugar Skulls. So, are the Grave Demons on good terms with this biker gang, too?”

As Stella swung her gaze toward Delilah, the redhead averted her gaze. Her bored expression was replaced with one of guarded aloofness. However, the tension had eased from her shoulders, and she was no longer nibbling her bottom lip. “Out of necessity.”

“Where did the VP take you?”

“High-end parties, operas, places where he didn't want to be seen alone.” Again, Delilah gave a one-shouldered shrug. Her gaze focused, again, to the wall behind Stella. A little more pointedly, the redhead answered, “It's all in my first statement.”

“And cocaine was involved at these parties?” Stella ignored the edged statement. She pushed forward, knowing her next insinuations may turn Delilah hostile. Judging from her standoffish reactions, though, Ms. Sampson may simply demand a lawyer. Somewhere deep inside Stella, she hoped Delilah would try to take a swing at her, so she could return the favor. Disgusted rage still simmered in Stella's blood.

“Generally, yes,” answered Delilah, still focused on the wall.

“So, you know how to get a hold of the cocaine?” Stella's voice took on an edge of dissatisfaction. Stan's report had left out entirely whether Delilah had contact with cocaine. Given Delilah's background report, it was surprising that such a huge factor would go unseen by him. Then again, Stella had heard the two of them going at it in his office. The man was so hard up for a little physical pleasure he would accept intimacy from a woman he was supposed to question.

Delilah's voice softened, her eyebrows furrowing. For the first time since Stella entered, Delilah's gaze flickered to her, “Yeah.”

“Did you bring any with you from Fairview?” This time, Stella kept her tone airy and light. It was meant to be conversational and kind, not a barbed accusation. She set aside the papers that detailed Delilah's former statement.

Delilah's eyes widened, just slightly, for a microsecond. Then, the redhead's eyes darkened, and her lips pressed into a thin line. “
No
.”

“Is that so?” Stella gazed down at the stack of papers. She flipped up a sheet, as if reading it as she lied through her teeth, “Well, fingerprints were found on the vials in the 7T bedrolls. Yours were on there.”

“M-maybe I touched them while shifting the bedrolls or something,” stuttered Delilah. Her voice became frail and uncertain. “It was a long ride, and we stopped a few times.”

“Tell me, Ms. Sampson,” Stella's voice lowered to a no-nonsense tone. Flipping the folder shut, so Delilah couldn't see, Stella slowly pushed away from the table and stood up. As she paced, she mused aloud, “You have three perps. Two of them have no history with cocaine and are adamant that their motorcycle club is clean. The third has the connections and a prior rap sheet with the substance.” Stella made a complete rotation in her pace, returning to the table. This time, however, she edged closer to Delilah. Stella leaned against the table, putting all of her weight onto the furniture, as she pinned the redhead with a strong leer. “Now, why didn't Agent Jackson question your past usage?”

“I want my lawyer.” The words shot out of Delilah's mouth before Stella even finished her inquiry. Something inside of Stella grinned. Stan hadn't questioned her about the past, because Delilah was useful to him as is. And Delilah had something to gain from Stan by placing the statement.

Hiding her grin, Stella turned away and returned to her side of the table. “We aren't charging you with anything, Ms. Sampson. Why do you need a lawyer?”

“I know my rights,” Delilah snarled. Her lips pressed tightly together as she settled back in her chair. She crossed her arms, creating a barrier between herself and Stella. This well of information had run dry.

Before Stella could dismiss or continue to badger Delilah, Stan's head popped in from the doorway. A broad, fake smile plastered across his lips. He waved to Stella as his low voice crossed the distance, “Hey, can I talk to you for a sec, agent?”

“Certainly,” smiled Stella as she stood. She gathered the folder in her arms and threw Delilah one last glance. “I'll have an officer come in and escort you back to wherever you're staying. Thank you for your time.”

With that, Stella swept out of the interrogation room. Stan waited for her, holding the door open. In that brief second, when her back was turned, Stella eyed her partner. The man's blue eyes darted to Delilah, and the temperature in the room heightened a few degrees. Distrust and uncertainty wavered between them. Stella suppressed the urge to grin as she stepped into the corridor.

After exchanging a few words with the nearest officer, Stella turned to Stan. She listed her head to the side innocetly. “What's up, Stan? What did you need me for?”

“What do you think you're doing?” The man took a step forward, the air around the two of them becoming icy and chill.

Before this moment, Stella never realized how much bigger Stan was. He loomed over her with the air of irritation expanding from him. Stella shoved her sudden unpleasant feelings back down. “I was conducting a cross-examination.”

“But, you think
Delilah
planted the cocaine?” Stan muttered, leaning closer to her. His gaze turned from annoyed to downright hateful. Suddenly, the man grabbed her shoulders, his fingers tight and his palms hot even through the clothes. “Are you that wound up with the Seven Tribesmen?”

“I think it's a possibility,” reaffirmed Stella as she jutted out her chin. The urge to land a kick squarely between Stan's legs fluttered through her head. “Something seems a little off about her.”

“Like what?” The words rolled off Stan's tongue like bitter gumdrops.

“Well, last Thursday, I dug into her record.” Stella shifted from foot to foot, her gaze coyly shifted to the wall beside her. Her fingers fiddled with the edge of the folder in her hands. Her stomach clenched at what she was insinuating, and nausea crawled up her throat. She continued to fight the urge to slam her foot into his crotch as Stan's fingers twitched on her shoulders. “She has a history with drugs. Couldn't it be likely she planted the cocaine in their bedrolls?”