The captain motioned Eric into his office. “I need to speak to you.”
Shit.
Wallace only wanted to see one of them in his private office when he was preparing to chew someone’s ass. Eric closed his drawer and stared longingly at the Starbucks coffee on his desk. It wasn’t often he indulged in the expensive brew, but he’d needed a few shots of espresso after the night he’d had. Unfortunately, Wallace would kill him if he took it in with him. With a sigh of resignation, he left the caffeine behind and entered the captain’s office. “What’s up?”
Wallace shut the door before taking his chair behind the messy desk. “Andy Sparks isn’t talking. No matter what we threaten him with, he’s not giving up the name of the dealer, so our orders are to stand down on that front.”
“That doesn’t make any sense. The kid could’ve died. Surely he wants someone to pay for that.” Eric would never understand the unwillingness of some victims to name their attackers. It was the same with some domestic abuse victims. He simply didn’t get it.
“Sense or not, we’re going to have to find the prick on our own because Andy’s father is standing behind his son’s decision. My guess is the boy’s scared shitless,” Wallace explained. “That means it’s up to you to find out who our dealer is, and to make it worse, Chief Brower called. Seems he plays poker with Andy’s father and wants this tied up quickly.”
Eric hated the fucking politics involved in his job. “Then maybe the chief or Andy’s dad can get the kid to talk,” he suggested, knowing it wouldn’t happen.
“I hear what you’re sayin’. You need a partner on this one?” Wallace asked.
Eric shook his head. No way could he keep his dealings with Solo a secret if he had a partner assigned to the case. “I’ll be fine.”
* * * *
Solo stepped into the club, Rowdy right behind him. He scanned the darkened interior, but didn’t see the brother he was looking for. “Brawny, you seen Roach today?”
Brawny, the patched brother who tended the bar during the day, shook his head. “Hasn’t been in yet. Did you check the garage?”
“Not yet,” Solo answered. He turned to face Rowdy. “I don’t want to do this in the garage. Let’s have a beer and wait.”
Rowdy nodded before heading to his favorite booth. Like the members themselves, the club was made up of cast-offs. Deep red booths sat next to avocado green ones with a sprinkling of dumpster couches here and there. The result wasn’t pretty, but Solo had always considered it home.
Solo slid into the booth across from Rowdy. “Shit. We should’ve grabbed a pitcher before we sat down. You know Brawley’s not gonna wait on us.”
One of Rowdy’s black eyebrows rose. “Are you asking me to get the beer?”
“Yeah, guess I am,” Solo acknowledged. He wanted to check in with Blue and would rather do it without an audience. The visit with Stevie Boy weighed on his mind. Roach had belonged to the club for years, a lot longer than Solo had. Questioning the brother about selling wouldn’t be an easy thing to do, nor would it be appreciated if the other brothers found out about it. Even if Roach was dealing, Solo had to believe he wouldn’t taint his shit. It really didn’t make sense for a dealer to sell his customers something that could kill them. The scumbags who sold were all about repeat customers and getting kids hooked while they were young.
“You’re an asshole,” Rowdy grumbled as he climbed out of the booth.
“I know.” Solo pulled out his phone and sent Blue a text.
Anything?
A minute later Solo’s phone rang. The caller ID made him grin. “Hey,” he answered.
“Are you alone?” Blue asked.
“I’m at the club. I talked to Stevie Boy and got three names that I’m going to follow up on,” Solo said. “And, no, I’m not giving you the names, so don’t ask.”
“I need something. The captain’s on my ass because the chief plays fucking poker with the kid’s dad, and even though the punk’s awake, he’s not talking,” Blue informed Solo. “Meanwhile, I’m sitting here with my thumb up my ass with nothing to do. I’m planning to go by Turner after school and see if I can spot anything going down, but I know it’s a long shot. Tomorrow, I’ll try to get permission to talk to some of the students.”
Solo turned sideways in the booth and rested his back against the wall. After their exchange the previous night, he wasn’t sure Blue would speak to him. Something inside him shifted at the realization that he’d get another chance to be with the hot cop. “You want to meet later?” He thought about it for a second before adding, “I can come to your place.”
“Yeah. I’ll have to text you because I have no idea what I might find at the school.”
Rowdy set a pitcher of beer on the table, putting an end to Solo’s conversation. “Okay, do that,” Solo told Blue.
“Someone there?” Blue asked.
“Yeah,” Solo answered.
“Okay. I get it. I’ll text you in a couple hours,” Blue said before hanging up.
Solo ended the call and shoved his phone into the small pocket of his cut. He waited for Rowdy to say something while he filled a glass. When no smart remark came, he eased back against the wall.
Rowdy stared at him, but remained silent.
“Just until we catch the guy,” Solo said in explanation. He began picking at a piece of red tape that covered a slit in the vinyl booth. It wasn’t a lie, necessarily. He did hope he could stop thinking about Blue by the time the investigation was over. He’d fucked people out of his system before, so it wasn’t entirely out of the question.
Rowdy narrowed his eyes. “He’s a cop.”
Even though he said it quietly enough Solo barely heard it, he couldn’t help but look around. Luckily, it was still early enough that there were only a handful of brothers in the club, and they were busy with other things. He tried to play off Rowdy’s concerns. “He doesn’t wear his badge when he’s naked. You’ve fucked prostitutes, so don’t sit there and tell me you have to agree with someone’s job in order to fuck ‘em.”
“Not the same; and you know it. A whore can’t put me in jail, and a whore didn’t destroy my family. Everything you went through as a kid was caused by a cop, or have you conveniently forgotten that cop was fuckin’ your mom before your dad left?”
Solo slid out of the booth. He stared down at Rowdy, trying to keep his rage in check. If anyone else but his best friend had dared bring up his past, they’d be lying on the floor in a pool of their own blood. Instead, Solo turned and stormed toward the door. He needed a ride to clear his head.
Solo was almost to his bike when he heard heavy footsteps running up from behind. “Go back inside,” he told Rowdy without glancing over his shoulder. He threw his leg over his bike and settled on the seat.
“I didn’t mean that,” Rowdy mumbled, unable to meet Solo’s gaze.
“Yeah, you did.” Solo started the Harley. “Talk to Roach. If I do it now, I’ll kill the sonofabitch.” He pulled his phone out of his pocket and texted Blue.
I need to C U.
“Solo,” Rowdy began.
With a shake of his head, Solo took off, shoving the phone back into his pocket as he rode out of the parking lot. He’d gone three blocks before he realized what he’d done. Pissed off and hurt weren’t new emotions for him, but reaching out to someone to help deal with them was. He pulled to a stop at the side of the road and checked his phone.
Blue had answered.
Something wrong?
Solo bit his bottom lip, wondering how much to say.
Just need to CU. Can U get away? Meet at your place?
Thirty minutes
.
Satisfied, Solo pocketed his phone and decided to take a cruise around two of the schools on his way to Blue’s. He had thirty minutes to figure out why the hell it was so important he see the cop. Thirty fucking minutes to get his head on straight. He still didn’t understand why he was drawn to Blue. Sure, the man was hotter than shit, but no more so than other men he’d fucked throughout the years. Knowing what Blue did for a living should have sent Solo riding off in the opposite direction, so why hadn’t it? Was fucking Blue worth risking his life?
After circling the block around Turner High School twice without spotting anything suspicious, he headed toward the middle school eight blocks away. The thought of someone selling drugs to twelve, thirteen and fourteen year olds made him sick, but he knew from experience that no age was too young for dealers to make a buck on. According to her friends, his sister, Jessica, had only been twelve when she’d started using. Unfortunately, Solo had been so busy with his own fucked up shit he hadn’t noticed until it was too late.
He shook off the clawing guilt that threatened to suffocate him each time he thought of his baby sister. It was too late for Jessica, but he would do what was necessary to keep it from happening to another kid.
Movement in his peripheral vision caught his attention. He slowed and turned his head in time to see a man wearing a navy hoodie disappear around the corner. “Fucker,” he growled, sure it was the man he’d chased away from Turner.
Solo took off, hoping the punk stayed to the sidewalk long enough for him to catch up. Scanning the area, he rounded the corner. “Stupid fuck.”
The man in the hoodie was getting into a burgundy, rusted piece of shit Toyota. Solo pulled up behind the car as it tore away from the curb. He pulled his phone out of his cut and looked away from the car long enough to call Blue.
“Almost there,” Blue answered.
“I’m following your friend from last night. Got a piece of paper?” Solo asked.
“Hang on. Okay, go.”
Solo rattled off the license plate number along with a description of the car. “I’m going to see where he goes, but just in case he loses me, you’ve got the info.”
“Be careful,” Blue said. “Call me back.”
“Yeah.” The car took a hard right at the last minute, just as Solo was trying to stuff the cell back into his cut. “Fuck!” Releasing the phone, he tried to make the turn but his back tire fishtailed on a patch of gravel. He knew before his body hit the pavement he was screwed. It wasn’t the first time he’d laid his bike down. In the split second before his skin grated against the pavement, he covered his head with his arms.
* * * *
Dressed in nothing but a pair of faded blue sweats, Eric stared at the television screen. He wasn’t paying much attention to the sitcom. Laughing was the last thing he felt like doing after the day he’d had.
The license plate Solo had him check out belonged to Harold Sterling. The guy’s first name had meant nothing to Eric, but the last name was all too familiar. Everyone in the Albuquerque PD knew who Easy Ed Sterling was. Evidently, Solo had been following the brother of Edward Sterling.
At the time of his discovery, Eric had been more than pleased with the progress on the case, but when he’d heard nothing from Solo, he’d become worried. After hours and still not a word from the biker, Eric had grown angry. He and Solo had made an agreement, and it appeared Solo wasn’t holding up his end of the deal. The repeated calls to Solo’s phone had gone unanswered, and Eric couldn’t help but wonder if he’d get word any minute that Easy Ed’s body had been found dumped outside Turner.
The distinctive sound of the Nova caught Eric’s attention, pulling him out of his thoughts. He turned off the television before getting to his feet. Opening the door to Solo could put him in a very bad situation. If Solo admitted to killing Ed, Eric knew he’d have no choice but to do his job. He leaned his forehead against the door, waiting for the tread of booted feet to sound on the porch.
Even though he knew the knock was coming, Eric jumped when Solo’s heavy fist hit the door. “Think, goddammit,” he mumbled to himself.
“Let me in,” Solo growled. “Need you.”
Eric took a deep breath before unlocking and opening the door. “Fuck,” he gasped.
Shirtless, but still wearing a battered leather vest, a heavily bandaged Solo staggered into the house. “I wanted to see you.”
Shocked, Eric couldn’t stop staring at Solo’s arms and the bloody scrape down the side of his face. “What the hell happened to you?”
Solo grimaced as he moved to lower himself onto Eric’s brown leather sofa. “I wrecked my bike chasing that fuckwad.” He glanced down at his bandaged arms. “I spent three hours in the emergency room getting fucking sand and gravel plucked out of my body and another hour and a half reassuring the hospital that I’m not going to die from a bad case of road rash.” He rested his head against the back of the sofa. “I’m so fucking tired, but I didn’t want to go home.”
Eric stood over Solo. The man grinning up at him wasn’t the grumpy man he knew. “You on something for the pain?”
Solo grunted a yes, his eyes drifting shut.
Heart expanding, Eric leaned down and placed a soft kiss on Solo’s lips. “Go get in my bed, and I’ll be in as soon as I close up the house.”
“I can’t fuck tonight.”
“I didn’t say anything about fucking, but you’re obviously in no shape to drive, so go get in bed.” Eric strode to the kitchen and grabbed two bottles of water out of the fridge. He turned out the light before entering the living room once more. Solo was on his feet but didn’t look steady. “Hang on a sec,” Eric said, locking the front door.
“I can do it,” Solo argued, shuffling toward the hallway.