Motorcycle Man

Chapter Thirty Targets

Seven and a half hours earlier in a house in the foothills outside Morrison, Colorado…

“Stop scratchin’.”

“I can’t, it itches.”

“It itches because it’s healin’.”

“I know that, Kane.”

I found myself plucked out of bed then I found my scabby knees difficult to get to since they were planted in the bed on either side of Tack seeing as I was straddling him.

“You’ll scar, you keep scratchin’,” he informed me, fingers tight to my hips, head on the pillow, eyes aimed up to mine.

“It’s not a big deal,” I returned. “They’re almost gone.”

And they were. It’d been four days since I tackled Naomi and the scrapes weren’t that bad in the first place.

“Leave ‘em be,” Tack ordered on a finger squeeze.

My eyes drifted to the headboard and I muttered, “Oh, all right.”

My eyes rolled back when Tack ordered, “Grab the envelope on the nightstand.”

I looked to the nightstand to see an envelope there. I leaned into him, reaching out a hand and I nabbed it. I sat back as best I could because when I leaned, Tack’s hands slid up my sides and he was holding me closer.

“Open it,” he kept bossing. “Tell me what you think. You like it, I’ll get it started.”

My head tipped to the side with curiosity but I opened the envelope, pulled out a piece of paper that at first glance looked like it had kickass doodles on it then my body went still when those doodles penetrated my brain.

“You see you?” Tack asked and I stared at the doodles harder.

Curlicues and spikes, lots of them, familiar.

I looked harder.

There it was.

My name hidden in the design. Tyra.

I held in my hand what would be me, inked permanently into Tack.

My breath left me and my eyes lifted to his.

“Had my guy draw it out,” Tack informed me then asked, “You like it?”

I didn’t have it in me even to be a little bit of a smartass.

I just answered, “Yes.”

“Right. I’ll give him a call. Get it set up.”

I clutched the sketch to my chest and fell forward, back curved, doing a face plant right under his throat.

One of his hands drifted up my spine and into my hair as he muttered, “Darlin’.”

I deep breathed.

“She really likes it,” he murmured.

“Yes,” I whispered.

“Babe, you gotta get used to my sweet,” he declared.

“Never,” I kept whispering, “because you just keep getting sweeter.”

His other arm curved around me and held tight.

I let him hold me for a while, taking him in with as many senses as I could before one of my hands drifted out and my fingers skimmed the tattoo on his left shoulder.

“You never told me about this,” I said softly.

“Balance,” he stated immediately and I lifted my head to look at him.

“Balance?”

He nodded, his hand in my hair drifting to the side of my neck, taking my hair with it and his thumb moved out to stroke my jaw.

“Balance, baby,” he said softly. “Wind. Fire. Live free. Be wild. Raise hell. But stay safe. You don’t, the reaper’ll get you, one way or another.” He paused then finished, “That tat’s a reminder. Balance. Raise hell but stay safe.”

I nodded.

Then I lifted up a bit and put my sketch on the nightstand before turning back to Tack and sharing, “Honey, you know I’m going out with Elvira today. You don’t have a lot of time. You need to get down to business.”

Tack grinned. Then both his arms closed around me, he rolled me to my back, his mouth taking mine and he got down to business.

Gwen

Two hours later, Hawk and Gwen Delgado’s farmhouse, South Denver…

Standing at the sink in my countrified yet whimsical kitchen, I jumped as arms closed around me from behind and I felt lips on the skin behind my ear.

“You need to quit doing that,” I stated even though I hoped he wouldn’t, not ever.

I lost those lips, kind of. They moved to my ear.

“Doing what?”

I turned in Hawk’s arms and looked up at him. “Dematerializing and rematerializing without making a sound. I know you’re a superhero out there, honey, but in this house you’re just Cabe.”

“Babe, I walked through the door.”

“Right,” I muttered and he grinned, giving me the dimples.

Jeez. I freaking loved those dimples.

My thoughts left his dimples when he asked, “Wanna tell me what those four suitcases are in your office?”

“We’re going on vacation,” I told him something he already knew since he bought the first class tickets. Or, Elvira did, but he told her to do it.

“Uh, yeah,” he replied. “To a beach for two weeks. Two weeks on a beach does not equal four suitcases.”

“Yes it does,” I contradicted.

“Sweet Pea, you need bikinis and…” he paused then went on, “bikinis. That’s it. Bikinis don’t take up four suitcases.”

“You’re right, Hawk, I need bikinis and I have bikinis. Five of them. And each of them has its own matching pair of flip-flops and sarong and/or cover up as the case may be. And then we will eat and not just room service. And who knows where we’ll go? Casual. Fancy. Island chic. Plus –”

“Stop right there,” he cut me off. “I’ve lost interest in this conversation.”

“Fine. I’ll stop. Now are you going to quit giving me lip about suitcases?”

“Absolutely, if you promise you’ll never say the words ‘island chic’ to me again.”

I also loved it when he was funny in his commando way.

“Cross my heart,” I replied, sliding my arms around him.

“Excellent,” he muttered, dropped his head and touched his mouth to mine.

I further loved it when he touched his mouth to mine.

He was lifting his head when his phone rang. He let me go with one arm to pull out his phone. He looked at the display, took the call and put it to his ear.

“Talk to me,” he commanded.

Bossy and hot but more the latter than the former.

Something I also loved.

All thoughts of Hawk’s hotness flew from my brain when I felt his body go still and watched his face wipe clean.

“When?” he barked into the phone and my body went more still than his. “Chaos aware of this?” he asked sharply and my arms tightened around him. “Find out. And dig local. They moved in Kansas City, means they could be plannin’ a move in Denver.” He was silent a moment then, “Frequent updates, Jorge, yeah?”

Then he disconnected.

“What?” I whispered and his eyes came to me.

“I gotta get to the office, babe.”

My arms held tight and I repeated, “What?”

“Gwen,” one of his hands slid up my back into my hair, “baby, I need to get into the office.”

“Is Tack all right?” I pushed.

Hawk studied me briefly then did what he had to do because he knew I wouldn’t give up and if he made me the consequences would not be pretty.

“Tack and his boys offered protection to a local guy who got his shit mixed with some local bad guys. Made a deal with an MC in Kansas City to get this guy and his woman out of harm’s way while Chaos dealt with the local problem.”

“Tyra’s friend?” I guessed.

Hawk’s mouth got tight.

“Tyra’s friend,” I whispered then louder, “And?”

“The bad guys found them. Early this morning, Elliott Belova got dead and his woman is in surgery, not lookin’ good.”

My body locked.

Oh my God.

Oh my God!

“Hawk,” I breathed.

“Keep that shit to yourself for now, Sweet Pea. Serious. Do not call Tyra. Let me find out what the fuck’s goin’ on.”

I nodded.

“Now I gotta go.”

I kept nodding.

“Kiss me, babe.”

I rolled up on my toes and kissed him.

Hawk kissed me back, hard but brief.

When he lifted his head, he whispered, “Love you, babe.”

“Love you too, Hawk,” I whispered back.

Then he let me go and poof! Vanished.

I stood frozen at the sink.

Then I whispered, “Oh my God,” my breath hitched as a very bad feeling stole through me, “Tack.”

Tess

Fifteen minutes later, Brock and Tessa Lucas’s house, Washington Park, Denver…

“Martha,” I said into my cell phone, standing in my kitchen, “I advise against a sit down dinner.”

“Why?” she asked.

“Because you have five hundred guests coming to your wedding. First, that’s going to cost a fortune. Second, it’ll cost a fortune.”

As Martha replied, “Tess, I’ve waited over four decades for this shindig. And I want it to be the… frigging… best… of everything,” I watched as Joel wandered in and stole a cupcake from the array of them on the island.

“Hang on a second,” I said to Martha then I said to Joel, “Honey, those are for the party.”

“There’re, like, a hundred of them,” Joel replied, eyeing the island covered in cupcakes.

This was true with a slight exaggeration and only half of them were for the party since, when I made them, I doubled the number because I knew this exact thing would happen.

“Right, then, it’s still morning,” I told him.

“Barely,” he replied.

He had me there so I didn’t respond and Joey knew what this meant. I wasn’t going to make a big deal of it because, really, there was nothing to make a big deal of.

And anyway, my boys had my baked goods for breakfast on a regular basis.

He grinned, ripped the paper off and shoved half the cupcake with its mountainous swirl of frosting in his mouth as he wandered out.

“Hello? I’m still on the phone,” I heard Martha call and I went back to her at the same time I saw Rex wander in and grab his own cupcake.

I let Rex’s pilfering go without a word. Martha and a sit down dinner at her wedding to DEA Agent Calhoun took precedence. I had a slim chance I could talk Martha out of a sit down dinner. I had no chance I’d talk my boys out of eating my cupcakes.

Martha was wavering when Brock walked in, leaned a faded jeans clad hip against the counter and grabbed his own cupcake.

I watched him eating it and I felt his silver eyes on me but I didn’t lift my eyes to his because I was fascinated by the movements of his mouth. Therefore, during the show I lost all focus on Martha.

“Hello? Tess? It’s only my wedding we’re talking about,” she said in my ear. “Nothing important, like, your guys eating your cupcakes which they do every… freaking… day.”

“Sorry,” I said into the phone as I watched Brock grin, swallow his last bite and toss the used cupcake paper on the counter which made me roll my eyes. But I wouldn’t make a big deal out of that either. All my boys did this all the time too. I found them everywhere, the living room, TV room, bedrooms, even the bathroom. Living with three men, I picked my battles.

After he tossed his cupcake paper, I watched him head to the fridge where I knew he’d drink milk straight out of the carton. Luckily, he had his very own carton so when I needed a splash for my coffee, I didn’t have cupcake backwash in it.

“Okay, a buffet,” Martha said in my ear and I heard the fridge open at the same time I heard Brock’s cell ring.

“I think that’s a good call, honey,” I replied as I heard Brock answer his phone. “But with that amount of guests, we’ll need to make certain there are two, with two sides for the lines to go down or it’ll take a year for everyone to walk through the buffet.”

“Agreed but we’ll still need to do the taste testing,” she told me.

“Absolutely,” I replied, my lips curving.

Something to look forward to.

The fridge closed.

“I’ll schedule it. Let you know at the shop when we’re doing it,” she told me.

“Great.”

“Fuck, you shittin’ me?”

That was Brock and it was said in a tone that made my head whip toward him.

And he had a look on his face that made mine go pale. So pale, I felt it.

“Martha, I have to go,” I whispered into my phone as Brock’s eyes lifted from the floor and locked to mine.

I did not like what I saw.

Oh God.

“What?” Martha asked.

“I have to go, honey, now. I’ll call you later.”

“Is everything –?” she started but I cut her off by disconnecting.

Then I stared at Brock as he talked into his phone.

“Has the call gone to Lawson?” Brock asked, his eyes not leaving mine. “Kane Allen and the boys?” he went on. “What about Allen’s woman, Tyra?”

My body locked.

“Fuck, I’ll call Lawson and I’m comin’ in,” Brock kept talking. “Right, be there in ten.”

He disconnected.

“What?” I asked.

“Gotta go to the Station.”

“Is everything with Tyra okay?”

Brock held my eyes.

Then no games, no bullshit, straight out, he said softly, “No. Shit’s goin’ down, baby, it’s not good and she may be a target from two angles.”

“Those would be?”

“Connection to Chaos, who the Russian mob thinks fucked them over, connection to some guy who just plain fucked over the Russian mob.”

I closed my eyes but opened them when I felt his hand wrap around the back of my neck and his mouth touch mine.

He tasted of frosting.

This normally would make me feel better.

Right then, it didn’t make me feel better.

His head lifted. “Gotta go.”

I nodded.

“Love you, darlin’,” he whispered.

“I love you too, Brock,” I whispered back.

Brock went.

I lifted my phone and called Tyra.

There was no answer.

I disconnected and called her again.

Mara

At the same time, Mitch Lawson and Mara Hanover’s house, East Denver…

“Do I have to go?”

This was Bud, sitting on a stool outside the bar that fenced one side of the kitchen that was smack in the middle of our house and opened off into a huge, cathedral ceiling living room.

“Yes,” I replied.

“But I don’t wanna shop for school clothes,” he told me and I felt the side of Mitch’s front move in close to the side of the back of mine. So close, we brushed.

This, he did a lot.

This, I liked a lot.

“Don’t blame you,” Mitch muttered and my eyes jerked to him then narrowed.

Mitch grinned at me.

I glared.

“Seriously, sweetheart, you know his sizes. Can’t you and Billie just pick up some shit for him?” he asked.

“I can pick out clothes for Bud,” Billie, sitting beside Bud at the bar chimed in then finished, “Easy.”

“See, Billie can pick them out for me,” Bud unsurprisingly instantly agreed with Billie’s plan.

“Are you sure you want that?” I asked Bud and he shrugged.

I was visualizing Bud in t-shirts with butterflies on them when I heard Mitch mutter, “Decided,” and my eyes went back to him.

“It’s a family outing,” I announced and watched Mitch’s head jerk.

Then he declared, “I’m not going.”

“You are.”

“I am not.”

“If Mitch isn’t going, I’m not going either,” Bud stated.

“I’m going!” Billie cried excitedly.

That was my girl, all girl therefore always up for shopping.

“Bud and I’ll go out, hit a few balls,” Mitch said, “That cool with you, Bud?”

Like Bud would say no.

“Totally!” Bud cried.

See?

It was then I knew I’d lost both of them from the family outing I had planned but I hadn’t exactly communicated mostly because I knew this would be the outcome.

Mitch and Bud taking off with their baseball equipment wasn’t unusual. They went out nearly daily to hit a few balls and catch a few balls either at a park or a vacant diamond and Mitch also took him to batting cages. Bud had played Little League that year and you would never have guessed a little over a year ago he’d never thrown a ball in his life. Mitch said he was a natural. It seemed Mitch was right. Bud was the best kid on his team.

Then again, it helped that those two were always carting their mitts and bat bags around everywhere they went. Heck, just the other day when we’d swung into King Soopers to grab some things we needed, Billie and I went in and came out to Mitch and Bud playing catch in the parking lot.

“We were going to have a nice lunch,” I dangled my carrot.

“Good, have one with Billie,” Mitch replied, not seeing my carrot as tasty. “Bud and I’ll grab some hotdogs”, and he said this last as his cell on the counter rang.

I looked at Bud. “What if you don’t like the clothes we get?”

“Auntie Mara, they’re clothes. What do I care?”

That was my boy, all boy therefore he didn’t care what clothes he wore.

Though, he’d probably care if butterflies were on them.

Before I could threaten him with this eventuality, Mitch spoke.

“What?” he said in a low tone that made the hairs on my neck stand up and I wasn’t the only one who felt it. The kids did too for all our eyes went to Mitch. “Right. I’ll be there as soon as I can. Leaving now.”

Oh no.

Mitch disconnected and looked at me. I didn’t like what I saw but I didn’t have a chance to fully process it before he looked to Bud.

“Sorry, buddy, gotta take a rain check. Work. Soon’s I can, I’ll make it up to you.”

“Okay, Mitch,” Bud agreed, his voice soft.

“You okay, Mitch?” Billie asked, her eyes still on Mitch’s face.

“I will be, gorgeous, once I get this work done. Won’t take long,” he answered Billie and looked at me. “Walk me to the door, baby.”

My eyes slid through the kids while my lips smiled a fake smile I knew they wouldn’t buy and I followed Mitch to the door.

He walked out of it, I followed him out and he closed the door.

Then he turned to me, lifted both hands and put them to the sides of my neck, leaning in so our faces were close.

“Your new girl Tyra?”

Oh no!

“Yes?” I whispered.

“She might be in some trouble.”

Oh no. On no. Oh no!

“Mitch,” I breathed.

“Don’t go shoppin’. Put Billie off for a bit. Stay at the house.”

“Why?”

“I just wanna know where you are all day, okay?”

I nodded. I could do that for him.

“I gotta go.”

I nodded again.

“Love you, sweetheart.”

“I love you too, honey.”

He bent his head further, touching his mouth to mine.

Then he jogged to his SUV in our drive.

Jogged.

That was not good.

I watched him swing in. Then I sucked in breath and went inside to break the news to Billie we weren’t going shopping.

And after that, call the girls.

Elvira

At the same time, outside seating, Starbuck’s in Cherry Creek North, Denver…

The bitch was late.

This did not make Elvira happy.

Tapping an impatient toe, she sucked back a sip of latte, put it down, lifted her phone and jabbed at it with her finger before putting it to her ear.

The call rang through to Tyra’s phone.

No answer.

When she got voicemail, Elvira disconnected without leaving a message and her hand was falling when her phone rang in it.

The display said “Hawk Calling”.

Elvira took the call and put the phone to her ear.

“Which part of the words ‘day off’ do you not understand?” she asked in greeting.

“Tyra with you?” Hawk asked back.

“No. The girl is late.”

“Russians are on the move. Tack and Tyra are both targets. Get your ass to the office now and call Lee Nightingale on your way.”

Disconnect.

Elvira shot out of her chair and raced on her high heels to her burgundy Eclipse.

In most instances, except this one, it was a sacrilege but she left her latte on the table not even half drunk.