by Sophia Gray
Amelia paused just outside the door to her father’s study. She didn’t recognize the man’s voice, but it was angry and forceful.
“I do-”
Her mouth dropped open at hearing her father so quiet and meek sounding. He’d never backed down in a political fight before and this new tone was a huge difference from the way he’d sounded in her bathroom.
“No, you don’t! You didn’t see the original footage, or how many people turned out to support that gangster! This is the kind of thing you’re supposed to have laws in place to prevent.”
“I’ve done everything I can,” Gregory said, a little more fire in his voice now. “I’ve passed the laws to raise the taxes and-”
“And what about the laws to prevent them from congregating?”
“Warren, I’m not even sure I can do that! I can’t get around the entire constitution!”
“Well, you’d damn well better find a way.” This was a different man’s voice, softer than the first man’s, but somehow more venomous. “Because that’s what we’re paying for.”
“Richard, you know I’m trying.”
The deferential tone was back. For some reason, it frightened Amelia more than the other man’s raised voice.
“We told you,” Warren said, “that we’d back you if you backed us. Get rid of the motorcycle clubs. That’s all we asked you to do. It shouldn’t be this hard, Gregory.”
She heard a chair scrape back. “I expect to hear something better soon. I’ve got a long drive back to Vegas and plenty of time to figure out who else I might want to support in this race,” Warren said. “Come on, Brewer, let’s go.”
The door handle turned and Amelia darted into the shadows of the living room. She somehow felt these weren’t the type of guys that you wanted to know you’d been eavesdropping.
From her vantage point in the dark, she saw two men came out of her father’s office. Brewer must have been the one that her father had called Richard. Richard Brewer. The name tickled something in the back of her mind, but she couldn’t quite remember what it was. At least, not when she was so panicked about being seen.
“Warren, Richard,” her father said, his voice nearly pleading at her wiped a handkerchief across his forehead. “I promise, I’ll get this worked out. Just don’t--”
The men didn’t speak again. They simply walked out in the middle of her father’s sentence.
When the door closed behind them, she saw Gregory’s face. For the first time, he really did look old. Too old for the political game, and sad at the same time.
Amelia almost walked over to him, but she checked herself at the last minute. She didn’t want him knowing she’d overheard them either. She waited until he was back in his office and then went up to her room. There had been too much new information today for both of them and he’d probably hit the ceiling if he found out that she’d cancelled with Anthony.
Stopping only to grab her phone and pull her pajamas on, Amelia went to bed. It was early, but she was exhausted and she didn’t want to call too much attention to herself anyway. She’d have to start making decisions tomorrow and she wanted to make them with a well-rested brain.
Her hand curved over her stomach again. “You’re a lot of hard work already, kiddo,” she whispered just before she dropped off.
Chapter 12
Ethan
Ethan had just spread out all of his tools beside the Flathead, the first chance he’d had to work on it in the week that had followed the fundraiser, when his cell phone rang. Of course.
“Damn it.” He grabbed the phone, didn’t recognize the number, and answered it gruffly, already planning to make things quick. “Yeah?”
“Is this a bad time?”
He pulled the phone away and stared at it incredulously. He’d fully expected it to be a bill collector. “Marta Waters?”
“You remembered!” Her bright voice sounded honestly pleased. “I wanted to tell you that my boss loved the piece on your charity drive and he wants a follow-up about how much money you were able to donate,” she continued.
“I don’t have the exact numbers,” Ethan said, looking at the explosion of papers all over his desk. “But it was around ten grand.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, I think that’s what Taylor and Jimmy came back to me with. I’ll get up with them and then let you know for sure.” Taylor would be able to spit out the number down to the penny in a few seconds.
“Great! Thanks for the heads up about the event, by the way.”
“Anytime.”
“Well, I’m glad to hear that, too.” Her voice became more serious. “I’ve got something else I’d like to talk to you about, too. And I’d much rather do it in person than over the phone.”
“Paranoid about wire taps?”
“No, I just like looking at you.”
Ethan laughed. That wasn’t even close to what he’d expected to hear.
“Don’t sound so surprised,” Marta said. “It must have happened to you a few times. Women love a bad boy. What do you think? I happen to be free tonight, and in the mood for French food.”
For a second, Ethan was shocked to find himself on the verge of saying no. But why the hell would he? Marta was smart, successful, gorgeous. Her blend of honesty and flirtatiousness was right up his alley too. The trouble lay in the fact that she wasn’t Amelia. But he didn’t owe Amelia Stratton a damn thing.
“Sounds good to me,” he said. He had to get Amelia out of his head and if Marta Waters wanted to help, he was damn sure going to let her.
# # #
“This is a pretty...uh...” He glanced around, feeling incredibly underdressed for the French restaurant she’d talked him into.
“It’s so overdone and ridiculously fancy,” Marta said, her eyes shining. “I love it here. You’ll be impressed when you taste it.”
He wasn’t convinced, but he followed the host to the table and took a seat across from Marta.
Once their drinks had been delivered, Marta took a sip of her white wine, then took a longer sip and finally said, “Okay. I’m taking a risk even telling you this. Can I have your promise that you won’t say anything to anyone about what I’m about to say?”
Ethan raised an eyebrow. He never made a promise before getting all of the details, and he wasn’t about to start now. “Probably. Depends on what it is.”
“It’s about Gregory Stratton. And a way to possibly get him out of our political system.”
Ethan put his drink down with a thump and leaned forward. “Okay. I won’t say anything.”
She smiled. “I thought you’d be in. I’m just collecting threads right now, but there are plenty of them. Some really strange things going on behind the scenes.”
“Like what?”
“Mostly just in his behavior. He never said a word about bikers or motorcycle clubs until this past year. Why the sudden passion? Why the push to stop you from gathering? Why the higher taxes to basically force most motorcycle clubs to close their doors? More importantly, he’s lost a lot of his previous financial backers to his opponent. So, where’s the money coming from?”
“Maybe he’s paying for it himself?” Ethan asked.
Marta shook her head. “Politics is a big money game. He wouldn’t have the coin to compete without backers.”
Ethan took a bite of the terrine that had just been placed in front of him. Marta had recommended it and he was a bit suspicious.
“Good God,” he said, resisting the urge to close his eyes. “This might be the best thing I’ve ever tasted.”
“Told you,” Marta said smugly. “I have excellent taste in food, wine, and men.”
“And good instincts for your job.”
“Great instincts,” she corrected. “Anyway, I plan to follow this Stratton thing as far as I can. I’d appreciate knowing if he tries to do anything to you.”
Was it possible that she knew that Stratton had reason to target Ethan specifically? Was that why she’d invited him
out to dinner? “Why would he go after me?” he asked carefully, watching her face casually, yet closely.
Marta shook her head and grinned. “Ethan. You called him out on public television just a few days ago. You really think you didn’t put a target on your back?”
“Hey,” he protested, relieved that that seemed to be the extent of what she knew about Gregory’s issues with him. “This is a hell of a lot of political intrigue for a guy who spends his time fixing engines, all right?”
She smiled. “I’m sure you do more than that.”
She was great at flirting, keeping things businesslike until she slid in a compliment. It was how he tended to operate, too. It should have been easy to tease her in return, but it wasn’t.
“Oh, my God!” Marta whispered suddenly. “That’s Stratton’s daughter!”
Ethan felt like someone had poured a bucket of ice water directly over him. Every nerve tingled. “What?” he asked, doing everything he could not to turn around.
“Amelia Stratton,” Marta said in an undertone. “She’s here right now. I wonder if I have time to slip the host a twenty to get them to seat her near us.”
“Don’t know if that’s a good idea,” Ethan muttered.
Marta zeroed in on him. “Why not?”
“She probably doesn’t like me any more than her dad does,” he hedged.
“Hmmm,” Marta said, sipping her wine and eyeing him closely.
“So,” Ethan said, redirecting her attention. “Amelia. What do you know about her?”
Marta shrugged and they both paused while Amelia walked by. Ethan’s appetite faded away when he saw she was on the arm of a guy who looked like he’d spent more on his suit than Ethan spent on his rent.
“Not much,” she went on when Amelia and the man had been seated. “There’s not much to know. She parties a little, or at least she did. But I’d be more suspicious of a politician’s kid that didn’t drink than one that does. She’s got a bachelor's degree, but she doesn’t work. She’s been seeing that guy for about two months, I think. His name’s Anthony Barlow and he’s Governor Barlow’s son.” Her phone buzzed and she gave him an apologetic glance. “Sorry, I’ve got to check that.”
“Go for it.” Ethan was glad that she was looking down at her phone because he knew he looked like he’d been sucker punched. He felt like it, too. “Two months?” he asked, his voice much rougher than he’d wanted it to be. “Are you sure?”
Marta looked up, reading the situation in an instant. “Yeah. I didn’t know the two of you were--”
“We’re not,” he said. She didn’t look up, but he saw her eyebrow slide up. He sighed. “Okay. We had a really short thing a while back. It wasn’t serious.”
Nearly two months. She’d been seeing Anthony Barlow before she even set foot in that bar. Had she been cheating on her boyfriend that night? The unanswered questions were mounting up and he didn’t know how much longer he could take the weight.
“Okay,” Marta said, putting her phone back into her purse. “I didn’t ask you here to grill you about Amelia Stratton.”
“You didn’t know about me and her until just now,” Ethan pointed out.
Marta smiled. “Touché. But there’s one important thing you have to understand, Ethan.”
“What’s that?”
“If you’re going to help me bring Stratton down, that makes you a source. If you’re a source, you’re protected. So that means I’m not going to splatter your little one-night stand all over the television. Tabloid journalism isn’t my thing.”
He could tell he’d offended her. “I know it’s not,” Ethan said. “And I’ll take your word for it, Marta.”
“Thanks.”
He could tell his words hadn’t gone far to smooth things over. She still looked more than a little frosty. She glanced away, looking toward the table where Amelia and Anthony were sitting, and her expression changed. It was so quick that Ethan couldn’t help looking, too.
Anthony Barlow had pulled out a small box and opened it. Amelia was staring at him with her lips parted. Then, slowly, she held her hand out. It was shaking. Anthony pushed the ring onto her finger and Ethan swore he saw the light flash off the diamond from halfway across the room.
Anthony poured her some more wine. Amelia glanced away from the ring she’d been staring at and her eyes caught Ethan’s. It was a strangely static moment. He could see her breath catch as she went pale.
His stomach twisted when Anthony reached over and took her hand, drawing her attention back. She gave him a smile. Ethan’s hands clenched on the table.
“Gregory Stratton is going to be giving a speech in about an hour and a half. That’s what the message was,” Marta said, waving the waiter over and requesting a box and two checks.
Ethan didn’t miss the slight disappointment in Marta’s eyes and he knew he’d screwed up any potential they might have had. “I guess you should be sure to catch it,” he said.
Her tone was noncommittal when she said, “You should watch it, too. Let me know if anything catches your eye.”
# # #
Ethan opened the door to the headquarters, sorry to find it empty. He’d just bombed a date, seen a woman he hadn’t been able to get off of his mind for almost two months get engaged to another man, and now he was going to have to watch her father ruin his life on public television. He’d hoped someone would be hanging out that he could rope into watching the speech with him. And someone who could talk him out of getting blackout drunk and making a stupid decision.
He grabbed a beer, turned on the television and flopped down on the ratty, old leather couch. It had been there since the first time he’d seen the place at the age of fifteen and he had no intention of ever replacing it. It molded to a person, sucking them down into pure relaxation.
He figured he’d need all the relaxation he could get because Stratton had just stepped onto the stage. The audience was clapping enthusiastically, but Ethan noticed that the big room wasn’t full by any means. He’d take what victories he could get.
“I know a lot of you have been wondering why I’m so darn hard down on these poor bikers lately,” Stratton said once he’d given his opening comments. He gave the audience as charming smile. Ethan resisted the urge to throw his beer at the television. William would never forgive him if he broke it. “But, even if they try to make themselves look good by collecting for charities, we can’t be taken in by it. The Angel’s Keepers...” He paused and shook his head at the name. “They never released how much money was made. And they certainly didn’t release how much they actually handed over to the veterans’ charity. Which, forgive me, is suspicious for a group that claimed they would donate 100% of the profits that you people took out of your hard-earned money and gave to them in good faith that they would do the right thing!”
A cheer went up and Ethan realized his hands were aching from how tightly he’d clenched his fists.
“And this is the kind of thing that these gangs do,” Stratton went on, looking out at the sparse crowd earnestly. “They like to make you believe that they’re just everyday guys. Just good old boys who like to ride motorcycles in their spare time.” He thumped his fist on the podium. “But do you know what they do on those rides? They exchange drugs and dirty money! They help sex traffickers take our daughters! And, even more than that, they cause an astounding amount of deaths on the roadways. They are simply hazardous to us as drivers, as people, as a moral state and nation!”
Ethan snorted. It was almost funny because the guy sounded like a complete idiot. It was just that he was an idiot with power. Stratton waited for the clapping to die down before he spoke again.
“That’s why I’m proposing a law to limit their ability to ride together in such large numbers. No longer will they be able to clog our highways for something as simple as a poker run. Or something as dangerous as a drug run. But I’m going to need your help. Write to your congressmen. Sign the petitions that are out there. Make your voices heard and help
me protect the state I’ve served for twenty years!”
Ethan threw his beer bottle against the wall and reveled in the crash. He’d have to clean it up later, but it had been worth it. He turned the television off. There was research and then there was risking a stroke from high blood pressure.
What the living hell was the guy’s problem? Theories swirled in his mind. A new backer who hated bikers? The fact that he’d fucked Stratton’s daughter? It couldn’t be that, because the guy had been out for motorcycle clubs before that. Amelia’s beautiful face appeared in his mind’s eye.
He wanted answers from her, too. Fuck it. He was tired of living with these questions. He stood up and yanked his jacket out. He was going to see Amelia.