“I’ll drop you off at your house so you can go change. I’ve already called one of my boys to get your car. They should have it there in time for you to leave for work,” Silas said, leading me out to his garage.
I was thankful that he handed me a different helmet this time.
It was one that covered my face completely, the only thing anyone would be able to make out was my hair…but I tucked that into the helmet, too.
Perfect.
I smiled at Silas as he watched me do this with a small smile on his face.
“Embarrassed to be seen with me?” He asked as he tugged his own helmet on.
I shook my head. “No. I just don’t want to see my mother.”
And that was the God’s honest truth.
I was tired of seeing her.
All she could do was go on and on about how sorry she was that I’d had to go to prison, and how she prayed for eight years, every single day, that I came out in one piece.
Seriously, I loved the hell out of my mother, but I didn’t love her smothering me.
It was as if she was trying to make up for the eight years, but she couldn’t, and instead it felt as if she was suffocating me.
He actually looked relieved when I said that.
“So you don’t mind if you’re seen with me?” He confirmed.
I nodded. “I wouldn’t have left with you last night had I minded.”
He grinned, and I was struck again by his handsomeness.
“Hop on, sweet cheeks,” he ordered.
I winked at him, but it was lost on him since he’d turned around and started up his bike without watching me get on.
Which was probably good, because then he didn’t see the way it hurt that he’d just dismissed me.
We made it out of his little lakeside retreat without seeing my mother, or anyone else for that matter.
Hell, we didn’t see a single soul until we were nearly fifteen minutes into our drive.
I hadn’t noticed how far out he lived yesterday on the ride to his home, but now that it was light out and I could see just where I was going, I was surprised.
He lived nearly fifty minutes away from my place, once it was all said and done.
And when we pulled up in front of my house, I had roughly forty-five minutes until I had to be at work.
Slipping my leg off the bike, I stood up and turned to him, holding out the helmet.
He shook his head.
“Keep it,” he said, eyes on mine. “You’ll need it later.”
I blinked.
“Why will I need it later?” I asked.
He smiled, giving me those beautiful white teeth again.
“Because I plan on taking you for a ride again,” he grinned.
My face blushed fifty shades of red.
Especially when he started to caress his bike in a loving manner.
“And I still have your ass print right here on my tank,” he continued. “There’s no way I won’t want more of what I had last night.”
My brows rose.
“Who said I was doing more than a night?” I asked, turning on my heels and going straight around the back of the house.
The garage apartment was detached from the rest of the house, thank God.
Because if I’d have had to go into the main house, I was sure I’d be asked why, exactly, I was panting, as well as the reason my face was so flushed.
And there’d be no way in hell I would tell them, seeing as my brother now reported my entire life to my mom.
Which reminded me.
Pulling out my phone from my pocket, I tossed a small wave over my shoulder at Silas as I rounded the corner.
It was time for my brother to hear exactly why his snooping pissed me off.
Chapter 9
Back in my day, a ‘behavior disorder’ was called being an asshole.
-Silas’ thoughts on life
Silas
Four hours later found me heading straight for my office once I arrived at the clubhouse.
Lynn had called twenty minutes before and told me that I had the information I was looking for in my email, and I found that I really wanted to get to the bottom of this case.
Something about her case was bothering me…niggling away at me until I was on the verge of worried.
Sawyer hadn’t lied when she said she wasn’t drunk.
And I knew when people were lying. I had to know when people were lying to stay alive like I did.
I walked through my office and went straight to my computer.
Signing into my secure email, I clicked on the first email from Lynn and clicked open.
The subject line said Sawyer Berry.
The first two paragraphs were the particulars of the case.
Who was involved, details about the location, vehicle types, and the names of the occupants in both vehicles.
Alcohol level: .01.
My mouth dropped open.
What. The. Fuck.
I picked up my phone and called Lynn to make sure I wasn’t seeing things.
“Hello?” Lynn answered three rings in.
“I need you to double check the numbers you sent over to me,” I said without preface.
He snorted. “Knew you were going to ask that; I already had it pulled at BPD, too.”
“And?” I asked impatiently.
“Same thing. .01. That’s it,” he answered immediately.
My jaw clenched.
“I need you to contact the lawyer and the judge. Pull me the…”
“…Already did it. Those files should be on your desk by the end of the day,” he interrupted me.
“Thanks. Have you got anything else on Shovel?” I asked him before I hung up.
“Negative.”
Shit.
“Thanks, keep me updated,” I said.
“Will do,” he agreed, and hung up.
I stared at the file some more, becoming more and more confused.
The police report clearly indicated the fact that the Ford Bronco pulled out in front of the Chevy Truck. It also clearly stated that none of the occupants of the Bronco were wearing seatbelts, which was a contributing factor to their being ejected from the vehicle.
It further stated that the two other occupants of the Chevy were drunk.
So drunk that they were nearly twice the legal limit.
“But she wasn’t drunk. What the fuck happened here?” I wondered aloud.
Knowing I wouldn’t be able to sleep until I found out more about this, I picked up my phone and keys from the desk and started to walk right back out the door without accomplishing any of my paperwork.
I guess that was one of the benefits of being the boss, though, getting to do whatever the fuck you wanted to do, when you wanted to do it.
I arrived at BPD less than five minutes after leaving my office, and I walked straight into the building, not even bothering to say hi to Loki or Trance as I went in.
The two of them were busy, though, and didn’t even notice when I passed by.
I walked straight into the Chief’s office and shut the door without asking.
“Silas,” Burke said, looking up at me with no surprise in his eyes.
Burke and I went way back.
I dropped a file on his desk, and he hesitated only briefly before he flipped it open with two fingers.
Leaning forward and grabbing his glasses off the desk, he pushed them on and started reading.
The more he read, the more stiff his body became until he fairly resembled a statue.
“You see it,” I surmised.
He nodded.
“Who was in charge of this case?” I asked.
He looked up, and his usually gray eyes were filled with menace.
“Harold Dunbar.”
My brows creased. “He’s been dead for eight years.”
He nodded.
“Yeah.”
> Then a little niggle of worry started to slither down my spine.
“Who was the judge?” I asked, taking a seat across the desk from him.
He whirled to the side and started to peck away at his keyboard.
Much like I did.
“Escobar Giuliani,” he answered after a few long moments.
My blood chilled. “Let me guess…he’s dead.”
Burke shook his head. “No. Retired.”
My brows furrowed as I thought back to Escobar Giuliani. He’d been a young judge, and if I was thinking of the right man, he’d made quite a stir when he retired and decided to start a different career in the oil field.
At the time, I hadn’t thought it odd.
I’d heard of cops and even some teachers leaving their jobs to go into the oil field. It was a high paying business. You earned a lot of money in a short amount of time.
It was demanding for a job, but it paid really, really well.
It was normal for any person to seek a higher paying job.
But Giuliani already had a high paying – and powerful – job.
And I didn’t know a single judge, lawyer or even a doctor who left their high-paying jobs – jobs that had worked hard through higher education to earn – to take a position in the oilfield.
It was counterproductive.
“So, eight years ago, give or take, Giuliani retired?” I confirmed my suspicions.
He nodded. “Correct.”
“Alright, I think I’ll make a little side trip to see him. Give me his address.”
On my way out ten minutes later, I made eye contact with both Loki and Trance, urging them to follow me outside.
They did so without hesitation, Loki finishing up a phone call, and Trance gathering up Kosher.
When they met me outside, I had my phone to my ear and my second born son on the line.
“I need you to meet me somewhere,” I said without hesitation.
I didn’t really care if he had anything to do.
I knew he had the day off.
And to be honest, I’d dropped enough of my shit to help him that he could do the same for me.
“I have the kids,” he said.
“Call Baylee and get her there. I’ll text you the address. Meet me there in forty five minutes.” I ordered and hung up.
I texted him the address, knowing he’d call his wife and get her there, and I then turned to the two men at my back.
“Either of you remember that college kid killing the other college kids and the two teachers eight and a half years ago?” I asked.
They both nodded, but it was Trance’s eyes that turned hard.
“I met her. She works at the dogs’ vet.”
I nodded. “Sawyer Berry. Dallas Berry’s twin sister. Reba’s daughter.”
Understanding started to dawn in Loki’s eyes.
But it wasn’t what he thought.
In fact, it was quite the opposite.
This had nothing to do with Reba and everything to do with her daughter.
I handed the file folder over to Loki first and gave Trance the copy that I’d made while in the chief’s office.
They both read, and I knew the exact instant that they got to the line where they read the alcohol level.
“What in the actual fuck?” Trance exclaimed.
I didn’t say anything, waiting for them to read all the way through.
“So you have a dead detective and lawyer, a missing judge, and a girl in jail for eight years for a crime she didn’t commit,” Loki finally said, looking up at me.
I nodded. “Essentially.”
“What do you need us to do?” He asked, handing the file over.
I waved him off. “Keep it. I’ve got my own at home. I want you to go ask some questions about the lawyer’s death.”
“And me?” Trance asked.
“You’re coming with me. I’ll need your…handiwork,” I said, looking down at Kosher.
Kosher was intimidating as fuck.
I’d had my own trained narcotics dog about fifteen years ago, and Cujo – most aptly named, might I add – was intimidating as hell. But Kosher had Cujo beat by a mile.
He was the standard color of most German Shepherds, but he was the size of a Shetland pony on steroids.
And when he ran it sounded like a fucking Arabian horse barreling down on his unsuspecting prey.
Which was exactly what I wanted.
“I need to make one minor stop before we head over there,” I said, straddling my bike and starting it up with a roar.
The others followed suit, and we were on our way in no time.
***
“Nice of you to show up,” I muttered to Sebastian.
Sebastian shrugged.
“You can’t really expect me to just drop the kids off with Baylee at work, now can you?” He asked.
I shrugged. “You have a babysitter.”
He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, my sister who lives in Kilgore, which is nearly an hour away. You wanted me to be here within forty-five minutes. I did what I could with the time constraints you issued,” he deadpanned.
Whatever.
“Here’s what we have,” I said, giving him the rundown of what we were about to do.
“So you think this guy knows something about why she was sent to jail?” Sebastian asked.
“Yeah, or I wouldn’t be here,” I said sarcastically.
Sebastian flipped me off, and Trance snorted under his breath.
“Let’s go,” I ordered them both.
I’d called on my way to Mr. Escobar Giuliani’s place to verify that he was home, so I wasn’t surprised when he opened the door.
The house was modest for what I suspected a former lawyer/judge would live in, but that was only another mystery I’d want to solve in the very near future.
“Mr. Giuliani,” I said, offering the man my hand.
Escobar didn’t take it, instead stepping back at the sight of me.
“What do you want?” He asked guardedly.
“Sawyer Berry,” I said.
He blanched and started to close the door.
However, it was futile.
Sebastian stuck his foot out and stopped the door before it could close mere inches, and I pushed past them both to enter Escobar residence.
“I’ll call the police!” Escobar echoed in outrage.
“I am the police,” I muttered darkly.
Well...police…CIA…same thing, right?
Escobar blanched.
“He’s also an officer of the law and works for Benton Police Department. He’s here to make sure I don’t kill you and hide your body if you do or say something I don’t like,” I told Escobar.
Trance snorted and stayed on the front porch, doing as I’d asked him.
Trance wouldn’t be needed unless Escobar did something stupid, which I was hoping he wouldn’t do.
“I want to talk to you about a few things,” I said, handing him a file folder. “How about you read this and let me know what you think.”
He took the file folder reluctantly and opened it, blanching at what he saw.
“I…I…I can’t do this. I have a wife and kids…please!” Escobar said, trying to hand the file folder back.
Suddenly, I just didn’t care.
And I didn’t care in a huge way.
I moved forward like a viper, striking at Escobar and taking him down to his back before he even realized I was coming.
Escobar’s breath left him in a whoosh as I pressed the bare palm of my hand against the man’s neck, holding him down as I spoke.
“Tell me,” I said, leaning into him slightly. “Tell me now, or so help me God, I will ruin everything you hold dear.”
He gasped as I put more pressure on his neck, then tears started to fill his eyes.
“I can’t. He threatened to kill them if I didn’t comply,” he choked. “You’r
e not the worst of the two evils.”
I laughed in his face. “You really think that?” I asked.
He nodded. “So you won’t tell me a word?”
He shook his head.
I got up until I was looming over him, then went to a picture that was on the mantle.
“So, this wife of yours…” I said, examining the picture. “You love her?”
“Yes,” he croaked.
I nodded. “And what will she do when she finds out that you had a hand in putting an innocent young girl in prison for a crime that she didn’t commit? Will she be upset with you?”
Escobar didn’t say a word.
I continued as if he’d confirmed my suspicions.
“Do you know what that poor girl went through?” I hissed at him through clenched teeth.
Remembering the dreams she’d had from last night, I wanted to shove my fist down the sorry fucker’s throat and twist it around until his jaw broke from the pressure.
She’d woken not once, not twice, but seven times.
She’d cried out so painstakingly, that I’d thought something had been really wrong.
But then she’d started to mutter in her sleep.
The first time had been apologies for hurting the four people she’d killed.
As had the fifth and seventh.
The second, third, fourth, and sixth had been her telling her imaginary attacker to ‘please don’t rape me. I promise I won’t complain again.’
That’d been when I realized she was talking about the guards from prison.
It had taken me a long time this morning, but I’d gotten the names from Lynn, along with the toxicology report from him about the accident.
And I was very appreciative of the information.
Because there was definitely some explaining that needed to happen.
“No,” Escobar squeaked.
So I enlightened him.
“She was nearly raped every night for eight years. How do you think your child or wife would feel if that happened?” I asked, finally giving him my eyes.
Escobar turned over on to his side suddenly and vomited up his lunch.
Disgusting.
“I’d never do a thing like that, of course. Hell, I don’t personally know a single man on this earth who would…or hadn’t until now,” I told him.
Then I looked up into the crying eyes of Escobar’s wife, who stood at the entrance, and smiled.
Counter To My Intelligence (The Heroes of The Dixie Wardens MC Book 7) Page 9