True North

by Beth D. Carter

  “Yeah.”

  “Okay,” North replied. “I’ll call a prospect to help me. Otherwise, my own truck will be stuck there.”

  Givon raised an eyebrow. “You don’t mind your club knowing you fish with me?”

  “You’re my friend,” North said with a shrug. “Nothing wrong with two friends fishing together.”

  Givon didn’t answer. He held out his fist and North bumped it with his own. Then he reached into his pocket and took out the keys to toss them North’s way.

  North rose and walked outside to place a call to one of the prospects of his club, the kid they’d nicknamed Nimrod. The sun had set and he was glad he had the hoodie in the cool evening air as he waited outside, seriously regretting having thrown away his cigarettes. The unmistakable rumble of a motorcycle could be heard a distance away and he smiled. It was a sound he loved, the only thing that really soothed the wildness inside him. He’d discovered motorcycles quite by accident, back when he’d been a teenager with gigantic daddy issues. One night, after his father had kicked his ass for something stupid, North had tried running away. When he’d come across a motorcycle he thought would be an easy thing to hotwire, the owner of the bike had caught him. North expected a beat down. Instead, the biker by the name of Patch had offered him refuge.

  Givon had his own way of dealing with the shit from their youth. He’d become a fucking cop. But North didn’t hold it against his friend. How could he? Each man had done their best to cope and North was glad that they’d somehow remained close. He couldn’t imagine life without Givon being there, somewhere.

  North watched as a Harley cruised into the parking lot and pulled into a vacant space. Nimrod dismounted and walked over to him. The patch on his vest that proclaimed him a prospect stood out brightly in the overhead parking lot lights. Nimrod was young, not quite twenty-one, although he could easily pass for a teenager.

  “What’s up, Boss?” Nimrod asked.

  “You’re going to help me pack up a fishing camp then bring my truck back here.”

  “Here?” Nimrod pointed to the hospital.

  “Yep. Come on.”

  North led the younger man to Givon’s truck and unlocked it. They settled into the plush seats that North had to admit felt nice. His own truck was twenty years old and half the shit didn’t work on it anymore. But it had belonged to Patch so he was reluctant to part with it.

  With thoughts of the shooting racing through his head, he drove in silence back to the campsite. Luckily, the prospect didn’t feel the need to talk either. North couldn’t seem to forget how it felt holding the girl in his arms. Maybe it was his protective tendencies coming out. He’d always been a sucker for a damsel in distress and there wasn’t more of a distress than her predicament. Who the fuck would shoot a woman in the back? He really didn’t like that she’d been dressed only in her bra and panties. He hoped she hadn’t been raped too, or he was going to have to find the bastard who had done it and ass-rape him with a loaded gun.

  When they got back to the campsite, the first thing he did was grab his cut out of his truck and put it on over his hoodie. As he smelled the familiar leather, he didn’t feel quite so naked anymore. He had Nimrod pack everything up while he picked up a flashlight and went back to the so-called crime scene. He knew that Givon or one of his goons would be here soon to rope it off and look for clues, so he wanted to do his own little investigation.

  The shovel still lay on the side, obviously old and used, judging by the rusty handle and compact dirt on the blade. North walked over to the spot where the girl had been lying and saw the indention of her body still in the grass, as well as the pooled blood, now dark like black ink. The overwhelming need to find the bastard who had beaten the ever-living shit out of her gripped him hard.

  “What happened here?” Nimrod asked from behind him, making him jump.

  North swore and turned. “You scared the crap out of me.”

  “Sorry. I got everything packed in the truck bed.”

  “Good. Follow me back to the hospital.”

  “Is that blood?” Nimrod asked, pointing.

  “Yeah. Girl was shot.”

  “Serious? You?”

  “Hell, no!” North groused. “We do not hurt women. Got that, Nimrod?”

  They’d really named this prospect accurately. Nimrod’s real name was Richard, and although North had been all for calling him Dick or Dicky, because that was just a god-awful nickname to begin with, the man had managed to put his bike muffler on backward. Never mind that nobody could figure out how he did it, but who the hell puts a muffler on backward?

  Only a nimrod.

  “Then who?”

  He shrugged. “Don’t know. But in your night-time scavenging, if you hear rumors of a girl getting shot in the back, come and tell me.”

  “Okay.”

  As North went to leave the area, something shiny glinted in the moonlight and caught his attention. He stopped and bent down, moving some of the grass aside. A gold necklace rested there. He picked it up and had to pull out bits of grass from the delicate chain, which had snapped near the clasp. He rooted around the area and found a little charm. It looked like a bird but it was hard to tell in the darkening forest. He put both in his pocket for safekeeping.

  A few minutes later, he was on his way back to the hospital when his phone rang. He straightened out his leg to dig his phone out of his front pocket then flipped it open.

  “Yes?”

  “Nick had a heart attack,” his vice president, Draven, immediately said, sounding stressed and upset.

  North closed his eyes, not quite believing what he was hearing. Nick was one of the original members of the club and had been Patch’s best friend. This was the last bit of news he wanted to hear, especially right now.

  “Is he still alive?”

  “Yeah. He’s being taken to the General right now.”

  “On my way,” North said and hung up.

  What a fucking day.

  Chapter Three

  Givon hung up his phone, again, already tired of all the calls. Usually Destiny, Wyoming wasn’t this exciting. Most of the time he was dealing with either some sort of cattle issue or drunk driving. But just remembering the girl face down with blood covering her skin made his blood run cold. She was still in surgery—had been for the past couple of hours—and he looked for a nurse to get an update.

  “Excuse me,” he asked the girl at the front desk. “Do you have any sort of update on the girl with the gunshot wound?”

  The nurse typed something into her computer then made a phone call. She murmured a few things then hung up to give him one of those practiced, pleasant smiles.

  “She’s in Recovery. Her surgery went fine and the doctor should be out in a few minutes to go over everything with you.”

  “Great,” he murmured, relieved. A weight slid off his shoulders. He really hadn’t wanted to investigate her murder. He sent a quick text to North that she was going to be okay but a second later, he watched several members of the Wolves walk into the ER. He recognized all of them, including John Draven, who was North’s second-in-command. When Draven turned around, he met Givon’s eyes and made a quick beeline for him.

  “Hey, man,” Draven greeted. “Why’re you here?”

  “Gunshot victim,” Givon answered. “You?”

  “Nick had a heart attack.”

  Givon knew Nick Pauls was one of the original members of the club and a decent enough guy. Givon shook his head sorrowfully. “Sorry to hear that. Does North know?”

  “Yeah, he’s on his way.”

  “Let me know if there’s anything I can do.”

  Draven nodded. “Thanks, man.”

  Just then, the surgical doctor walked into the waiting room and gestured for Givon.

  “Excuse me, Draven. Seems like my case has an update.”

  Draven glanced at the doctor. “Sure thing.”

  Givon hurried over to the surgeon.

  “I’m Dr. Blake,�
� the man said. He gestured to a hallway. “Let’s talk in my office.”

  Givon followed him into a spacious office and sat in a chair across from the desk.

  “She came through the surgery fine,” Dr. Blake reported. He held up a biohazard red baggie. “It’s the bullet. I believe she was turning away when she was shot, because it lodged sideways into the latissimus dorsi muscle of her back near her spine, missing her ribs as well as any major organs. If you’re going to get shot, this is the way to do it. She’s one lucky woman.”

  Givon took the bag and let the quick rush of relief slide over him. “Was she raped?”

  “No. I had a GYN check her over.”

  Givon experienced a second wave of gratitude. “Thank God. Getting shot in the back is bad enough. I’m glad she doesn’t have to recover from a rape as well. I’m going to post a protection detail at her room.”

  “I understand. Any clue to her name or who she is?”

  Givon shook his head and stood. “Unfortunately not. Do you mind if I sit with her?”

  “She just woke up in Recovery so she’ll be in and out consciousness for a while, but I have no problem with you sitting with her. She’s on the third floor, room three-eleven,” Dr. Blake said, holding out his hand.

  Givon shook it before exiting the office. He headed toward the elevators. Just before the door closed, he spotted North enter the waiting room.

  The woman’s room was dark. A nurse just finished attaching the fluid bag to an IV pole as he entered. He stood to one side, studying the unconscious Jane Doe lying in the hospital bed. Without the dirt and mud, he finally saw her face, which caused a strange tightness in the pit of his stomach. The bruise on her cheek couldn’t hide the delicacy of her features or her beauty and he couldn’t seem to take his eyes off her. When the nurse left, he edged closer until he stood next to her bedside.

  Closed, her eyes were almond-shaped with arched eyebrows, highlighting her Native American ancestry. Her nose was small and slightly upturned on the tip while her lips were full and tempting. Perhaps he was the biggest asshole in history standing there ogling her while she lay recuperating from almost being murdered, but there was something about her that brought out his protective instincts. He grabbed the chair in the corner and pulled it close to her bed. He sat but it didn’t seem close enough, so he picked up her hand and gently enfolded it in his.

  He sat for an hour or so, just watching her. The machines around her were almost hypnotic and it lulled him into a light doze. Movement of her hand brought him wide awake and slowly, her eyelids fluttered open. The deepest, darkest, most beautiful eyes he’d ever seen turned to meet his gaze. She stared at him in confusion until she looked around the room then fear and fright settled on her face.

  “You’re safe,” he assured her in a low, soothing tone. “I’m Sheriff Givon Halloran of Destiny. Can you tell me your name?”

  She opened her mouth but nothing came out. When she made a drinking motion with her free hand, he let go of her other one to pour her some water. He stood up to help her, adjusting the straw so she could drink easier.

  Once she’d gotten her fill, she relaxed onto her side and Givon set the plastic cup on the C-arm table that straddled her bed. He sat again and picked up her hand to hold once more.

  “My friend North and I saved you from that man,” he said. “Brought you here to the hospital. You were in surgery for a while but you’re going to be okay.”

  “Thank you,” she whispered. Tears filled her eyes. “He was going to kill me.”

  “You ran away from him. Luckily, far enough away to save your life. You were very brave, sweetheart. Can you tell me your name?”

  “Allison,” she said. “But I go by Allis.”

  “What’s your last name?”

  She opened her mouth to answer, thought about it then finally answered, “Smith.”

  He didn’t miss her hesitation and it didn’t give him warm and tingly feelings knowing that she was hiding her identity. But he figured he’d deal with that later. “Hello, Allis,” he said. “I’m Givon.”

  “You said that already.”

  “So I did,” he replied, smiling. He’d let her keep her secrets for now. “Can you tell me who the man was? Why did he hurt you?”

  “I’ve been working in a bar in Durango,” she told him. “He’d been hanging around for a few days, annoying me. I was closing up last night—around two in the morning—and he attacked me. Hit me. I woke up in his van, half-naked and tied up. He was gone. I managed to work the ties off my wrists and when he came back, I got the jump on him and ran into the woods. I just kept running. I didn’t know where I was. Then…I guess he shot me. I remember pain and that’s it.”

  “Durango is close to Casper,” he said. “Up Highway Twenty-five. You’re in Destiny.”

  She grimaced a little before her brow soothed out. “I don’t know where that is.”

  “Other side of Riverton. Is there anyone we can call for you? Family? Friends?”

  “No one,” she whispered and closed her eyes. “I’ve got no one. He would’ve killed me and no one would’ve cared.”

  A tear escaped her eye and ran down her temple. Givon gently wiped it away and she opened those sultry eyes of hers to capture his gaze. Something kicked him in the chest and he was helpless to look away. The air between them grew thick, heavy, but with what, he hadn’t a clue. Whatever it was, it unnerved him enough for him to let go of her hand and stand. She was injured, recovering from a traumatic experience, so what the hell was he thinking?

  “You rest now.” His voice had gone a little gruff from the unexpected and completely inappropriate lust that seized him. “I’ve got a guard on duty at your door. You’ll be safe.”

  “Th-thank you.” She bit her lower lip. “Will you come back?”

  “Of course.”

  He gave her one more strained smile and left the room. Jack was waiting outside her door. Givon walked up to the young deputy.

  “You guard her room,” he told the man. “I’m not kidding about this, Jack. I don’t have anyone else right now.”

  “Okay, sir,” Jack quickly replied.

  “Hospital personnel, us, only relevant people. Got it?”

  “Got it.”

  A while ago, some information had been stolen from his desk. Although no evidence pointed toward Jack, Givon couldn’t help but be suspicious. Since his other three deputies were occupied, he didn’t really have a choice. Givon could stay himself but he was unnerved by her in a primitive, sexual way, and damned if that didn’t make him feel guilty.

  * * * *

  North immediately saw his crew when he stepped into the ER. The worry shown in their faces and he shared it. Nick was the unofficial nurturer of the pack—the one everyone turned to for advice—and not having him there hurt like a kick in the gut.

  “Have you heard anything?” he asked, focusing on Draven.

  “No, nothing yet,” Draven said. “Tina’s on her way.”

  “Okay,” North muttered and ran a hand over his face. “It’s been a long goddamn night.”

  Pete, the club’s treasurer, walked over from the admitting desk with a stack of papers, a pair of glasses perched on the end of his nose. Like Nick, he was one of the old timers as well, with gray heavily peppering his hair and beard.

  “There’s a snafu,” he announced in a low tone.

  North hated hearing that word. Pete liked to use it often when he discussed money or the lack there of. “What now?”

  “Looks like Nick’s insurance only pays sixty percent of hospital coverage,” he said, looking over the rim of his glasses like a dour schoolmaster. “Nick’s going to have to come up with the forty percent.”

  “Is that like a discount?” Nimrod asked. “You know, sixty percent off the ticketed price?”

  The other members stared at him for a long moment. North blinked and turned back to Pete. It wasn’t even worth trying to explain.

  “Doesn’t matter,” North told
him. “Pack takes care of their own.”

  Pete shook his head. “We don’t have it, North.”

  “What do ya mean, we don’t have it?” Draven demanded. “Tina works part-time at Walmart and Nick lives off social security. They don’t have the forty percent.”

  “And I said neither do we,” Pete stressed. “The club is almost broke. We haven’t had a protection run in two months.”

  “We’ll borrow it from the shop,” Draven argued.

  “The tattoo shop barely breaks even,” Pete stated. “And most of the revenue is from all of us getting new tats!”

  Tina rushed into Emergency and North put up a hand, halting everyone immediately. “Tina’s here. Let’s pick this back up in church later.”

  Draven and Pete nodded. Pete folded up the hospital papers and placed them inside his cut. North went to Nick’s wife, Tina, and hugged her. Her body shook with sobs and his heart broke. He prayed to God that Nick would pull through, because damned if North was ready to let another member go. Losing Patch had been difficult enough. No way was he ready to say goodbye to someone else.

  Givon stepped off the elevator and their gazes met. He gave a little nod and turned toward the cafeteria. North pulled back from Tina and tilted her head up.

  “We’re with you, Tina,” he told her. “You know that, right? You don’t worry about a thing, okay?”

  “Okay,” she whispered and gave him a watery smile. “Thank you. You’re a good man. A good leader for the club.”

  He kissed the top of her head then motioned for Draven to come over. He turned Tina over to his VP before following Givon. He suspected whatever it was he wanted to talk about had to do with the girl.

  He caught up with Givon in line ready to pay for a steaming cup of coffee and waited until he’d finished the transaction. Then they found a table in the far corner to sit.

  “How’s Nick?”

  North shrugged and let out a weary sigh. “Still in surgery. Today’s the day for them, I guess.”

  “The woman made it through,” Givon said. “She’s resting in room three-eleven, third floor.”