Mica (Rebel Wayfarers MC)

by MariaLisa deMora

  Laughing, Steve fake-somberly nodded his head. “I think it’s all the headshots into the boards, old man. It takes your brain a while to catch up, but then you go and give it time off and you get senioritis again. It lets you forget all the pain and suffering you put yourself through during the season, until it’s the season again.”

  Pulling up on the edge of the couch, Steve put his elbows on his knees. He swirled the ice in his drink. “Having fun joking at your expense is great, but I came here because I’m a little miffed at ya. If you weren’t happy with how quickly I was looking into Ms. Scott’s background, you could have simply told me you hired someone else. It’s only been two days, man. I didn’t lose that much billable time on it, but it still pisses me off. Next time, would you just call me and find out where I am?” He shook his head. “So before I give you my report, do ya want to tell me what you found out from your other guy?”

  Lifting one brow, Daniel looked at Steve skeptically. “What do you mean I hired someone else?”

  “Oh, come on, don’t be coy. I was scouting her house and saw this other guy doing the same thing. Then, I saw the same guy near Jackson’s that evening, and then near her work the next day. I know what it looks like when someone is investigating, and he and I both were.” Steve frowned. “So what did you find out about her?”

  Shaking his head, Daniel said slowly, “I didn’t hire anyone else, Steve, so who the fuck is this guy, and what is he doing watching Mica?” He tensed, rage rising in him. “Did you get a good look at the guy at least? Is he a local P.I., you think? Why would he be tracking her?”

  Looking down at the floor between his feet for a moment, Steve thought about the man he’d briefly seen. “He was average height and weight, tan skin, brown hair, SUV had Texas plates, but that could be a rental; I didn’t run it. There wasn’t anything about him that stood out; he was like me, nondescript. That’s one of the reasons I’m a damn good investigator, I look like I fit in no matter where I am. This guy was the same, just normal and average.” Thinking for another minute, he made a decision. “All right, let me tell you what I found out; maybe there’s something in here that will help shed some light on why he would be tracking her movements too.”

  Reaching into his inner jacket pocket, Steve pulled out his phone. Tapping on the screen for a second, he pulled up the file he was looking for. He cleared his throat and began, “Michaela Trenton Scott goes by Mica. thirty years old, born in Longview, Texas. One brother—a fraternal twin, Michael Scott, and one younger sister, Molly Scott, twenty years old. Father is Trent Scott, sixty-five years old. All except Ms. Scott currently reside in Texas. The mother died when Ms. Scott was fourteen; the family lived on what is called a ‘working ranch’, which basically means they didn’t have any money, and had more work than hours in the day.”

  He cut his eyes over to Daniel, watching for his reaction to the next information. “At seventeen, one month before high school graduation, she gave evidence against her father in a rape trial. He was accused of raping a seventeen-year-old minor, a close family friend. Ms. Scott provided testimony against her father, confessing that for more than three years, her father had engaged in unwelcome sexual relations with her, beginning almost immediately following the death of her mother. He had also beaten her regularly, and I can tell you it looks like it was brutal. I have photos from the trial I can print off, showing the injuries if needed. The images seem to line up with what you saw the other night, though.

  “After getting a confession plea deal, her father received a slap on the wrist, and after only a few months, he moved back to the ranch. At the same time, the twins moved out, basically going their own ways. The little sister was seven at the time, and she was placed permanently into the custody of the mother’s sister. I guess they understandably didn’t trust the father after what he had done.

  “Ms. Scott graduated high school; she was second in her class of 550 students. She attended University of Illinois in Springfield with a dual major in computer science and business, graduating with a 3.6 GPA. Sole owner of MishMash Development, an up-and-coming indie web development company here in Chicago, she has one full-time employee. Until she moved to Illinois, she was heavily involved in the rodeo scene, and had been training horses ‘since she could walk’, according to a couple of people in Longview. Those same folks also volunteered that she could have had a promising career in the equine training field, if she had been interested.

  “Ms. Scott competed and performed in rodeos across the southwest for several months after high school, basically until it was time to move into the dorms at UI Springfield. Her roommate at that time is her employee now, Jessica Nalan, 29 years old. Tell Jason that Jess is firmly a lesbian, and in a committed relationship. I did find out something pretty cool—her girlfriend owns your favorite bakery.

  “I uncovered several emergency room visits during the break between the trial and college, but there was little information to be had, since they were scattered across several towns and states, and all were so long ago. She pays her taxes, owns her house outright, leases her office space with an option to own, and owes about as much in student loans as you’d expect. She was attacked a few days ago, like you said. My contacts think it was an attempted kidnapping, not a mugging, but they see no other motive than maybe the standard sex slave ring.”

  Here he paused a beat. “She is involved romantically with her neighbor. Davis Mason, 42 years old, President of the Rebel Wayfarers Motor Club. Mason owns Jackson’s, in addition to more than a dozen other clubs and bars, but I think you already know that too. That’s about it…all I could find in a couple of days.” Drawing the report to a close, he looked at Daniel again, gauging his thoughts as he absorbed all the information.

  Daniel shook his head, scrubbing his hands roughly across his face. “She’s ‘involved romantically’ with Mason? Are you sure, man?”

  Steve wondered that out of all the information, Daniel focused on that single piece. “Yes, I saw him leaving her house early the morning you called me, wearing only jeans. That’s pretty clear, don’t you think?”

  Leaning his head back against the couch, looking at the ceiling deep in thought, Daniel mused out loud, “She kicked her brother out recently. Mason said that Michael had been living with her for a few months after his fiancé died in Texas. I think she kicked him out the day she was attacked. Once we knew she was going to be okay, Mason had to leave the hospital, go deal with the locksmith, and pack up the brother’s belongings. Do you think the brother might have anything to do with the investigator you saw?” He dragged his hands distractedly through his hair. “Involved with Mason, seriously? Dammit, she kissed me, man! Just a few nights ago, I slept in a bed with her as bare as can be.”

  Clearing his throat and ignoring that last part, Steve said, “Emily Schneider, the fiancé. She was the family friend that Ms. Scott’s father raped. The case was sealed, because she was still a minor, but it’s not a big town, and it was easy to find someone who remembered what happened. It was still fresh, because Ms. Schneider killed herself just over six months ago.”

  Still thinking hard, Daniel looked up at the ceiling. “This just gets better and fucking better. What about her clients at work—anything there of concern? Any shady Chi-town businesses?”

  Steve tapped at his screen again. “Thomas Donnelly is a client; as you know, he’s as slimy as they come, and she recently picked up another one that is interesting. He’s a guy originally from the rodeo circuit in Oklahoma. Jack Peters, he owns Pepper Potter’s, a trendy bar in Waukegan. I have to think he knows her from her time competing, and probably looked her up when he moved to Chicago.“

  “Peters is married now, but you never know what history people might carry with them. Other than those two, there’s really nothing of interest in her client files. I mean really nothing of interest. Her standard clients are mostly smaller businesses, which means smaller and fewer projects, and even smaller paychecks. She has to be completing a metric ton o
f work to be doing as well as she is with those clients. Donnelly is a leap for her, and probably a chance for a steady customer.”

  Making a moue of revulsion at Donnelly’s name, Daniel lifted his head and looked at his friend. “Steve, you know how I trust your gut on things like this. Do you think she’s in danger? Is there something that doesn’t sit right, or am I making trouble where there isn’t any?” He sucked in a deep breath, and with a tone of disgust, he asked, “Her father?” and let his head fall back against the couch again.

  Picking up his nearly empty glass, Steve agreed, “Yeah that is some kind of fucked up, man. What kind of sick man replaces his dead wife in his bed with his little girl? That was her father goddammit; don’t all girls idolize their fathers? Something that sick has got to leave scars worse than the ones on her back.” Draining the glass before setting it back down, he divulged, “So here’s what I think, my friend. My gut is screaming, because I think something isn’t right. It doesn’t pass the sniff test, Daniel. I don’t know if she’s in danger, or playing you against Davis Mason in some kind of game, but something doesn’t fit.”

  30 -

  Chatting

  Rolling his clothes, Daniel shoved the last of them into a duffle bag like he normally did. Looking around his bedroom, he zipped up the bag and threw it down beside the doorway. He’d pick up his gear at the arena, along with the rest of the team, and then make sure it was all there before that bag went into the belly of the bus. Walking to the wall, he pressed the intercom button and waited for a second. “Yes, sir?” came Samuel’s voice through the speaker on the wall.

  “Samuel, go ahead and pull the car around. I need you to take me to the arena to catch the bus, but we have to make a stop first at Jackson’s.” Daniel paused. “Oh, and I’ll want you to drive to Milwaukee later this evening, in case I need the car while we are there.”

  “Yes, sir,” came the response.

  Grabbing the strap on his bag and slinging it over his shoulder, he strode out of the room and down the stairs to the front door, the heavy bag bumping at his hip. Snagging his jacket from the hall tree, he opened the door and walked outside, twisting to pull the door closed behind him. He turned to see Samuel already had the car door open, and he stepped into the backseat, tossing the duffle onto the floor and pulling out his phone.

  Pressing a contact number, he waited for an answer, wondering anxiously what questions he might have answered today. “Jackson’s,” came through the phone in a gruff voice.

  “Mason, man, hey…it’s Daniel Rupert,” he responded.

  There was a lengthy pause after which he heard a deep sigh, and then a slow, “Daniel, how the hell are ya?” from Mason.

  “Are you busy right now?” Daniel asked, not sure what answer he was hoping for. He was puzzled that the tone on the phone today seemed very different from a few days ago, when Mason greeted him like an old friend.

  “Naw, it’s pretty dead. Get your ass over here, fucker.” Mason abruptly disconnected the call.

  Tossing his phone from hand to hand with impatience, Daniel went over his brief conversation with Mason before he shook his head hard, grunting and distracting himself from the useless speculation that something was wrong.

  Samuel smoothly pulled the car to a stop in front of Jackson’s, sitting and waiting in the driver’s seat patiently. He knew that Daniel preferred to open his own doors, especially in town. “Shall I wait here, sir?” he asked, unsure of their purpose in visiting this bar so early in the day.

  “No,” came the response, “find a parking lot and wait; I don’t know how long I’ll be.”

  Walking into the bar, he paused for a second to let his vision adjust from the bright sunlight outside, to the dim and shadowy interior. Daniel saw Mason working near one end of the bar, wiping water spots off glasses and stacking them on the back bar for use later today. Mason lifted one hand in a brief wave, shifting a barstool towards Daniel as he walked over.

  “How the hell are ya, Daniel?” Mason asked. This was an echo of his question from the phone call, and he was frowning and intently studying the glass and bar rag in his hands. Mason was giving off a strange vibe and almost seemed angry with him, and Daniel wracked his brain for something he could have done or said to make Mason annoyed.

  “I’m good. How are things with you?” Trying to keep the small talk going, Daniel looked around and realized he was the only customer in the place.

  “Are you even open yet, man?” he asked in surprise, looking at him with humor on his face.

  Lifting his face to look at Daniel, Mason scowled blackly. “No, it’s early, but we need to have ourselves a talk.” He slammed a glass down on the bar.

  “You have my full attention, Mason. What do we need to talk about?” Daniel asked, beginning to get ticked off at the attitude rolling off the man. He abruptly become aware that Mason had his cut on, showing the full colors of his club. Daniel didn’t remember ever seeing him so blatantly advertise what a hardass he really was. Normally, he played up the businessman façade, unless he was with his brothers or on club business. He asked, “So, is the vest for my benefit, Mason? Do I need reminding of the force you can bring to the table?”

  “Fucker,” was the breathless exclamation, and Mason shook his head side-to-side, drew in a deep, deliberate breath, and then blew it out slowly, “you goddamn well might, asshat.” The muscles in his face tightened as he ground his teeth together, and Daniel watched one muscle along Mason’s jaw flex and pop and his lips thin as he seemed to carefully work to bring his control back to center and a semblance of calm.

  Flexing his shoulders and back, and then rolling his neck, this hard and scowling Mason pushed out from behind the shining, hardwood bar, moved past Daniel, and locked the door with the key hanging on the inside. Stalking back behind the bar, he poured them both a draft beer, and then came around and sat down on the customer side of the bar on a stool next to Daniel.

  Taking a deep drink of his beer, he looked at Daniel, who stayed resolutely silent. He was waiting on Mason to get his shit together, and to tell him what was going on. Running both hands through his hair absently, Mason finally spoke. “Daniel, you walked Mica home after the grill party, right?” Nodding in affirmation, Daniel motioned with his hands for Mason to continue. “You kissed her, didn’t you?” he asked. Nodding again, Daniel gripped the edge of the bar tightly, not sure where this was headed. “You walked her home, and then you kissed on her porch. You kissed her, and then you fucking left her alone in her goddamn fucking house!” Mason’s voice rose to a shout at the end, and he took another long drink of his beer, holding the mug with a shaking hand.

  “What happened to her? Is she okay? Why didn’t you call me, dammit?” Daniel was blindsided that something had clearly happened, but he had no knowledge of it. He knew that was the night Steve said Mason spent with Mica in her home, and he wondered now if maybe it wasn’t what they had assumed. Maybe she wasn’t with Mason after all. Breathing shallowly, Daniel was still waiting for Mason to continue.

  Taking in a shaking breath, seeming furious, Mason leveled his dark, gray gaze at Daniel. “You walked her home, kissed her, and left her. She doesn’t do casual; she doesn’t do anything easy. She needed someone with her that night, and you didn’t stay, you son of a bitch. I met you, saw you two together, and I thought you were going to be good for her, be someone who cared, maybe someone who stuck around long enough to get past her walls and figure her out, but you just fucking left her alone, you bastard. You kissed her, and then you fucking waltzed off into the night, not caring what kind of shit storm you started.”

  Finally recognizing the emotion and vibe that Mason was giving off, Daniel closed his eyes, wondering what could make this man afraid. “Okay, Mason, let’s start over, all right? If she’s not hurt, if she’s okay, let’s start over, because I do not fucking understand what’s going on. What happened after I left her? Which was because I didn’t want to scare her, not because I don’t care for her. I’
d had a couple beers too many, and I was afraid I’d get carried away and accidentally hurt her. I want to date her, not just lay her. She…I think she deserves so much more than that, Mason, and I think you know it as well as I do.”

  Mason nodded. “You got one thing right, you fucker; she goddamn well does. She’s the most important thing in my life.” He paused, scrubbing at his cheeks with his hands. “Fuck. Okay. Let me think.” Shrugging off his cut, the sleeveless leather vest with the colorful patches showing his position as president and founder of the mother chapter of the motor club, he folded and laid it carefully over the bar, rolling and loosening his shoulders. “Okay, let’s get our shit straight. I’ll lay it all out for you, man. How much do you know about Mica, Daniel? I know you hired that reporter to sniff around, so I suspect you discovered some shit that you disliked. You probably disliked it about as much as I did when I found out about it.”

  “Yeah, Steve was able to put together a pretty clear picture of the hell her life was in Texas.” Daniel nodded, treading carefully through these unfamiliar waters with Mason. “I saw the scars on her back at your house, man; that shit wasn’t from the attack here in Chicago. That was fucking torture done a long time ago, and since she’s still young, it was done to a very young girl. I know about the trial and what her father did to her. I know that Michael’s fiancé was the other girl he raped, and that she killed herself.” Mason dragged in a breath at that; clearly, her suicide was news to him. “I know the police think it was a kidnapping, not a mugging, and I know that someone else has hired a P.I. to watch her and track her, because Steve uncovered him. I don’t know who that is, but I’m taking steps to find out.” Daniel took a breath. “Mason, I know you stayed at her house the night of the party, and I suspect I’m not going to like that part at all.”