Separated MC (The Nighthawks MC Book 10)

by Bella Knight

  SEPERATED MC

  THE NIGHTHAWKS MOTORCYCLE CLUB

  BELLA KNIGHT

  Book

  10

  Edited by

  NATASHA LIND

  © Copyright 2017 - All rights reserved.

  In no way is it legal to reproduce, duplicate, or transmit any part of this document in either electronic means or in printed format. Recording of this publication is strictly prohibited and any storage of this document is not allowed unless with written permission from the publisher. All rights reserved.

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  Legal Notice:

  This book is copyright protected. This is only for personal use. You cannot amend, distribute, sell, use, quote or paraphrase any part or the content within this book without the consent of the author or copyright owner. Legal action will be pursued if this is breached.

  Disclaimer Notice:

  Please note the information contained within this document is for educational and entertainment purposes only. Every attempt has been made to provide accurate, up to date and reliable complete information. No warranties of any kind are expressed or implied. Readers acknowledge that the author is not engaging in the rendering of legal, financial, medical or professional advice. By reading this document, the reader agrees that under no circumstances is the author or publisher responsible for any losses, direct or indirect, which are incurred as a result of the use of information contained within this document, including, but not limited to; errors, omissions, or inaccuracies.

  Created with Vellum

  CONTENTS

  Recap from Book 9

  1. Separated

  2. Exfiltration

  3. Reservations

  4. Not Dead Yet

  5. Circling the Wagons

  Afterword

  About the Author

  RECAP FROM BOOK 9

  Bob finished off more paperwork and stood. "Got a wife and baby," he said under his breath, just to himself.

  He shut off the computer, and took the case with his personal laptop and a few journals. His wife read them assiduously, and he had to be ready to discuss things with her, and he was working with his backlog. He figured when his wife came back from leave, she'd argue with him about them. He’d hated coming back from leave after only a few weeks, but such was life. He turned off the lights, locked the office, and went to the company truck.

  He stopped off for potato and blue corn chowders, small salads, and pecan pie for his family, then took a swing over to grab some baby wipes and diapers. He was fast realizing there was no such thing as "too much." He then headed home, sucking on a soda to keep his eyes open.

  He drove up, and saw the door slightly open. He left the things in the car, and called dispatch. "This is S-34. There's an intruder at my house, 3555 Sunflower Drive."

  He dropped the mic, and ran toward the house. He used the tip of his gun to open the door. Two of the stools at the breakfast bar were smashed. No one was there, no baby in the crib. The ruby blanket had been slashed, which chilled him. He made his way upstairs, then back down. He went back out, and circled the house.

  He went back in, and found Tanner in the house, still in uniform. "No one here. There was a struggle, and someone had a knife." He pointed to the two lamps he hadn't seen on his first walkthrough. "Someone ripped those out of the wall and used them as missiles. My wife and Deputy Reece are missing, and our baby Diana," he said. "We need to get the word out. My wife's car is still here. Call the FBI. This is a kidnapping."

  He did a second walkthrough, in case someone had hidden the baby, using gloved fingers. Nothing. He pulled out his cell phone and texted Herja a 412 code, which meant kidnapping, and his address. Herja would find who did this, and between the two of them, they would pound the son-of-a-bitch into the ground and get his family back.

  He dialed again, this time to Agent Rita Beck, a longtime friend. She was based in Reno. She said, "Just got it from the Vegas office. On my way. I'll bring Frenchie." Frenchie was Cinna French, FBI, also a Valkyrie.

  "Bet Frenchie knows already," said Bob.

  "No bet," said Beck. "Sit tight."

  Tanner stopped talking on an open mic. "CSI is on their way. The FBI has been called."

  "Who the fuck called Vegas?" asked Bob. "Reno would know this area better. Special Agent in Charge, Beck, is on her way with Special Agent French."

  "Good," said Tanner. "Your wife's truck is in the garage. Nothing is missing?"

  "Not even that pack of baby wipes there," said Bob. "And we've got valuable things. I checked the safe. It's hidden well, and no one breached it." He took a breath. "That's actually bad. If my wife and baby got away, they have nothing; no food, water, baby wipes, diapers, clothing, money, IDs. My wife's purse is there." He pointed to it. "I didn't look in it, but the tip of her wallet is there. I doubt she had much on her. Carrying your ID around inside the house (as a new mother) is not normal."

  "No," said Tanner. "It isn't." He blew out a breath. "I don't think your wife was injured, or anyone, because, no blood. No trace. And if I ask who you think would want to hurt your family, I think it would be 'everyone I arrested, or my wife arrested' and 'no one.'"

  "Got that one," said Bob. "I can't leave, because of a possible ransom call, but there isn't much for me to do here. I can go on a grid search; my wife and daughter, and Reece —are probably on foot." He sighed. "Did you eat yet?" he asked.

  "What?" said Tanner. "No. Why?"

  "I'll eat in my car, and I'll blow protocol and take this house phone." He took pictures of it, and so did Tanner. "You'll grab the food and go on a grid search, and I'll stay here and wait for..."

  The CSI van pulled up. "Go," he said.

  They fast-walked out to Bob's car. He gave Tanner half the food, and he sat in the car and methodically ate the food that tasted like sawdust in his mouth. He took a bottled water from the little cooler in his truck, and waited for Herja.

  Instead, Sergeant Dani Ramos came, one of Herja's Soldier Pack. "We're deployed, Sir," she said. She had dark skin and deep brown eyes. She was compact, like a fireplug, and strong. "Herja's got us on a grid, and is looking for places for food, shelter, and communi..."

  Bob held up a finger and answered his phone. "Sheriff Hunter," he said.

  He sat up straight, threw his food containers back in the sack and threw it in the rear. He tilted his head, and Dani ran around and hopped into his car. They buckled up while Bob ran through his own lawn to get around the CSI van.

  "Got one dead. He's nearby, about six blocks down, with a broken neck. CSI is there to catch any ransom demands. I don't think this is going to end well." He smiled grimly. "For them." Dani looked at him with a wild, familiar, Valkyrie look in her eye.

  1

  SEPARATED

  “Separation causes anxiety, and sometimes outright insanity.”

  Dani sent a text. “We’ll have one of us in the house to listen for the phone until the FBI can get into the phone.”

  Bob handed his phone to Tanner. “Call Beck back. I’ll tell her she has full permission to tap the lines.”

  Tanner made the call. “On it,” said Beck. “What’s with the sirens?”

  “Dead body,�
�� said Bob. “Near my home. Will keep you informed. Hunter out.” He hung up and pocketed the phone.

  Bob called Dispatch as soon as he saw the dead man. The dead guy was in the bushes four blocks up, and two over, in front of a brown ranch house with a silver Kia in the front yard. The man used to have a mask on. The mask had been clawed off his face. He was young; early twenties, with sandy blonde hair, a beard, and a well-kept mustache.

  “Never seen him,” Bob said to Herja. He pointed to the bruise on the man’s jaw. “Sidekick, I’d say. Your style.”

  “Taught it to all my sisters,” said Herja. “And Skuld taught it to me. So, probably Reece, or maybe your wife. We’re doing a grid, nothing nearby so…”

  “Ogagn!” yelled a female voice.

  Bob kept the pace with Herja. “What the…”

  “Hurt,” said Herja.

  They ran four blocks over; one up, and an African-American woman with hair braided down one side had Xenia up against a tree. Xenia’s face was a mass of bruises, and blood was running down from her temple to her cheek.

  “Medic!” screamed Herja.

  Bob called it in. “S-34, I need a bus, my wife has been found. Blow to the temple.” He said it in a rush, while kneeling to check her pulse at the neck. “Pulse thready.” He got off the mic, and he let Tanner take over.

  A woman with blonde hair streaming behind her, braided on one side, came rushing up, with a bag in her hand. She knelt, put on gloves, and checked the wound.

  “Nasty crack, laceration, probable concussion. Would say this was done with a gun butt.” She looked up at Herja. “Find these guys and take them out,” she said.

  “Still missing Reece and Diana,” said Bob. “Honey, can you hear me?” His wife remained unresponsive.

  “She’s out cold,” said the woman. “I’m Doctor Evie Applebaum. Your wife will be okay. We’ll take care of her. Go after your child.”

  “Blood trail,” said Herja.

  They ran forward, looking for the trail. Bob tried not to look back at his wife. He clearly saw her in his mind, screaming at him to go, to find Diana. They ran faster, stopped, doubled back, then turned. Herja was like a bloodhound. He wondered if they were backtracking or moving forward, but it was all they had to go on. They cut through a yard, scaled a fence, kept running, and then scaled it again on the other side. Finally, they heard grunting, a smack, something toppling, and a wail. Bob ran, his hand on his gun, ready to kill anyone that made Diana cry.

  Reece had the guy in a chokehold, and now, Bob pointed his gun at the masked figure, while Herja ran past, like an Olympic runner, leaping over a knocked-over lawn chair to get to the baby who was on the ground. She grabbed Diana, then circled Reece. She popped the guy once in the stomach and once in the knee, so fast that Bob could barely see the movement. The man tried to take in breath to howl, but Reece finished by choking him out. He collapsed to the ground.

  Diana screamed lustily, infuriated, while Bob put cuffs on the man. He pulled back the mask to reveal an older man. In his mid-thirties, buzz-cut black hair, dark eyes, skin weathered by sun, wind, and probably even the rain. A check of the pockets revealed nothing. Bob stepped back and claimed his daughter.

  “Got Mom,” said Bob, jiggling his daughter. She grabbed his finger and held on, her cries lessening. “Bet you want Mama, little girl,” said Bob.

  The homeowner came out, a wizened woman in a bathrobe. “I’ve got the cops on the line. Are you S-34? Whatever the fuck that means.”

  “Yes, tell them we need a car to take this one to prison. And probably an ambulance.” Bob checked the infant for injuries, but she seemed good. It was her angry cry, with a dose of hungry. Usually, it was the other way around.

  Herja had her hand on the back of Reece’s neck, and Reece, exhausted, put her hand up to the back of Herja’s neck. “With your shield,” said Herja.

  “Or on it,” said Reece.

  “What the actual fuck?” said the woman in the pink bathrobe. She hung up the phone and slipped it into the pocket of her bathrobe. Next, she pulled out a Marlboro from its hard, red pack, and she lit it up, drawing back on it like it was fresh, alpine air.

  “It’s a Valkyrie thing,” said Bob. “It grows on you.” He turned to Reece. “You protected my baby,” he said. “I owe you…”

  “Shut up,” said Reece. “You could have fucking come home on time.”

  Bob snorted, then looked down at Diana. She was trying to eat his finger. “Damn right I was late,” he said. “Damn fool, me.”

  “Let’s get the fuck to the hospital,” said Herja, holding up Reece.

  “Who the fuck is that guy? And why did he and the dead guy kidnap you three?” asked Bob.

  “Don’t know. Does it matter?” said Reece. “He wakes up, I’ll kill him too.”

  “Kidnapping is a capital offense,” said Bob. “Dumbasses, kidnapping a sheriff and her child.”

  The man groaned. Bob held up his hand to hold back Reece. “We need answers. The other guy can’t tell us squat.”

  “Damn,” said Reece. “Was looking forward to you taking that guy out.”

  The sirens stopped a few blocks away. “Picking up Xenia,” said Bob.

  Another siren came around the corner. Xenia’s second, Deputy David Rodriguez, hopped out. “Glad to see you’re all in one piece,” he said. “You have to shoot him?”

  “Nope,” said Bob. “Reece choked him out and Herja kicked him. Several times. Need a bus for him. And to check out Diana, but I think she’s okay. Reece is a bit of a mess.”

  “Fuck you,” said Reece, limping forward. “Take out the trash, willya, Dave?”

  “Always, for you,” said Dave, giving her a little bow.

  “You people are absolutely crazy,” said the woman in the bathrobe, still puffing away on her seemingly-perfect cigarette.

  “No more than usual,” said Bob.

  An ambulance drove up. “Everybody in,” said the EMT, the same woman that had been working on Xenia. Bob hopped in with the baby.

  Herja handed Reece in. “Meet ya there,” said Herja. They were crowded.

  Bob looked at Xenia and said, “Hey, love, got our baby.”

  Xenia groaned and held her head. The paramedic had an ice pack on it to reduce the swelling. “Diana!” she said, her eyes popping open. Diana let out a wail. “Gimme,” groaned Xenia. Bob handed Diana to her mother. Xenia popped out a breast and fed her right there.

  The paramedic said, “Motherhood. The cure for being knocked in the head, apparently.”

  “Bastards hit… Reece!”

  “Here,” said Reece, as the paramedic poked at her. “Ow, Tanya. Keep your hands to yourself.”

  “Thank you,” said Xenia. “Two males, twenties on one, think thirties on the other. Broke in, put a gun to Diana’s face. Texted someone. Mentioned a name. Greeley.”

  “August Greeley?” asked Bob.

  “Who the fuck is August Greeley?” asked Reece. “Ow.”

  “Cracked ribs,” said Tanya. “And a busted hand.”

  “Mover and shaker in the asshole business,” said Bob. “Busted his ass ten years ago.”

  “Man killed his wife,” said Xenia, her words slurred. Tanya was quick with the barf bag. Xenia was noisily sick.

  Tanya checked her eyes when she was finished throwing up. “Pupils still equal and responsive to light,” said Tanya. Xenia knocked the light off her eyes.

  “You guys taking the route through China?” Bob asked. “Got three patients back here.”

  “Get Greeley,” said Xenia.

  “We’re here,” said Tanya.

  They were hustled out. “What happened?” asked the doctor on call. She was short, with red hair. Her name tag said, “Angel.”

  “A kidnapping attempt that went horribly wrong,” said Bob.

  “Wife was pistol-whipped, her defender here has two cracked ribs and a broken wrist. Baby needs a once-over,” said Tanya.

  “Fuckers,” said Doctor Angel.

&n
bsp; “Damn right,” said Bob, heartened. “My wife and her bodyguard took them out. One’s headed to the morgue, and one to jail.”

  “Okay, get me a CBC and chem 7 on the mom, get Pediatrics down here, get the bodyguard here to x-ray,” said Doctor Angel.

  “I’ll carry the baby to Pediatrics,” said Bob.

  “You couldn’t get that baby off of Mom with a crowbar,” said Doctor Angel, dragging everyone inside, including the gurney.

  They got a cast on Reece by having Herja threaten to kick her out of the Valkyries if she didn’t take care of herself. Taping the ribs was easier. They kept up a conversation in old Norse while the taping and casting was done.

  Bob stayed with his wife and child. Tanner showed up to take everybody’s statement. Bob called the FBI, and called them off. “Already on our way,” said SAC Beck. “Glad everyone was okay. Who the fuck is Greeley?”

  “August Greeley is the only one I remember with that name. Tanner’s looking into anyone else with that name, too. His first wife was violent, abusive, and loud. Emily Greeley. Nice name, vicious woman. Accused her husband in public; in church, of carrying on with another woman. She died in a slip and fall in the kitchen, before my time. Two years later, he married Annabelle. Annabelle was short, quiet and meek. She started showing up around town with bruises. Greeley had two kids, both daughters, one by each wife. Sheriff Borroy gave Greeley a talking-to; tried to get her to press charges. But he could never get her to do it. He went years between hitting her, according to Paul (Sheriff Borroy). That is weird, because it doesn’t fit the pattern. Assholes usually do it and just get better at hiding it. One night, she ended up dead. Strangled in her own bed. Forensic accounting showed all kinds of nastiness, including skimming, embezzling, money laundering. Guy was an accountant with all sorts of clients. Could never prove mob connections. Probably from marijuana growers. Even now, the number of plants is carefully regulated, so you can make millions growing weed out in the middle of nowhere.”