Along Came Merrie Read online

  “I’ve got a Cheyenne detective somewhere in my jurisdiction inquiring about a woman who was allegedly beaten up by a biker,” Givon said without preamble.

  “The hell you say?” North grumbled.

  “What the fuck is going on, North?”

  “Who’s this detective?”

  “I don’t know,” Givon said with a frustrated sigh. “I called his captain and he hasn’t heard from his guy either. So let me tell you what I have—a report on a woman being beaten, bikers are involved, my department’s on the take and a burned-out car belonging to a woman named Merrie Walden. Does any of this ring a bell?”

  “Fuck,” North muttered. “It’s not us, man. I swear it.”

  “Well if it’s not you then it’s the Demon Devils.”

  “The double Ds are scum,” North told him. “There’s no love lost between us and them.”

  “I know that. Can you keep your ears open? Let me know if you hear anything?”

  “Sure,” North said. “You know I’m trying to turn the gang around. Most of us don’t want to stay on this outlaw path. That’s why they voted me into the presidency when Old Patch died.”

  “I know,” Givon said quietly. “And I’m glad. I’ve always hated us being polar opposites. You’re still my best friend.”

  North gave him a playful shove on the shoulder. “Don’t get all mushy on me. My dick doesn’t do men.”

  “Asshole,” Givon swore as he turned to stomp back to his truck. “Doing me would rock your world. Make you immune to the charms of women. But hell if I want that kind of commitment from you, you pervy bastard.”

  “Love you too,” North called out and then laughed.

  Givon flipped him off as he started his own truck. He maneuvered around North’s, leaving his friend behind. They’d grown up together, both victims of abusive dads, leaning on each other to survive the horrors. Once they’d hit high school, they began going in different directions. Givon had been determined to become a cop so he could put men like their fathers’ behind bars while North had started hanging out with the local biker gang, the Red Wolves.

  Even with all the bullshit between an outlaw gang and the police, they’d managed to maintain their friendship, although very few people knew they were still talking to each another. And when North had come to him earlier in the year—after he’d become the gang’s new president—to tell him that the Red Wolves were going legit, Givon had given him all his support.

  He felt better talking to North, knowing his friend didn’t have a thing to do with the trouble involving Merrie Walden. Now it was time for him to talk to the other biker gang.

  North waited for Givon to drive away before pulling out his phone. He hit a number and listened until the call went through.

  “Yeah, Boss?” Draven, his VP, asked.

  “Meet me at the Demon Devils’ bar on Route 18.”

  “Trouble?”

  “Always with those bastards.”

  He hung up and headed toward his truck. His truck was old and he wanted to preserve it for as long as possible. As he made his way out of the mountain pass and back onto the road, he thought about whom he could contact to find out what the Devils had been up to lately.

  Sometime later, he saw Draven’s bike parked on the side of the road hidden within the tree line. It was the typical place they used when they wanted to spy on the other club.

  Draven dismounted his bike and walked over to North’s passenger door, hopping into the truck with ease.

  “What’s going on, Boss?”

  “I think we have a big fucking problem on our hands,” North said grimly.

  “If it involves the Demon Devils, I’m not surprised. They’ve been a big fucking problem for the past twenty years.”

  “They beat up a woman and implicated Givon’s office, stating it’s on the take.”

  “Givon’s office is not on the take.”

  “I know that and you know that, but if the Internal Affairs Bureau gets wind, Giv’s job could be on the line and the Wolves have come too far to let some investigation bullshit fuck everything up. Now, who do we have who can get us some Intel on what they’re doing?”

  “Reaper’s at Rawlins,” Draven said. “I think the Devils have a few guys on the inside. Could stage an interrogation.”

  “I don’t want Gray Dog getting wind that I know anything.”

  “You know how prison is, Boss—lots of alone time.”

  North nodded. “I want you to handle this personally, Draven. Givon’s my best friend, although only you know that.”

  “I hear you, Boss. I’ll head out to Rawlins now. I should just make visiting hours.”

  “Good.”

  Draven exited North’s truck and headed to his bike. The man roared out on his run. North would be damned if he let anyone fuck up what his club had worked so hard to achieve. If the Demon Devils wanted another turf war, then he was going to be prepared.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The next two days were miserable for Merrie. During the night, she stared up at the dark ceiling, replaying over in her head the night they’d all been together. What had she done wrong? What could she say to fix this? Her nerves stretched thinner and thinner each hour. Leo tried to keep her mind off Braden but it was like walking on a tightrope.

  During the day, she continued working with Leo at the office. Whenever he was called away on emergencies, she stayed behind and took calls, made appointments and cleaned and stocked the exam rooms. She managed to stay busy and on the occasion Braden crept into her thoughts, she’d log on to the Internet.

  On a hunch, she typed the Demon Devils in the browser. It surprised her when she found a website for them. At the top, it proclaimed their club name and their logo entwined double Ds. She clicked on the chapter link and realized that the Destiny branch was only one part of the whole Demon Devil world. There was also a photo section and she brought that up, scrolling through until she saw the gray-bearded man from that night.

  Her heart began to pound fearfully and she broke out into a cold sweat. Merrie grabbed a pen and paper and wrote down his name—Gray Dog. She right clicked on the picture and sent it to the printer. It may only be black and white but at least she’d have something tangible. She scrolled through all the pictures, unable to find Axe.

  Merrie dug Detective Christianson’s card out of her back pocket. She’d been carrying it around all the time, just in case. She dialed the cell number from the landline but all she got was his voicemail so she left a message for him to call her. Just finding Gray Dog’s picture brought it home that what had happened was real and she couldn’t sweep it under the rug. She couldn’t forget about it. Now that she was mostly recovered and had had time and distance from the event, the memories weren’t so painful to think about.

  She clicked back to the home page and studied the website for a moment before going back to the browser and bringing up the FAQs. The questions started out standard, ones she would’ve asked. What does MC stand for? What do the colors stand for? Is this a gang?

  The fourth question was about the logo and its significance upon the leather vest, also known as a cut. The colors and the two Ds were the club’s insignia, a way to identify them to other clubs or bikers in the area. Every cut was the same because the placement of the name, the logo and charter chapter were all important. The one percent stitched into the leather designated that they were outlaw, made famous by a 1948 statement by the American Motorcycle Association that ninety-nine percent of motorcyclists are good people enjoying a clean sport and only one percent are antisocial barbarians. Something nagged at the back of her mind, but it was so elusive she couldn’t focus on it.

  Feeling drained, she clicked off the Internet and shut the computer down and folded the printed picture up to slip it in her back pocket, along with the detective’s card. When she looked at the clock, it startled Merrie to see it was close to six p.m. Leo still hadn’t returned, so she closed up, putting the phones on service call and setting
the alarm. The office was half a mile from the farmhouse so she took off walking, enjoying the crisp evening air.

  When she reached home, Braden’s truck sat in the driveway and lights shone in the kitchen. She walked softly up the steps and over the porch to open the door. She heard Braden on the phone and stopped when he said her name.

  “Why can’t you pick Merrie up?” Braden demanded, his tone harsh and slightly confrontational. “Damn it, Leo, you’re driving me up a wall. I can’t be around her—you know that. I don’t know. There’s a room above the barn I can use. I’ll move in there for the time being, give you both a chance to work things out. No. I said no, Leo.” He paused for a moment, as if listening to the person on the other end, then continued, “Yeah, yeah.”

  He hung up so she decided it was safe to walk in. Her heart hurt and all she wanted to do was cry. How could the one beautiful night they’d had turn into something so bitter?

  The screen door slammed behind her and she put her keys onto the foyer table where she kept them. Braden stepped from the kitchen.

  “I was going to come and get you,” he said.

  She shrugged. “I’m here now.” She headed to the stairs. “I’m going to shower.”

  She hurried upstairs away from him, away from the tension that hung thick in the air. Once inside the bathroom and she had the shower to mask sound, she sat on the toilet and cried.

  She couldn’t stay. That much was clear. She was just a girl—no one important—and she refused to be that girl, the girl who broke up Braden’s and Leo’s brotherhood. No matter what she felt for them, no matter how much it hurt, she would have to leave. She couldn’t—wouldn’t—ruin their relationship.

  As steam from the shower she wasn’t using filled the room, she tried to think about what she was going to do. First and foremost, she needed money. She’d never thought to ask Leo for her wages since she considered working as a way to thank both of them for their help. But she figured he wouldn’t mind either giving or lending her some cash. She also needed to get her driver’s license replaced but decided to wait until she went to Cheyenne.

  A wave of sadness swept over her. Already she was missing this house, this ranch—missing Braden and Leo. In the couple of weeks she’d been there, she’d grown to love the land, the view of the mountains and the simple way of life. She had enjoyed cooking in the big kitchen, feeding her men. She thought she’d finally found a home and now she had to leave it.

  She should be used to saying goodbye. She’d done it too many times in her life.

  Merrie wiped her cheeks. She’d survive. She’d spent her whole life surviving, so she knew moving on wouldn’t kill her. Perhaps one day she’d harden her heart and realize that happily ever after wasn’t in her cards. Girls like her weren’t meant to have the perfect home and the perfect life.

  She took a quick shower, mindful of the cast on her wrist then turned the water off. She wrapped a towel around herself, grabbed her clothes and headed into her room. Halfway there, she found Braden’s door open. She couldn’t help but peek. His pillow and blanket were gone, and his closet door stood open. She knew without checking further that Braden had already left for that room above the barn.

  She continued to her room and closed the door with a soft click. Then she put on her nightshirt and a pair of clean panties before towel-drying her hair, all the while figuring out how to ask Leo for some cash so she could leave. The sooner the better, so Braden could have his life back.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Givon’s personal cell phone vibrated at his hip and he reached absently for it, glancing quickly at the caller ID.

  “Hey,” he greeted.

  “I have an anonymous tip for you,” North told him.

  “The whole purpose of anonymity is that I don’t fucking know you,” Givon stated.

  North chuckled. “You want this tip or not?”

  “Sure.”

  “Have you interviewed the Devils yet?”

  “No,” Givon said. “I’ve been waiting for this damn Cheyenne detective to call me so I don’t go in blind, but no one’s heard from him.”

  “Sounds like there’s a lot going on in your jurisdiction that you don’t know about.”

  “Fuck you,” Givon grumbled.

  “You wish. Listen, you’ll want to talk to Gray Dog. He’s the president of the Demon Devils.”

  “I know who he is. Why him specifically?”

  “There’s a rumor he gave the order to burn the car.”

  “And how did you happen to get this piece of gossip?”

  “Now I can’t reveal my sources, Sheriff. It’s anonymous.”

  “And I also know there’s a bitter feud between the Wolves and the Devils. How do I know this isn’t just a pissing contest?”

  North snorted. “Come on, Giv. Those assholes moved into our territory. This is Wolf land.”

  “Actually, this is my land,” Givon said sharply. “You break the fucking law, North, and I’ll be on your ass like flies on shit. Hear me?”

  “I hear you. We’re cool, Sheriff. And the tip is good. Talk to Gray Dog—aptly named. He’s got a long gray beard and he smells like a dog. You can’t miss him.”

  The call went dead and Givon slowly replaced his phone. He sat for a moment thinking, contemplating what to do, when he decided to go with his gut. He rose and headed out of his office to Jack’s desk.

  The office was large enough that he was able to give each of his deputies a desk. The jail was an extension of the office. There weren’t many crimes committed in Destiny to warrant a bigger jail somewhere else. There was one general cell and a smaller one with actual walls for isolation. Presently, only Jack was in, since Givon had one deputy following up on a robbery and another directing traffic because of a downed light.

  “I’m going to interview the Demon Devils,” he told the deputy.

  “You want me to go with you?” Jack asked eagerly.

  Givon shook his head. “Man the phones. When Sandy gets back, you can head to lunch.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yeah. See you later.”

  * * * *

  When Givon stepped into the dark interior of the Demon Devil’s bar, he felt twenty pairs of eyes zero in on him and all of them hostile. The two prospects holding court at the door followed him in, standing silent as he looked at each man, showing he wouldn’t be intimidated nor would he back down from anyone. Finally, his gaze landed on the president of the club, Gray Dog, who stood behind the bar with hands spread on the countertop.

  “What can I do for you, Sheriff?” Gray Dog boomed through the darkened, hazy interior of bar.

  Givon continued forward but kept his hand near his revolver. It was like entering into a nest of vipers and he prepared for any one of them to strike.

  “Just here to ask a question or two about a burned-out car that was found at the county line,” Givon replied smoothly. He kept his gaze on Gray Dog’s eyes, to see if he showed any flicker of recognition or response of any kind.

  “I don’t own a car,” Gray Dog replied. “In fact, I don’t think anyone here owns a car. Does anyone own a car?”

  A chorus of “no” echoed through the room.

  “The car belonged to a woman named Merrie Walden. Does that name ring any bells?”

  Gray Dog shook his head. “Nope.” Again, he looked around to his men. “Do any of you know this woman?”

  And like before, a chorus of negative responses sounded—not that it surprised Givon. Bikers were a tight knit group of people, thick as thieves, which was more than apropos in this situation.

  “Well, Sheriff,” Gray Dog said. “Looks like we don’t know nothing, so why don’t you get back to your comfy sheriff’s chair?”

  Givon looked around once more. “And you have an alibi for two Friday’s ago?”

  “I’ve got about fifty,” he said smugly, gesturing around the room. “I serve the drinks and Friday is one of our busiest nights.”

  Givon decided to play
a little bluff. “I’ve got a witness who places Merrie Walden here.”

  Gray Dog narrowed his eyes. “I’d be mighty interested in meeting this so-called witness because he or she is a lying fuck.”

  “You’re just a law-abiding citizen, eh, Mr. Lester?”

  “I even pay my taxes, Sheriff.”

  “Of course,” Givon murmured. “Well, if you hear of anything, please to let me know.”

  “Sure thing,” Gray Dog replied. “You’ll be the first person I think of.”

  Givon heard the insincerity in the man’s words and the mocking laughs of the club members just verified the president’s pretense. He nodded, turned on his heel and proceeded toward the door. One of the prospects opened it for him and all but booted him outside as it banged shut behind him.

  * * * *

  Givon stomped through his office, his boot heels loud on the wooden floor. Jack filled out a report and Sandy worked at her desk. The woman kept his office running with military precision. Occupied with a phone call, she reasoned with someone on the other end of the line so he didn’t wait, just headed into his office and closed the door. As he approached his desk, a few small details seemed out of place. Some papers had been disturbed. A folder lay crooked. He eased into his chair, scanning all around. The side drawer on his desk sat cracked open. Not much, just a little, but it was enough to let Givon know someone had been searching through his stuff.

  He opened the drawer and saw that his report notebook was there. He knew exactly what was inside, random notes he’d jotted down after speaking to Braden McClintock and Leo Cloud Dancer.

  Givon got up from his desk and marched back into the lobby. Sandy finished her call and Jack looked at him.

  “How long have you both been back?” he questioned.

  “Um…twenty minutes?” Sandy answered, looking at Jack, who nodded. “As soon as I got back, Jack ran to get a sandwich but he ate at his desk.”

  “Did anyone go into my office?”