Page 18 of My Enemy Biker

"Crane. Victor Crane ordered it directly." The words come fast. "Had schedule information. Knew the gap in your watch. Told us to grab Walt, hold him, wait for instructions."

The schedule information. There it is. Confirmation of the leak I've been tracking for two weeks.

"Who gave you the schedule?" I ask.

"Don't know. Came from Crane. He didn't say."

I believe him. Prospects don't get operational details. I release the pressure, stand.

"Get Walt out," Clint says to Knox. "Take him back to the clubhouse."

Knox helps Walt to his feet, guides him toward the stairs. Walt's limping but mobile. He'll be fine.

Sirens in the distance. Faint but getting closer. Someone called it in.

"We need to move," Tate says.

Clint looks at Sully, at the two prospects against the wall. "Message delivered?"

"Message delivered," I confirm.

We leave them there. Sully's shoulder wound isn't life-threatening if he gets treatment soon.

The prospects are unharmed. The message is clear: you took one of ours, we came and got him back, you're alive because we chose to leave you alive.

Outside, fast withdrawal. Knox has Walt in the truck, already pulling away. The rest of us on bikes, scattering on different routes back to avoid being tracked as a group.

I take the long way, need the ride to process.

The leak is confirmed. Someone gave Marrow our watch schedule, detailed enough to know exactly when Walt would be vulnerable. That's internal or close to internal. Limited number of people with that access.

I need to review communication logs, access patterns, find who had the information and opportunity.

But first I need to check on Walt, make sure he's actually okay beyond the physical injuries. Getting grabbed is traumatic even when recovery comes fast.

The clubhouse is lit when I arrive.

Walt's inside, Diesel getting him water, others standing around in various states of decompression. Tate's cleaning his weapon at the bar. Holt's on the phone with someone, probably updating our contacts.

Clint meets my eyes across the room. Nods once. Job done.

I approach Walt. "You good?"

"Yeah." He takes a drink. "They didn't hurt me much. Kept asking about Vigil operations, locations. I didn't tell them anything."

"You did right." I study his face. Bruising around his left eye, split lip. Could've been worse. Would've been worse if we hadn't moved fast. "Stay here tonight. We'll have someone take you home tomorrow when we're sure they're not making another move."

"Okay." He looks around at the brothers. "Thanks. For coming."

"Always," Clint says simply.

I head to the back room where my laptop's set up. Pull communication logs for the past three weeks. Cross-reference with Walt's schedule, watch rotations, gap timings. Looking for who accessed what when.

The pattern emerges after ninety minutes of analysis.

One name keeps appearing. Access to schedules outside their assigned times. Repeated logins late at night. Always brief, just long enough to grab the information.

Marsh. Prospect, six months in, young and eager. I vouched for him when he prospected. Trusted him with access I shouldn't have granted to someone that new.