Page 12 of Rough Patch

No. They could probably expect a gun battle. “You bet.”

“There was a compound, a camp, years ago. We have it under surveillance, but it’s been quiet. No men in. No men out.” Agent Billings, Dave’s “wife”, stared at Grier. “It was Carr’s hideaway. Where he kept the women and the drugs.”

“So what’s the point in watching it if no one’s using it?”

“Funny you should ask. An Amazon delivery arrived there yesterday. Toilet paper, coffee grounds, dried fruit.”

Grier chuckled. “And you think Sedotal is stupid enough to use the internet to order his supplies and have them delivered to a place he probably knows you’re sitting on?” Sedotal wasn’t dumb enough to leave a paper trail. “Why not just walk into a Walmart? He could be in and out and back in the wind before you ever knew he’d been there. Leaving a paper trail seems kind of dumb.”

She cocked her head and considered him. “Not if he’s trying to be found.”

“Easier ways to do that, too.”

“Look, it’s a lead. It’s what we have.” Demuer crossed his arms. “Now you.”

“Now me? What?” They couldn’t possibly think Grier would be exchanging information.

“We lost Kern.” He produced a file from, it seemed, thin air and opened it to pull out a picture of Grier with Dave, the same picture Fiona had shown him but from a different angle. “And you were the last one to see him alive.”

Fuck. They had him. He couldn’t afford to get locked up, to leave Fiona pregnant and unprotected. “What do you want?”

“Damian Hamilton.”

Grier worked to keep his face blank. “No.” Aside from being a member of the club, Hamilton was Fiona’s best friend.

“Hamilton killed Agent Kern.”

“Isn’t that who you plan to accuse me of killing?” Wasn’t that what using the picture was about? “How do you know?”

The agent pulled out another picture. Hamilton on a bike, casual, gun drawn, Dave’s hands up. “What we didn’t release, the information we have, is that Agent Kern died from a gunshot wound to the head. He was put into the truck, and Hamilton set it on fire.” He pulled out another picture that told the whole story - Hamilton lighting the truck on fire. Not only did they have Hamilton on murder, they had the club on running stolen merchandise stuffed with illegal drugs. And he would’ve bet anything he owned and a bunch of shit he didn’t, that fact would come up eventually.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Why would Hamilton do it? Unless he knew Dave was FBI. Which meant he’d been following Grier? Fucking Hamilton. So, Goddamned gung-ho for the club. He would’ve known the truck would have been a sacrifice, but one they could make for the sake of weeding out a rat.

Grier stared at the photo. It wasn’t Hamilton’s bike. Or Hamilton’s neck tattoo. He knew because Hamilton didn’t have a neck tattoo. The image was blurry, and at first look, he’d been fooled. But this wasn’t Hamilton. He folded the picture and put it in his pocket. They would never have come here and even showed him the picture if they didn’t have a copy, hanging on a board somewhere in a police station. “Hamilton won’t come easy. Not with me.”

Demuer smiled, but pure evil emanated off this guy. “You’ll figure it out. Or you can serve his time.” He glanced at the other agents. “What’s the term for killing law enforcement these days? Life, right? Without parole?” He cocked an eyebrow at Grier. “I’m sure your kid’ll understand the club was more important.”

Grier turned and walked out. No point in listening to this asshole when he had his facts all wrong. Besides, his honey-do list kept growing by the minute. Not only did he have to find Sedotal, he had to figure out who was setting up Hamilton, who was targeting the club, how to take that look out of Fiona’s eyes, and if he had any time left, he had to figure out how to be a father. Should’ve stayed in Belize.

All she’d wanted was a little help. Some protection from the mad men trying to drag the club back to the depths from which her father had managed to pull it. Now she had a husband, one she’d picked for fuck’s sake, in cahoots with the FBI.

“Hamilton?” He sat at the bar next to her, sipping a beer and watching the new Wall Kat lap dance a very drunk Sage.

He turned his stool to face her. “What’s up?”

She looked around. Jez behind the bar. Dale and Jim at a table. Sage and the Wall Kat. Autumn hovering near them, pretending to wipe down tables though she’d been cleaning the same table since Fiona walked in. A guy she didn’t recognize, big, Hamilton big, fondling another Wall Kat while he stared at Fiona.

“Who’s that?” She nodded to the hulking dude with his hand up the Wall Kat’s shirt.

“Name’s Kale something or other. Came from down south. One of your dad’s old buddies.”

The neck tattoo stretched around a throat as big as Fiona’s thigh, and he had Hamilton’s hair. If she hadn’t clearly seen his face, she might’ve mistaken him for Hamilton. “What’s he doing here?”

“Heard Max died. Came in a couple of months ago to pay his respects. Never left.” Hamilton shrugged and emptied his glass then nodded to Jez for another.

Months? And she’d never noticed him? “For a guy who’s here to pay his respects, I would think I would’ve met him.”

Hamilton cocked an eyebrow. “Yeah. That’s a little odd.” He ran his finger around the rim of his glass. “You want me to get rid of him?”