Crossing Lines (Roughshod Rollers MC 1)

But…

“Real mature, Hayley,” I snarl. “Tell me, have you grown up at all since we were teenagers? If you must know, then, yes, we are still trying to save the place, because it is worth it to us.”

Hayley lets out a sharp bark of laughter. “Are you serious? I know you never give up, Alex, but that takes it to a whole new level.” She rolls her eyes. “Give it up; you’re never going to save it and everyone w

ho donated to try and save your pathetic lives will have lost money for nothing.”

A tidal wave of rage rises in me. I turn back around fully and step toward her.

“Does it make you happy to kick someone when they’re already down, Hayley?” I ask in a low, cold voice, and she leans back, shocked; I’ve never spoken to her like this before. “Tell me, how would you feel if you were about to lose your home and all the memories in it?”

Her eyes widen. Her mouth opens and closes several times, but no sounds come out. Knowing that she has nothing to say to that, I turn away, my shoulders tight. I don’t need this confrontation right now.

“Wait!” she suddenly says.

I should just keep walking. Against my better judgment, however, I stop and glare at her over my shoulder.

“What?” I snap.

“I’m…” She looks away, ashamed. For a moment, I think she might apologize, but I know she won’t - not to me. Neither of us has ever apologized to each other, and to do so now would be a failure, even if she did just cross a line.

“Don’t worry about it,” I huff.

She sighs. “Well… I did donate, you know. To save it.”

Of all the things she could have said right now, that’s the last thing I expect to hear from her. I stand stock-still, gaping at her.

Hayley donated money to help save our house for us? I know she only said what she did before to get a rise out of me, and that she didn’t actually mean it. But to actually go so far as to donate money?

She flushes angrily and scowls at me.

“Which, just so you know, has nothing to do with you,” she growls. “I just felt bad for Grant, is all!”

I’m too surprised to say anything as she tosses her head arrogantly and flounces away. Once she is gone, I shake my head.

Wonders never cease, it seems.

I collect my milk easily after that and slip back through the crowds once more. Aware of how much time I’ve taken, now, I keep up a hard pace until I slide into a small backstreet and stride up it. Eventually, I come to a two-story apartment.

On the first level, there is an optometrist, and I see the receptionist in the window. She waves at me with a smile as she works at the blinds, and I unlock the door beside the window so I can go up the narrow stairs and I emerge into my office on the next floor.

It isn’t much. My desk is underneath the window, and there’s a couch with a coffee table in front of it to the side. A small television is in the corner, and a tiny kitchenette takes up the far side of the office, beside which is a door to a little bathroom.

I close the door behind me, shrugging off my coat, and go to my desk. There is no blinking light on my answering machine, which means I haven’t missed the call yet. Good.

While my club mates have been working themselves ragged, I have been working a different angle. It started nearly a month before our house came under threat, when one of the men from town hall came to me, a little-known detective, for help. One of their officials, he had claimed, was corrupt, and he wanted proof of his dealings.

Then our club’s house was threatened, and I had an entirely new reason to hunt every bit of information I could find on William Burke.

I put the milk away in the fridge and flick the switch on my kettle. The sun is going down, casting shadows across my office, and I eye the orange sky through the window quietly. I like this time of the day when the world is peaceful and there are no expectations. No father to be disappointed, no Hayley to sneer at me…

My phone rings, breaking the silence. Normally this would irritate me, but I have been waiting for this phone call. I spring into action and head toward the desk, lifting the receiver up and pressing it to my ear.

“Howard Detective Agency, how may I help you?” I say calmly, trying to slow my beating heart. With only three days to go, this is my last chance…

“Alex Howard?” the woman on the other end asks.

“That’s me, may I ask who is speaking?” I return.