Making of Them (Beating the Biker 3)

“True.”

“How about if we ask Rob if the DEA has a location fix on him? Then we’d know.”

“That’s a good idea. I’ll talk to him.”

Back at the shop, Emily was already happily working away behind Saks’ desk. “What?” Emily beamed at her husband. “No latte for me?”

Luke pointed to the coffee pot, which was half full of coffee. “My accountant tells me we need to control expenses.”

“Well, I’m going to need something stronger if I’m going to straighten out these books. Who’s been putting in these entries?”

“That would be me, Emily,” Saks said.

She waved him to the desk. “Well, Mr. Shop Manager, come on over and let me explain the concept of expense categories.”

He stifled a groan. Apparently, it wasn’t as easy as “look for something similar and put it there” as Luke had instructed.

“You’re in for it now, buddy,” Luke said, chuckling.

“Thanks. I learned from the best. But really, aren’t we going to talk to Rob?”

“Yeah. Right. Hey, Em,” Luke said, whipping out his wallet. “I could use a latte, too. How about we break the bank and you get a couple for us?”

“You? Luke Wade? Drink lattes?”

He waved a twenty at her.

“Yeah, make sure it has a double shot of espresso.”

Emily gave him an incredulous look but pulled up her purse and slung it onto her shoulder. As she walked to the door, she snatched the twenty from his hand. “A double shot of espresso,” she said, arching her eyebrow.

“Yeah, thanks, babe,” he said. He gave her peck on the cheek.

“You’re up to no good,” she said.

“Yeah,” he said, patting her stomach and giving her a sly smile. Saks looked away at this reminder of Luke and Emily’s happiness. She wasn’t showing, not yet, but she glowed as only a pregnant woman could.

“You’re awful,” Emily shot back, though she said it affectionately.

The door shut behind her.

“Double shot of espresso?” Saks snorted. “Where did you hear that shit?”

“Television. It sounds good, doesn’t it?”

“Espresso should be straight espresso. Not some dressed-up to become a mediocre coffee concoction.”

“Someone’s snobby today.”

“Rob? Remember?”

“What about me?” Rob asked. He strolled in from the garage, coffee cup in hand.

Luke leaned against the counter that spread down the inside wall that separated the bay from the office.

“I want to ask about my uncle,” Luke told him. “I need to know where he is right now. Does the FBI have any information on his location?”

Rob’s face twisted in an apologetic and sad half-smile. Saks guessed the FBI agent knew something, but wasn’t ready to give up the information. Rob’s answer confirmed Saks’ suspicion.