Savage and Absinthe would remove evidence of their being there, particularly the spots where they’d dropped their bikes and Soleil’s footprints running to the brush and coming back. Like Ice, they would remove their colors and find an alternate route so few people would ever see them. It was the best they could do to cover their tracks in the minutes they had to get things cleaned up and them gone.
Savage would have to search the car to ensure there was nothing to lead back to them. That would take an extra minute, time they might not have. Ice cursed and slammed his fist against his thigh. If Savage was compromised because he didn’t wait and help, he would lose one of his brothers to prison. Savage wouldn’t do well in prison. He’d pick fights every day. They knew that because he’d been sent to prison to take out a threat to the government. He’d been in several weeks and had spent quite a bit of time in solitary. He had gotten into fights many times and come close to killing with his fists. It hadn’t been easy getting him out.
Ice hit his thigh again. Off to his right, across the highway, was the road that cut through the mountain. He turned off immediately to get off the main highway. The first few months they’d settled in Caspar, they’d learned every back road, even the ones that were dirt. There were so many logging roads that every part of the highway was connected somewhere. As they’d learned the ones close to Caspar, they’d begun spreading out, going farther and farther from home. They’d made certain they had escape routes set up everywhere along the highway.
He slowed his Harley, not wanting to draw attention to himself. The others would be riding after him, minus their colors, just two men riding together in the early morning hours on back roads. Bike enthusiasts did it all the time. As long as no one looked too closely, they’d be fine—if Savage had gotten away safely.
The road was mostly shadowed by trees, which meant it was wet in places and covered in pine needles in others. He maneuvered through the various “danger” zones easily and kept them moving in the general direction of Caspar.
“Stop.” Soleil put her mouth against his ear. “Stop right now, Ice.”
He tried to pat the back of her hand, but she jerked it out from under him. “Can’t do it, babe. Too dangerous.”
“Savage will have left DNA back there! They’ll arrest me as an accessory! You killed those men!” She was shouting, saying every thought crowding into the chaos of her mind.
He could feel her entire body trembling. He dropped his hand to her thigh and rubbed. “He knows what to do. He wore gloves and he’ll leave evidence behind that points elsewhere. Nothing that will jump out. Take a breath, Soleil. We’re on the way home and we’ll talk this out when we get there.”
“I want to stop. I need to breathe.”
“You’re having a panic attack.” Ice flinched inwardly. Sooner or later, the cops could find a tie between Soleil and these men. The men might have stopped and asked questions. They’d searched for her and gone to the bar in Vegas, although if Fred had talked to the cops, even his own club would turn on him. “Just breathe. We’re not stopping, and you’re going to pull yourself together.”
“You killed those men,” she repeated. “I think Savage beat that one to death. Or at least came close. You killed them.”
“They were here to kill you. If you’re dead and you haven’t filed any papers, that lawyer Winston hired can say just about anything he wants!” Ice had to shout to be heard above the pipes. Even going slow, communication was difficult. “Damn it, Soleil, pull yourself together. This is serious. All of our lives are in your hands. You’d better know you can handle it.”
She went instantly silent, too still. She also held herself stiffly, away from him. Her hands crept from around his waist to fist in his shirt at his sides. He was in a shitload of trouble with her and he probably should have handled the situation with care, but he was worried that Savage and Absinthe hadn’t gotten away cleanly.
He couldn’t call them to ask because he didn’t want his phone to have any evidence that they were out riding in this direction. His locator was off, but he knew if he called, the cell tower would be instant evidence. Soleil’s cell phone was still in the end-table drawer beside the bed. Winston had blown up her phone with his “worried” calls. He was already setting up for the cops to think she’d had a breakdown. He’d been very solicitous. Ice had told her not to answer until they knew what they were doing.