His Bold Heart (Death Lords MC 7)

When he puts it that way, it’s hard for me to disagree. Driving Abel over to the clubhouse gives us a good excuse to be in the neighborhood. We drop him and I circle back, parking two blocks down and using Abel’s telephoto lens to keep an eye on the front door. A chick with a cloud of ratted hair stumbles out soon after but we don’t see Moose for another hour.

He gets in a banged up four-year-old Dodge Ram and roars down the road. We follow him as stops at a grocery store where he buys a carton of cigarettes and two gallons of milk. Another couple of miles and we pull into a drug store.

"We should GPS his truck instead of following him around." Chelsea grumbles. “I can’t be doing this all the time. I’m going to start classes in two weeks.”

The next stop is to a gas station where he pumps and then goes inside.

“When you get your IT degree, then we’ll start throwing around James Bond tracking shit until then, we’re stuck following him around.”

“What do you think is going on at the Misery club?”

While he's inside, a Chevy Impala pulls up behind the truck. The driver gets out, looks around and then drops down next to the right rear wheel. He shoves his hand into the wheel well, grabs something and then climbs into his car and roars off.

“Did we just watch an exchange?” Chelsea bounces on the edge of the seat.

“Think we did. I gotta check that out.” I hop out. “Drive out of the lot and see which direction the Impala goes. Don’t follow it and wait for me.”

"Be careful,” she says. She climbs over the console and jams on the gas. I check to see if Moose is still inside. Looks like he is at the checkout. I pull my hat down and run through the same routine as the other guy. Dropping down to one knee to tie my boot, I glance at the wheel well where a pale envelope sticks out. I grab it and stick it inside my pocket. Boot tied, I stand and walk forward. Not too fast. I don’t want to draw attention to myself. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Moose exit the shop.

There's a line of pine trees between the edge of the gas station and the next business which is a fast food restaurant. I pause just past the trees and wave to Chelsea who is idling a block down. She flashes her lights to acknowledge me.

I bend down again, untying and retying the other boot. From here I can see the front of the gas station as well as Moose’s truck. He unhooks the gas pump, screws on the cap and then kicks the tire. When nothing falls out, he kicks it again. And then again. After the third kick, he bends over and feels around. He gets on his knees and looks under the chassis.

The envelope burns in my pocket. It’s too thin to be a stack of money. Empty handed, Moose pushes to his feet and this time when he kicks the tire, it’s out of anger. He snarls a couple of loud curses, loud enough for me to hear and then wrenches open the door. Inside the truck, he pulls out his phone and starts yelling at someone.

Time to go.

I jog lightly toward my truck. Climbing into the passenger seat, I pull my beanie cap even lower and tell Chelsea to turn toward me. "Face me and don't look up until I tell you too."

"What the heck just happened there?" she asks.

“Reach inside my pocket. There’s an envelope there.”

“I can’t believe he did the exchange out in broad daylight. It's a gas station. There are probably cameras everywhere."

"Sure, but what are they going to see? Some guy filling his tires with air and his tank with gas. Another car coming in and seeing the place full and leaving. The Dodge’s angle probably blocks what's going on down by the wheel well."

Moose roars by in his truck. He doesn’t even notice us.

"Should I follow?"

I hesitate. I don't want to put Chelsea in danger but this might be our best lead yet. "Yeah, but stay four cars behind."

I call Abel. He answers on the first ring. “You busy?”

“Not yet but Junior got a call not two minutes ago and whoever was on the other end of the line was piss mad."

"Moose made an exchange with a Chevy Impala. There was shit attached to his wheel well. Moose stops to get gas, goes inside to take a piss or something. A guy, about five ten, climbs out of a blue 2012 Chevy Impala. He’s white and has a full beard. Maybe neck tattoos. It’s hard to tell with everyone’s winter gear. He takes the package and leaves an envelope behind.”

I motion for Chelsea to hand me the envelope. I pull out ten crisp one hundred dollar bills and a piece of paper.

Abel thinks for a minute. “They must have used high powered magnets. Not a bad idea.” He admits. “You intercept?”

“Yep, but there’s only a grand in here with an address.”

He taps the address into his phone as I read it out loud. “Looks like it’s near Wirth Lake. Where’s Moose going?”

“South.”

“Wirth Lake is North Minneapolis. What’s South?”

“Trainor,” Chelsea says.

“Shit, you’re right.”

“I think he’s meeting up with Trainor.” A week ago, we’d followed Trainor to a motel on the outskirts of the cities. His wife had been murdered and initially I’d been arrested on two statements that my truck had been parked inside the gated community not too far away from the Trainer’s million-dollar residence. Those statements and my past criminal record were enough to get a judge to sign an arrest warrant.

Thanks to my fancy-ass lawyer, Amelia, I only spent one night in jail but it was enough to remind me why I don’t ever want to go back.

The slamming of the doors, the small cell, the stink. I endured three years of that.

I need to prove that Trainor’s wife was killed by someone else or the Fortune police will plant enough evidence that a saint would be convicted. And I hate that Chelsea is wrapped up in all of this but I also promised that we’d never be separated again.

“Want me to meet you?” Abel asks.

“What’s the temperature like at the club?”

“Chilly but getting warmer.”

“Not a fan of you there by yourself and we could use the backup. Maybe I’m wrong and he won’t go to the hotel.”

“So worst case scenario is I make a thirty minute trip to the outer ‘burbs. No big deal. I’ll see you soon.”

He hangs up. Chelsea has two hands gripped on the wheel. Her pretty cheeks are flushed and her eyes are sparkling. I guess following Moose is a hell of a lot more fun now than when we were tailing him from one errand to another. I feel the opposite. As we get closer to Trainor, the worry over her safety grows.

“What would you say if I took you back to the house?” I know this is a nonstarter, but I have to ask.

“No. And I’m driving so you better believe I’m not going to turn this truck around and go back to the townhouse like a good little girl and sit on my thumb while you and Abel are off saving the world.”

“When you’re sitting on your thumb, is it in your pussy or ass?”

“Fuck you, Grant.” She gives me the finger which I grab and kiss before I let her put it back on the steering wheel.

“Just worried about you.”

“And you think I don’t worry about you?”

I sigh. “I know you do.”

“Besides if the Misery boys are dirty, they could be waiting until I’m alone—without you or Abel around. Would I be safer by myself or with you?”

“Thanks for making my anxiety go up to ten,” I snort.

“You’re welcome.”

Yup, way too cheerful.

As we both anticipated, Moose pulls into the ratty hotel where Trainor is staying. Chelsea whips past the motel without me saying a word and then drives around the block. There’s alley access and she pulls into there. Within a couple of minutes, we’re parked behind the motel. Trainor is on the second floor.

“You still remember how to shoot your Glock?” I ask, m

ore for my sake than hers.

She nods as she pulls two guns out from under the seat. I take the larger one and we both check the chambers.

“You think we’re going to get into a gunfight in a seedy motel in Burnsville?”

“I can only hope,” I grin. I’m still concerned but it is better that she’s with me. That way I don’t have to worry about what’s going on at home. Back at Fortune, no one would be dumb enough to lay a finger on her but here? No one really knows us which is both good and bad. On the bright side, Chelsea’s been to the gun range with both Judge and me and at least before I went to prison, she was a pretty good shot. There are worse people to have at my back.

Chelsea and I get out of the truck and loiter by the back door. I pretend to smoke while we wait for someone to leave. We get lucky because a business man exits before we get too cold.

I stub out the nonexistent stick and grab the door before it locks. The businessman doesn’t look back and Chelsea and I slip in. We both look at the floor to avoid our faces on the cameras in the corner of the stairwells. At the top of the landing, I pause, holding my arm out to keep her back.

Good thing I did that because standing in front of room 212 is fucking Officer Paulson of the Fortune police. Chelsea must see him too because I hear her slight gasp before she covers her mouth with a hand. I step back and motion for her to come with me. We retreat to the first floor. I reach in and pull out a stack of cash.

“Get a room, first floor near an exit. See what Abel’s ETA is. Text me.”

She nods and then runs off. I peer around the corner. Paulson is leaning against the wall, hands in his pockets, looking bored out of his mind. He starts pacing in front of the door, never going too far away as if he has been told to stick close. After about ten turns, he checks his watch. Finally, he pulls out his phone and starts watching something.

The phone in my pocket vibrates.