The Seventh Sons (Sycamore Moon Series Book 1) (18 page)

Diego just stared at the little brown wolf, standing motionless and looking at him curiously. It couldn't be, could it?

Several vehicles kicked up dirt as they skidded around a bend, flashing red and blue lights. Two cars were speeding towards them with a Fire Rescue truck in tow. It looked like Maxim's backup did answer his call, after all.

Diego turned to the last remaining wolf again. Maybe it was the beating he'd taken, but it seemed as if he had to fight away a tear. The animal cocked its head.

"Go," he said, softly. "Get out of here."

The wolf raised its expressive eyebrows and darted into the forest.

 

 

 

 

 

The door to Maxim's green sedan closed with a clunk. He hated this car. It was faded and old and wasn't nearly as flashy as the Expeditions issued to the sheriff's office, but Sanctuary had a smaller department with significantly less resources. As the detective strolled past the two shiny white trucks, he waved to the Coconino County deputies inside.

It was an overcast day, the beginning of fall, and just one day after the shootout at the train yard. Nithya and Angelica were both missing, Doka was presumed dead, and Deborah had propelled herself to public enemy number one.

Nithya needed to answer for her crimes, and the CDC was looking for her, but Maxim had the sense that her involvement was being marginalized. A federal conspiracy, after all, wasn't a favorable headline. Especially not when an outlaw biker gang could have been running the show.

Maxim Dwyer crunched over dried leaves as he made his way to the doorstep of the club in question. County reported the Seventh Sons to be holed up in their clubhouse, trying to sit out the fallout.

Good, the detective thought, that made things easier for everybody. Not that he expected Deborah to be waiting for him inside. That would have made things too easy.

The front door rumbled as Maxim pounded it with his fist. It opened quickly, as if he were expected, and he was greeted by the spiky-haired brute who just might have been able to help him.

"Gaston."

The towering man rested his muscled arm on the top of the door and scoffed. He had a tight-fitting black shirt on and a bracelet and belt studded with spikes. He also had spikes in each earlobe and a slew of rings running up his left ear. "Have you come for round two?"

Maxim smiled dryly. "I thought it was Deborah who took your title belt."

The man ran his tongue under his lips in disgust and grunted. "If that's what you want," he said simply, "she's not here."

The detective nodded knowingly and raised his upturned palm, pointing inside. "May I?"

Gaston turned and walked inside, leaving the door open. Maxim entered the wolves' hallowed ground and followed the big man into the next room over. Gaston sat down on a leather couch and raised his feet to the coffee table.

The adjoining room was connected by a large archway where two bikers had been shooting pool. They had noted his interruption, however, and were looking on intently. A bearded man with a red jacket was standing upright, holding a pool cue across his outstretched shoulders like a cross. The other one, a younger boy, was sitting against the table with his arms folded over his chest. Maxim remained standing.

"How's Coconino treating you?" he asked.

"They've got no warrant," said Gaston, stretching his right arm over the back of the sofa, "but we've shown them around a couple times. Ever since your office put the APB out on Mom and Doka, they've been watching this house."

Maxim glanced at the white trucks stationed outside through the window. "Which means you don't know where either of them are?"

"Don't know and don't wanna know. I hope it stays that way."

"A club needs a president," said Maxim nonchalantly.

"They've got one."

The detective turned around and noticed Gaston holding his chin up proudly. He was talking about himself. The kid with the black hair was laughing and the bearded man was nodding his support.

The detective narrowed his eyes. "Deborah's out?"

"She's old news," he answered. "The MC needs protecting, and I can do that better than she ever could. I got all my guys inside here, laying low, staying out of trouble. We don't want any part of these headlines."

Now it was Maxim's turn to chuckle. "You've got to be kidding me if you think you can still walk away from this."

"The Seventh Sons didn't have anything to do with those abductions. The Yavapai mercenaries were the heartless bastards who did this."

"Led by Deborah."

"An outcast."

Maxim paced towards the new president. "Varela and Makarova knew."

"Only partly," Gaston said. "They helped Doka with a thing or two—Nicola said as much—but they can't be punished any more than they already have been." The big man dropped his boots back to the floor and leaned forward. "It's water under the bridge, Maxim. I know this thing can tear the club apart, so I'm willing to leave it alone if you are. It wasn't Diego who killed Steve or you who helped kill Nicola. This was that CDC bitch and Mom and the Yavapai. If we keep them out, then you shouldn't have any business with us."

The detective just looked at the three men solemnly. "Doka might be dead."

"Humph. I've heard that before."

"Nithya too."

"Now that wouldn't surprise me," said the big man. "It takes balls and brains to get the best of Mom, and Nithya didn't have either."

There was more chuckling from the pool table. Gaston lifted himself up and walked over to a small refrigerator in the back of that room. He grabbed two bottles of beer and returned, holding one out to the detective.

"I'll be straight with you," said Gaston. "The deaths, attacking the police, that shit should never have happened. As the new boss, I won't let any of that slide."

"Mmm hmm," intoned Maxim, eyeing the beer carefully. "So no more muling contraband through the truckers?"

Gaston's face remained blank. "Let's have that conversation another day."

Maxim ignored the point and waved his hand at the offer of beer. "I'd better not. There's a lot to get done."

The man shrugged and placed the extra bottle on the coffee table. As he resumed his seat, his face softened. "Mom, Doka, the CDC bitch—you've told me what happened to everyone except for Angie."

A crease formed on Maxim's hard brow as he took a moment. "She's a wolf, I think."

"No shit?" asked Gaston. "I bet she'll be pushing for membership then." The man became thoughtful all of a sudden. "Between us, I don't know if I want women in this club. They don't respect guy code."

Maxim nodded absently at the remark. Gaston still had Melody left to deal with, at least. But thinking of Angie as the little brown wolf brought to mind other concerns.

"Speaking of which," said Maxim, looking over the three men, "who's the large, dark gray wolf that was out there with us?"

Gaston exchanged looks with his men but shook his head. "It wasn't any of us."

"Come on, guys. I'm not going to arrest you for fighting Deborah."

Gaston appeared nonplussed. "What wolf?" Maxim made a living reading people and the big man's ignorance was convincing. "You don't think we're the only ones in Sanctuary, do you? Trust me, if I had a go at Mom, she wouldn't have gotten away."

Interesting, thought Maxim. He had assumed it was Gaston who had helped him, although he hadn't been able to figure out why. It made sense now, knowing that he took over the club, but why would he deny it?

Maxim gritted his teeth as he tried to go through all the angles. "Well, maybe you can help the marshal's office in another way then."

The president sighed. Working with police officers must have been new to him. "What do you need?"

"Where does Deborah live, for one?"

"You're looking at it," he answered.

That was strange. "This lot is registered to the club."

The big man nodded. "She doesn't keep anything under her real name, something to do with trouble in Alabama." Gaston scratched at his tall hair. "She almost always slept here, but you can bet she has a place to hide. Most of us do. It's in our nature to disappear for days or weeks at a time."

"That's not overly helpful," said Maxim. "We're going to need to track her down and arrest her somehow."

"We?" he asked incredulously. "Have you seen the police staking me out? We have too many eyes on us. Think of the publicity our actions will stir up."

"Not good enough." Maxim walked to the back of a recliner and put both hands down on it to lean towards the man seated opposite. "You can't stand on the sidelines for this one, Gaston. The Seventh Sons are involved, like it or not. You want to protect them? You need to work at it."

Gaston clenched his jaw several times. "We can't make any moves until the police outside get reassigned. If you do that for us, then we'll have room to work."

The detective shook his head emphatically. "I have no pull with County, and I'm not going to put my job on the line for somebody I don't know if I can trust."

The big man shrugged. "That sounds like a 'you' problem."

Maxim rocked the recliner away from his hands and chuckled. He looked to the ceiling as he scratched the back of his head. "You misunderstand me, Gaston. The years of this club doing whatever they please in Sanctuary are done. You need to think about this long term. The fact that I don't trust you is a big problem for you, and I intend to make it a worse one if I need to. You want to convince me that you had nothing to do with the abductions, that the club is innocent in all this? Then you need to prove that to me. You need to do something to claw your way out of this." Maxim stared at Gaston's darkened face. "It's time to make a choice."

Gaston rested his elbows on his legs as his hands met his forehead. This was hard for him, but there was something he was holding back. He'd lived by a code that prohibited talking to police, but he also knew that he needed to protect his club above his own life. What happened when those two ideals contradicted each other?

Maxim pressed him. "Gaston, it's time to put your money where your mouth is."

The man pulled his head back up. "What about Deborah's money?"

The detective fired off an inquisitive look. The president snapped his fingers and directed the boy to bring something to him. When he returned, the kid placed a metal briefcase on the table in front of Gaston. Maxim walked around the recliner to take a look inside.

The big man kept his strong hand firmly on the top of the case, holding it shut. "When she allowed Nicola to be killed to protect her secrets," he said solemnly, "she turned her back on all of us."

Maxim waited with sympathetic patience.

Gaston clicked the latch and unfolded the case. Stacks of bills, mostly hundreds, took up the majority of the space. "This is her 'go' money. There's some cash in there, and also some passports and credit cards and other things she might need in case of an emergency."

"Like right now." Maxim tried to quickly ballpark the cash amount, but he had never been involved in anything like this before. Sanctuary was a small town with small problems. At least, it had been. "She hasn't come around for this yet?"

"Not with the police sitting outside, but she will, eventually, as she gets more desperate." Gaston stood up and walked to the window. "I'd rather not have that play out on my doorstep right in front of law enforcement."

"How much is this?"

The biker president smiled as he turned back to the detective. "I can't say. It's uncounted. I wouldn't be able to give anyone an accurate number, assuming they asked."

Maxim returned a sly smirk. "Just in case any were to go missing."

Gaston raised his hands in ignorance. "I wouldn't know."

The detective rifled through the money again. It was real. Regardless of what Deborah intended to do next, she would almost definitely want to recover it. She was on the run, probably wounded, and not welcome back at her clubhouse, her home. She may have killed a federal agent and attempted and failed to kill a police officer, not to mention the civilians. She'd even been implicated by the media as the mastermind behind the Paradise Tank abductions. Whether that was ultimately true or not didn't change the fact that she was Arizona's most wanted, and she would either get caught, get killed, or get out.

As Maxim flipped through various identification documents with aliases, he was surprised to see Melody on a passport. He held it up to Gaston. "Where does she fit into all this?"

"Melody," he asked, confused by the question. "She's her mom."

Maxim waved the passport in his hand. He thought of Gaston's comment about not allowing women in the club. He recalled Deborah's dispute with Angelica and the personal nature of it. "Mom, as in club president or—"

"Why do you think Melody acts like she doesn't need to bother with anything? She's a princess, and she's in for a rude awakening next time she sees me." Gaston ground the sole of his boot back and forth into the floor. "Debbie is her birth mother. I thought you knew that."

Maxim threw the passport back into the case and slammed it closed. "I thought you said the entire club was in here."

Gaston shrugged weakly. "Like mother, like daughter. Half the time she's off doing her own thing. Melody likes to play. She probably has a new boy or girl. Anyway, she's almost never around club business."

"And her house?"

"She stays here too, unless she's spending the night with one of her toys."

Diego.

Maxim stomped towards the door with the briefcase. He was determined to get this over with quickly. No mistakes.

"Contact me if you see her." Maxim stepped outside with haste. "And Gaston," he said, turning for only a quick moment, "I may be calling on you for some help. I trust you'll find a way to shake County and come through."

Maxim hurried back to his car. How could he have been so stupid?

 

"It was just a bite," said Diego. "What's the worst that could happen?"

Maxim looked down at the man. He wasn't sure if the biker understood the irony of what he had said, but more likely than not, he knew what he was doing when it came to these matters.

The two men were in the same clinic over the marshal's office where they had first had a chance to speak freely. This was a nicer room, however, meant for the general populace. Diego was not handcuffed and the room lacked the security measures of the other. Not that the security had been a strong point two weeks ago when the werewolves broke out, but that was being corrected. As they spoke, drilling and hammering created a racket in the background as construction workers replaced the broken window.