Jericho woke to his alarm midafternoon and called the school to be sure Nikki had picked up the kids. She had, which meant Elijah and Nicolette probably told her that someone else had been babysitting them when they’d woken up that morning. Someone Nikki didn’t know. But Nikki hadn’t called to scream at him, so either she was going to let it go or she was too mad to talk. He told himself he didn’t care which it was, and then drove by her house on his way to the station. Nobody was outside, but the place wasn’t on fire or anything, so things could be worse.
Garron was at the front desk when Jericho got to work, and gave him a glare that reminded him a bit too much of old times. “What’s up?” Jericho asked, trying to sound breezy and confident.
“You hanging out with the feds, now?”
Of course he’d heard. The squad car had been parked at the motel where the feds were staying, and the woman who’d brought their food had been a local, and therefore certainly connected to Garron in a dozen different ways.
“Shows how dedicated to my job I am,” Jericho replied. “I’ll turn over every rock, no matter how slimy. Is the sheriff in the building?”
“She left a couple hours ago.”
“On the job, or going home?”
“Home, I think.”
Okay. Good. Kay was somewhere safe,andJericho didn’t have to be around her, feeling like a traitor for not telling her about the federal investigation. “Hockley here?”
“Your new friend? I don’t keep track of the feds.”
Yeah, Jericho should have known better than to ask. He jogged up the stairs to the offices, looked around to see who was in the building, and then realized he was at loose ends. He didn’t have a patrol shift scheduled, and there was paperwork he could do, but nothing too pressing. He didn’t need to be there, not unless the feds were going to let him in on whatever they were doing, and with Hockley nowhere in sight, he was probably shut out.
He sat down at his desk and frowned at the files he had stacked on it. Going over old records and reports had helped him find the drop house, but what good had that done? The feds had their forensic team go through it, but they hadn’t found anything useful, or nothing useful they’d decided to share. And other than that one discovery, the files had given him nothing but a headache.
He grabbed his keys and jogged back downstairs. The sheriff’s territory was too large for foot patrols to be effective, but there was still value in being out and about, being seen by the citizens. And value for him to see the people he was trying to protect.
Because that was what it all came down to. Protection. What did it matter if there were drugs being run through this territory? Well, if drugs were legal, maybe it wouldn’t matter that much, or maybe it would even be a positive contribution to the economy. But while they were illegal, it meant trouble, especially when it was expanding like it was. It meant bikers and gangsters from the city setting things on fire, leaving bodies lying around, and otherwise making everything dangerous. And men who would commit arson and murder would commit other crimes too, of course. The people Jericho was sworn to protect were threatened by it all, and he couldn’t look the other way.
He managed to keep himself from bringing Wade into the equation, or at least he thought he had. But somehow he found himself back on the edge of town, staring at the blackened wreckage of Kelly’s. Wade had known it was going to burn, or hadn’t been surprised or alarmed when it did. Had the Chicago crew told him they were going to do it? Threatened him, maybe, but given him time to make sure the place was empty? And then burned the bikers’ clubhouse when it was empty too.
That would make it a kinder, gentler brand of organized crime, though, and something about that didn’t feel right. There were three dead bodies in the morgue, and Chicago had responded with a building fire? Either they didn’t value their people too highly, or they were de-escalating where escalation would have been expected. Or maybe it had just been a coincidence, lucky for the bikers and unlucky for Chicago, that the building had been empty.
Damn it, there was far too much he didn’t know, and he wasn’t supposed to be trying to find answers. He was supposed to be . . . well, he was supposed to be doing more or less what hewasdoing, really. Driving around, patrolling, serving and protecting the citizens of Mosely in a highly limited context.
He pulled his phone out and tried to think of an excuse to make the call he wanted to make. He could justaskWade who burned down his bar, and why. Because of course Wade would be happy to share that information, and he would be honest and forthright about the entire situation. Right.
He could ask what Wade knew about the bikers and the Chicago crew. Wade had given him basic information on that already, so maybe he’d be willing to share some more. It wasn’t contrary to his interests, after all . . .
But since when had that been enough to inspire Wade to do anything? Shit, Jericho was missing a detail again. Wade had told Jericho about the turf war, knowing Jericho would tell the feds. Civic responsibility wasn’t high on Wade’s list of personal qualities; he hadn’t just been trying to help out.
Maybe he’d been trying to help Jericho. Maybe.Definitelyhe’d been trying to mess with him. That went without saying. But what else was there? Why did Wade want the feds to know about the turf war, and the Chicago gang’s involvement?
That was when his phone rang with Kay’s tone, and it was mostly a relief to answer it. “What’s up?” he asked.
“Where are you?”
Well, that was a bit awkward, but there was a tension in her voice that made him answer without dissembling. “Kelly’s. No one seems to be watching the wreckage anymore.”
“I need you on a job.”
“Where?” he asked, putting the phone on speaker and throwing the cruiser into gear. “What’s going on?”
“The bikers are coming in. All of them, and we think extras from affiliate clubs. We suspect that at least some of the guests at the motel are from the Chicago crew, so that’s their most likely destination, but we don’t know for sure.”
“Shit.” He hit the lights. “You want me at the motel?”
“No. I’m heading to the motel, but it’s just a guess. There really aren’t enough unknown guests there for it to be a sure target. Hell, half of the rooms are taken by feds. So I want you on the edge of town. West end of Main. When the bikers come in, you tag along, and stay with them. There’ll be other units there. If the bikers split up, coordinate so as many of them as possible get followed.”
It made no sense. Ten o’clock on a Friday night, and the bikers were going to war, right in town? “They’ve got to be bluffing,” he said, partly to himself. “They’re not crazy enough to do this.”
