"I'll explain when you get here. Just grab whatever basics you can spare—couple changes of clothes, pajamas, that kind of thing."
"Fine, keep your secrets," she says, but I can hear the smile in her voice. "I'll be there in thirty."
"Thanks, Jenny." I hang up and turn to find King standing behind me, his face serious.
"Walk with me," he says, not waiting for a response before heading toward his office.
I follow, already knowing what this conversation will be about. King doesn't miss anything, especially not when it comes to his club or his town.
Once inside his office, King closes the door and leans against his desk, arms crossed.
"You believe her," he states.
"I do," I confirm. "Everything about her story checks out with what we already know or suspect about the Eagles' movements."
King nods slowly. "Her information about Cherry Street matches Steel's surveillance. He spotted increased activity at the foreclosed property three days ago."
"Right after Vincent died," I note.
"Exactly." King's eyes narrow slightly. "But that doesn't mean she's telling us everything. Or that her presence here is as coincidental as she claims."
I bristle at the implication. "You think she's working an angle?"
"I think everyone has angles, Rage. Even desperate women running from abusive boyfriends."
I can't argue with his logic, but something in me still wants to defend Claire. "You didn't see her when I found her, King. She was terrified, hurt, had nowhere to go. That's not an act."
"I'm not saying the abuse is fake," King clarifies. "I'm saying we need to consider all possibilities. Including that she might be telling us what we want to hear to secure protection."
"So, verify her intel," I suggest. "But treat her with basic human decency in the meantime."
"You're taking this personally."
It's not a question, and there's no point denying it. King can read me too well.
"Maybe I am," I admit. "Seeing what that bastard did to her... it hits close to home."
King knows what I mean without me having to spell it out. He's one of the few who knows about my father, and how he used to beat my mother, how I was too young to stop it, how she died never escaping his control.
"Just keep your perspective," King advises, his voice less stern now. "We help her if her information checks out. But the club comes first. Always."
"I know that," I say, perhaps too quickly.
King gives me a long look, then nods once. "Arrangements for tonight?"
Grateful for the change of subject, I outline what we've already put in place—additional security, strategic positioning of brothers around the perimeter, weapons distribution. King listens, occasionally suggesting modifications to the plan.
"What about Eli?" he asks when I finish.
The question catches me off guard. "What about him?"
"If this goes sideways, you need a contingency plan for your son."
He's right, of course. As always. "He's at the Winters' until noon," I say. "I'll call and see if he can stay another night. Mrs. Winters has kept him during club emergencies before."
King nods, satisfied. "Do it now. Then get some rest before the church meeting. You look like shit."
"Thanks, brother," I say dryly, but I know he's right. I've been up for over almost twenty-four hours, running on adrenaline and coffee.
