“I don’t know, man. Weird shit’s been going down.”
“Boss tried to force me into protection, but that’s not happening. Second best choice, she said, is I get the hell outta town until trial. Got a shit-ton of PTO. It’s an extended vacation. Away.”
“So, where you headed?” his best friend asked. The man who’d been his lifeline for two long years undercover. The last man he’d spoken to before getting shot. The only person he trusted his life with—except maybe Bread, who’d gotten him out of the burning clubhouse.
After a long sigh, Clay said, “Can’t say.”
“The fuck?”
“Look, I trust you. It’s the phones and the… Yeah. Not telling anyone.”
“You tell the boss?”
“Not even the boss.”
“She is gonna kill you.”
“Yeah, well, she’ll get over it. She’s the one who told me to disappear.” He let out a pained groan. “This shit is bad. If they know where I live, man, who’s to say they can’t find everyone else who worked on the case? No way I’m putting you and Jayda and the kids in danger, okay? I’d rather listen to the boss—”
“For once,” interrupted Tyler.
“Yeah.” Clay grinned. “For once.”
“So, it’s R & R for you, and what? Catch some waves at the beach or…”
“Just leaving town, bro.” After a pause, he went on. “Found a dermatologist here who’ll take care of these tats. Boss wants me to lay low? Fine. I’ll goddamn disappear. Go so far off the grid it’ll be like I never existed.”
“But you’re coming back for court, right?”
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
Clay heard a female voice in the background and could picture Tyler’s wife, Jayda, asking him something or calling him in to lunch. Man, things had changed since they’d gotten married and had kids. Different, but good for Tyler. Probably. Family life just didn’t hold much appeal for Clay: the house and mess and all the other stuff.
“Any word from Bread?” he asked, knowing Breadthwaite had opted to go into witness protection, rather than hunker down on his own. Yeah, well, Bread didn’t have three bullet holes in his hide, so their trust issues might not be exactly on par.
“He’s gone. Flew out yesterday with a couple of marshals and a bunch of fucking suits from Justice,” Tyler said, and Clay gave a sigh of relief.
“Jesus. But good. Good.” Bread was one of those dudes you just had to like. A hippy in real life who’d done a kick-ass job of passing as a biker—a good man to have on your team. The best.
Clay eyed the slow-moving beach traffic nervously.
“Get yourself into protection, like Bread, ma—”
“You think they don’t have rats at DOJ, Ty? I gotta go.”
“Right, well, enjoy it for me. Laid out next to the water, drink in hand. On your own. Man, that sounds like the life. Maybe I’ll come find you, bring the boat, and we can—”
“Jayda’d cut off your balls,” Clay said, picturing the throw down between Tyler and his wife. “Then she’d come after me.”
“Yeah,” Tyler said, only it didn’t sound quite as light as it was probably meant to. Clay didn’t want to know about whatever trouble was in Tyler’s paradise right now.
“I gotta go, man. Give my love to Jayda and the kids.”
“Will do, Clay. Will do,” Tyler said, then quickly followed up. “But keep me—”
“Thanks, Ty,” he said, ending the call and placing another.
“McGovern,” came his boss’s gravelly response. Always on, nights and weekends, holidays. He’d never heard her be anything but curt and professional.
