The reporters continue with their usual speculation about motives and intentions. Morgan evades their questions. I tune out, I’ve got other things on my mind.
I wave away another drink. I’m just now getting sober from what I drank earlier, and I’ve got important business to take care of this evening.
Jasper finally pushes up from the table. “Fuck all this second guessing ourselves. We caught the fucker and turned him over to law enforcement. It’s up to them to figure out how he killed and build a case that sticks.”
Slate comes to his feet. “I agree. It’s time to enjoy the celebration the old ladies worked so hard to prepare for us today.”
I pull Emily close, noticing how she looks like a woman who has been well loved. She’s smiling and has a healthy glow about her. In fact, it seems like something is different about her in general, but I can’t seem to put my finger on it.
***
Time blurs as the night wears on. The music gets louder. And so do the voices that have to be heard over the noise. It does my fuckin’ heart good to see my club brothers relaxed, laughing, and happy. These are men who have had rough lives, finally found a place where they belong, and deserve all the fuckin’ good things life has to offer them.
With Emily at my side, I’m just starting to sink into the revelry when I notice Striker hasn’t moved.
Everyone else is joining in the party, but he’s still hunched over his laptop, with his fingers flying over the keyboard.
Emily notices at the same time I do.
“Do you think he’s okay?” she asks.
I slide off my stool, grab a cold beer from behind the bar, and we cross the room together. When we’re right beside his table, he doesn’t even look up.
“Hey,” I say. “I brought you a cold beer, brother.”
His fingers don’t stop. If anything, they move faster.
“Something’s off,” he mutters.
Emily frowns. “Off how?”
He finally glances up. His eyes are already getting bloodshot from looking at that damn screen too long. He tells us, “Brennan’s bank account was drained just now. It doesn’t make sense.”
“Sure, it does,” I tell him gently. “He probably drained it to pay for an attorney.”
“Maybe,” Striker acknowledges. “But that’s not the only thing missing.”
I uncap the cold beer and place it on the table beside his laptop. “The guy’s a mess. Who knows what he’s been doing with his money. Maybe he was trying to hide it so he could fuck off to parts unknown.”
Emily glances up at me before speaking. “You just helped put a murderer behind bars. That’s huge. You deserve to take the rest of the night off.”
Striker’s mouth twitches, but there’s no humor in it. “Yeah. I know. I’m as happy as anybody that we put that fucker behind bars where he belongs. I just can’t shake the feeling that I’m missing something.”
He closes the laptop and for a second, I think he might actually give it up for the night. Then tucks it under his arm, grabs the beer I brought for him, and takes a long swallow. There is an awkward silence and then he turns to leave. “I’ll catch up with you later.”
“You sure?” I ask, genuinely worried about him.
He mumbles, “Yeah. Just need to check something real quick.” Before disappearing down the hallway towards his office.
Emily watches him go. She has an uneasy look in her eyes. “Is it me or is your friend having a hard time unplugging from this case?”
“It sure looks that way,” I agree. “But Striker is tough. Let’s let him track down all the details that are bothering him. I bet it won’t take long and then he’ll be back to his old self again.”
“If that’s what you think is best,” she murmurs, moving back towards the front of the bar with me reluctantly.
I can’t help taking one final glance down the hallway. Sometimes worry and concern don’t shut off just because the danger’s over. I know Striker well enough to understand how he operates. He needs to work this out on his own.
By the time we make it outside, the side yard is already packed. Bikes are lined up in a row near the building. There is nothing but Harleys as far as the eye can see. It’s a beautiful sight.
