“I can’t go there waiting to be shot. He’ll know something’s going on if he realizes I’m wearing one. He’ll get suspicious.”
Brody shrugged. “Okay. You have thirty minutes.”
“Yeah, I do. Wish me luck!”
“Good luck, man. Come back safe.”
Quinn walked back through the gates and across the road. Jimmy’s warehouse was lit up and the chain link gate was open. There was only Jimmy’s car there and no bikes, but that could’ve meant anything. He hated to walk past the junk that covered the edges of the large yard. It felt like there could be anyone right there, behind a beat-up old SUV, hiding in plain sight. The thought made his skin crawl, and he walked faster to the entrance.
“Well, here goes nothing,” Quinn murmured under his breath as he sauntered inside through the double doors. “Jimmy, you here?”
Chapter 18
The funeral of Ian MacGregor shut down Spruce Creek. Aaron figured half the town’s population was at the graveyard, paying their respects, and the other half was doing exactly what he was doing: locking their doors and peeking out their windows to see what the hell was going on. You didn’t need insider knowledge about bikers and undercover cops to know that something was going down. The whole town knew that Jimmy MacGregor had killed his father, and the whole town was waiting to see what would happen next. There had to be at least one member of the MacGregor clan who’d stand up to Jimmy for what he’d done, surely. And not Quinn, Aaron knew, because he’d sworn an oath to uphold the law, but there had to be someone. Maybe one of the older grizzled guys who’d hung around with Ian while he’d held court in the bar, for loyalty. Or maybe one of the younger guys, who saw an opportunity to get rid of a snake like Jimmy and make his own grab for power at the same time. It was difficult to imagine that Jimmy would remain unchallenged, but what the hell did Aaron know about how the MacGregors operated? He hadn’t been in town long enough to relearn all their complicated alliances. And neither, he thought with a sinking feeling, had Quinn. Not really. What if he was as out of his depth as any other outsider right now?
It was a terrifying thought.
Aaron watched the time.
He hated waiting. Fuck Quinn’s job, and fuck his meeting with Jimmy—they could have been halfway out of the state by seven P.M. if they left now—but he knew Quinn wanted to make sure his aunt got out of town before he left too.
A police cruiser drove slowly down Main Street, and Aaron wondered if it was Uncle Will.
And there was another tendril of worry unfurling in his gut, of course. If the Burned Skulls really were coming to town, where the hell did that leave Uncle Will?
Aaron pulled out his phone. Should he text him? Or text Quinn and ask him if he could warn Uncle Will?
He stared at the screen of his phone, and then shoved it back into his pocket.
Shit. He didn’t know. He didn’t know what the fuck he was supposed to do, except wait like Quinn had said.
The afternoon passed slowly, and Aaron felt the weight of every minute.
When the police cruiser pulled up in the driveway at just before seven, Aaron’s heart raced and his hands began to shake. What if something had gone wrong? But Uncle Will climbed out of the driver’s seat, a takeout bag swinging from his hand, and Aaron pushed down his rising panic.
He opened the front door. “Hey.”
“Hey.” Uncle Will stepped inside. “You eat yet?”
“Not really hungry.” Aaron had never been able to eat much before a patrol, back in Afghanistan. Nerves too tight and gut too queasy. He envied the guys who could, the same as he envied the guys who could sleep wherever they sat, like their bodies knew this might be the last chance they got for a while. He felt like that now; too wound up with restless energy to shove food down and expect it to stay there.
Uncle Will hummed, and strode into the kitchen.
Aaron followed, his stump aching.
Uncle Will sat at the table, and unwrapped his burger. “Spoke to Quinn a little while ago,” he said, his gaze speculative.
Aaron’s stomach clenched. “Yeah?”
“He told me a hell of a thing,” Uncle Will said.
“Did he?”
Uncle Will snorted, his eyes crinkling as he smiled. “Cards on the table now, huh, kiddo?”
“You first,” Aaron said.
Uncle Will’s smile cranked up a few more degrees before his expression became somber again. “Well, apparently Quinn is a cop.” His shrewd gaze took in Aaron’s lack of surprise. “I was going to ask if you ever heard anything so crazy, but I guess you already did.”
