“She’s probably sleeping. She was exhausted, but she had questions about how I ended up here. She also talked about her dad. Turns out they left Adelaide and ended up in New Zealand. Her dad belongs to a motorcycle club. The Arrowtown Outriders.”
“That’s interesting. Do you think his experience with the Bushrangers had him looking for a club to protect his back?”
“Maybe. Zara said that one of the members is her father’s friend. She didn’t know her dad knew anyone who belonged to a club until they moved.”
Chrome is silent, so I can hear the change in the background noise as they exit the hotel. The sound of the city comes through.
“Have Mode run the father. His joining a club after what happened makes me twitchy. If he was friendly with another club, why didn’t he call them in for help when he was facing theBushrangers? Hell, if he understood the dangers of a motorcycle club, why the fuck did he antagonize them?”
I chuckle. “Yeah, that’s what I was wondering. When I met her dad, he seemed easily intimidated, which is why I was surprised he eventually stood up to them. I thought he was in over his head, but now I wonder if he was playing a game and I just wasn’t aware.”
“Do you think Zara knows more than she’s saying?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think so, but now I’m thinking I missed something back then.”
“What do you think the Bushrangers are after? Zara? You? Or something else?”
“That’s the question, isn’t it? I’ll have Mode poke around in her father and anything else he can find about what happened twelve years ago. My part in this ended when I called the cops and left the country. It’s possible more happened than I know.”
“Good idea. We’ll be back in an hour.”
Chrome ends the call as I open my door and head for Mode’s office. He’s crashed out, so I don’t wake him. Instead, I back out quietly and pull out my phone to call Maestro.
“You’ve got Smoke,” Smoke answers instead.
“Where’s Maestro?”
“Taking a break. He needed to crash for a couple of hours before taking over the search and monitoring from Mode.”
“Shit,” I mutter.
“What’s up?”
“Mode’s down for the count. He needs his rest, so I don’t want to wake him. However, Chrome has a job for him. I’ll just send him a text.”
“Give it to me. I can get it started and pass it over to Mode or Maestro when either wakes up.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah, no big deal. We’re quiet right now. Give me what you got.”
I repeat Chrome’s request to run Zara’s father.
“Okay, I’ve got it. Hey, I heard you have some trouble in town. Do you need more guys? The Nomads are still in town, right? Byte had to come home, but if you need Maestro or me, Dante would probably okay it. I know Mode is still recovering.”
“I’ll mention it to Chrome.”
CHAPTER 8: ZARA
The next morning, I woke confused. It takes me a full five minutes before I remember where I am and why. Rolling out of bed, I grab a change of clothes and duck into the bathroom.
The water beats against my shoulders, hot enough to steam the mirrors and loosen the knot between my shoulder blades. The Demon Dawgs’ clubhouse shower isn’t fancy—simple grout and tile, adequate water pressure, a faint smell of bleach—but it does the job. I close my eyes and let my head tip forward, already running through the day like a checklist I can’t afford to mess up.
Fashion Week. The words still don’t feel real.
I need to get to the hotel first. Meet Tony in the lobby so we can hook up before heading to the venue. He’ll want reassurance—he always does—even though he’s as prepared as anyone I know. I make a mental note to remind him to bring the garment bags with the backup pieces. One broken zipper, one torn seam, and you’re grateful you planned for disaster.
I rinse the shampoo out of my hair and think about the upcoming meeting with the event coordinator. Be early. Be polite. Don’t look like a deer in headlights. We’ll walk the space, confirm the order of looks, and double-check call times. I’ll need to introduce myself to the models, make sure they know whichpieces are mine, which shoes go with which pieces, and how the fabric is meant to sit on their bodies. I’ve learned the hard way that assumptions create disasters.
