Page 4 of The Biker's Brother

“After what I just told you, what you want to focus on is whether or not I used the word woman or girl? It’s too late to act out your teenage years.”

Brandon picked up a flauta with his big hand and shoved half of it in his mouth.

“So you want me to go to Boston and follow her around?”

“No. I want you to transport her from New York to the compound. Here.”

Brand narrowed his eyes at his dad.

“How dangerous is this? Really?”

“Fair to middlin’. I wouldn’t be bringing it up if it weren’t for the fact that I know you’ve spent the last year nosing all around our security company and going over the minutia of the way the veteran special forces’ members handle jobs. I’ve seen the bruises you wear from all that martial arts training. And unless you’ve got a girlfriend who’s beating on you, you work at it pretty steady. I know you’re good with firearms because I’ve seen you at target play with your brother. Even when you’re drunk, you hit your bullseyes. Last, you’re smart.”

That one made Brandon grin around a bite of enchilada. Brant ignored him and kept talking.

“So there are three things I’m looking at. First, you may be the most qualified guy we have. If I didn’t think you could do it and get home safely, I wouldn’t suggest it.” Brandon was just about to say thank you when his dad added, “Your mother would string me up by the balls and then strangle me with my own entrails if anything happened to you.”

“Nice image.”

“Second, there’s the respect thing. Doing that job would go a long way toward getting the respect you deserve from the crew. It’s a big chunk of cash for the club and nobody wants the job. Third, like I said, this is important enough that I think we could get you a patch if that’s what you want. You don’t have to worry about working for the club. You already work for the club. By my reckoning, you made us $337,000 last year by consulting about the businesses.

“You found things we were doing wrong. Found things that could be better. Shut us down when we didn’t have a prayer of going anywhere. Expanded when money was being left on the table.”

“I’m kind of impressed that you pinpointed my contribution like that. I didn’t know you’re a data guy.”

“Well. I am.”

Brand took a swig of hard lemonade. “Did you already say yes to the job?”

Brant shrugged a big shoulder. “Too much green to turn away even if I need to do it myself. Arnold said the dad could have taken out a contract for what he’s paying us. And he’s right. It’s achunkof change.”

When Arnold had blurted that out in the meeting, he’d gotten several awkward minutes of silent stares from around the club table. They were bikers, but they weren’t killers. Even back in the days when they operated outside the law, they hadn’t been killers. At present they were businessmen who happened to like bikes and hold a certain disdain for authority and rules of all kinds.

“What’s involved? Pick her up and fly her here?”

Brant laughed and shook his head. “If that was all there was to it, guys wouldn’t be ducking around corners avoiding me. The man has hired the club to execute the disappearance of his daughter and keep her in the wind until after the divorce is final.”

“Why does she need to disappear until after the divorce is finalized?”

“The soon-to-be ex-husband is dangerous and greedy. The girl’s father thinks he may try to have her killed before the divorce goes through. He suspects this man of devising some clever means that would give him an airtight alibi while also making him eligible to inherit her trust fund.”

“Who is it?”

“The client?”

“Yes.”

“Severn Carmichael.” Brand’s eyebrows went up and he whistled. “I suspected you’d know who he is.”

“Our enterprises have touched circuits now and then.”

“He know who you are?”

“He probably knows who I am, just like I know who he is, but we’ve never met.”

Brant seemed satisfied with that. “What do you think?”

“Let me make sure I’ve got this straight. I need to pick her up somewhere in New York, bring her to you, and make sure she’s not seen or followed on the way.”

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