Page 48 of The Biker's Brother

“Sanctuary Security. It’s actually an offshoot business of a motorcycle club out of Austin, Texas.”

“Motorcycle club? Huh.”

“Sons of Sanctuary.”

“Like Hell’s Angels?”

“I only know what I’ve told you.”

“Good work, Richard.”

“If you learn more, call me at this number, but only at this number. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir. When do you…?”

Michaels ended the call and dialed the best private investigator/hacker he knew.

“This is Dalli.”

“Got work for you.”

“Listening.”

“I need to know everything you can find out about people associated with Sanctuary Security and the Sons of Sanctuary Motorcycle Club located in Austin, Texas.”

“Okay.”

“How long?”

“I can start on it in… just a minute, four days maybe.”

“Now.”

“Hold on, I’m…”

“Now. Whatever it takes.”

“Whatever it takes?”

“Don’t make me repeat myself. I need this information now and I’ll triple your regular rate.”

“Done.”

“How long?”

“Three hours. Look for a courier.”

“Alright. Send me an invoice.”

“Yeah. Count on it.”

By lunchtime Trey Michaels had made his office aware that he didn’t want to be disturbed and was looking through a treasure trove of information that had arrived on a flash drive by courier. The ability to scan information and quickly isolate critical data was one of the talents that had helped him amass extraordinary wealth and stature while still relatively young.

While there was plenty about the SSMC that was interesting, and under other circumstances might have even been entertaining, he wasn’t interested in the club or the security company. He was interested in the people. Starting with club members. If he didn’t find what he was looking for there, he’d expand the search to wives, girlfriends, and other relatives of club members.

In that case it wouldn’t be necessary to look at non-members. His uncanny ability to read people and identify weaknesses, even from afar and on paper, led him straight to what he was looking for.

Edgar Raymond Stiles.

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