Page 90 of Warrior

“Tell me about the body at Olympus,” I say again.

He takes a breath. “One of their informants. Jace King reported him missing a few weeks prior…”

I motion for him to continue.

“The coroner’s report came back. He overdosed on heroin, and that combined with severe trauma to the face and neck…” He looks away. “One eye was completely removed. The other was… disfigured.”

“Disfigured how?”

“The heroin was injected into it.” He shakes his head. “Turned my stomach just looking at him. Otherwise, he was completely identifiable. Wolfe James gave us his name on a video call. There were no other toxins in his blood… but there were signs that he was held hostage in the time between his disappearance and his body being found.”

Gabriel is going off the rails.

I nod once. The sheriff contemplates me for a moment, seeming to wait for my promised warning.

“One more thing,” I say.

He stiffens.

“Did you find anything incriminating at Bow & Arrow?”

“Tem’s club?” He pauses. “The computers were sent to an independent company for analysis. I don’t have anything else.”

Someone pushed him for that… and here I thought I was the only one applying pressure.

“Thanks, Sheriff.” I check my watch. “You’ll be just in time if you hurry.”

Alarm sweeps over his features. “Hurry where?”

“To the docks.” I smile. “The last deep-sea fishing boat should be docking as we speak.”

“So?”

“So… you should meet the newest Sterling Falls residents, don’t you agree?”

He swears under his breath.

Deep-sea fishing boats stay out for a month at a time, sometimes more. They have a relatively robust crew, since thereare so many duties to keep a boat like that in running order in the middle of nowhere.

But that’s just the ruse.

In reality, the boats have been diverting to Emerald Cove, and the crews replaced with my guys. Every ship coming into port, for months. Out with the old, in with the new.

Except this is the last of them.

They’remymen. They listen to me, they trust me. Only with trepidation do they follow Gabriel’s orders, because they know me to be rational. Sane.

Even in this insanity we’re about to begin.

I follow him to the parking lot. His pace quickens, and he bypasses my bike—a new acquirement—and hastily climbs into his cruiser. He guns the engine and spins the wheel, sending gravel skittering toward me, and races back down the way he came.

My phone is already in my hand.

I make a phone call. One I’ve been itching to make since the sheriff showed his proclivity for bribes, forweakness. This town has elected him again, knowing everything that happened could’ve been stopped from the beginning if he did his job.

“He’s on his way,” I say when my call is picked up. “Take it.”

I stash my phone in a zipped pocket and climb on the bike. It used to be owned by a Hell Hound, but… well, he won’t be riding. He’ll probably barely miss the bike.

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