Disappointing, to be sure, because he was six feet of ripped muscles and cool confidence. He was packing a nice-sized surprise below the waist, as well. But she’d left him to deal with Paul Bunyan alone. She couldn’t afford to lose her only lead on the skip.
The asshole at the bar had assumed that she had left simply to get away from him and on any other night that might have been true. But actually the gang of local one percenters had apparently decided to take their party elsewhere, and since neither Jeter nor Jason Paul had been among them, Izzy decided she needed somewhere else to look.
So she was a block and a half behind a large group of Buzzards who thankfully hadn’t noticed that they were being tailed. She’d been a bit worried that she might have lost them after the drunk and the hero had slowed her down. But a dozen leather-clad bikers on loud-ass Harleys were actually fairly easy to find, even in Rapid City, which seemed to have a higher concentration of riders.
She followed them to the edge of an industrial area that was not far from the bar. She hung back because of the lack of other vehicles in the area and watched them pull into the lot of a low-slung building that almost resembled a warehouse. Shortly after they entered, music boomed loudly from inside. Izzy drove past as slowly as she dared, trying to get a good look. Through the windows, she saw a small crowd of people drinking and carousing. She hoped she would blend in with the mass of partiers.
She circled behind the building and parked halfway down the block, in the shadows. She hustled toward the clubhouse, skirting around the streetlights as best she could. There were a few small windows in the back and she crept up to the first one and peeked in. It appeared to be a bathroom at the back corner of the building. She placed both hands on the window pane and lifted, but it wouldn’t budge. Hoping the next one wasn’t also locked from the inside, she moved forward and peered in the second window. It was situated at the end of a hallway. No one was within sight.
Praying silently, she tried to open it and breathed a small sigh of relief when she succeeded. The window quietly slid up and she threw her leg over the sill and ducked inside. The music was so loud inside that she was confident no one had heard her entering. If she could get in and out quickly and avoid actually running into anyone, she could exit the same way.
She tried the door to the first room on her left, the one connected to the bathroom she’d been unable to enter. It was locked, though. She slipped her switchblade out of her jacket pocket and flicked it open. Prying open the flimsy door lock, she swung it open cautiously. The room was empty. She paused , though, as she looked at the rumpled, unmade bed. Above it hung a huge black flag, a larger version of the patch on the cuts of the club’s members. If Izzy had any doubt where she was, the word “President” looming over the Buzzard’s logo made it pretty clear.
She backed out of the room and headed to the next one. This one was unlocked and she edged it open quietly, just to make sure no one was inside. It was empty as well, which made sense because the night was still young and the party had seemingly just started. There was nothing of interest, though, aside from empty bottles, cans, and scattered dirty laundry on the floor.
Izzy tried two more small rooms until she hit the jackpot. Jason Paul’s room was the third room on the right. She knew because he had a copy of the same photograph that had graced his cousin Jeter’s mirror back in Denver. The bed was unmade, but that was no surprise given where she was. Izzy was reasonably certain the Buzzards had no weekly maid service.
It was impossible to tell when Jason had been here last, though the closet was mostly empty. There were no discarded receipts of any kind, no scribbled notes scattered about. She was as thorough as she dared to be, knowing she was risking a
The asshole at the bar had assumed that she had left simply to get away from him and on any other night that might have been true. But actually the gang of local one percenters had apparently decided to take their party elsewhere, and since neither Jeter nor Jason Paul had been among them, Izzy decided she needed somewhere else to look.
So she was a block and a half behind a large group of Buzzards who thankfully hadn’t noticed that they were being tailed. She’d been a bit worried that she might have lost them after the drunk and the hero had slowed her down. But a dozen leather-clad bikers on loud-ass Harleys were actually fairly easy to find, even in Rapid City, which seemed to have a higher concentration of riders.
She followed them to the edge of an industrial area that was not far from the bar. She hung back because of the lack of other vehicles in the area and watched them pull into the lot of a low-slung building that almost resembled a warehouse. Shortly after they entered, music boomed loudly from inside. Izzy drove past as slowly as she dared, trying to get a good look. Through the windows, she saw a small crowd of people drinking and carousing. She hoped she would blend in with the mass of partiers.
She circled behind the building and parked halfway down the block, in the shadows. She hustled toward the clubhouse, skirting around the streetlights as best she could. There were a few small windows in the back and she crept up to the first one and peeked in. It appeared to be a bathroom at the back corner of the building. She placed both hands on the window pane and lifted, but it wouldn’t budge. Hoping the next one wasn’t also locked from the inside, she moved forward and peered in the second window. It was situated at the end of a hallway. No one was within sight.
Praying silently, she tried to open it and breathed a small sigh of relief when she succeeded. The window quietly slid up and she threw her leg over the sill and ducked inside. The music was so loud inside that she was confident no one had heard her entering. If she could get in and out quickly and avoid actually running into anyone, she could exit the same way.
She tried the door to the first room on her left, the one connected to the bathroom she’d been unable to enter. It was locked, though. She slipped her switchblade out of her jacket pocket and flicked it open. Prying open the flimsy door lock, she swung it open cautiously. The room was empty. She paused , though, as she looked at the rumpled, unmade bed. Above it hung a huge black flag, a larger version of the patch on the cuts of the club’s members. If Izzy had any doubt where she was, the word “President” looming over the Buzzard’s logo made it pretty clear.
She backed out of the room and headed to the next one. This one was unlocked and she edged it open quietly, just to make sure no one was inside. It was empty as well, which made sense because the night was still young and the party had seemingly just started. There was nothing of interest, though, aside from empty bottles, cans, and scattered dirty laundry on the floor.
Izzy tried two more small rooms until she hit the jackpot. Jason Paul’s room was the third room on the right. She knew because he had a copy of the same photograph that had graced his cousin Jeter’s mirror back in Denver. The bed was unmade, but that was no surprise given where she was. Izzy was reasonably certain the Buzzards had no weekly maid service.
It was impossible to tell when Jason had been here last, though the closet was mostly empty. There were no discarded receipts of any kind, no scribbled notes scattered about. She was as thorough as she dared to be, knowing she was risking a
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