The Long Ride

This is a work of fiction. Any names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons--living or dead--is entirely coincidental.

The Long Ride copyright @ 2014 by Amy Love. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embedded in critical articles or reviews.

Part 3 of the
White Wolves MC trilogy

CHAPTER ONE

Elias
surveyed the men and women in his living room. Every one of them had deep concern in their eyes.

"She has a dad in Boston," Doc offered, brushing her long, dark hair back from her face and behind her ear. "She could be heading there."

Elias shook his head. "That doesn't feel right to me. She could have headed there before, and she told me she wouldn't go there. She wouldn't bring this kind of trouble to her old man's doorstep."

"San Diego is my bet," Larry said from the couch. "Remember when I was telling her about that job with Duffy? She said she had always wanted to go there, to see the ocean."

"That's a lot of miles on a hunch," John said. "Half a continent, in fact. If you're wrong you'll never get turned around in time."

Dave stood up. "I agree with Larry though, so I'm riding. I got my own cash. I'll scout that direction. If she calls, I'll be close. You got my number, boss."

"I'm heading to Boston," Billy said. "She may not go that way, but she might. Who can say, but it's my fault—my watch she left on. So I'm riding."

They watched Dave and Billy leave the house, Elias praying that one of their instincts was dead on.

"You think she'll call?" Larry asked as the front door closed behind them.

"Yes," Doc answered for the group in general.

"What makes you think so?" Larry pressed.

"Because it's the only way I can see it. One of two things is going to happen here. Either she'll melt down and call, or she'll melt down and won't," Doc told them.

"But you're sure she's going to melt down again," Larry continued.

"I don't think you fellas really get what she's been through. People die from that kind of treatment; people die from far less. They just sit down and die. Nothing wrong with them, they just die. She's been through more than I've ever heard of before. I'm amazed by her. Absolutely stunned that she's as good as she is.

"Melting down and recovering like she did is a great sign for her. A miraculous sign. The fact that she doesn't scream herself into hysteria when Elias touches her is another miracle, one that I'm deeply grateful she has on her side. But she's still only human, people. She didn't take her meds with her, and those might have helped, but she's on a timer. I assure you." Then she looked over at John. "And just for the record, you don't tell a woman with acute PTSD that you are
going to war
for her."

John looked down at his hands, and then met her eyes again. "Duly noted."

"She'll call," Elias said, and walked toward the kitchen for a beer. Even with all of the people here, the house never felt so empty. Without Chelsea skipping through in her sun dress, or dancing to the music as she cleaned, or sitting on his lap in the office making it impossible to do his day-trading, this place felt like a morgue.

"Until she does, I'm in your house," Jeff told him.

"That goes for me as well," Eric said.

"I'm in," Rick said. "I don't know her well, working the night shift, but she seemed nice. Always woke up to bring us coffee and give us smiles. But boss, you were there when my kid was getting it rough, and she and I owe you, so I'm in."

Elias nodded to the offers. "Only got one couch and one guest room."

"One of us should be awake anyway," Eric's voice rumbled.

Elias nodded again.

"I'm going to jump on the phone and start calling hotels and gas stations along the route to San Diego," Larry said. "I've got a budget. More than I need for a reward fund for information."

"Good idea," John piped in. "Make it ten grand for a verified sighting. With Dave heading that way, verification shouldn't be too hard."

"What are you going to do when you find her?" Wild Bill asked. "You can't force her to come back."

"If she won't come back, then I'll run with her," Elias told him flatly. "She's not going to go through this alone. Not while I got breath."

Wild Bill nodded. "Figured you had it that bad."

"Oh, I got it worse, but it wouldn't take an eighth of what I have to see this through with her," Elias told him.

"At least Tomas is down until Sunday," Doc said.

"Tomorrow," Larry corrected.

"What?" John asked.

"He's got time served. It's really only a few hours, but his lawyer pulled some shit and got him down to three days instead of five. Which, in the confusing time stream of county jail language, kicks him loose tomorrow morning."

"Shit," Elias breathed, echoing everyone's thoughts.

Duffy came through the front door then, looking wildly around, his bristly beard looking even more bristled than normal. "Any word?"

"No," Larry told him. "I didn't know you knew."

"She has my bike!" Duffy said, aghast.

"She left you with nineteen grand for a five grand bike, Duffy," Steve-O pointed out.

"So?" Duffy said, shocked that Steve-O would consider something as base as money to be fair value. "Until she's found, I'm sticking to Elias."

"You have the floor then," Elias told him with a growl.

"Fine by me. Can't just steal a man's bike," Duffy huffed. "I assure you, I will get that bike back one way or another."

"Not going to report it stolen, are you?" Larry asked with surprise.

"Fuck no. Think I'm an idiot?" Duffy said with shock. "They might lock her up."

"Glad you care about Chelsea a little at least," Larry said.

"Not her—my bike!"

CHAPTER TWO

Tomas was kicked out at six in the morning, and as soon as he had his cell phone and was out the door, he started calling spotters. When he called Juan, standing on Elias Neal's house, Juan told him, "She was here, but she's gone now."

"What?"

"I said I'm sure she's gone. And I don't think these bike tramps know where she is, either. I think she ran."

"Shit. Tell me what you know."

"Well, there are five of them in the house right now, but it's the same five all day long from the bikes outside. Not like before. No shifts of men. Just the same five. I think they are all waiting for news."

Tomas thought about it a moment and decided the young Mex was probably right. "Then stick with it, and let me know if they take off as a pack. Extra grand in it for you when that happens."

"Got it. No worries. Their scouts never spotted me. I'm still clean," Juan told him.

So the little bitch rabbited. Kind of strange that she would do that while I was in jail though. Wonder what set her off?
Tomas thought as he flagged down a taxi, got into the back, and then gave the driver his home address. At least that fuck-head of a lawyer finally came through with something.

He thought over what Internal Affairs Detective Nelson and his captain had to say on Tuesday. He was at least free to move around as he pleased for thirty days, but it might be time to kick loose from the department.

He had enough money to do that, and had enough solid contacts in the department to continue getting good information on dealers and buyers. He didn't actually need to have a badge of his own any longer. With Internal Affairs on the case, Mike Wilson, his partner, was bound to catch scent of something, and he would be a real hassle if he turned his attention in his direction. Might have to end that old man before he got his dandruff up.

He was old, and he believed, but the bottom line was that Mink Wilson wasn't a legend because of his stamp collection. The man was a hound who could hunt, and as dangerous a hunter as they come. It wouldn't take him long to start putting things together once he was able to catch a string and start pulling.

"Yep, might be time to retire ol' Mr. Wilson," Tomas mused as he got out of the cab and began walking up to his door.

His phone rang as he closed his door behind him.

"Hey," he said, noticing it was James Stewart calling—his
real
partner. "What's up?"

"Glad you are out. We've been hit. Hard."

"What? And you are just telling me this now?"

"You wanted me to tell you in the county block? Let them record it for you in case you needed notes later on?" Stewart shot back.

Tomas took a breath. "You're right. So, how bad?"

"Fred, Barney, Wilma, and Betty are all hit and cleaned out. I checked on Scooby this morning, and Bugs. They are still intact. I'm on my way to Daffy now."

"Holy fuck! That's over two million gone, my friend, just in cash. Not to mention coke and guns."

"I know. You don't think I know that? I said
hit hard
, right?" Stewart yelled back.

"Even with those three we will only have, what, fifty, a hundred?"

"Seventy-five, and six kilos," Stewart reported blandly.

"Well fuck me," Tomas complained. "Who did this? Any idea?"

"No. I mean, who could know?"

"Chelsea," Tomas said after a pause.

Stewart laughed. "Eight men? Eight good men? That little piece of ass is sweet but it isn't
that
sweet."

"Not if she had help," Tomas told him.

"Help?"

"She's been hanging with a biker club. The White Wolves up in Northside," Tomas explained.

"White Wolves? I know them. They aren't outlaw. Just a bunch of riders who have a club house." Stewart told him. "Bunch of nine-to-five doctors and lawyer types playing weekend-warrior."

"Not all of them," Tomas said. "Not by a long shot."

"But they aren't the type. Sure, they might have taken her in, and that lawyer of hers is probably a member, but to hit our stashes?"

"My gut says it's them," Tomas told him.

"Your gut just got you locked up, but you do what you want. I'm thinking one of our partners is involved. That makes much more sense to me. I just haven't figured out how yet," Stewart told him.

"Well I assure you, pard', that we will find out who it was, and do them a solid in return," Tomas growled.

"We agree on that one," Stewart said.

"I'll meet you at Daffy. We'll talk about it there," Tomas told him.

"Right. See you in about an hour then," Stewart said, and then he hung up the phone.

There was one other person Stewart didn't mention who could have pulled this off without a problem—that being Stewart himself.

Tomas tapped his finger on the dead cell phone, and thought things over. With all the shit coming down, and some of it going to stick no matter what he did, it might be time to clear the slates. Daffy was a good place to do it, too. A perfect place, in fact.