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Chapter Nineteen

Fitz

After Sawyer dressed, taking away the temptation to have his cock in my mouth, we headed to the kitchen. I grabbed two paper plates, placing two donuts on his and two on mine.

“You like living here?” I asked before I took a bite of the delicious dough-and-sugar circle in front of me.

Sawyer glanced around before he spoke. “I need to do some work here. For some reason, I’ve been hesitant to make any changes in the house. My grandparents lived here and raised my dad and my aunt Janice in two bedrooms. I’m not sure how the fuck that worked, but then I grew up here, so it feels like I shouldn’t make any changes. When I step down as president of the club, it’ll be the next president’s residence.”

“So, you’re not going to continue to be the president until you’re old and gray?” I reached up and brushed my hand through my salt-and-pepper hair, as if to draw his attention to the idea because it was inevitable. Time stood still for no one, but did our age difference matter to him?

From what I could guess, Sawyer was in his mid-thirties, at least fifteen years younger than me. Was I the old fart who would be too boring for the sexy guy sitting across the table from me munching on a glazed donut.

Sawyer had so much life yet to live. Was I an old fool by thinking I had a shot with him? Was I too set in my ways that I couldn’t change? Was it too late for me to have a younger lover and keep him satisfied so he didn’t leave me behind?

“Oh, come on. You’re sexy as fuck, and I’m lucky you give me any attention at all. Now, let’s get something straight. I don’t want you to see anyone else, Fitz. I think if we give this a chance, we’ll find we have a lot in common. I don’t mean to be a prick, but I’m selfish. If you don’t want it to be just the two of us, please tell me.”

Sawyer wound his long hair around his wrist before he pulled an elastic from his pocket and twisted his hair on top of his head. His beautiful grassy-green eyes seemed to stare into my soul.

I cleared my throat, letting his words soak into me. Finally, I nodded. “I expect the same, Sawyer. I think… I wanna see where this goes. There’s something here that I’ve been lookin’—”

The sexy man stood, took two steps closer, and pulled me out of my seat and into his arms. “That’s the best thing I’ve heard in a long time. Yes, Fitz. I want that, too.”

Our lips met, and my heart floated out of my chest and into Sawyer’s, where it would remain for the rest of my life. It was the most remarkable feeling in the world.

“This looks a little shady.” That was the kindest thing I could say about the house I was staring at.

“Hey! This is where I grew up, well mostly.” The snap in TJ’s voice let me know I’d hit a nerve.

Hell, I was being honest, but as I stared at the small house, I wondered if there was anyone taking care of the old man. TJ had told us his grandfather was seventy-eight, and his caretaker was in her fifties. Surely, she could have hired someone to do some work outside the place.

“TJ, did you let your grandfather’s caretaker know we were coming?” I had a bad feeling. As I took in the quiet little bungalow, the hairs rose on the back of my neck.

“I left her a message that we were coming. She didn’t call back, but she’s loyal to my grandfather, Fitz.” His voice waivered, and his fingers headed to his mouth, which was a tell that he wasn’t sure about the woman.

“You two stay here. I’ll go knock on the door.” Sawyer unbuckled his seat belt, but I touched his arm to stop him.

“Do you have—” I held my thumb and finger out to imitate a gun. I didn’t give a fuck if he had a license or if his gun was legal. I didn’t want him ambushed, and in my gut, I was pretty sure that was what might happen.

He opened his leather jacket to show me the stock of a Glock 19 tucked into the inside pocket. “I’ll be fine.”

I reached over and pulled his shirt open to see he wasn’t wearing a Kevlar vest. I was.

“No. I’ll go.” I showed my vest to him under my shirt. “I’ll be fine. Stay here.”

Sawyer looked ready to protest, but I reached up and clamped his lips, winking at him. “I’m not joking, Sawyer. I’ll be right back.”

I stepped out of his pickup that we’d driven to Mesquite. Mine was parked at the Cowboys’ clubhouse, where I was promised it was in good hands.

We had driven to East Adkisson to pick up TJ, and then we’d hit the road to get his grandfather, with Sawyer holding my hand the whole way. Now we were in front of Mr. Middleton’s house, and my stomach was in knots.

I walked around to the driver’s side of the truck, and Sawyer rolled down the window. “When I knock, who else might be in there?” I motioned for him to ask TJ.

Sawyer turned to the back seat where the kid sat, his leg nervously bouncing, though he said nothing.

“You know that car?” Sawyer pointed to a silver Chevy Malibu that was old and rusty.

“That’s Rosemary’s car.” TJ didn’t look Sawyer in the eye, so I checked my gun. We had no information on Rosemary, and I wasn’t taking any chances.

“What about that one?” I pointed down the street to a hunter green Range Rover parked at the end of the cul-de-sac. No way did it fit into the neighborhood. The homes were modest and many in ill-repair. That SUV could have paid for two of them on the cul-de-sac.

I pulled my bounty hunter badge from my back pocket and slipped it around my neck. “You got any papers I can use to act like I’m serving a warrant if someone answers the door?”

Sawyer opened the console and pulled out a bunch of service receipts for his truck. “How’s this?”

I nodded. “Stay here and keep TJ with you. Once I know Rosemary and Grandpa are the only people in the house, I’ll motion for you. Back up the truck and park on the street.”

Thankfully, Sawyer nodded. “Be careful, Fitz. You and I are on the brink of something. Don’t leave me hanging.”

I touched his cheek, hoping he could see that I meant what I was about to say. “I’d never do that to you.” I leaned into the truck and kissed him before grabbing the papers from his hand.

Sawyer backed out of the driveway and up the block as I’d asked so he could be out of sight. I approached the door, my eyes shifting to the curtains on each side to see if anyone moved them to check who was knocking, and I pounded on the door.

When there was no flutter or answer, I took a deep breath, tried the doorknob, and when it wouldn’t give, I lifted my booted foot and forced it.

The hoarse cries of “ Help! Help me! ” from the back of the house startled me, so I hurried through the front room and down the hall, stepping through the bedroom door to see what was going on.

When I glanced around the small, dark room with blackout curtains over the lone window, I found an old man tied to a twin bed.

There were tear tracks across his temples, though he wasn’t moving. I touched his neck, hoping for a pulse. Suddenly, his eyes popped open and he whispered, “Are you going to kill me like you killed Rosemary?” I flinched at the sound of his scratchy voice.

“Mr. Middleton? I’m Fitz Morgan, a friend of TJ’s. Are you okay?”

“Where is TJ? Please don’t hurt him. Why are you looking for my grandson?” The old man struggled against the ropes.

I touched his arm, hoping to offer him some comfort. “TJ is safe, Mr. Middleton.”

I quickly retrieved my pocketknife and cut the old man loose from the bed before calling Sawyer. “Yeah, babe.” I believed it was safe for them to come inside.

“I’ve got Mr. Middleton. Bring TJ when you come in. His grandfather is scared to death.”

“On our way.” Sawyer ended the call.

I helped Mr. Middleton sit up. “Are you okay? Do you need some water or anything?”

The old man whimpered as I steadied him while putting his feet on the floor. I gave him a good look-over for signs of injuries, seeing red marks on his wrists and ankles where the ropes had bit into his skin. There was a red handprint on his left cheek, suggesting he’d been slapped.

When I got to his eyes, I was taken aback—the lenses were cloudy white, signaling glaucoma had taken his sight. “TJ’s on his way inside, Mr. Middleton. I’m a friend of his. Can you tell me what happened?”

“Poor Rosemary. Is she dead?” The old man pointed toward the hallway.

“I’ll go check.” I found the woman, Rosemary, on the kitchen floor in a puddle of blood, a gunshot wound in the middle of her chest.

There was a man nearby covered in blood with a gash in his neck. He was struggling to breathe, so I grabbed a kitchen towel and held it to his neck in an attempt to stem the flow of blood. “What happened?”

The man grabbed me, clutching my wrist where I held the towel. “ El pendejo tiene que pelear o el viejo se muere. Ellos vendrán por él… ”

His whispered words were Spanish, but not the Mexican Spanish I was more familiar with. I understood a few words—kid, fight, die. That was enough for me. I was sure it was a threat that if the kid didn’t fight, someone would die. Whether it was TJ or his grandfather wasn’t clear.

The bloody man’s body went slack, and I was able to pull free from his hand that clutched my wrist. There was a butcher knife next to him and a Beretta on the other side. I touched his neck, finding no pulse.

It wasn’t obvious who’d struck first because Rosemary’s wound might not have been a kill shot. She might have still been able to fight back for a moment before she bled out. Bottom line, they were both dead. At that point, did it really matter?

“What the fuck?” I turned to see Sawyer standing behind me with his mouth open.

“They’re both dead. Any idea who the guy is?”

Sawyer stared for a moment before nodding. “Yep. He’s a Viper King. See the coiled snake with the crown on his neck? That’s their patch. It’s a Dominican Club that’s started moving into this area. I’d guess he’s one of their enforcers, based on the fact he came here with a gun.

“They’re affiliated with the Scorpions now, or so I’ve heard through the grapevine. I have a feeling he came here to threaten the old man to get TJ to show up for the fight. I’m going to guess he didn’t realize Rosemary was a former Los Angeles cop.”

I stood from the body and saw the blood covering me. Surely, one of the neighbors heard the gunshot since there wasn’t a suppressor on the barrel of the Beretta. The cops were probably on the way.

“Get Grandpa and TJ out of here before the cops show up or someone comes looking for him.” I pointed to the dead man. “Someone had to hear the gunshot, and I touched him, so my prints are on him. I’m in the system as a bail recovery agent, so I’ll talk to the police and call after they’ve taken my statement.”

We walked into the hallway where TJ was leading his grandfather into the living room. “I don’t think the old man saw anything. He’s lost his sight.” Sawyer nodded and walked into the room, quietly explaining to TJ what was going on.

I studied the man, the president of an outlaw motorcycle club, who I was falling in love with. I was sure the scene in the kitchen wasn’t new to him because he’d likely seen much worse and, in some instances, had caused the destruction. What we’d walked into had to be explained to local law enforcement without getting Sawyer or the Cowboys involved.

Could I keep them out of it? I sure hoped to fuck I could.

“So, you just busted down the door when you arrived, Mr. Morgan?”

I met the police outside the house and explained that I was a friend of Rosemary Hayes from her days as a cop for LAPD. I said she’d left when she was diagnosed with breast cancer and that she’d taken a job as a caregiver for the elderly. That’s as much as TJ knew about her from the cursory background check Sawyer had their tech guy, Mouse, perform before she was hired. That was as much as TJ told me before he and Sawyer left with Grandpa.

“I heard someone calling for help inside, so I went to investigate. Surely, you’ve heard of exigent circumstances, officer. I believe it was the dead man. Nobody else was in there, and based on the hole in her chest, Rosemary was already gone.”

The officer, Gale West, nodded as he wrote down the half-assed information I gave him.

“Okay. Do you know the man in the kitchen?” Gale West lifted his eyebrow as if daring me to lie.

My answer was easy. “Nope. Never seen him before. Don’t know if Rosemary knew him, but she could have been dating him.”

“You think this was a lover’s spat?”

“Like I said, I have no idea. I was in this part of the state with a friend, and I thought I’d look her up while I was here. She lived next door to me when I was growing up.” Okay, that was a lie.

“Where’s your friend?” The cop looked around. I could see when he noticed the Range Rover at the end of the block.

“He’s in town for business. He dropped me off after I saw Rosemary’s car in the driveway. She’s had that thing forever.” I pointed to the old Malibu parked in front of the detached garage. It had Nevada plates, thankfully. If she hadn’t changed the plates from California, there’d be follow-up questions that I couldn’t answer truthfully.

A young cop came off the porch with a blood-soaked wallet in an evidence bag. “West, the male victim is Yoordie Baez. The address on his driver’s license is listed as 721 South Indian Hills Drive, St. George, Utah. That’s in the resort area. I grew up in St. George.”

St. George was a nature-lover’s paradise. Snow skiing, hiking, rock climbing. Based on the club tat on the guy’s neck, he wasn’t a Utah native.

“Get a background check on him and, uh, this guy. Mr. J. Fitzgerald Morgan.” He handed the young cop my driver’s license, my bail enforcement agent’s license, and my concealed carry permit. He’d already bagged my Glock 22 to check ballistics to ensure I hadn’t shot Rosemary.

“Whose house is this?” West pointed to the little bungalow.

“I’m gonna guess it belongs to Rosemary’s client. He’s an older blind man she takes care of. He wasn’t here when I went inside.”

“Did she live in?” the cop asked.

I guessed she did if Mr. Middleton was blind, but I had no idea. “Not sure. She told me to meet her here when we last spoke.”

“Can I see your phone?”

Ah, the guy was cocky, and I believed he could tell I was lying. I reached into my back pocket and pulled my cell out. “Sure—when you show me your warrant.” I offered a smirk. I wasn’t stupid.

The young cop returned, holding out a tablet. He handed me my license and other paperwork. “Thanks for your service, Mr. Morgan.” The kid turned and hurried away.

“John Fitzgerald Morgan.” He recited my military service, my marshal’s experience, my New York private investigator information, and finally, my bail recovery registration data.

“Just licensed, huh? Why’d you leave New York?” He was phishing for information I had no desire to give.

“Didn’t like the weather. Look, you’ve got my info, and you know where I work, so call me when I can pick up my weapon. I’ll answer any additional questions you have then, but I’ve told you everything I know as of this moment.”

The cop nodded and handed me a receipt for my gun. “I’ll be in touch.” I had no doubt.

Now, I just had to figure out how to get back to Vegas…