Page 81 of Gotta Dig Deep
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Blackie
“Myron, brother. What’s got you up so late? Mouse not pullin’ your ass to bed yet?” Blackie stifled a yawn as he reached for his pants and stepped into them one-handed. A glance at the bed showed Peaches sprawled on her side, sleeping, arms and legs curled into her torso, in the same position she’d been after he’d cleaned her up following their epic lovemaking. Late pregnancy revved her engines, and he was always on call to keep his woman happy. The swollen walls of her stomach moved gently as their child stirred inside.
“I’ve got information, but Horse didn’t pick up.” Myron’s voice was clipped and brusque, not his normal jovial tone, which got Blackie’s full attention.
He pulled the door to the bedroom closed quietly behind him, hitching his yet-unfastened pants on his hips. “We had a big club meeting tonight, lasted a long time. Reckon he’s resting quiet next to his new lady. Give it to me, brother. I’ll take notes and pass it along.”
With the unrest in the area, the fact the Rebel technical wizard was calling meant the message was important.
“It’s about Nelms.” Myron’s voice went rigid with tension, the words falling into the air with an impact like a depth charge. “I’ve cracked the final section of the code in his notebook finally.”
The serial killer masquerading as a bull rider had been the subject of a lingering inquiry. After the asshole had been eliminated, his men and the Rebels had been searching through the information left behind to try and bring closure to families. So far there’d been more than twenty body recoveries, the remains returned to still grief-stricken parents and siblings. It had been a dance of delicate choreography to get just enough information to their law-abiding contacts to stir the waters with a desire to look—but without drawing attention to the fact the killer was done and dusted, covered over by years of wind-driven sand.
“That’s good news, My.” Blackie propped the phone against his shoulder and used both hands to secure his pants, leaving the belt hanging open. “Means maybe we can finally put an end to this whole shitty thing, yeah?”
“Maybe. Depends on if I’m right about this. I hope so.”
“Hit me, brother. Let’s do a mind meld or whatever that shit’s called.” Blackie glanced at the clock and decided it was late enough for coffee. Randi would be up in an hour, and there’d be no sleep for him after. Hands working on automatic, he set the pot to humming, anticipating that moment when the scent of burnt beans would fill the air.
He realized Myron hadn’t responded and paused, his focus on the phone now. The man’s breathing was quick and labored, sounding pained.
“Myron, what’d you find out?”
“There’s a complication. Someone else has been researching the same killings. Of the ones I’ve identified, half have been found already. It’s like they’re working on things from the missing persons reports, but they seem to have found a commonality that ties them to Nelms. But, without finding Nelms.”
“That’s good news, right? Less work for us, less chance of exposure.” He shrugged. “I’m not seeing the problem.”
“If they found the dead girls with nothing more than public information, and plotted out the pattern from that, there’s nothing to keep them from following the ones we’ve already helped solve. It’s not a far jump to think they’d then turn their attention to how those others were resolved. It might be an exposure for the clubs, Blackie.” Myron huffed out a heavy sigh. “I don’t think I’m over stating the danger either. Whoever this is has to be wicked smart. And they’re covering their tracks like we’ve done. Means they’re likely not on the law side of things.”
“Is there anything we can do about it right now? Should this be a wait-and-see thing, until we know more?” Blackie stilled his restless feet, realizing he’d been pacing through the kitchen. “I don’t see a path forward for us yet. Do you?”
“No, and that’s what worries me. I see the pattern, but I don’t see the origin.”
“Yet.” Blackie infused certainty in his voice. “Not yet, My. If I were a betting man—and we both know I am—I’d bet you’ve been up all night wrestling with this. What you need to do is shut it all down now and take your ass to bed. Sleep with the knowledge you wrecked Nelms’ last attempt at control from beyond the grave. You wrecked his ass, man. Proud of that shit.” He smiled. “Bet Mason will be proud of it too. But you’re going to hit the hay before you make that fuckin’ call. Let me have a few hours of this before we bother the man, yeah? I’ll hit Horse up in a bit, turn his brain on and let him stew. Let’s plan on a conference call tomorrow. Give everyone a chance to noodle on it.”
“Yeah, okay. Sleep sounds good.” Myron yawned and Blackie grinned wider. “Thanks, Blackie.”
“No worries, brother. You’re the smartest man I know, but shit at takin’ care of yourself. Get to bed.”
“Yeah. I’ll do that.”
Blackie disconnected the call and placed the phone face down on the counter. He propped both hands against the edge, head hanging low as he closed his eyes.
He was still lost in thought when two hands crept around his waist, and a warm weight settled against his back.
“Peaches, darlin’. You were sleepin’.”
“And now I’m awake, smelling coffee I can’t drink.” Her body moved against his, belly thrusting against his ass in a way that made him laugh. “Think we can work in another round before Randi gets up?”
He turned in her arms, wrapping his around her back, pulling her close enough to kiss. Tongues tangling slowly, he registered the flavor of mint and smiled against her lips. “Momma want some lovin’? I’m down for that.”
Scooping her into his arms, he made his way back to their bedroom, kicking the door closed behind them.
The sound of Peaches’ laughter covered the buzzing of his silenced phone against the kitchen counter.
Fini