Page 1 of Riding the Line (Steel Saints MC #1)

The sun was barely up, and I was chasing a cracked-out-of-his-mind Santa-looking dude who shouldn’t be able to move this fast. He absolutely reeked—like moldy cheese and cheap alcohol.

The smell still burns in my nose from when I first confronted him, and he took off like a rocket.

Now, he tore through the streets of Charleston, and I was right behind him, wondering what the heck the guy was on. He skidded to a stop, and I did too.

“I just want the bag!” I yelled at him, hoping he’d toss it down or stay put. But no such luck. He took off again. “Dang it! Give me the bag! I don’t care about you!” Harsh, I know. But true. Surely, the guy would run out of juice eventually—he had to.

We got to a back alley intersection. Debating which way to go, he paused.

I picked up speed. Dirty Santa seemed to have made a decision.

But before he could act on it, a black blur came from the alley to his left and tackled him to the ground.

The guy howled pitifully and squirmed on the ground, trying to make his escape.

My partner smirked at me. “You owe me ten bucks. Told ya he would run.”

I rolled my eyes. “Fuck off, Shelly, I almost had him anyway.”

Her grin widened. “You sound out of breath there, Katie.”

I flipped her the bird and returned my attention to Dirty Santa. His eyes were squeezed shut, like he was trying to will us away.

“Look, dude, I was being honest. I really don’t care about whatever you’re on. Not my district, not my problem. I just need that bag.” I pointed to the bright pink My Little Pony bag he clutched to his chest.

He opened one bleary eye and looked me up and down. Shelly let go of him, backing away slowly. Dirty Santa, however, seemed content to stay down. She tried a gentler tone on him, which was ironic since the guy would soon be sporting bruises from her takedown.

“Come on, big guy. That bag isn’t your style anyway, right? How about you give us the bag, and we just go our separate ways?”

He seemed to consider this. Still, he said nothing. I was starting to wonder if Dirty Santa even speaks English. Suddenly, he threw the bag at us and took off down the alley.

Back at the squad car, we carefully placed it in an evidence bag. My heart squeezed painfully on seeing the childish scrawl on the back. Annie .

Shelly noticed it, too, and asked softly, “Think it’ll be the big break?”

I answered honestly, “No, but we’ve gotta try.”

Every single time we thought we’d caught a break on this godforsaken case, we were just led to another dead end. It was beginning to feel like running face-first into a wall, expecting it to be Platform 9 ?, except, in this world, magic didn’t exist, and sometimes little girls didn’t make it home.

Anastasia Little disappeared three days ago from her backyard.

She was the fifth girl to have gone missing.

Five empty bedrooms. Five broken families.

Five “Have You Seen This Child?” posters.

I hated it. I hated this feeling of powerlessness.

We’d got absolutely nothing. We’d turned every stone, been around every corner, and been left empty-handed.

Kids don’t just disappear. Annie had this backpack with her when she was reported missing.

While it would be nice to find something on it, I had a sinking feeling we’d be left with exactly what we had before—a big freaking pile of nothing.

Back at the station, Shelly headed to the lab, and I headed to our war room.

Each girl’s picture stared at me, details of their kidnappings listed carefully below.

Everything was perfect—my own careful handwriting and deliberate organization just how I liked it.

Shelly knew I was a stickler for that stuff.

But just then, all the organization in the world wasn’t doing us a bit of good.

A knock came at the door, and I turned to see Officer Stanton with three coffees peeking in. I waved him in, and he passed one to me.

“Anything new, Detective McGrady?”

I sipped my coffee and shook my head.

He frowned. “Anything I can do?”

I side-eyed him; he has a crush on Shelly and would scale the side of the Eiffel Tower if she asked him to.

“Detective Vaughn is down at evidence; she’ll be back up in a bit.”

He blushed crimson, and I went back to staring at the board.

I wasn’t trying to be a bitch. Really, I wasn’t.

But just then, I was tired and grimy from my unplanned morning run, and I didn’t have the time or energy to play Cupid.

Still, I sighed and said, “I’m sorry, it’s been a rough morning.

Thanks for the coffee; we’ll let you know if we need anything else. ”

He nodded and swiftly left the room.

A few minutes later, I grabbed the coffee Stanton left behind. Shelly was already back at our desk, and I joined her. I prayed to whatever god was in charge of this mess for the lab to come back with literally anything at that point. A speck of dirt, partial print, a hair. Anything.

“Did you tell them to rush it?” I asked, sliding the cup to her.

She nodded. “Let’s go over this again.”

For the next four hours, she and I pore over everything we’ve gathered over the past three months.

Kelly MacIntyre, like Anastasia, was taken from her yard. Kelly didn’t live with her parents, but with an aunt who had sobbed on my shoulder while I made promises I wasn’t sure I could keep.

Mia Huntington was grabbed off her bike in a local park—a blue bike with the training wheels still on it. The tinsel hanging from the bars. The little bell that tinkled in the wind. It haunted my dreams.

Gabriella Santiago had been walking to an ice cream shop down the street with her big brother.

Cookies and cream was her favorite flavor.

He had gone to the bathroom while waiting for their order.

When he came out, she was gone. After calling for and not getting an answer, he ran the whole way home.

Then there was sweet Ruby Johnson, the girl who started it all. Her mother was a hollow shell, her father doing everything he could to keep his wife from drowning in sorrow, while he himself searched tirelessly for her.

They’d been grabbing two girls a month, which meant they would be taking another any day now—and I’d do just about anything to prevent it.

Four hours of reliving every detail did nothing except make my heart ache, so we broke for a late lunch.

Shelly ordered from a local Chinese place.

I was completely lost in thought, almost hypnotized by the fluorescent lights and buzzing from the nearby hallway vending machines, until she cleared her throat pointedly and gestured behind me with a nod.

I gave her a questioning frown, and dropped my boots from my desk, before turning around in my chair and coming face to face with Lieutenant Hartwell. Well, more like face to chest.

“Afternoon, sir.”

My lieutenant had been in homicide for longer than I’d been a cop, and he looked it.

Built like a linebacker with more grey hairs than he should have at his age, and a permanent frown on his lined face, Lieutenant Jason Hartwell played hardball and took cases without progression personally.

Unfortunately, this was just such a case.

Gosh freaking dang it, and I got caught with my boots on my desk.

Literally. This was going to be a fun conversation.

“Detective McGrady, Detective Rameriz—enjoying your break?” He spat the last word like it left a bad taste.

What would he have us do? Starve? I keep that thought to myself.

“Would you like us to order you something?” Shelly offered with a self-deprecating smile, and he turned his frown on her.

I tried to appease him. “Sir, we’ve been working on the case all morning. We found the backpack, and—”

He leaned past me and riffled through the files scattered on my desk. “And what? Has the lab come back yet?”

I swallowed the anger that came with being interrupted, and Shelly shook her head at me, a silent warning not to say something smart. I gritted my teeth. “No, sir, the lab hasn’t gotten back to us yet. We’ll find something; I know we will.”

Shelly and I were two of his best detectives, despite also being the youngest.

But he shook his head. “No, you won’t. Not like this.”

He had this look in his eye that I’d never seen before, and it put me on edge. Shelly and I exchanged a glance. He started to leave, then looked over his shoulder at me with a frown. “You coming, McGrady?”

I stood quickly and hurried after him. As he walked out the door, I turned and walked backward, mouthing to my partner, “What is happening?” She shrugged and mouthed back, “Good luck!”

Gee, thanks, pal.

As I followed Hartwell to his office, my mind was racing.

Was I getting fired? Demoted? Reassigned to a unit in Alaska?

Mailed to Alaska in a box? Hartwell gave me no clues.

One of his strides was about three of mine, and I was nearly running to keep up.

I hate running. Especially twice in one day.

I puffed in irritation and nearly ran smack into him as he abruptly stopped outside his door.

“You keep your mouth shut. No smart shit. No spouting off. You stand there, you listen, you speak when spoken to.”

I smiled sweetly and said, “Absolutely.” He glared at me, probably doubting my ability to be good. Which was fair, usually, but he’d got my curiosity piqued, so I decided to play nice. For the time being.

He swung the door open and went to stand behind his desk. “Folks, this is Detective McGrady. She’s the one I spoke to you about.”

It was then that I noticed the four or five other people jammed in the room, and I froze halfway through the door. What in the actual fuck was going on? I looked over each of them, my eyes landing on the FBI jackets and badges, before turning my gaze back to Hartwell.