Page 17

CHAPTER 17

Teller sat behind the wheel of the rental car, hesitant to shut off the engine but knowing he had to. They’d arrived just after dark in a beat-up clunker Ingram had secured for the operation. The body looked like hell, but the engine, tires and suspension would get them wherever they wanted to go.

He had parked at an angle from the entrance, far enough back they wouldn’t draw attention, but close enough to see every man entering. Prepared to wait, they could be there for an hour, two, or maybe more. He sighed and turned off the engine. “Rogue 2 in position,” he said into his mic.

“Roger,” Johnson replied. “Rogue 1 in place.”

“Roger,” Teller said.

Sachie glanced his way, touching a hand to her ear where they’d equipped her with a radio earbud. She looked pretty badass all in black with her blond hair tucked up in a black and gray do-rag and heavy eyeliner ringing her eyes. However, looks weren’t everything. She didn’t have the body mass and combat training the rest of his team had acquired over their years in special operations.

“I don’t feel good about this plan,” Teller admitted.

“I’m not feeling all warm and fuzzy myself.” Sachie reached across the console for Teller’s hand. “But we’re not going into the bar, as was the original plan. After I identify Travis, we can leave and let your guys wait for him to leave, follow him to a more secure location, grab him and take him down to the police station. They can question him and get his confession as the arsonist who burned down my office on the Big Island and everything else he’s done as my stalker.”

“And if he denies all of it?” Teller asked.

“At least he’s off the street and will be sent back to jail for violating his parole,” Sachie said. “He can’t hurt Candice anymore.”

“Until he’s released on parole again,” Teller said.

“Hopefully, that won’t be for a long time.” Sachie’s lips thinned. “And if he isn’t my stalker, we’ve eliminated one suspect.”

Teller stared at the entrance to the Leather & Chains bar, wondering if the dull yellow bulb hanging over the door would shed enough light to allow Sachie to pick Travis out of the other patrons who might stop in for a drink. Hell, they weren’t even sure Travis would appear that night. His team might be wasting their time and risking their lives for nothing.

“You know, if I were on the run from the law, I wouldn’t show my face in any public place,” Sachie said. “What if Travis doesn’t show up tonight?”

Teller shrugged. “Then we find a different hotel and get some rest.”

“Are you sure your guys will be okay inside that place?” A frown creased Sachie’s forehead. “I’d hate for them to get hurt on my account.”

When Teller and Sachie had met with Ingram, Bennet, Atkins and Johnson, they’d discussed the plan, agreeing that Sachie shouldn’t go into the bar, but stay in the car, identify Travis and leave. George Ingram, one of the largest men on the Brotherhood Protectors Hawaii team at six feet four inches, had insisted on going into the bar. Reid Bennet had accompanied him.

The two inside men had dressed in black jeans, leather vests, army boots and do-rags. Neither man had shaved that day and sported thick stubble on their chins. They’d gone to a tattoo parlor to have temporary tattoos airbrushed on their arms, chests and necks. Their broad chests and thick biceps would be enough to make club members think twice about fucking with them. At least, Teller hoped their disguises would do the trick.

“If they get hurt, it wouldn’t be your fault,” Teller assured Sachie.

“I know,” she said, waving a hand. “I won’t have pulled the trigger or thrown the punch, but it’s because of me that you and your team are here.”

“We’re here because this is what we do.” Teller’s fingers tightened around hers. “We protect people.”

“But how many of your guys does it take to protect one woman?” Sachie asked. “And how is infiltrating a biker bar protecting me? To me, it seems like overkill, or maybe I’m pushing too hard for too much.”

Teller raised her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles. “We’ll be all right as long as we get you out of here unscathed.” Her safety was his number one priority. If that meant losing Travis, so be it.

Five tricked-out motorcycles roared into the parking lot. Three of the five had long ape-hanger handlebars. The other two had black and red flames painted across their fuel tanks. Their riders lined up in front of the building and dismounted. Two of the five men had goatee beards. They all had tattoos from the tips of their fingers up their arms and across their necks. None wore helmets, and they all looked as if they chewed nails for fun.

As far as Teller could see, they weren’t packing handguns but were probably armed with some lethal knives. The backs of their leather vests had BANDIDOS written in bold letters.

Sachie stared at the group through the mini binoculars Ingram had brought along with the communications equipment and an assortment of weapons, including sheathed knives, switchblades, stun guns and mace.

Sachie lowered the binoculars. “None of them are Travis.”

Teller tapped the mic on his headset. “Five Bandidos entering. No bogey.”

“Roger,” Ingram responded softly.

“Any problems yet?” Teller asked.

“Not so far,” Ingram said. “The place was pretty empty when we arrived.”

Rex Johnson and Logan Atkins arrived in a truck and parked at the opposite end of the building from Teller’s position.

“Rogue 3 in position,” Johnson said into their headsets.

“Roger,” Johnson replied.

Twenty minutes passed before two bikers arrived on Harleys with DEVILS brEED embroidered across the backs of their vests.

“They like announcing their affiliation, don’t they?” Sachie murmured. “Not Travis.”

The bikers entered the bar.

As the hour grew later, bikers came and went, more coming than leaving. So far, according to Sachie, not one of them was Travis Finkel.

“I feel like we’re wasting time here,” Sachie said. “The man is a parole violator. Surely, even he isn’t dumb enough to show up somewhere public.”

“Given his criminal record, I wouldn’t consider him one of the brightest,” Teller said. “It won’t hurt us to stay until the place closes. He might choose to come later to avoid the main crowd of bikers.”

Sachie nodded and lifted her binoculars to her eyes as a single motorcycle pulled into the parking lot. This bike was different from the others as it was shiny with no distinguishing artwork. Most of the bikers had added saddlebags, fancy handlebars, art or stickers to their rides. Not this one.

“That’s a Harley Davidson, and it has a just-driven-off-the-lot look to it,” Teller commented.

Sachie tensed beside him, her gaze fixed on the man dismounting. He was one of a handful of men wearing helmets that night. The helmet was black with a dark visor shielding his face. Dressed in faded jeans and a black leather vest with a Harley Davidson logo emblazoned across the back, the man unbuckled the helmet and pulled it off.

Sachie gasped. “That’s him.”

Teller’s eyes narrowed as he studied the biker. “You’re sure?”

She nodded. “It’s those thick eyebrows. I remember thinking he looked like Javier Bardem, the guy from that movie where he had that awful haircut...”

“ No Country for Old Men ,” Teller studied the man. He did resemble the actor who’d won an Oscar for that part. “The Bogey has landed,” Teller said into his mic. “Big guy looks like Javier Bardem.”

“The guy with the bad hair in No Country for Old Men ?” Ingram clarified.

“You got it,” Teller confirmed.

“We’ll take it from here,” Ingram said. “Get out of here.”

“Roger,” Teller said.

Before he could start the engine, a dozen motorcycles streamed into the already full parking lot.

As they parked wherever they could, they surrounded the car where Teller and Sachie watched and waited.

Teller sank into his seat, his hand on the ignition switch, ready to set the engine in motion should any trouble erupt.

One of the men who’d parked near the front of the building slipped off his bike and turned his face enough that Teller could see the bruised cheekbone of one of the men who’d attacked him in the hotel. “Shit,” he whispered. “The guy by my door is one I fought with at the hotel.”

Sachie ducked low in her seat as a man strode past her door. She drew in a sharp breath. “That’s the guy I hit with the lamp.”

Teller didn’t dare turn on the engine and draw attention to them. Not until the group of bikers entered the building.

On the backs of their leather vests were the words PELE MAKA.

“Pele Maka,” Teller whispered. “Is that Hawaiian for something?”

“Yes,” Sachie said. “Pele is the goddess of fire and volcanoes. Maka is the word for eye.” She leaned forward, her gaze on a young man climbing off a small motorcycle that looked more like a racing bike or what Teller would have called a “crotch rocket.”

The guy’s face and the way he wore his hair were familiar.

“Isn’t that—” Sachie frowned .

“—the guy who stole your purse,” Teller said through clenched teeth. “He didn’t stay in jail long.”

“The kid with him...” Sachie sucked in a sharp breath, and her face blanched. “Luke,” she said, barely above a whisper.

Before Teller knew what was happening, Sachie flung open her door, lunged out of the car and raced for the kid.

“Sachie, no!” Teller cried out. He shoved open his door and leaped out of the car, too late to stop her from following the kid into the building.

Teller’s cry had the eight remaining bikers still standing in the parking lot turning toward him.

The man with the bruised cheek pointed at Teller and yelled, “Get the bastard!”

Teller ran for the entrance to the bar, desperate to get to Sachie. He only made it ten feet before the bikers closed ranks around him. A man stepped in front of him and shoved him backward.

Another shoved him from behind, sending him toward the guy with the bruised cheek.

Outnumbered eight to one, Teller would have to fight his way through them to get to Sachie. He balled his fists and came out swinging .

The nightmares, the hallucinations and the shadowy sightings of a dead teenager had rushed over Sachie when she’d spotted Luke.

She was out of the car and bursting through the door of the Leather & Chains bar before logic kicked in and slowed her steps.

Luke was dead. The young man she’d seen in the parking lot and followed into the bar couldn’t be Luke.

Then she saw him again. The thief who’d taken her purse was shoving the Luke look-alike toward a hallway near the rear of the bar.

Sachie lowered her head and weaved her way through burly bikers smelling of leather, booze and cigarette smoke. She had to know the truth. Who was this kid who looked so much like Luke?

“Hey, chickie, where ya goin’ in such a hurry?” A man grabbed her arm. “Stick around. Let me buy you a drink.”

She forced a smile and shook her head. “Sorry. Gotta pee. Maybe after?”

“Countin’ on it,” he said and released her arm. “Don’t make me come lookin’ for you.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Sachie hurried toward the hallway where the kid and the thief had disappeared. She’d just entered the dark corridor when the thief stepped out of the men’s restroom and blocked her path, a sneer pulling his lip up on one side. “I got a grand waiting for me out the back door. All I gotta do is deliver, and bitch, you’re making it too easy.”

The thief gripped her shoulders.

On instinct, Sachie slammed her palm into his nose.

His hands on her arms loosened enough that Sachie knocked them away, and she ducked around his side.

She’d only gone two steps when he snagged her do-rag, and the hair beneath it, and yanked her to a halt so fast, she fell backward into him, knocking him flat on his back.

Sachie rolled to the side, scrambled to her feet and ran into another set of arms. When she looked up into the face of her captor, all the air left her lungs. “Luke.”

“No,” said the teen with the dark curly hair and green eyes that looked just like Luke’s. “I’m Mark.”

“Oh, my God,” she said. “You’re the twin.”

The thief rose to his feet. “Good. You caught her. I’ll take her from here.”

Mark pushed Sachie behind him. “Can’t let you do that.”

The thief’s eyes narrowed. “Should have known you’d double-cross me. Think you’re going to get that thousand all for yourself, then you better think again.” The thief launched himself at Mark like a linebacker going in for a tackle.

The teen stepped to the side at the last second and shoved the thief into the wall, headfirst.

The thief sank to his knees and fell onto his side.

Mark hooked Sachie’s arm. “You need to get out of here. The Pele Maka are after you.” As he turned her back toward the bar, the rear exit door opened.

A man dressed in black jeans and a black leather jacket stepped through. “Mark, Miss Moore? What are you doing here?”

Sachie blinked. “Officer Roland?”

“Yes, it’s me,” he said, a frown denting his forehead. “This isn’t a safe place for you two.”

A loud crash sounded from the barroom, and shouts echoed off the rafters.

Roland glanced over their heads. “All hell is breaking loose out front. You can’t go that way. If you come with me now, I can get you out the back.” He waved them toward him.

The shouting became a roar from the barroom.

Sachie had to get out of the building and back around to the front where Teller and his team were.

Two bikers, locked in each other’s arms, bounced off a wall and into the corridor, landing on top of the unconscious thief .

Sachie leaped out of the way and ran toward the rear exit, with Mark behind her.

As soon as they were through the door, Roland followed, pulling the door closed behind him.

Outside, the shouts from within were muffled. But more shouts sounded from the other side of the building.

Officer Roland ran to a nondescript dark sedan and yanked open the back door. “Quick, get into my service vehicle and duck low. You don’t want the gang members to see you. You have a price on your head.”

As Sachie bent to climb in, Mark grabbed her arm and yanked her back. “Don’t.”

“But they’ll see me.” Sachie tugged on her arm, but Mark wouldn’t let go. “I need to get back to my car.”

“Hurry, Sachie,” Roland said, standing on the other side of the door, ready to close it as soon as they got inside. “Get in. I’ll get you there.” He started to go around the door.

Mark stepped between Sachie and Roland. “Don’t go with him.”

Sachie laid a hand on Mark’s arm. “You heard the officer, I have a price on my head.”

“Mark, think before you speak.” Roland’s voice had changed from desperately helpful to stern and menacing .

Mark stared into Roland’s eyes. “Ms. Moore, you have a price on your head because he put it there.”

“I warned you. Now, you and the girl will pay.” Roland pulled a gun out of his pocket and aimed it at Mark.

Sachie shoved the open car door as hard as she could, hitting Roland’s arm as he pulled the trigger.

A loud bang sounded.

Mark jerked sideways and fell to the ground.

“No!” Sachie dropped down beside the teen.

Before she could check for a pulse, she was lifted off the ground and flung into the backseat of the car.

She fought and kicked, landing a foot in Roland’s face.

As he reeled backward, cursing, Sachie lunged out of the car.

Roland’s arm shot out, catching her around the middle. He pulled her back against his chest and pressed his handgun to her temple. “Stop moving or I’ll shoot.”