Cowboy Bikers MC Lawmen by Esther E. Schmidt
CHAPTER ELEVEN
– FRANKIE –
The room is dark except for the dim light of the lamp beside me. I’m curled up in a chair in the corner of Atticus’ room. It’s close to three AM and I couldn’t sleep. Atticus is still in bed and when I glance over my father’s notebook I’m going through, I can see the sheets are still draped low over his waist.
We ended up in bed about two hours ago after a very long meeting in church. There wasn’t much evidence to go by in my house and I’m frustrated enough to admit they did find Saul’s fingerprints. The frustrating part being they were on places where he could explain to court how they got there when he was visiting me a few days ago.
There weren’t any other fingerprints or DNA except for my own and Atticus’. The meeting in church wasn’t overflowing with new information either. There’s still no trace of Saul and the MC issued an APB, a general alert that Saul is wanted in connection with a crime.
Atticus put his crime analyst, along with an intelligence analyst, and a computer expert on diving into Saul. They gave us a rundown of what they found and they’re still at it. He appears to be an upstanding citizen without a speck of dirt on him.
He has a wife who has a seven-year-old kid and he’s been married to her for three years and they’ve been together for five. The kid is not his but you wouldn’t notice; he treats him as his own.
This has also been bugging me. I’ve known the man for years and never noticed or so much as suspected anything. Yet now? The more information I read the more my gut instinct tells me this is the RedBorder killer along with his foster brother.
I’ve already asked the forensic pathologist to check the victim’s trachea, and stab wounds, hoping they notice a difference. For instance, if Saul did commit the murders along with his foster brother, Nic, would there be a difference in angle, strength, whatever if Saul murdered a victim after Nic died.
If Nic was the one who killed my father by crushing his trachea, would he have done it with all the victims? This means if he died and the victims still have a crushed trachea that it might show a difference if Saul would have to do everything himself instead of sharing the kill.
I feel like we’re running in circles, or at least running after the killer who has managed to keep doing what he’s been doing for years. Hell, with Saul’s parents included it might have been decades since these are the only kills that are tied to the RedBorder killer. Who knows if they killed others a hundred different ways; alone or together?
I huff out another frustrated breath and close the notebook. This isn’t helping any more than thinking about every aspect of the case. I close my eyes and lean my head against the chair, going over the times I was with my father when Saul came over.
Did he act out of place? Did my father suspect Saul? Maybe he connected Nic to the murders and discussed it with Saul? Maybe Nic’s truck could be placed at the scene of a crime or something. We found out my father did have a meeting with Jones because Atticus’ father, who was president at the time and Jones only mentioned it to him, confirmed it. My dad wanted to get the MC’s interest to work on the case together and that did lead to a snowball effect.
Shit. If my father suspected Nic, why wouldn’t there be a trail for us to find? Fuck. Right; Saul would have made sure it was gone. This is getting me nowhere and I try to shift my mind to force my thoughts to drift over options where Saul could be. He’s nowhere to be found and no one has any idea where he might be.
A few hours ago, they picked up his wife and questioned her about Saul. We were able to watch this interrogation. There was a live connection which allowed us to submit questions the agent could ask for us.
Turns out Saul wasn’t at home much. Being right in the middle of this case allows me to see Saul through different eyes and I’ve come to understand he’s a very different person than how he appears to be.
I’ll even go as far to say the man used his wife and her son as a front to put a scheme in place for the outside world. They’ve never been intimate for instance. His wife shared how Saul isn’t able to perform in the bedroom.
A stark contradiction to what the biker mentioned who was put on surveillance before he was knocked out and Saul slipped away from him. He took photos of Saul getting a blow job from a hooker in a well-lit alley.
Atticus groans and rolls onto his stomach. The Cowboy Bikers patch is inked all over his back. The bike, the cowboy, the horse, merged into one firm shield. We’ve spent a lot of time talking about a lot of things and one being his childhood. How horses, the ranch life, and bikes along with the way they uphold justice was carved into his bones. It’s edged in his DNA and it shows how he lives his life.
The MC he leads, the bike he rides skillfully, the horses he trains. I’m sure when the time comes and we have children of our own he will teach them the same thing. I let my mind drift off and softly tap my father’s notebook on my bare knee.
Saul’s parents lived on the water when they weren’t running their private clinic. It’s the reason they always took a vacation with their massive yacht. I’ve seen childhood pictures of Saul sailing in one of those tiny boats, competing. Which brings me back to Atticus and the way he was raised. I jolt up and the notebook falls from my hand onto the floor.
Atticus groans and mutters, “What’s up?”
“Nothing,” I tell him, wanting to let my thoughts ramble some more and maybe check some leads myself before sharing something that might be nothing anyway. “I’m going to get some water from the kitchen. Need anything?”
“No.” He sounds groggy and turns his head into the pillow.
I grab my robe, thankful Atticus made a few of his men pack my things and bring them to the clubhouse, and put it on before I head for the kitchen. I’m surprised to find Fisher with a large bowl of cereal in front of him.
His spoon freezes mid-way to his mouth and his eyebrow raises. “Why aren’t you sleeping?”
“I could ask you the same thing,” I accuse and stroll to the refrigerator to grab a bottle of water.
Releasing a deep sigh, I pop the lid and turn to walk back to my room but I stop near Fisher.
“Out with it,” he grumbles with a mouth full of cereal.
“Atticus was raised by a president, a rancher, the love of horses, and upholding justice runs through his veins, so he became all of that too, right?”
The spoon clatters back into the bowl as Fisher leans back in his chair. “Yeah?”
“I know Saul was raised by parents who loved to live on the water, sailing and that yacht was their life.”
A slow smile spreads Fisher’s face and he leans his forearms on the table. “You think the fucker owns a boat. Smart. Fucking brilliant. It also gives him a portable home and somewhere to go unnoticed.”
Fisher jumps from his chair. “We should check the marina.”
“Now?” I all but squeak.
The man shrugs. “Why not?”
“You’re not going anywhere. We have to look into this first because he doesn’t have one registered to his name or it would have popped up with the thorough check you guys did on him. Besides, if he did have one, he could be anywhere by now. Or maybe my thought is a fluke and he doesn’t have a boat or a yacht or whatever and it would be wasted efforts,” I tell him, stunned he would just jump the gun like that.
“Where are we going?” Atticus questions as he strolls into the kitchen.
Butt.
Naked.
“You’re not going anywhere and neither is he. Have you both lost your minds?” I growl. “You.” I point at Fisher. “Sit down and we’ll talk through everything first and grab a laptop to run a few checks. And you.” I whirl around to face Atticus. “Clothes are mandatory. No swinging your dick in front of anyone else other than me.”
A shit-eating grin slides across his face. “Yes, ma’am.”
He disappears into the hallway and I shake my head while I mutter, “I’m surrounded by idiots.”
Fisher chuckles. “Skillful idiots, but still idiots.”
I roll my eyes and finish my bottle of water. Atticus strolls back into the kitchen.
“Keep an eye on him so he doesn’t hightail out of here on his own to check every marina in the state and beyond. We have to see if there even is a possibility of Saul owning a boat.” Atticus nods and I pin my gaze on Fisher to make sure he stays put.
Fisher sighs. “You’re very strict when you have crazy eyes, you know that?”
I growl a little low in my throat and mutter, “I need more clothes so I can kick your ass.”
The frustrating man laughs as I leave the kitchen and head to my room to change. I quickly throw on some clothes, along with strapping my weapons to my body, and by the time I walk back into the kitchen–fully dressed and ready to go–I find them hovering over a laptop. The both of them have thoughtful looks in their eyes.
“Find anything?” I question.
Fisher doesn’t look up but grumbles, “All I could find is the fact that his parents’ yacht is still in his possession because it’s registered to his name. I don’t know why we didn’t flag it earlier, but it’s not in any marina and the latest invoice showed he arranged for it to be lifted out of the water.”
“Which means it’s stored somewhere,” I finish for him.
They both share a glance and Atticus snaps, “Check warehouses and rental space.”
“He has none,” Fisher muses and I can see how he’s scanning through Saul’s information.
“The wife?” I ask. “The wife’s brother? Her parents? Anyone he could have used to rent space or who has space. Wait. Her parents have a ranch thirty miles from here, right? He could have the yacht stashed in their barn or on their property.”
“Hang on,” Fisher mutters and his fingers fly over the laptop to pull up the address as he switches to a screen to type it in and give us a satellite vision.
“I’ll be damned,” Atticus whispers beside me before he clears his throat and orders, “Check the surroundings and give me every angle. I’m going to wake up some of the guys and we’re going in right now.”
He’s out of the kitchen and I’m left to blink a few times. Normally we have to plan everything and they just jump in blind?
Fisher must be reading me like an open book because he says, “We’re trained for this, Frankie. We drop everything and go into situations blind more often than a fully prepared SWAT team. We not only train for these situations but our brotherhood is stronger because we work together around the clock. A solid team where one or all of us can do this due to the other one having your back. No matter who it is, where we stand, what situation we’re in: we’re determined to let justice prevail no matter what. Lives of civilians are our first priority, our own second to that and in these particular situations? We make damn sure we have the right one when we go in so it doesn’t matter to us if he lives or dies, he’s guilty and is going down one way or another.”
“Such a stark contrast to taking a suspect into custody to let the justice system put everything into motion,” I mutter, more to myself than to anyone else.
“It works most of the times for most of the crimes until you hit a wall. We’re made to break down that fucking wall,” he simply says.
Doing everything by the book does hit walls every now and then and in a situation where a serial killer is slipping through our fingers? I’m not going to fuss about anything. I just hope to get this monster off the streets as soon as possible.
Voices rumble from the main room of the clubhouse and Fisher closes his laptop. “I texted the information into the group chat we have so everyone knows what’s about to go down. Let’s head for the others.”
I follow him out and see Atticus standing in the middle to debrief what looks like twelve men.
His head turns my way. “We have two brothers on their way to scope out the place. We’re leaving within five minutes. You ready?”
I give him a tight nod. “I already strapped on my weapons when I put on my clothes.”
“Didn’t expect anything less,” he returns with a grin.
We leave in three black, unmarked SUVs and head out. Leland is sitting beside me with a laptop on his lap, his fingers tapping buttons every now and then and the screen shows a visual of the ranch owned by Saul’s in-laws.
He touches the side of his ear. “Stay put. Yeah, fifteen minutes.” He glances up at Atticus who is behind the wheel. “No movement, no lights, no nothing. Looks like everyone is sleeping. They’re staying put till we get there and are now checking through the windows with heat sensors to make sure.”
He’s talking about the two bikers who Atticus sent to check out the ranch. I glance at my own watch and know the fifteen minutes till we arrive is pushing it because we’re in unmarked cars; no sirens. Atticus is driving fast and there’s no one on the road this time of night.
Fisher is giving orders through his earpiece. Leland is focused on his laptop and it seems he’s not paying attention to Fisher. He doesn’t have to because all of us are wearing a bulletproof vest except for Leland and it’s pretty sure he’s going to stay inside the SUV to give us a visual of what’s going on around us from behind his computer.
Everyone has his own task within this MC and I’ve come to realize over the time I’ve been with them this is where their strength lies. The dividing of tasks, the smooth system they have perfected over the years; in this moment I’ve never felt safer going into an unknown situation.
A healthy shot of adrenaline pumping through your body when you’re about to go in is normal, healthy even because it puts you on edge and keeps you sharp. Everyone hopes all goes smooth and we’ll be able to apprehend Saul if he’s indeed staying on the yacht that’s out of the water and located next to the house of his in-laws.
It’s a possibility it’s not him but the two bikers did do a heat scan and confirmed someone is inside the yacht and there are two people inside the house next to it. We have no clue if his in-laws are aware he’s staying on the yacht or not. Something we will deal with later when the dust settles and we have everyone in custody so we can question them.
The SUV comes to a stop and the other two park next to us. The men jump out and double check their gear before rushing off in pairs to surround the ranch. Both Atticus and Fisher flank me as we walk down a long path near the trees on the left side of the ranch.
There are large pastures with horses. The moon is shining bright, giving us the light we need but it’s also bright enough to be in favor of Saul if he’s up and sees us coming. It’s hard to notice but I’m aware of the men surrounding the ranch so I can clearly make out the black shadowy figures sliding into place.
“We can’t get a glimpse of him anymore with the heat sensor,” Leland says into my ear. “Doesn’t mean he isn’t still in there. The two in the house are still in bed, their visual is clear through the window.”
“He could go take a piss,” Fisher whispers. “There are only tiny windows in the yacht to use the thermal imaging. Can’t see through walls like that shit in the movies.”
Atticus snorts and we all fall silent until he snaps at all of us, “Movement on the deck.”
He’s right, there’s a figure moving quickly off the yacht.
“Go, go, go,” Atticus orders.
“Fuck, he’s jumping on a horse,” Yuma’s voice flows through the air. “I have a visual, it’s Saul. Advise, advise.”
“Don’t harm that fucking horse,” Fisher growls through my earpiece.
I have no time to think about what idiot serial killer chooses to make a run for it on a horse without a saddle or bridle. Not to mention hide in plain sight on his in-laws property. The horse is jumping over the bushes surrounding the ranch and is heading straight for us.
At this point Saul is barely hanging on and is gripping the animal’s neck, giving him the perfect cover to rush through the darkness of the night. Neither the horse nor Saul are aware he’s surrounded and Fisher might have ordered everyone not to harm the horse but that doesn’t stop him from frightening him.
Fisher and Atticus both jump in front of the horse simultaneously with their arms wide, knowing others have their backs with their guns pulled. The horse staggers and even if Saul manages to stay on, the horse jumps to the side and makes a dash in my direction.
I make the same movement as Fisher and Atticus only moments before and bellow, “Hey!”
The horse staggers once more and Saul slides off as if he’s been doing this move for years. I’m too slow to bring my gun back to aim right for him as he jumps toward me. I hear curses around us from Atticus, something about not having a clear shot.
No shit, Saul is on me and has a tight grip around the wrist I’m holding my gun with. I try to knee him and crush my elbow into his neck but there’s a hot slash of pain shooting through my leg before more pain explodes to my side.
Saul’s ragged voice is right next to my ear when he says, “I’m sorry. For your father, for you, for your neighbor. I didn’t have a choice. I had to honor a debt. I was tied to–”
Gunshots flare through the air. My body starts to feel weak when I feel the impact of the bullets hit Saul’s body, going straight through to knock right into my vest. The weight of his body causes the both of us to crumble to the ground.
Breathing starts to become difficult and the pain in my leg and side is overtaking my will to focus. The weight of Saul’s body on top of me shifts and Atticus’ face appears in my vision.
“Pain,” I croak. “Leg. My side.”
“What the fuck?” Atticus mutters.
“She’s wearing a vest, the bullets shouldn’t have gone through,” Fisher says. “The fucker is gone. Dead. Hey, Frankie…what the hell happened in those seconds he had her?”
“Stab wounds. He stabbed her. Twice in the leg once right underneath her vest and into her side. Get the fucking ambulance here. Hey. Come on, Enid. Fuck.”
Yeah, talk all you want, buddy, but we’re hitting pause on life, my mind offers. I want to disagree, want to scream at my body and mind to work and yet both are failing. The pain is flowing away and there’s wooziness starting to take me under.
Voices are rambling very faint and I try to keep my eyes open and focus on what they are saying but I can’t. I…I…
