Cowboy Bikers MC Lawmen by Esther E. Schmidt
CHAPTER TWO
– ATTICUS –
“Case is solved, suspect is in custody. The boyfriend strangled her in blind rage. Then he set it up to seem the serial killer did it and turned himself into a bad copycat. The stabbing occurred after the woman was already dead, along with the crushed trachea and the bloody line around the body, and the details to pose the body. His search engine history proved it. Not to mention, his prints were all over the place and his father owned the warehouse. I’ve handed everything over to the authorities who will do the follow up, it’s off our plate since it doesn’t have anything to do with the RedBorder killer,” Yuma informs me.
I give a tight nod and grumble, “We knew the second they called it in the homicide wasn’t linked to it.”
“Yeah, but only special agent Frankie Brennan noticed it too with just a mere glance over the damn body. Any news about her joining us?” Nieko wiggles his eyebrows. Fucker.
“She refused. And you damn well know I haven’t heard from her in over three days,” I grumble.
We’re at a point in the serial killer’s case where we’re hitting dead ends. There hasn’t been a murder or woman gone missing that fits his MO in the last three months. It’s fucking frustrating.
Our MC always works on multiple cases at the same time but this serial killer’s case is one that has priority. Not just because we need to get this killer off the streets, but we took this case when it became personal.
The last victim was found almost three months ago. Nyla Montrack, Fisher’s old lady. She was heading home from a double shift at the hospital. Her car was left unattended alongside the road two blocks from their house. Nyla was missing for four days until the call came in that her body was found.
She was posed in a sitting position in a chair in a local hotel room wearing a pair of clean scrubs, cup of tea in her hand and her stethoscope in the other. As if she was on a fucking break from her job as an ER nurse.
Fisher demanded we take the case and take out the killer, only to find out we were searching for a serial killer. He hasn’t been the same ever since. By this I don’t mean he’s spinning out of control or anything, it’s more like he’s driven by an endless supply of power to continue the hunt he’s on.
It’s why I also asked Enid to join us. Not because the woman is seriously hot, but because her brain is also fucking attractive. I was drawn to her the moment I laid eyes on her. It’s been a while since a woman spiked my interest. But this is different, though. It’s not the kind of interest of wanting to blow a nut; it’s the need to have her by my side instead of a one-time thing to feel her underneath me.
I rarely walk into a crime scene of another agent without knowing some details. Even though I was in a hurry, I called my dad to run the name of the agent in charge and he informed me Frankie Brennan was one of the top special agents the department had.
Needless to say, once I met her I requested a full report to get to know everything about Francine Enid Brennan, and how everyone calls her Frankie. And that is the reason I paid her a visit to ask her to join us on the case. I know she can be very useful. She’s driven, observant, direct, and has a no-bullshit mentality.
“You should swing by again, maybe at the office and drop a file with Nyla’s information. Hell, tell her she was my old lady, prey on her sympathy, whatever you need to do, you do it. You’ve seen her father’s notes jotted down in between those case files, he mentioned Frankie’s input several times. We fucking need her, Prez,” Fisher grunts, preying on my fucking sympathy.
And it’s been a few days since I took the gavel from my father and it will take some getting used to, being called Prez instead of VP. My father thought it was time to step back and let me fill his place. It was a hard choice to decide who was going to become my VP. Both Fisher and Yuma are equally qualified.
Maybe it would have made a difference if Nyla was still alive but with the turn of events and Fisher still fucking standing and functioning the way he was, the choice was simple; he’s the only one fit to wear the VP patch right now.
“Maybe you should pay her a visit,” I offer, remembering how Enid and I bumped heads.
Once I knew exactly who she was the images of when I knew her years ago came back to me. I was such an asshole back then. I mean, I still am but she sparked my interest even when she was a rookie and it rubbed me the wrong way so I let my ego and background get the better of me. I acted out to shove the lust and other shit I was feeling far, far away.
So, in my opinion she was right to turn me down but fuck, we really do need her and it showed when she was so fucking perceptive at the crime scene of the copycat.
There’s a knock on the door and a prospect opens it instantly without waiting for me to tell him to come in. “Prez, I’m sorry, but there’s a woman here saying you’re expecting her.”
All of our heads turn to face the prospect and at the same time a woman slips past him. Enid. She enters church as if she has all the right to be here and stalks determinedly toward me. To my surprise she throws a tiny black notebook on the table in front of me.
“I found this when I went through the box of my father’s belongings. A few weeks after he died, I boxed up all his stuff and put it in the garage without a second glance. Then you bulldozed into my life and made me go through it.” She releases a deep sigh and glances around the table ever so slowly before her gaze lands back on me. “I’d like to take you up on your offer if it still stands.”
Before I can utter a single word, Fisher rumbles, “It stands.”
Her attention slides to my VP and she takes in the man and the patches on his leather cut. Instantly her eyes land back on me and her eyebrow rises in question and I’m sure she noticed I’m now wearing the president patch.
“I see your ego got bigger over the past few days,” she murmurs low, intended for my ears only.
Yuma is sitting close enough to overhear so the fucker snickers. “I like havin’ her around already, Prez.”
She shoots him a fucking grin and it arises agitation within me. I have no clue why but it makes me grumble, “Everyone, out!”
Yuma rises from his chair and I point at it. “Sit your ass down, Enid.”
“It’s Brennan or Frankie,” she snaps and glares at me but does take a seat.
The door closes and from my left I notice Fisher is going through the notebook Enid brought.
“By all means…stay, Fisher,” I sarcastically tell him but he completely ignores me, flipping through one page after another.
“Frankie,” I drawl. “Have you been reading up on the last case that took place right before your father’s death? Or weren’t you aware of the last victim, Brennan? Want me to bring you up to speed, Enid?”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake, stick to one name.” A sigh rips from her. “Fine. Call me Enid and lose the rest okay?”
Finally, not that I need her approval, but I like calling her Enid. Mostly because no one else uses her middle name.
Fisher throws the little notebook back on the table. “Find any other notebooks?”
“Yes, three others but this one was filled with his notes when the first homicide landed on his lap.”
“I’d like to glance over the others as well,” Fisher grunts.
“I’ll bring them to you,” Enid agrees.
Fisher nods, stands, and tells me, “I don’t need to be there when you bring her up to speed about everything.” He gives her a polite nod. “Looking forward to working with you. I’ve read great things about you and your father’s reputation was outstanding.”
A faint blush spreads her cheeks. “Thank you.”
Fisher gives another grunt and leaves the room.
I lean back and grab the thick binder from the cabinet behind me and place it in front of her. “Here are all the added details we have on all the cases up till the last one. Though, I have to tell you something that isn’t documented.”
She leans back into her seat and patiently waits for me to continue.
“Nyla Montrack, she was Fisher’s old lady.”
“Oh, God. I’m so sorry,” she whispers and her eyes slide to the door where Fisher just went through. A determined stare hits me full force when she adds, “I wrapped up my active cases and I was due three weeks of vacation so this case will have my full attention. I’ll also work on it when I can when I have to do my own job after my vacation is up.”
“No need to throw in vacation time. This is an active case and we’re bringing you in, it will all be settled with orders from higher up. Rest assured it’ll be the only case you’ll be working on until it’s solved. You’ll also be getting the recognition, and the paycheck along with it.”
“I just said I’ll give you three weeks of my time. I don’t need the damn paycheck, and I’ve balanced multiple cases at the same time for years,” she snaps. “I’m sure your MC doesn’t only work on one case right now either.”
I have to admit, I like her attitude right next to doing the honorable thing.
“We’ll work through it once we’ve solved this case,” I simply tell her to end this topic.
“Okay.” She shoves her chair back. “I will dive into this right away and call if I have any questions. When do you want to meet again?”
I nudge the binder in front of her. “You’re on the clock starting now and I’m right here if you have any questions. So, start.”
“With you lurking right next to me? I don’t think so,” she huffs.
“Peeing is something one does in private, going over information is something you can do with a person sitting right next to you.” I smirk and it earns me a muttered curse but she does dive into the binder sitting in front of her.
“Coffee?” I question as I stand to get one for myself.
“No sugar but add cream,” she grumbles but her attention is on the pictures she’s spreading out on the table.
I stroll into the main room of the clubhouse. Rance is behind the bar.
“Two coffees the way I like ‘em,” I tell him and swing my head toward Fisher. “She donated three weeks of her vacation time the second she heard about Nyla.”
Fisher inclines his head. “We need her on this and I’m sure we have her now. I hope to fuck she’s able to get a few leads for us to check out, something we’ve missed.”
“We’ve been too close to this case, I’m sure we’ve been overlooking something. It’s rare not to have any fucking leads,” I grumble.
We’ve been solving crimes for years. Hell, it’s what my father has been doing all his life and something I grew up with. There are many different motorcycle clubs all over the country who all have an active duty to serve this country in their own way to bring down criminals.
We’re basically above the law but still uphold it. Cowboy Bikers MC Lawmen is a motorcycle club but also a division of the government. Unlike for instance Broken Deeds MC. They solve cases in their own way too but they are basically the government’s secret weapon while we function out in the open.
They also have a Broken Deeds chapter that only works undercover cases. Like I said, there are a few motorcycle clubs linked to the government, all function differently and are spread out all over the country.
“And we can hardly wait till another woman falls prey to that fucker,” Fisher practically snarls, drawing me back to the discussion.
Rance places two steaming mugs in front of me.
I grab both and tell them, “We’re all working hard to catch the killer. And we fucking will until we bring him to justice.”
Grunts of approval flow through the air but Fisher stays dead silent. I catch him staring at the open door of church where a glimpse of Enid’s back is visible. I have no clue why he’s practically vibrating with the thought of this woman being the key to solve this case.
Leaning in close, I keep my voice down when I mutter, “You know what they say about getting your hopes up.”
My VP glares at me. I don’t care, he needs to take a step back instead of jumping in head first. And if it’s me who has to give him this wakeup call? So. Be. It. I lift my chin and he dips his; message received.
I stalk back into church and place the coffee on the table. I make sure the door is closed before I sit back down. Enid is blowing on her mug, eyes going rapidly from left to right as she scans over details of the last case.
She doesn’t even look up when she asks, “You guys are keeping an eye out for missing persons that fit the profile?”
“Leland is our computer expert. He’s the one who handles these things, runs programs in the background, or whatever to pick up on anything that flags similarities, nationwide, with the RedBorder Killer.”
“I can imagine RedBorder creates a lot of red flags. Leland checks every single one by hand?” Enid questions.
“Trust me, he’s thorough. Obsessively so. The guy doesn’t leave his room and I’m almost positive he takes his laptop with him when he needs to take a shit.”
Her eyes hit mine and there’s a smile twinkling in those gray depths.
“The obsessive ones are driven to find what they’re after.” Her head slightly tilts to the left. “Everyone in this MC has his own task while working as a team alongside one another?”
“We do.” I don’t elaborate and after a few breaths she understands that’s all she’s getting out of me.
I might be intrigued by this woman, Fisher might desperately want her on this case, but I’m not about to open up and let her in on every detail of stuff she has no business of knowing.
“Can I at least ask why you were wearing a VP patch a few days ago and now suddenly you’re the president?”
“You can, doesn’t mean I’ll answer,” I tell her in a neutral tone.
It feels as if her penetrating stare is trying to slide right through my eyes to skim my brain.
“Fine. Thanks for the coffee. Okay, I’m going to wrap up here and collect those other notebooks for Fisher.” She closes the binder and shoves it my way.
Before she can stand, I tell her, “It was time for my father to pass along the gavel. He’s been preparing me for years because he promised my mother to take it easier. She always wanted to travel overseas but with this MC working around the clock on cases, breeding livestock, training quarter horses, it’s hectic every moment of the day all year round. They deserve an early retirement.”
“The ranch isn’t a smoke screen?” she asks with a slight challenge in her voice.
I give her a smirk. “Is that a line so I’ll offer you a tour?”
She shrugs. “I’d love to see and you can fill me in on some of your thoughts about the case while you’re showing me around. You know as well as I do how discussing a case is better than simply reading all the details.”
“Well, by all means…let’s saddle up and take a ride together.” I take the binder and place it back in the cabinet.
I swing my arm out in the direction of the door and grab my Stetson. She follows behind me when I stroll out through the back, ignoring the curious looks my brothers give me. Once outside, I place the Stetson on my head and adjust it.
Pointing to my right I tell her, “We keep the horses close to the clubhouse and have the Longhorns in the pastures further down our property. Over the last few years we had to cut back on breeding and training due to the workload of cases landing in our lap, but it still is a healthy chunk of our MC’s activity. All of us love to ride and the labor that comes with running this ranch: it clears our head.”
“Nothing more satisfying than the sun beating down on your back, sweat trickling down, working those muscles to feel the energy drain right out while it somehow energizes you at the same time.” The fondness and the familiarity is recognizable in her voice.
“Speaking from experience?” I assume.
She gives me a small smile. “My father used to drag me out on a regular basis to a ranch owned by a friend of his whenever he was stuck on a case or wanted to spend quality time with me. Working around the ranch doesn’t need long discussions or whatever and there’s always stuff to do. After he died Harry let me help out or ride one of his horses whenever I was in need of an escape.”
I nod in understanding. “Well, you now know people with another ranch and you’re always welcome to do whatever you want here. Like you said, there’s always stuff to do.”
“Appreciate it,” she says as her eyes go to the horses running through the pasture.
“So, you ride, yeah?” I question.
Her lips twitch in amusement. “I ride.”
“I gather you don’t need me to pick a gentle and calm horse?”
We stalk into the stables when she says, “I’m an experienced rider if that’s what you’re asking.”
“I’ll put you on one of my favorite horses then.” I place my hand on her lower back and guide her toward the left side where two of my four horses are, the others are in the pasture. “I assume you can handle yourself start to finish?” I throw my thumb over my shoulder. “Everything is in there, this one here is Baby, she’s all yours. The one I’m gonna ride is Honey.”
A very unfeminine snort sounds right next to me. “You named your horses all kinds of endearments?”
“Uh huh. Darlin’ and Sugar are in the pasture.” I grin and a bark of laughter flows from her.
She playfully smacks my stomach with the back of her hand. “You’re too much.”
“More than you are willing to handle,” I murmur and move to get the stuff I need to saddle up.
I freeze in my tracks when I hear her whisper softly, “Sounds like a challenge. And I’m more than willing to prove you wrong.”
Fuck. I get the feeling this woman is more than I can handle, and that right there is a fucking challenge.
