As my drink appears, I take a long swig of the hot coffee, thinking as I swallow. Why Kentucky? Where did Kincaid come from? Has he links to the state? I can’t recall. Though Pip had told us the story of Dengra’s daughter being groomed and kidnapped by Kincaid’s twin brother, I don’t think he’d said where it happened. Oh well, no point dwelling on that now. I can hardly call Pip and ask him. Doing so risks giving my location away, and the club will move heaven and earth to find me. I’ll be on their most wanted list now.
Did Kincaid come halfway across the country to kidnap Swift for revenge? Or, is he more local, and Catherine Beeswick either doesn’t exist, or is just someone he could call on to do him a favour? I suppose it doesn’t stretch the imagination too far to think that she might be just a casual acquaintance. What’s her connection with him?
Hey, could you book a rental for me? I haven’t access to the internet right now.
Plausible, perhaps. This could be a wild goose chase, but if so, which Saul Kincaid does Catherine know? The one who ended up in jail, or the one with the doctored CV that got him admitted to Dengra’s residence and access to his daughter and her baby son, allowing him to play the role of loving uncle until the child had sadly passed away.
Whether I’m already pursuing a lost cause, having a destination satisfies the need inside for direction, even though it’s me determining my fate now. I’ll finish up here, find somewhere to buy some new clothes—t-shirts and underwear at least—and a tube of toothpaste then head to Kentucky. I’ll arrive under the cover of darkness, just right for scoping a place out.
I’m no stranger to long journeys, but even so, another full day’s riding when my ass is still sore isn’t the most attractive option. Maybe that’s why I begin to have second thoughts. Saul Kincaid had managed to come up with a background that hid his time in the pen and made him out to be an upstanding citizen. It’s possible that he either had data skills himself, or had access to someone who could provide them. If so, it would be child’s play to hack into a random person’s account and make a booking. That makes sense, Saul wouldn’t have wanted to make it in his name. All he needed to have done was to cloak the email address and get all correspondence sent to himself.
Going to Kentucky could be a complete waste of time. Catherine Beeswick might never have known her account had been hacked. Or, said woman never existed in the first place. The more I think, the more either option seems likely.
Damn. What do I do now? Go back to the club with my tail between my legs? Fuck that. I promised myself I’d only return if I had something to give. I’d still have to take my punishment like a man, but I’d have proof I have the best interests of the club at heart. Without anything to offer, I’m just a sore loser.
Ruefully, I throw sufficient dollars on the table, stand and stretch, pick up my saddlebags and head out to my bike. Maybe I’m just searching for an excuse, but to do what? An excuse to return to my club, or an excuse to go miles out of my way and speak with a woman who probably has nothing to offer?
My hands itch to straighten the non-existent cut on my back. As I bring my arms back to my sides, I realise I’ve never run from anything in my life. But yesterday, I did. Today, I’ve calmed down. I admit I was riled most at the thought of being a prospect again, not the promised beatdown. What would I have suggested if another member had put the club in such a dangerous position? Losing them the charter, I’d have opted to kill them.
My crimes are serious, I know that. Now compounded by running, even now I could have been declared out bad.
Fuck.
I’m a man who doesn’t like prevaricating or staying still. If this fails, maybe I’d be safer to go into hiding or leave the country. For now though, I’ll stick to my initial plan. Swinging my leg over the saddle, I get on my bike, shift into first, and point the front wheel in the direction of Kentucky.
I’m a biker. I enjoy the long ride, despite the small detail that my ass is aching, and a long soak in the tub sounds increasingly attractive. I lock the throttle to give my hand a rest, stretch my fingers, placing them on my knee for a while, rolling my neck to get the kinks out as the miles pass. When the sun dips in the sky, I’ve still got a long way to travel.
Why am I doing this?
Christ, I don’t know. It’s just something I feel I’ve got to try, even if it proves only a process of elimination. I grow more convinced that what I’m going to find is a decent middle-aged woman in her bed sleeping, dreaming innocent dreams with no idea her identity has been used.
Well, it would cross the mysterious woman off the list, I suppose. A bone to offer the club, a small one. One which shouldn’t have necessitated a journey to Kentucky to find out.
Unless dear Catherine’s up to her neck in this shit. If she is, she’ll soon wish she wasn’t. I start to hope that’s the case and consider how best to get information out of her. Swift might be the enforcer, but never fear, I’ve a few interrogation techniques of my own.
I’m stiff, every muscle hurts as I near the town limits of the place where she resides. By now the moon has risen in the night sky. Over the miles, I’ve refined the details of my plan. I’ll check out the house, talk to Catherine if she’s still up. If she’s innocent, I’ll go find the nearest motel for the night. Right now a park bench would do—anything that would allow me to stretch out. If she’s not, well, we’ll both be in for a long night.
Ah, there it is now. The house isn’t set in a town, instead it stands on its own, surrounded by a decent sized piece of land. In the pasture I can see a horse, sleeping with one of its back hooves bent in a posture of total relaxation. I envy it. But of course, the noise of my engine wakes it fast and it scatters, going from standing to snorting and tossing its head.
Switching off my engine, I coast the final few yards, noticing the house is in darkness.
When I last checked, it was only nearing twenty-three hundred hours, perhaps she goes to bed early? But if she’s got livestock, maybe it’s understandable. This does look like a farmhouse.
Maybe I won’t knock, maybe there’s a barn and I could find some hay and hole up for the night, and wait to confront Ms Beeswick in the morning.
I know my racing mind won’t let me relax, not when I’ve travelled so far to solve this mystery. I’ve spent many a wakeless night when I was protecting my country. One disturbed night for her is nothing in comparison.
Sure, I’m an asshole, but I’m going to be waking her up, and I won’t take no for an answer.
Husband, boyfriend? Lover, brother or son? They won’t get in my way, I’ve got questions to ask. The sooner I have what I want, the sooner I’ll be out of the house and on my way, hopefully with information to satisfy my club.
Dismounting, I take my gun out of the hidden holder on the bike. Looking around, I see and hear no threat, so I go to slide it inside my cut. When the weapon meets air, I sigh, and place it instead in the waistband of my jeans. Putting my hands on my knees, I breathe in deeply, then kicking out my legs, I shake them, first the right followed by the left. I roll my shoulders and ease back my head. Fuck but I’m sore.
Right. I’m ready. Approaching the front door, I bang on it, sighting a doorbell I ring that too.
No answer.