They got halfway through the third game when Jay’s momma entered the house. Carrying a bag of groceries and with her face flushed red from the heat of the day, she walked to the kitchen counter and dumped the bag on it.
Jay looked up at Aarica, and she knew from his crestfallen expression what he was thinking—they hadn’t finished their game and he wouldn’t have a chance to win that snow cone.
She smiled at the boy. “I’ll still buy you that snow cone. We can finish this game next time I see you. Wanna go see what your momma brought home in that bag?”
The sad look in his eyes cleared, and he jumped up from his cross-legged position around the coffee table to run to the kitchen.
Aarica cleared away the game and placed it on the closet shelf before she walked in to see Mrs. Post speaking to her son as he unpacked the bag. He found his favorite fruit drink and asked for some right now.
His mother allowed him half a glass before dinner and then turned to Aarica with a smile. “How was everything today?”
“Great. We get along so well. I love spending time with him.”
She beamed. “I’m so glad to hear it. I know having him several days is hard on my mother sometimes. She’s getting older and Jay can be a handful. Maybe we could discuss you coming an extra day every week?”
Her smile spread. “I’d love that,” she said with genuine feeling and a lump rising in her throat.
“It’s great to have someone Jay connects to sitting with him, and I can see he’s learning things from you that others haven’t taught him before. It’s only been a few days and I already see a change.”
Aarica helped Jay pour his juice and then replace the cap on it. She told him to place it in the refrigerator and watched him complete the task. Then she turned to Mrs. Post.
“Can I ask about the crew working on your garage?”
Her eyes took on a flat look as she turned to Aarica. “What about them?”
How to phrase it so it didn’t sound as though she only wanted to see the hot, shirtless man on the roof again? The man who gave her two back-to-back orgasms and said things that blew her mind.
“I wondered if you told them not to come today because the noise upset Jay last time.”
“Oh. No. Haven’t you heard about the crew?”
Tensing, she shook her head.
Mrs. Post continued, “They’re under investigation for thefts on the properties they work on. Several things missing, including a motorcycle.”
Stunned beyond words, she took in the information while at the same time downright rejecting it. She had not been told about the motorcycle. No wonder the sheriff was after a member of the Dark Falcons. Everything was pointing directly to Patriot.
He was a biker, and guys involved in the MC life were known to have bad reputations. But she never looked into his eyes and saw a criminal. At the bar, the guys were nothing but respectful, and the other patrons seemed to respect them rather than fear them. Surely, that was a sign of their upstanding reputation in the town.
When she remained quiet, Mrs. Post nodded. “It’s shocking, I know. As a single woman, I always investigate any repairmen or servicemen, and Stone Construction has a very good rating and a lot of good reviews in Mersey.”
“Do you think they did it?” Her voice came out weaker than she wanted.
She shrugged. “I don’t know. But I felt better putting off the rest of the garage work until they know more about the thefts. Since the garage is under roof, the other things can wait, and I thought postponing the work is best.”
Poor Patriot. He must be beside himself. First the accusations that sent the deputy sheriff after him and now losing work and income from the mess.
Fiona hadn’t scheduled her to work tonight, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t go into the bar looking for Patriot. He said he’d find her, but no telling how long that would be, and she wanted to speak to him. He might be a big tough guy, but she needed to make sure he was okay.
Patriot leaned his elbows on the table and dropped his head. “I can’t believe shit’s gone so sideways.”
Dixon pushed out a rough growl. “Your crew has to be lyin’. One of them stole that shit.”
He grunted. “The sheriff questioned all of them twice.”
“But did he search their homes?”
Patriot lifted his head and speared his prez in his stare. “I don’t hire dumb asses. If one of them did it, they wouldn’t be stupid enough to keep the stolen goods on their property.”
Dixon scrubbed his hands over his face. “They’re gunning for your ass, Patriot. Pure and simple.”
“Someone made it look as if it was me or my crew behind it. Someone who’s been watching us and tracking our whereabouts.”
Resting against the back of his chair, Dixon seemed deep in thought, working over the conundrum. “It definitely seems that way.”
“We just need to find out who this motherfucker is and make him pay for what he’s doing to my business. I’ve spent the last ten years building a name for myself. I won’t just let it crash and burn without putting up a fight.”
“No way in hell. We have to find this person. Did you give the sheriff a list of names of all the guys on your crew over the past five years?”
“Yeah, I got him the information. But I doubt he’ll find more than I did when I questioned them.” He and Dixon’s eyes met. “Without security footage from either of the homes, we have no damn clue who really did it, and I’m in line for arrest.”
“Man, you don’t know that.”
He stared bleakly at his prez. “Bet me. The sheriff’s coming with a warrant for my arrest any time, and I’ll have no choice but to go with him.”
“Fuck.” Dixon shoved away from the table, and Patriot got up to lean over the table, hands braced on the edge he’d created in the wood himself.
A long silence fell over them, and Patriot’s thoughts darkened more. The sheriff mentioned having enough to charge him, and Patriot had no damn clue who he gleaned his information from, but he didn’t think the sheriff was bluffing.
“Everything’s fucking falling apart,” he grated out.
Dixon turned and exchanged a look with him. “It’s not over, man. Whatever happens, we’re behind you. We believe in your innocence, and we’ll all go down in flames trying to find who the real thief is if it means clearing your name.”
His throat thickened. “I appreciate it, brother.”
Dixon threw a look at the big neon beer clock on the wall that used to hang in Fiona’s bar. “I gotta go. I told Fiona I’d be in to help her move some heavy shit in the back to make room for a new fryer.”
“Yeah, take care of your business, man.” Patriot straightened from his hunched pose over the table.
Dixon walked over and gripped his shoulder hard enough to bruise. The pressure gave him hope that even if things went to hell and he couldn’t clear his name, the brothers would still accept him back into their fold after he did his time.
Fuck.
He gripped Dixon’s hand and then the man walked to the door that kept their conversation private from the rest of the club. He whipped it open and there stood Hunter.
“What do you want?” Dixon’s tone made the guy back up a step.