It felt... orchestrated, almost as if the trouble from New Orleans had followed us home.
King nudged me as we headed toward his SUV. “You thinking what I’m thinking?” he asked, his tone low enough that only I could hear.
“Yeah,” I admitted, glancing over my shoulder at the others as I reached into my back pocket for my phone. “Calling Gator now.”
Three hours later, and no one knew where Cameron or C.C. were. It was as if they had just vanished into thin air. By the time we made it to town, word had already spread, and the townsfolk of Rosewood were out in droves, searching every square inch of the town, and still, no one found anything.
“King, it’s time,” Mike cautiously said, walking over to the both of us as we waited at the police station for any news. “I have to call them. Cameron is a minor. You know the law.”
“Callum,” Bailey said softly, placing her hand on her husband’s shoulder. “We’ve done everything we could. We need more help.”
King slowly nodded. “Call them.”
Leaning forward, I gripped my phone hard, willing it to ring when my screen lit up. Jumping to my feet, I looked at Mike. “Hang on, Mike. We may have something,” I said, putting the call on speaker so everyone could hear. “Tell me you have good news, Gator?”
“Sorry, brother. I don’t. Crane is dead. Local police found his body an hour ago. Fucker’s been dead for at least a week, maybe more, Trip. It wasn’t him. I had Worm work his magic, and he broke into police headquarters and got the file. Single shot to the back of the head and dumped in the bayou. It’s a miracle there was anything left to identify him. They found his truck not far from the body, along with a note.”
“What did it say?” I asked, looking at King.
“He made me do it,” Gator said.
“Do what?” I asked.
“Yer guess is as good as mine, brother. I’ve called Romeo. He’s givin’ you twenty-four hours before all of the Silver Shadows ride. You might want to get King to make a personal call to Steele soon. Fucker ain’t happy if you catch my drift.”
“I hear ya, Gator, and thanks.”
“Keep me posted,” the president of the Bourbon Kings said before disconnecting the call.
Turning to King, I asked, “What do we do now?”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Trip
Minutes turned into hours, and the clubhouse continued to fill with people eager for any news. While Mike called the Virginia Bureau of Investigation for Missing and Exploited Kids, King ordered everyone back to the clubhouse. Every time the phone rang, all conversations stopped and everyone listened intently, only to be disappointed moments later. To make matters worse, King had locked himself in his office and made the uncomfortable call to Steele, the president of the Silver Shadows Mother Chapter, and then to Kingston O’Rourke, also known as King, the president of the Nebraska Chapter, and finally to C.C.’s brother, Romeo.
Sitting at the bar, I stared into my bottle of beer that had been warm for an hour now, when Whiskey sat down next to me.
“How you holdin’ up, Trip?”
“Not good.”
“C.C.’s smart, brother. If she’s in trouble, my money’s on her.”
I smirked at that.
He was right.
My woman was hell on wheels.
Whiskey leaned against the bar, the faint creak of the wooden stool underscoring the quiet tension that hung in the air. “She’s tougher than all of us combined, you know that,” he added, swirling the amber liquid in his glass.
“I know,” I muttered, my voice barely rising above the muted conversations taking place around us. “But this doesn’t feel right. I can’t explain it. Something is off about this whole thing.”
“What do you mean?”
Turning around on my stool, I found Ansel sitting in the corner, looking at his phone as he typed away.
