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I made a mental note to give Slate the laptop so he could do his hacker shit to it before it went back to Peyton. “Thanks, Sheriff.”
The desire to eliminate all potential threats surrounding Peyton was so strong, it was almost physical. I refused to think too hard about why that was, because the why didn’t matter, not when I couldn’t act on it.
Again. Not when I couldn’t act on it again.
“Everything all right?” Diesel waited by the clubhouse entrance for me, concern etched on his face.
“I don’t fucking know, brother. Seems the cops are no closer to finding who did this.”
He smiled. “Sick of your houseguest already?”
I wished that’s what it was. “No.”
“Oh,” he said, giving me a knowing once-over. “That seems problematic.”
Without confirming or denying anything, I answered, “It is,” and followed him inside the main hub where a few of the brothers were eating breakfast and shooting the shit. We crossed past the bar and pool tables and headed towards Slate, who was sitting at a table with a laptop open before him. Chopper—a fat bulldog that had previously belonged to the clubhouse but had now been mostly adopted by Diesel’s missus, and their son—was gracing us with his presence today, by deciding to sleep directly over Slate’s feet.
Slate looked up at us as we neared. “Is that for me?” He pointed at the laptop I held, but didn’t stand up to receive it, so as not to disturb the dog. Dangerous things happened when Chopper’s sleep was disturbed, while the bulldog himself was sweet-natured, certain parts of him were less pleasant.
Tentatively, I handed Slate my bundle.
“It’s Peyton’s.” I gestured at the laptop and took several quick steps back, to stand beside Diesel a safer distance away. “The sheriff just dropped it off and I was wondering if you could look through it and see if anyone’s accessed it remotely.”
Slate nodded. “I can check for keystroke tracking software, spyware, and any other tools stalkers use to keep tabs on their victims. Is that what you had in mind?”
I shrugged. “Sure, sounds good.”
Slate frowned as he opened up the laptop. “You think she’s being stalked?”
“Dunno,” I hedged, “but I’d like to cover all bases.”
“Right.” Slate reached over to grab his coffee, but jostled Chopper at his feet, and the dog let out an annoyed snort. Immediately, Diesel hurried to grab Slate’s coffee and bring it closer to him. The three of us stared at the dog in fear for a long moment, but Chopper went back to snoring peacefully.
With a relieved sigh, Slate looked back at me. “Anything else you want me to do?”
“Nah.”
“You sure? I can add software to track anyone who reaches out to her. Not in a creepy way, just so we’re in the know.”
I shrugged again and looked at Diesel, who nodded.
“If you think it’ll help, do it,” he told Slate, who took a careful sip of his drink before placing it quietly back on the table.
“Also,” Diesel continued, “how are those encrypted files going?”
Slate immediately let out a gusty, annoyed sigh and slouched in his seat. “Ugh, they’re nearly done—”
But as he slouched, he jostled his feet a little too much and Chopper startled awake with a loud snort, and a long, flatulent release of toxic gas.
“Ah, Jesus!” Slate shouted.
“Chopper’s let another one rip!” I said with a laugh, shoving my sleeve up over my nose as Diesel and I leapt away from the immediate vicinity. Slate, too, tried to jump away, but flailed a little too much as he stood, and spilled his coffee, so had to scramble to mop it up before it hit the laptops.
“Oh god, oh god, it reeks so bad,” he moaned and coughed as he saved the tech from his coffee, and I continued to laugh as Diesel and I backed away.
“Fire in the hole!” one of the prospects shouted from across the room. “Do not enter! Toxic fumes inside!” And then he fled out the back and shut the door firmly behind him, as Slate gagged and mopped up his mess.
Chopper was an old dog. Loyal as fuck and had been with us for years. But his age was getting the better of him, and his asshole was a weapon of mass destruction. You never startled him awake if you valued your life.
