“Not likely,” Foster says. “If he had to wait until he had enough signal to reach Maverick, then by the time he called in, he was probably already out of their range.”
“Probably?” Tank asks.
Foster shrugs. “Radio isn’t magic. Terrain, altitude, frequency, equipment, weather, all of it matters. But based on what Maverick said, I’d guess Melvin caught the edge of something. He wasn’t sitting in the middle of it.”
“So we have nothing to go on?” Bones asks.
I shake my head. “Not unless the club has something happening I’m not aware of.” I glance around the room. “I tried to think of everyone you’ve made enemies with, but most of them are dead.”
Skip shrugs. “We still have suppliers. Dealers. People who use our routes. They’re not enemies, but they’re not exactly friends either.”
“Anything changed with shipments?” I ask.
“Everything is back to normal operating procedure,” Skip says. “Weapons are moving clean. Anyone wanting to carry product through our territory still pays for the privilege. No missed drops. No short payments. No new faces pushing for access.”
Foster leans back in his chair. “That almost sounds boring.”
“Itisboring,” Spike says. “That’s why it works.”
I nod once, then look at Tank.
“What about Abby?”
Tank’s expression changes immediately.
“She’s in the spotlight more these days,” I say carefully. “Her clothing brand is gaining attention. Could be a stalker. Someone jealous. A competitor trying to scare her.”
“Abby’s in the spotlight by name only,” Tank says firmly. “Her work gets attention. Her face does not. My sanity couldn’t handle it if her picture was everywhere.”
“And I have her name on lockdown,” Foster adds. “Any mention of her, or anyone here at the compound, and I get alerted. The name that gets flagged the most is Spike’s. That’s because he’s the face of the Shadows.”
Spike’s jaw tightens. “Anything unusual with my name?”
“Nothing more than normal,” Foster says.
I look at him. “Define normal.”
“Mentions. Questions. People fishing for information. Where the compound is. Who comes in and out. How many men stayon-site.” Foster leans back in his chair. “Some of it’s random curiosity. Some of it’s idiots trying to sound connected.”
Tank’s expression hardens. “You didn’t think to mention that?”
“I mention it when it turns into something,” Foster says. “If I came running every time somebody online asked where the big bad bikers sleep, none of us would get anything done.”
Bones grunts. “He’s not wrong.”
“No clean threat?” I ask.
Foster shakes his head. “No. Nothing tied to a name. Nothing actionable. No dates. No plans. No one saying, ‘Hey, let’s go after the Shadows.’ Just meaningless noise.”
“But now we have Melvin hearing the word target,” Spike says.
“Now,” Foster agrees, “the noise matters. I’ll seed a few mentions. Nothing obvious. Just enough to see who bites.”
Tank narrows his eyes. “Meaning?”
“Meaning I’ll put the Shadows’ name in the right corners and watch who gets interested.” Foster leans back. “If someone is fishing for us, I want to know what bait they prefer.”
Bones grunts. “Just when things were getting back to normal.”
