Page 95 of Peak’s Code

"He'd better be." Ruin chuckled. "He's still getting used to being the club’s hacker."

"I know." Captain rubbed a hand across his beard. Peak was one stubborn son of a bitch. The kid had graduated from one of the best schools in the country with enough computer knowledge to make the government chase after him. Instead, he'd opened a motorcycle shop and pretended he wasn't sitting on a skill every criminal organization in America wanted. Captain wasn't trying to turn the man into a criminal. He was trying to keep the club alive.

Technology wasn't optional anymore. Rival clubs were using drones, burner phones, encrypted messaging, and financial tracking. The days of settling everything with fists and bullets had changed. Peak just hadn't accepted it yet.

The clubhouse door opened, and Peak walked in wearing grease-stained jeans and a black T-shirt that smelled like motor oil. He didn't bother to apologize for being late, but Captain expected nothing less from him.

"You finally decided to join us?" Captain asked.

Peak shrugged. "I was busy."

"You’re always busy," Captain grumbled.

"I own a business, and the guys keep bringing their bikes to me to fix them," Peak said.

"And I own a motorcycle club and expect my hacker to show up for church on time,” Captain spat.

Peak smirked. "Touche." Captain let it go. There'd be plenty of time to argue with him later.

Once everyone settled into their seats, Captain rested both forearms on the table. "Let's get started." The room immediately quieted. "Our southern border has had more traffic than I like." Several brothers exchanged looks. "Three unknown bikes crossed into our territory this week," Captain continued. "Didn't stop and didn't cause problems. They just rode through."

"Were they on their way to Delaware?" one of the brothers asked.

Captain shook his head. "Maybe." But he knew that maybe wasn't a good enough answer. The Delaware chapter of the Grave Prowlers handled their own territory, but Maryland bordered enough roads that strangers passed through every day. Most were harmless, but some weren't.

"I don't care where they're from," Captain said. "If they keep circling our roads, I want names."

Warden stepped back into the room just then. "Perimeter's clear."

Captain nodded toward an empty chair. "Good timing."

Warden sat down. "Anything suspicious?"

"Couple tourists, maybe,” Captain said, filling in his Enforcer.

"Were they wearing patches?" Warden asked.

"Nope,” Captain said. He wasn't worried yet, but he needed answers.

Ruin slid a folder across the table. "There's one more thing." Captain opened it. Inside was a single photograph of a woman with dark hair and green eyes, and damn, she was beautiful even with the scratches and bruises on her face and arms. Her dress was in tatters, and she had to be freezing. She stood near one of their old shipping warehouses down by the Chesapeake Bay.

Captain looked up. "What am I looking at?"

"Our prospects picked her up on one of the security cameras,” Ruin said, as if that would answer all Captain’s questions.

"Was she stealing from us?" Captain asked.

"No."

"Meeting someone?" he asked.

"We don't know,” Ruin said. Captain studied the picture again. She wasn't looking at the warehouse. She was looking beyond it, as though watching and waiting for something or someone.

"How long was she there?" Captain asked.

"Almost two hours,” Ruin said. That wasn't normal. His VP’s answer had all his alarms going off.

“Did anyone show up to question her?” Captain questioned.