Page 24 of Tempest’s Torment

"I’m at the clubhouse, I’ll be waiting."

"I'm on my way." I end the call, slip my phone back into my pocket, and head for my bike.

The ride gives me too much time to think. Traffic's steady enough that I don't have to pay much attention, and my mind keeps going back to the same thing. The SUV. It didn't speed away, it just left, like whoever was inside had seen what they came to see, or they realized they'd been noticed. Neither option sits well with me.

The gates to the clubhouse roll open as I pull up. A couple of the prospects are outside washing bikes, Spike lifts a hand. "Tempest," he greets.

I nod back before parking beside Ghost's Harley.

The smell of burgers hits me as I walk inside; someone's cooking.

The clubhouse is louder than usual. Music plays low through the speakers while Sniper and Savage argue over a pool game. Onyx laughs as Savage misses an easy shot. "You couldn't pot that if the pocket was the size of Boston."

"Shut up."

Ghost looks up from the table as I walk in. "There he is." He jerks his chin toward the office. "Inside."

I follow him through the door and see that Rogue's already there, a manila folder in his hands. Ghost notices me looking at it. "Rogue finished digging this afternoon." He slides the folder across the desk. "Lilah Carter."

I pick it up, noticing the file isn't thick. It has her driver's license, vehicle registration, employment details, and current address. She’s lived in Boston for about two years, same address and same job. There’s no arrests, no complaints, not even a debt.

I flip another page. "No family?"

Rogue leans back in his chair. "None listed."

My brows knit together. "No emergency contact?"

"Nope."

I look up. "That's odd."

"It is," Rogue agrees. "Especially for someone her age."

Ghost folds his arms. "What else?"

Rogue reaches for the folder and taps a page near the back. "Before Boston, she lived in Connecticut."

"Where?"

"Small town called Drayton Creek," Rogue tells us.

Ghost nods. “Makes sense as to why Omen’s involved; Drayton Creek is his neck of the woods.”

"Address checks out, but that's where it gets strange," Rogue continues.

"How strange?" Ghost demands.

"Everything before three years ago..." He shrugs. "There’s gaps."

Ghost frowns. "What do you mean?"

"I mean there's enough to prove she existed, school records, driver's license, utilities. Then..." He taps the file again. "Nothing."

"No job?"

Rogue shakes his head. "Nothing that lasts."

Ghost crosses his arms over his chest as he glances at the file in my hand. "No social media?"