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That last part was added for Banger and Trouper who’d both turned to look at me with identical expressions on their faces. Concern and annoyance that I hadn’t told them about something so important.
“Relax,” I grumbled to them both.
Banger snorted and said, “Yeah, like that’s ever worked.”
Trouper agreed with a muttered, ‘fuck yeah,’ and then went back to staring at the room.
“That’s identical to my bedroom set,” I found myself saying. “Same bed. Same comforter. Same dresser.”
“At least it’s not white anymore,” Banger teased.
I squeezed her to me without answering.
Mostly because my mind was practically whirling in disbelief.
“This is rather impressive,” Banger said. “She’s really obsessed with you. It went from stalker to Stalker, with a capital S and italicized.”
Trouper choked on the drink he was swallowing down as if his life depended on it.
“I don’t know what to do with all of this information…” Donnelly paused, his head tilting slightly to the side as something caught his gaze.
I was busy looking at the tracker on the side of Hunt’s screen.
“She’s on her way home,” I found myself saying. “Assuming that little ticking red dot in the corner, driving down the streets heading toward where Donnelly is, is her.”
“It is,” Hunt said as he started to do a little hacking of his own.
A bunch of 0s and 1s hit the screen, and though I understood what he was doing, Hunt moved so fast through the process that by the time my brain caught up, he was already moving on to the next task.
“Is that you changing the red lights?” Hank asked.
“Sure is,” Hunt confirmed. “Are you the one taking care of the train?”
It took me a few minutes to realize that the ‘train’ in question was one that was crossing over the railroad tracks that would lead into Intercourse. There was only really one way in, and one way out of the small town that the Battle Crows MC called home. That was, unless you wanted to drive thirty minutes out of your way to come back up the back roads that led into the south side of town.
Which most people in their right mind wouldn’t be doing seeing as the train, under normal circumstances would’ve taken five minutes max.
Today, it’d be taking even longer, if I had to guess.
“That’s me,” Hank confirmed. “I’m sending over some information right now. I think you’ll find it interesting.”
That information popped up onto Hunt’s screen a few seconds later.
Using the projector that he’d somehow procured at some point, he did a few things with fast fingers, then the white wall was lighting up in front of us, and above a few of the brothers’ heads.
That’s when I saw Sareen standing there in a mugshot photo.
Only the name on the placard that she was holding didn’t say ‘Sareen.’ It said ‘Ky.’ Ky Richardson.
She had an arrest date of three years ago, and different colored eyes and hair.
Hunt scrolled, and I started to read the notes in the file.
“Arrested for stalking, attempted murder, assault with a deadly weapon. A weapon’s charge. A public indecency charge, and so many more that I would have to scroll,” Hunt said. “Look at this little ditty.”
He switched to something else, and all of a sudden, I was looking at a man with a black eye, missing teeth, and a pissed-off glare on his face that could flay skin off whomever it was directed to.
“This is Thurgood Richardson. It says here that he was taken in for domestic violence,” Hunt read, despite the fact that we could all read ourselves. “Detectives’ notes say that Ky Richardson tried to kill him, and forced him to either choose to leave a room that was lit on fire, or push her out of the way. He pushed her, knocked her down, and Ky/Sareen broke her arm. Filed charges on the husband. Oh, shit. Look, it’s an obituary.”
The next piece of news came up. A photo of a non-black-eyed Thurgood, and an obituary that said he’d passed away suddenly.
No more info.
No living relatives except for a sister.
“I got you a name for the sister,” Hank said into the quiet as we all digested the news. “And I also got you a name of the cop from last night, as well as an email exchanged between two people that were the ones to tip off whomever it was about the tractor-trailer and the trafficked individuals that brought Souls Chapel to our neck of the woods.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose.
“We need to go,” I admitted, remembering my other promise for the day after watching what seemed like the worst B-rated horror show I’d ever witnessed in my life. “I’ll call when we’re back on the road.”
Everyone stood up at once, and Donnelly started to head out the same way he came.
Five minutes after he walked inside, he walked back out as if he’d never been there.
