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I kept my head down, sipping my beer slowly. The northwest? The Golden Road was an unofficial dividing line for several of the timber holdings. It helped orient what was our land from that of the other families. Looking at a map, Gagnon land took up most of the northeast section. Heberts owned much of the land to the west of the main road.
But no-man’s-land, where Remy and Hazel had found the stash hidden in a container outside an old cabin, was an undeveloped parcel that was technically property of the state. It had been part of some claims long ago, but the lines on the map had shifted over the decades. And no-man’s-land? It sat directly in the northwest corner of logging territory.
“I shouldn’t have said anything,” he gritted out as the others glared at him. They were old-timers, sure, but the club had a code, and he was definitely speaking out of turn.
“I understand. But you’ve beensohelpful.” She gave them all a flirty smile. “I’ve been behind on my book research. This is so great.” She tapped her chin. “I wonder who else I can talk to about this. Maybe some of your friends?”
They shook their heads in unison. “Don’t,” Rubble said. “Pretty thing like you can’t be goin’ around asking too many questions. Especially at a place like this. Stick with researching on the internet. Don’t get mixed up with people here.” He looked around the bar. “During the day, this place is usually filled with old-timers. But the young ones? They’re trouble. Stay away on Friday nights. And don’t go talking to anyone named Stinger.”
Her eyes flashed for a fraction of a second, but her face betrayed nothing.
“Stinger?”
“Yes. Bad dude. Piece of shit and a drug pusher, to boot.”
“I’m shocked that dumbass hasn’t gotten arrested yet. Always gallivanting around, selling drugs, and flashing money.”
Parker nodded, her face a mask of innocent concern.
“He’s dumb, but he’s well connected. In with some pretty powerful folks.”
“Must be, because he hasn’t gotten caught or killed yet. He’s always drunk and bragging about his big scores and acting tough. Saying he killed someone.”
I gasped. Not loud, but loud enough for Parker to pin me with a glare.
“And his bike? Who the hell drives a Ducati up in these parts?”
“What a fucking waste on our shitty Maine roads.”
Parker pressed her lips together. Hiding a smile, no doubt. I already had my phone in my hands, searching local foreign motorcycle dealers. A rare European bike would be easy to track down up here.
We were closer than ever, and I had Parker to thank. Despite sitting incognito in a shady biker bar, I felt a rush of pride and admiration bloom in my chest. Parker was so much more than I had bargained for. And as I looked over at her, chatting with her new biker friends over a beer, I knew it was too late for me. Because I was head over heels for this woman. And there was no going back.
Chapter27
Parker
Back at the house, my fingers were flying over the keyboard. Stinger, whoever the fuck he was, would be caught like a rat in a trap soon, if I had anything to say about it.
My friends at the Ape Hanger had given far more information than I could have anticipated. In my wildest dreams, I never thought I’d be leaving there with confirmation of the connection between the logging roads, the local timber companies, and the Canadian drug traffickers, let alone the name of the local dealer who seemed to be both stupid and indiscreet.
This was the stuff investigator dreams were made of.
I was so deeply in the zone I didn’t even notice Paz, who’d set himself up at the bar. For the first time since I’d met him, he actually sat back and let me work. Our mutual respect continued to grow, and if I wasn’t mistaken, he was beginning to trust me.
Before our little mission, he had been twitchy and frustrated. Angry that I was even going to the Ape Hanger and then annoyed about being with me, even though he’d insisted.
I was more than capable of handling myself, and I think he may have finally realized it.
Several times, he gave me meaningful looks, like he was acknowledging significant moments. But he didn’t interfere, and he only participated enough to keep our cover.
He’d trusted me to do my job and gather intel. To say I was shocked would be an understatement, since we’d done nothing but bicker and disagree since he approached me about the case.
Since coming back to the house, Paz had been careful to give me space to work. He had thoughtfully cooked dinner and done the dishes while I pored over online vehicle registration databases.
I was going to find this motorcycle. Sadly, as a PI, my access was far more restricted than it had been back in my cop days, but I still had plenty of tricks up my sleeve.
Without the model or even the color of the bike in question, it would take some time to track down. Luckily, there were only eleven Ducatis registered in all of Penobscot County. That was one of the benefits of being in the sticks, I guessed.
