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I’m back in St. Louis, but before I seek out Mila and the boys, I need a little more information. I want to know what I’m facing. I probably should’ve done this while I was in town for the funeral, but it didn’t even cross my mind.
“Wren’s office is this way,” he says, walking deeper into the office. “If there is information to be found, he’s the guy that will be able to do it. I hope you don’t mind but I already forwarded the information Kincaid sent so he could get an early start on it.”
“That’s awesome. I appreciate all your help.”
“Ignacio, Finn, and Gaige,” he says, pointing to the three men sitting on the sofas in what appears to be some sort of breakroom.
They each lift a hand at me, and I do the same. I know Cerberus has worked with these men on more than one occasion, but we haven’t had a mission that has overlapped since I joined. I know there will be time to get to know them better at a later date, but right now, I have one single focus.
Deacon wraps his knuckles on a closed office door before turning the doorknob and pushing it open.
“Is he here to steal my girl!”
I jerk my head in the direction of the voice, a small smile playing on my lips when I see the setup the birds have.
“I’m not yours!” another bird squawks. “Quit spreading rumors!”
The one objecting happens to be standing right beside the other, so I’m not at all convinced that they dislike each other.
“That’s Puff Daddy,” the guy sitting at the desk says. “And Evie. I’m Wren.”
He holds his hand out, and I shake it.
“Looks like you have your hands full,” I say, giving the birds another glance.
“Quit looking at her!” Puff Daddy demands. “Want me to pluck your eyes from their fucking sockets?”
“Puff,” Wren says, a warning in his tone. “Do you want to end up in the cage?”
The bird starts making noises, pacing back and forth. Evie, clearly annoyed with being bumped into every time he spins to pace in the opposite direction, hops up on a different roost.
“Wren,” Deacon snaps. “These fucking birds.”
Wren nods, but the action looks rote, as if his boss warns him daily and it goes in one ear and out the other.
“I have bad news,” Wren says. “Take a seat.”
As much as I feel the need to stand, I decide it would be rude to refuse his offer. He sighs the second my ass is in the seat.
His fingers work over his keyboard, several of the screens flashing like I’ve only seen in the movies.
“Jesus Christ,” Deacon mutters when a face pops up on the screen.
If it weren’t for the sneer on the guy’s face in the image and the height lines behind him making it clear it’s a mugshot, the guy looks like any other late-twenties to early-thirties dude.
“Who is that?”
“Adrian Larrick,” Deacon says.
“You’ll have to fill me in. I don’t recognize the face or the name.”
“He’s the president of the Keres MC,” Wren says.
“Shit,” I snap. I may not recognize this individual, but Keres is well known around St. Louis. They were around and causing problems when Carlen and I were in high school. We’d never met any of them, but we were warned by teachers and our parents to avoid those in the MC every time their names were brought up in some news report. It’s as if our parents thought the club members were known to go to schools and try to recruit like the street gangs and military recruiters did.
“So, you’re familiar?”
“I’m from here. I don’t know of anyone from here that hasn’t heard of them,” I answer. “What has this got to do with Carlen and Janet?”
