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“What’s Greg’s last name?” Riley asked.
“Mitchell.”
“I’m going to do two things for you, Jack. One, I’m going to give you a couple hundred bucks to make sure you can get to Reno. Two, I’m going to get this ticket fixed because I caused it. But, if I see you around Preacher or in Lampsing, I’ll bust your ass. Hard. You feel me?”
“Yes. I just need to get to Reno, and I’ll stay clear of anything to do with Lampsing and Preacher.”
Riley told Jack which bank to drive to so she could get the cash. Once Jack had the money, Riley watched the girl drive off and then walked back to her car. Pulling out her phone, she called in her one get-out-of-jail-free card. The second call she made was to Temple. She needed to add Greg Mitchell to her search.
ChapterTwenty-Eight
Riley didn’t go back to Preacher’s. Instead, she laid low at Temple’s for a week. Once she got tired of hiding out like a bitch, she went back to racing out at Muther’s. Some of the Gypsy Kings stopped by Muther’s, trying to get her to call Preacher, but she wasn’t interested in going back down that road. He needed to get over his ex, and she . . . well, she needed to find a way to deal with her guilt over Mitch.
Her phone had been turned off since she called in the favor for Preacher’s ex.
That deal was done, and now, Preacher would never have to deal with Jack again. Tonight, Riley was back at Temple’s, combing through everything the girl had pulled up on Jacqueline Landry and Greg Mitchell.
Taking a swig from the beer Temple handed her, Riley looked at everything she’d found on Jack. If you knew how to read between the lines, you’d recognize how often one of the girl’s friends had gone to jail. Jack Landry’s ass had been given numerous chances to get her act together. It seemed like everyone had protected and taken care of Jack and, in doing so, had spoiled her from a young age.
Her friend, Greg Mitchell, was a piece of work. Rich, privileged all his damn life, had more scraps with the law than she could read over. Every step of his spoiled life had been paved with his daddy’s money, making sure he didn’t spend one day in jail for any crime he had been accused of.
Flipping the pages, Riley came across a police report from when one of Mitchell’s friends reported their truck stolen. How the hell did the cops not make the damn connection? There it was in black and white, one week before the attack on Preacher, Greg Mitchell’s friend reported his F-250 stolen from a bar. The only difference was the truck was reported to be an iconic silver, and the one she described was stone gray. A mild tonal difference.
“Temple, I need an address on Greg Mitchell.”
“It’s on the last page.”
Turning to the last page, Riley typed the address into her phone’s GPS and looked at the distance between Mendocino and Lampsing. She should give the info to Bones and be done with the whole thing, but she didn’t want another man’s blood on her hands.
Deciding she would get the proof that Greg and his friends had attacked Preacher on her own, after that, she’d be done with the whole mess. Maybe then she could get pasther feelings for Preacher, because the last thing she needed was to be another problem he had to deal with. She wouldn’t be that girl who clung to a man that didn’t want her.
“Temple, can you hack Greg’s phone, computer, or any of his electronics?” She watched Temple look over her laptop, bored. “Alright, what do I have to do for you to hack him?”
“I just need you to copy his files on a zip drive and get it to me.”
“I can do that.” How hard could it be to get in his place, copy his computer files, and get out? “Temple?”
“You need tomake a plan, then execute the plan.”
She could make a plan. The fastest and easiest way to gain entrance to a guy’s place was to date him. She didn’t want to date Greg Mitchell, but she could pretend to be interested in him.Screw that. She’d break in and steal his laptop. “Temple, I’ll be back.”
“Where are you going?” Temple asked as she watched Riley head for the door.
Riley looked back at Temple. “To get proof that Greg Mitchell stabbed Preacher.”
* * *
Gypsy sat in the clubhouse common area listening to Fiddler discuss the run he’d been on with Trip and Tumbler to help one of the Sinner Saints boys. Psycho Bunny was a problem child with enough good looks to get away with almost anything. Picking up his phone, Gypsy excused himself when he saw it was Riley James calling him. “Hello?”
Riley hated calling in the one favor she had from the President of the Gypsy Kings, but the situation she was in was their fault. “Remember that favor you owe me?”
Curiosity had him wanting to know why the girl was calling in her one favor. “I remember. What can I do for you?”
“I need a lawyer to come down to the Mendocino police station,” she said.
“What did you do?”
Riley looked around at the cops and decided she needed to keep her mouth shut for now. “Can’t talk at the moment. Are you going to pay up or not?”
