“Hi,” she said, offering a timid smile in return. Becca? Still nothing. Her past had never felt so damned far away.

  “Oh, my gosh, it’s so good to see you!” The girl’s smile turned apologetic. “I’m sorry. Maybe you don’t remember me. I’m Brittany, from the station. We only worked together for a few weeks, I think.”

  “Right, of course.” Kelsey’s own smile immediately became more genuine once she’d been relieved of the burden of Brittany’s name. And now, she really did recall her, hired three weeks before Kelsey took her leave of absence. In fact, her first day had been Kelsey’s first day back at work after Hannah’s death, and Kelsey remembered the fog of her grief being pierced by Brittany’s sunny smile. She’d thought back then that Brittany would make anchor in record time.

  “How are you?” she asked. “Still at the station?”

  “Yeah.” Brittany laughed slightly. “They asked me to anchor, but I said no. I think they’re a little mad at me now.”

  Kelsey raised her eyebrows. As far as she knew, no one had ever refused a promotion that big. “I don’t think that’s ever happened before,” she said. “I’m impressed.”

  “Well ...” Brittany waved her hand modestly. “It’s weird, and maybe it’s kind of lame, but ... I wanted to stay on the crime beat. That’s where I feel like I’m helping people the most, you know?” She tucked a stray lock of strawberry blonde hair behind her ear. “The anchor pay grade is definitely nice, but I mean, I know what they do, and I’d rather not do it myself.”

  The crime beat? Kelsey’s growing admiration for her former coworker took a backseat as soon as she heard those words. She’d spent the weeks before she left the news trying to get in with the homicide team, but they’d been strictly instructed not to speak with her except as a member of a victim’s immediate family. She’d always suspected that they knew more than they told her.

  “Yeah,” she heard herself agreeing weakly, unable to formulate much more of a reply. Her mind raced. It had been so long since she’d called for an update on Hannah’s case, and even longer since they had anything useful to tell her. She wondered if it would be weird to ask Brittany if she knew anything, right there in the middle of the store.

  “How are things with you?” Brittany said. She smiled again. “I know we weren’t like, best friends, but I just moved to this neighborhood and it’s so nice to see a face that I recognize. I’ll go away soon, I promise.” Something about her gentle self-deprecation pulled at Kelsey’s heart. How many times had Hannah said things like, I’ll stop bothering you, I swear, or I promise, this is the last picture?

  “No, no, it’s okay.” Kelsey stepped off to the side and put her shopping basket at her feet. “I’ve been ... all right. You know how it goes.” This was likely not an answer that would satisfy a reasonable acquaintance, let alone a crime reporter. Kelsey rushed on before Brittany could say anything. “Um, I was wondering ... can I ask you something?”

  Brittany’s face changed, no doubt her news senses tingling. She, like all good reporters, had the ability to smell a bombshell waiting to be dropped. “Of course,” she said carefully, keeping her expression pleasantly neutral.

  Kelsey breathed in. “Have you heard anything about the Hannah Jones case? I mean ... do you know what’s going on with it?” She sounded dumb at best, suspicious at worst, but it was the best her brain had managed. She held her breath in anticipation of Brittany’s reply.

  “Hannah Jones ...” Brittany placed a hand on her chin, gazing off to the upper left.

  The ensuing silence was more than Kelsey could handle. “She’s my sister,” she blurted. “It’s a cold case now. I just ...” She trailed off, unable to articulate her feelings. Instead, she gazed helplessly at her companion, hoping that she would understand.

  “Oh!” Brittany’s look brightened, but only for a split second. Her eyes, a few shades off from the color of Chopper’s, filled with warm compassion. “I’m so sorry for your loss, Kelsey. I had no idea.”

  “Thank you,” Kelsey said, meaning it. She tried not to fidget.

  Brittany continued. “I haven’t heard anything about that one in a while. Bu t—” She reached out and touched Kelsey’s hand. “When I go back into work tomorrow, I’ll check the cold case file for you, okay?” Reaching into her purse with her other hand, she drew out a notepad and a pen. “In fact, let me write it down so I don’t forget. Hannah Jones, you said?”

  “Yes.” Kelsey’s heart leaped. “Hannah with an H at the end.” She didn’t know exactly why, but this chance encounter had given her more hope than she’d felt in ages. Her chest tightened, and she willed herself not to start bawling in public.

  “Got it.” Brittany flashed Kelsey another brilliant smile. “What’s your number? First thing tomorrow, I’ll check and give you a call.” She wrote down the number Kelsey gave, then flipped the notepad shut. “Okay, I’m sure I’ve tied up enough of your time. I’ll let you get back to your day.”

  “Thank you so much,” Kelsey said. “I mean, for looking into Hannah’s case.” The smile on her face was so wide it hurt her cheeks. “I’m so glad I ran into you today.”

  “Me too!” Brittany took her hand again. “Listen, I live like, right around the corner from here. If you’re nearby, we should definitely get together sometime. There’s a neat little pub up the street. Maybe we could get drinks or something?”

  Kelsey’s smile almost faltered. “Yes,” she said, her voice brimming with false confidence. “Definitely.”

  “Amazing.” Brittany paused, then swooped in for a brief, tight hug. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow, Kelsey. Bye!” She waved.

  Kelsey watched her move away down the aisle and disappear. Her heart was like a jackhammer in her chest. Did that really just happen? Had she somehow found a way to get the answers she thought were lost for good? With slightly shaking hands, she picked up her basket and made her way to the checkout. The anxiety that had threatened her morning was nowhere to be found. In its place, there was a glimmer of light. And for the moment, Chopper slipped her mind entirely.

  Chapter 2

  Chopper

  The ransom note was the first thing he found, drafted in Spike’s handwriting on a page torn from a composition notebook. In the margins, he had actually written the words, “Use cutouts — old school.” Chopper didn’t know whether to laugh or rip the paper to shreds, but a morbid curiosity drew his eyes to the contents of the note. The more he read, the deeper his frown became, until he held the note clenched in two fists, his fingers punching through the paper.

  CHOPPER SLATER—

  YOU WANT TO SEE YOUR LITTLE PRINCESS AGAIN? WE HAVE HER.

  BRING THE STOLEN DRUG MONEY TO THE DOCKS BY 12AM TOMORROW AND SHE WILL BE RETURNED TO THE OUTLAWS UNHARMED.

  A COUNT WILL BE PERFORMED. IF YOU HAVE STOLEN FROM US, WE WILL KNOW, AND SHE WILL PAY THE DEBT.

  THE MONGOLS

  It was crude and simple, rather unlike the flair for the dramatic that Chopper had come to expect from Spike. Still, the tone of the letter got under his skin, and after he had read it, he gave into his fiery urge to tear the thing into ribbons. Then he crumpled the pieces and let them fall to the ground in a ball, which he stepped on with his heavy boot. Finally somewhat satisfied, he turned away to inspect the rest of the room. So, Spike’s grand plan was to hold Kelsey for ransom? A smirk crossed Chopper’s face as he thought about how well that had ended up working out. Kelsey was safe at home — and where was Spike? That was the million-dollar question.

  The silence in the bedroom seemed thicker than in other areas of the compound, for reasons Chopper couldn’t really explain. He knew in his soul that Spike Lawler must still be alive, but the atmosphere of his room felt haunted. The hairs on the back of Chopper’s neck prickled, and he sped up his search, wanting to be out of there as soon as possible. He hoped the unease wasn’t some sort of bad omen; that was the last thing he needed.

  The desk and bureau were filled with bottles and vials and other drug paraphernalia. In the interest of being thorough, Chopper swept them clean. He found more bottles stashed under Spike’s enormous bed, plus a small safe with its door open, the padlock hanging. On top of the bed was a pile of debris strikingly similar to the one he had found in the office: a mix of cinders and half-burnt things littering the bedspread. He saw what looked like part of a day planner underneath some ashes, and he dug it out and brushed it off. The flames had eaten through part of the open side, but a good chunk of the book near the binding was still intact. Chopper flipped it open. Another smirk leapt onto his face.

  Addresses. Dozens and dozens of addresses—and one of them was circled. This time, Chopper did laugh out loud. How could Spike have been so stupid? It was almost comical. But Chopper knew he had to give himself and his boys some credit too. He could just imagine Lawler, watching as his empire crumbled around him, scrambling to take the things he absolutely needed. Probably, he was also suffering from withdrawal; it would explain the half-assed burn jobs and the way he’d looked at the warehouse. If he wasn’t out to kill him. Chopper might have felt sorry for the guy. It had to hurt to see his life and legacy fall at the hands of his oldest rival. But it didn’t matter anymore. Chopper had what he needed, and soon, he’d be able to solve the Outlaws’ biggest problem for good.

  He made one last sweep of the room for good measure before he left. There was a picture of Kelsey tucked into one of the bureau drawers. Chopper took it out and slipped it into his jacket, next to his heart. Nothing of Kelsey would be left in the compound if he could help it. He knew she was trying to cut her ties with the club life, or at least lessen its influence, and he couldn’t find it in his heart to blame her. After all, the clubs had never brought her anything but heartache, himself included. He glanced at his reflection in the mirror above Spike’s dresser and scowled, turning away. Was there anything else in here that he needed? No, he decided. Not now. He could send his men back here to clean up the place once he’d routed out its exiled king. If nothing else, he knew it was safe.

  On his way out, he passed through the office on the second floor again, and out of curiosity, he tried one of the cabinet drawers. To his surprise, it came open immediately, and it was full of nothing but air. When he tried the others, he found that many of them were also empty, and the ones that weren’t were stuffed full of documents dating back to even before Spike assumed command of the Mongols. Chopper made a mental note to have one of his bookkeepers sort through this mountain of paperwork, but for the moment, he let it be. He should have known that the massive bank of cabinets was largely a ruse to intimidate whomever happened to venture into Spike’s record room. Almost none of the Mongols would have wanted anything to do with the club’s filing system—Chopper was sure of that.

  He walked out the busted front door and went around to where his bike was hidden. The documents he’d pilfered from the compound went into his side bag, and then he threw his leg over the bike and started the engine. Its low roar filled the stale quiet with a comfortingly familiar sound. Chopper felt himself relax as he pulled off down the drive toward the road. Mission accomplished, he thought.

  When he got back to his own compound, he found Mickey waiting for him outside the door of the war room, her face etched in worried lines. He hadn’t seen her much at all since the last confrontation with the Mongols, and he was surprised to find her presence somehow reassuring, as if she was the true indicator of normalcy returning to his world. He smiled at her as he approached the room. She smiled back, but nervously.

  “What’s up?” he asked, opening the door. He let her sidle in first. “Haven’t seen you in a while.”

  “Been laying low,” she said. “Keeping my head down. You know.”

  “I know,” he agreed. He dropped the binder and the planner on the table. Her eyes darted questioningly between the books and his face. “Just some souvenirs from Spike’s place,” Chopper told her. “Money shit. Don’t know if I understand it all.” He decided not to tell her about the addresses, or his plans regarding them.

  Mickey hesitated, brushing some of her flyaway copper hair from her eyes. “I might be able to help you with that,” she said. “Or, I might have someone who can.”

  “Really.” Chopper leaned on the edge of the table, crossing his arms. “How soon?”

  She pursed her lips. “Right now. One of Spike’s girls got in touch with me this morning. At least, she says she’s one of his girls. I told her to meet me here. She’s downstairs.”

  “How long’s she been waiting?” Chopper asked.

  Mickey shrugged. “An hour, maybe? I told her you weren’t in, but she said she didn’t care. She wouldn’t tell me what her deal was, only that Spike hung her out to dry.”

  Chopper chuckled wryly. “Send her in for me.” He paused. “And remind me to give you a bonus.”

  “Ah, whatever,” Mickey said. But he caught a glimpse of a grin on her face as she breezed out of the room. Her quick footsteps echoed down the stairs, and then he heard different ones coming back up. They were slow and deliberate, and they made a noise that he recognized as sharp-heeled shoes. He braced himself.

  The woman who appeared in the doorway was one he would have described, pre-Kelsey, as a classic beauty. Her smooth, rounded figure spoke of pinup girls and sailors’ tattoos. She had red hair like Mickey, but hers gleamed in the light like flames instead of pennies. A pair of sunglasses obscured her eyes, but when she saw Chopper, she took them off, revealing piercing hazel irises. A bitter little smile quirked her lips.

  “Chopper Slater,” she said. Her voice was low and sensuous, with more than a drop of poison in it.

  Chopper kept his arms folded across his chest. “Who are you?” he asked evenly.

  “Oh?” She arched an eyebrow. “Your little puppy didn’t tell you?” She walked over to a chair and lowered herself into the seat, crossing her long legs primly, one over the other. “My name’s Dahlia. I used to be Spike’s old lady.” She paused, eyeing him. “I take it you don’t remember me.”

  “To be fair,” Chopper said, “he’s had a lot of ladies.” He grabbed a half-spent pack of smokes off the table and offered it to her. “Here. You look like you need one.”

  She laughed, plucking a cigarette from the pack. He lit it for her. She didn’t speak again until she had taken a long drag and let it out in a plume around her head, her gaze steady through the screen of smoke. “He has,” she agreed. “And I was foolish enough to think that I would always be the queen.”

  “Who dethroned you?” Chopper asked.

  “Oh, please. As if you don’t know.” She inhaled again, the tip of the cig glowing bright. The smoke left her lips in rings. “The moment he laid eyes on her, he was lost to me. And when you took her away, I thought he’d die right there. Die, or kill someone.” She turned her head to stare out the window, thinking. “I should have known,” she continued. “But I held on for a long, long time. Don’t ask me why. I don’t know that either.” She tapped the cigarette delicately, and a long cinder of ash fell to the tabletop. “Sorry,” she said. “Ashtray?”

  Chopper passed her one. “So, what? You finally realized he’s a scum bucket and came to me to atone for your sins?”

  She looked up from brushing the ashes into the tray. “Something like that.” Her eyes hooded themselves as she watched him. “I have a confession to make, if that’s what you mean.”

  He masked his interest as best he could. “The priest is in,” he said.

  For the first time, her hypnotic gaze dropped to her lap. She put down the cigarette and began to turn the gold ring on her finger. “I’m the one who told Spike where she was hiding.” She took a breath and pressed on. “I watched her. I told him when he could go in and scare her out. I don’t know what I thought would happen.” She sighed. “Right before, I called her. There’s a message on your voicemail machine. I suppose you’ve heard it by now.”

  He had heard the message, and it had made him furious. Now, he didn’t know what he felt. “That was you? You sound so ... different.”

  “Maybe I was hysterical,” she said. “Who knows.” The ring kept turning. “I saw her run out the back, and I think as soon as she was gone, I knew I’d done something horrible.”

  “Because she was pregnant?”

  Dahlia hesitated. “Yes.” Her voice hitched just slightly. She cleared her throat. “She was running very, very hard.” Those eyes met Chopper’s. “But I told myself it didn’t matter, that I was doing it for love. Because ...” She trailed off for a second. “I loved Spike, you know.”

  “Why?” Chopper couldn’t help himself. He clamped his mouth shut as soon as the word left him.

  Dahlia let out a short, harsh laugh. “Good question.” She ran her fingers through her fiery hair. “I can’t stop thinking about her running for her life, away from a man who loved her more than he loved me.” She stared at her ring. “What’s her name?”

  “Kelsey.”

  Dahlia nodded. “I knew that. I just didn’t want to.” She picked up the cigarette and put it between her lips again. “I have information for you,” she added. “Call it penance, or payment, or whatever you want. I can tell you where he is.”

  Chopper pushed the binder across the tabletop toward her. “Can you help me with this?”

  She opened it and rifled through the pages. A tiny grin crept onto her face. “What happened to it?” she asked. “He tried to burn it?”

  “I guess so.”

  She shook her head. “Idiot. He should have taken the papers out.” Her eyes scanned the number columns. He could practically see her doing calculations in her head. Clearly, she was a lot smarter than Spike had taken her to be. “What do you need?” she said. “I was there for all of this. I can tell you anything.”