“So we’re heading to Louisiana?” I ask, hating that we’re all still sitting here.
“Until we have more concrete information, there’s not much we can do,” Kincaid says, and I can tell by the tone of his voice, he’s just as irritated as we all are.
There’s no telling what Grace is going through right now. She’s stubborn to a fault, and that’s not going to bode well for her with any captor, but the one planning to keep her will want to assert his power. He’ll try to break her, to gain the upper hand, and she’ll fight him every step of the way.
“Team C, I still urge you to be ready and stick close to the clubhouse,” Kincaid says, and I look around to my team.
I haven’t been the leader very long, and we’ve only done a couple of missions, but I know I can trust Legend, Rivet, and Scooter with my life. Boomer is the newest guy to my team. I haven’t worked with him yet, but I know he’s up for any job he’ll be faced with.
They all voice an affirmative.
“And the other matter at hand,” Kincaid says, his voice clogging with emotion. “Harley has decided to stay here at the clubhouse for the time being. He just can’t stomach going back to the house just yet.”
Several throats clear around the table, and it makes me wonder if all of the guys with loved ones and families are imagining going through the same or thinking of how their spouse would respond if they didn’t make it home.
“He’s going to continue to stay in the room Apollo and April cleared out of. Everyone has been great. Lana’s funeral is still a few days away, and I don’t know what his plans are for after that,” Kincaid explains.
“He’s planning to bury her here in New Mexico?” Tug asks.
Kincaid nods. “I can hope that’s because he’s still considering a future with Cerberus, but we haven’t asked those specifics and he hasn’t offered that information.”
“I—fuck,” Rocker mutters. “I don’t know what to say to the guy. I mean, we’ve all lost people. We’ve seen our friends get taken out, but losing a wife? I just—” Rocker shakes his head as he tries to clear his throat. An echo of the same goes around the table, many of the men breaking because of Harley’s loss and just how easy it is for any one of them to be in the same position.
“All you can do is just be there for him. Listen if he wants to talk. Sit and watch TV with him if that’s what he’s doing. Sometimes just knowing a brotherhood is behind you helps,” Slick speaks up. “Don’t ask questions or give advice and please don’t ever fucking tell him things are going to get better.”
We nod with her direction because as a former psychologist for the Marine Corps, she’s the most qualified in the room to give such advice.
“Dr. Alverez is on standby if he mentions needing professional help, but we’re not going to force it on him,” Kincaid adds. “Is there anything else?”
No one speaks up.
“Dr. Alverez is available to any of you if you need her. Just shoot Max a text and he can schedule appointments with her office as needed,” Kincaid says. “I appreciate you men. I just want you to know that.”
More throats clear, and it’s like a wave of emotion runs through the room, sadness and helplessness washing over all of us.
A phone chimes a text, not an unheard of occurrence with so many people, but we all turn expectantly toward Thumper, watching as he checks the message. His brow draws tight before he speaks.
“Max, what did you say that buyer number was?”
“WA504,” Max answers from memory.
“I just got a text from an unknown number that says 5, space 04782.”
We all turn to Max as his fingers fly over the keys, and time seems to stand still as we wait.
“Holy shit. The W A doesn’t stand for Washington. If this program is right, the W stands for Wyoming. The A is for Albany, one of the counties. The five is that county’s number in the state. This is a fucking license plate number. Who the fuck sent the text?”
Thumper shakes his head. “The number isn’t in my contacts.”
“Give it to me,” Max says. A new energy runs through the room.
We may not be able to help Harley right now, but we can sure as fuck help Grace.
Thumper reads off the phone number.
Seconds tick by before Max frowns. “It’s a prepaid burner. I’ll try to trace its origin and see if we can get video of it being purchased, but I think we have a lead, guys. Give me a second.”
I tap nervous fingers on the tabletop, adrenaline filling my blood as he types away even more.