“Thanks.”
He tossed his phone onto one of the desks—where it landed next to Briar’s—then collapsed into an available chair. Early on, they’d decided to set up the office like a police bullpen so they could work together. If a client needed privacy, there was a nicely equipped conference room. He was the CEO on paper but in reality, they all had different strengths and he considered them to be equals. There wasn’t a single one of them Royce wouldn’t want to have his back, and he’d never felt it as much as he did in this moment.
Topher was pacing the perimeter of the room like a restless lion, while Bishop rocked in his chair just hard enough that it squeaked. Caleb remained outwardly calm, no sign of tension, but he’d been Delta Force. He’d gone into situations even Royce couldn’t imagine, coming out with whoever he’d been sent to liberate—or remove from existence.
“He’s gonna help us out?” asked Bishop, his expression grim.
“Yep.”
“What do we think happened?”
Royce had a theory but before he could answer Caleb, Briar’s phone chimed. He snatched it up—of course, he didn’t know Briar’s passcode, so he hadn’t been able to check messages before. Adam Klay flashed across the screen.
Swiping Accept, he set the phone on speaker as he identified himself. “Sheriff King.”
He hadn’t met the FBI agent and doubted Briar had mentioned him.
“King? Why are you answering Agent Nilson’s phone?”
As quickly and succinctly as he could, Royce explained who he was and filled Klay in on what had happened that morning.
“Give me the plate number, we’ll run it.”
As he was giving Klay the plate number, Royce’s cell phone lit up and he glanced over at it. Danny Brewer had come through. There was a text with the name and address of the minivan owner.
“Thanks for offering, but a friend came through for me.”
There was an audible sigh from the other end of the line. “Please tell me it was a friend that legally could come through for you.”
Royce slid his phone across the desk toward Bishop. He glanced at it and immediately began furiously typing the information into his computer. Topher stopped his pacing and went to stand behind him, arms across his chest, while Caleb scooted his chair close to Bishop’s so he could see too. This was his team and Royce knew he couldn’t have a better one. The iron vise on his heart lessened just a little.
“Is it possible,” Klay drawled, “that I can trust you won’t do anything stupid until my team and I can get there?”
“All due respect, sir, but Agent Briar Nilson and my sister Raine are in danger and we’re not waiting a second longer than needed. If the situation were reversed, I don’t think you’d wait either. If you need to contact me directly, I’ll have my phone on me.” Royce rattled off his cell phone number.
“I feel like ‘all due respect’ means something different to you than it does to me. Do me a favor, King, and don’t get yourself shot up. Whatever else these people are, remember that they are also killers. Jakes woke up about an hour ago and what he has said so far isn’t pretty. We’ll be there within the hour.” Klay clicked off without saying goodbye.
Setting Briar’s phone back down, Royce focused his attention on Bishop just as a look of triumph crossed his face.
“What have you got?” Royce demanded.
Bishop looked away from the screen. “The van is registered to one Curtis Poole. His address is out in the boonies. But before you get too excited, Poole turned eighty-two in December and his driver’s license expired a few months ago and hasn’t been renewed. He definitely doesn’t fit the description Mrs. Butler gave you.”
“What’s the address?”
Bishop rattled off the numbers and Royce nodded. It was way out in the county. Isolated and remote, an area that was close to the river and prone to flooding. Probably one reason why it hadn’t been “discovered” by developers yet.
“It’s a place to start. Everyone grabs a tactical vest and wears it, we’re not taking any stupid chances.” Royce didn’t want to prove the pessimistic FBI agent right by doing something stupid.
“What’s the plan?” Caleb asked.
“Poole’s dead,” Bishop interjected, “but there’s a son and a grandson. The son,” his fingers flew at lightning speed across the keys, “is serving time for manslaughter at the Oregon State Pen.”
“What about the grandson?” Royce asked. Unfortunately, sometimes the apple didn’t fall far from the tree.
They were all quiet, waiting while Bishop did his magic. Royce looked over at Topher, seeing his friend’s expression as grim as Royce imagined his was.
“Bingo,” Bishop crowed. “One Roger Poole, twenty-five. Multiple arrests for… blah blah blah… the important info is that he’s bragged about being in an OMC on social media.” Bishop looked up at them shaking his head. “Why are these guys so stupid?”
Royce shook his head too. OMC stood for Outlaw Motorcycle Club, a gang whose sole reason for existence was to run weapons, traffic humans, or smuggle illegal drugs within the US and across borders. He would never in his life understand why people made the choices they did,
“He doesn’t say it’s the Spiders MC,” Bishop continued, “but at this point, I think it’s safe to assume it probably is.”
Even though he’d known it, having Bishop confirm an OMC had kidnapped Briar and Raine made Royce sick to his stomach. Gangs like these didn’t fool around, and he could only hope that Briar and Raine could hold out until they found them.
Caleb got to his feet and headed toward the gear closet. “Topher, bring your long rifle. Bishop, you stick with Royce. When we get close to the property, drop me off and I’ll come in through the back. We’ve got this.”
Fuck, Royce needed Caleb’s words to be true.