Taff glanced at his watch. “We should make it to the border before sunset.”
Wyatt didn’t reply. The day was going from bad to worse, and the border was sure to be a pain in the ass.
****
Wyatt pulled up at the border control office. They’d sat for nearly an hour waiting their turn. They’d run out of smokes, and Taff had finally accepted there weren’t any lurking in compartments or under the seats. Now he sat with his feet up on the dash and his arms folded. He was chewing gum noisily and snorting from time to time.
“Hola, officer,” Wyatt said through the open window.
The officer’s expression didn’t change as he peered in. Wyatt recognized him. When he’d been doing a drop for a coyote a few months ago, he’d bribed his way in, slipping the tall thin guy with prominent front teeth enough cash to put his kid through school for a year in return for not searching his bike box.
“What happened to the door?” The officer nodded at the bullet hole.
“Ah that.” Wyatt shook his head. “We went for food, the diner at the entrance to Tijuana, you know the one? Does great chili dogs, they blow your head off on the way in and your ass on the way out.” He laughed.
Still no change of expression.
“And when we came back to the van.” Wyatt shrugged. “Bullet hole, just like that. Gonna cost me a full fucking week’s wages to get it fixed.”
“Who shot it?”
“If I knew, officer, I would’ve been on the phone with the Guarda, you can count on that.”
“What were you doing in Mexico?”
“Oranges,” Taff said, lifting his shades to the top of his head. “Collecting a cargo of oranges to sell in San Diego. Those guys up there love your oranges.” He grinned and chewed his gum. “Good trading for your country, right?”
The officer studied Taff for several seconds then turned his attention back to Wyatt. “Passports.”
“Sure.” Wyatt handed them over. Stuffed in the top one was two thousand dollars in hundred bills.
A muscle flexed in the officer’s cheek and his nostrils flared. “Oranges you say.”
“Sure, take a look in the back.” Wyatt shrugged. “Lots of oranges.”
“That won’t be necessary.”
Wyatt grinned.Perfect.
“So we’ll be on our way,” Taff said.
The guard slipped the cash into his pocket and handed the passports back. He flicked his head at the stretch of open road in front of the van.
Wyatt didn’t need to get any other indication that they should be on their way. He pressed his foot to the gas and quickly put distance between the van and Mexico.
“Home sweet home.” Taff cackled as they hit the highway. “Thank the dear Lord for crooked assholes like him.”
“Yeah.” Wyatt allowed himself to exhale. Another few hours, and they’d be back at the compound unloading the best damn haul of weapons the club had ever had.
Which could only be a good thing.
Chapter Eleven
Belle climbed off Teddy’s bike and stared at the familiar Sleepwell Motel at the south end of Peirce’s High Street. She’d been to the rally several years in a row. Usually, she looked forward to it—catching up with friends, the drinking, the music, the party atmosphere—but not this time.
This time, she was furious. Her blood was boiling. It had been before they’d left Phoenix, but now she was almost ready to combust.
When she saw that son-of-a-bitch biker, Wyatt Jones, she’d rip him a new one. Bastard hadn’t had his phone on all week. She hadn’t even been able to leave him a message and let him know exactly what she thought of his ridiculous attempt at seducing her.