Chaos Bound (Sinner's Tribe Motorcycle Club #4)(44)

Naiya’s tension eased as he talked about his sister, and she sipped her third Mai Tai of the evening. With a fierce sweet tooth and a dislike of strong alcohol, she was a cocktail girl all the way. “You don’t look like you belong here either.” She gestured to the suit, and then waved vaguely over the collection of rough drunks seated at the tables behind them. “Or at a place like Bolton.”

“My line of work takes me all over.” He poured a glass of water from the jug the bartender had left for him. “I could say the same about you. This bar isn’t the safest place for a woman alone, especially in a beaver shirt.” He offered Naiya the water and she shook her head, held up her glass.

“It’s a drown your sorrows kinda night. And I’m not here for long. Just waiting for the bus.” Although she had no idea where she was going. After Holt had driven away, she’d felt more lost and alone than she’d ever felt in her life, and the prospect of going on the run by herself made her stomach twist. But she didn’t want to put Ally and Doug or any of her friends in danger. And Maurice had found someone else. She took a bigger sip of her drink, wondered what kind of girl Maurice was with and whether he made her moan when he kissed her, the way she had done with Holt.

He sipped the water, his movements slow and deliberate. Although he seemed friendly and hadn’t overtly hit on her, something about him didn’t seem quite right. Maybe it was because he was so different from everyone else in the bar, or maybe it was the way he watched her when he thought she wasn’t looking.

“I’m Michael, by the way,” he said, breaking her train of thought.

Naiya shook the offered hand. His skin was soft, smooth, so unlike Holt’s calloused palms. In fact, he was almost Holt’s complete opposite. Slim where Holt was broad, with short-cropped dark hair, brown eyes so dark they were almost black, and a lean body. No visible tattoos. No cuts or bruises on his face. No character.

Holt was all character. From his scars and tattoos to his understated sense of humor, and from his biker swagger to his ability to dominate a room, he was the most intoxicating man she’d ever met.

“N—” She cut herself off. Better not to share her real name. Years of hanging around bikers had taught her to be wary of strangers. “Nora.”

“Can I buy you a drink, Nora?”

“No, thank you. I’m just about at my limit.” She gestured to the pitcher of water. “You aren’t drinking?”

He shook his head. “I’m working. I’m investigating two murders not too far away. A high-profile biker was found at Gull Lake. He was shot at close range along with his buddy.”

She sucked in a sharp breath. “Are you a police detective?”

Michael pulled out his wallet and flashed his ID. Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms and Explosives (ATF). Everyone in the biker world knew and hated the ATF. No one could take down an MC faster, and if they were in the area, looking into Leo’s death, it wasn’t just a simple shooting between rival biker gangs; it was a very big deal.

“Usually the local police would handle the case,” he said into the silence, “But they were from one of the biggest outlaw clubs in the state, and there has been a lot of unusual biker activity in the area, so they called us in.”

“Oh.” She lifted the drink to her lips and forced down the sickly sweet liquid. Her heart thudded to the bass of Black Sabbath’s, “Paranoid.” “So … do you have any leads?”

“Curiously, no.” He cocked his head, stared at her. “Whoever did it knew how to cover their tracks. All we know is that the shooter took the high-profile victim’s motorcycle. We were able to identify the make and model from the tires, and we’re trying to ID the body. Bikers wear their road name on their leather vests, but when we contacted his club, they weren’t minded to tell us his real name.”

“I guess not.” She forced a laugh. “And are you supposed to be telling me all this? Won’t people be afraid if they know there’s a killer on the loose and you have no leads?”

“Won’t be for long,” Michael said. “I have a nickname at the ATF. They call me the Bloodhound. I can sniff out clues in the most unlikely places. I haven’t had one unsolved case yet.”

“I’ll rest easy tonight then, knowing you’re on the case.” She tipped her glass to him and drank the rest of her cocktail in one gulp.

“Actually, I came over here because of your shirt.” Michael gestured to her sweatshirt. “There were reports of outlaw bikers in Bolton. They shot up a couple of rooms in a motel. One was rented out under a fake name. Just wondered if you were there at the time. Maybe you saw something…” He sipped his water, watching her over the rim of the glass and it was all she could do to stay in her seat.

“Um … no.” She curled her hand around her empty glass, her knuckles whitening. “I haven’t been there for a long time. This is an … old shirt. But it’s comfortable, so I wear it when I travel.”

“Ah.” He nodded, but his eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly, and the skin on the back of Naiya’s neck crawled.

“I should get going.” She glanced up at the clock, desperate to get away from Michael and his searching gaze.

“Where are you headed?”

“Um … Idaho Springs.” She blurted out the name of the first Colorado town that came to mind since the bus was headed that way.