Wild Like the Wind (Chaos #5)(146)

Not to mention a way with dressing like she was a 70s rock groupie who would catch the eye and become the muse of Jim Morrison himself, wearing low slung jeans, a thick belt, a flowy flowered top, and cowboy boots, and she rocked it all.

Rush lowered the binoculars and looked to Hawk. “Who’s her beef with?”

Hawk shrugged but his gaze was sharp on Rush’s dad. “My guess? Arthur Lannigan.”

Rush went solid and felt his father go solid at his side.

Christ.

And this just got worse.

Way fucking worse.

“Chew?” Tack asked.

“Chew,” Hawk confirmed. “For Stapleton, Valenzuela will just be icing. From what we got on her, she’s not a big fan of Valenzuela. Even so, she’s all about taking down Lannigan.”

Rush turned his body fully to Hawk. “Does she know women are droppin’ like flies around Valenzuela and Chew?”

“She knows at least one woman has lost her life to this mess,” Hawk said and the way he said it made Rush’s neck get tight.

“She know Natalie?” Tack guessed.

Hawk shook his head.

“Camilla Turnbull?” Rush asked.

Hawk shook his head.

His dad lost patience and bit out, “Spill, Hawk, Jesus.”

“I got a file,” Hawk told him. “I’m givin’ it to you. You read it. Then you get that redhead’s ass out of her porn set director’s chair and back in her bohemian wasteland pad in north Denver. Hank’s troubled. Eddie’s pissed she tied their hands. Jimmy’s considering retirement. They all want her out. She won’t budge. I figure Chaos will have the touch.”

Yeah.

Chaos was gonna have the touch.

Hawk kept talking.

“I don’t have to tell you that ugly has been gettin’ uglier and uglier. What we haven’t considered is that all this bullshit has been touching the lives and breaking the hearts of people not directly associated with Chaos. And Rebel Stapleton is one of those people. She’s just made of stuff that isn’t gonna let her take it lying down. Mo, get the file,” Hawk ordered his man.

Mo moved.

Rush looked back to the parking lot at the spot he’d last seen Rebel.

“I know you got a lot on your plate. I’d intervene, but you both know why I can’t,” Hawk continued.

Yeah, they knew.

Rush looked back to Hawk when he kept speaking.

“But someone has to get her out. Valenzuela or Lannigan catch on she isn’t who she says she is, she won’t be delivered to Chaos and laid out on your picnic table. She’ll disappear. And she’s not tight with her family in Indiana, but she’s got a brother in Phoenix who will go apeshit something happens to his sis. I’ve seen pictures of that guy, and his partner, and if those two come tearing into Denver, we might not recognize it after they get done. Makin’ matters worse, those boys got ties to a fixer I know who’s currently outta the game. Something happens to a woman that means something to someone that means something to this fixer, she’ll get involved and we’ll miss the old days of dead women turnin’ up on picnic tables with notes stapled to their foreheads. You boys don’t talk Rebel Stapleton down, this shit is gonna split wide open. And this shit is already serious shit. It gets any more serious, they’re gonna have to evacuate the city.”

Mo showed with a manila folder in his hand.

He started to hand it off to Tack but Rush reached in and took it.

He dipped his chin, flipped open the folder and saw an eight by ten closeup of Rebel’s face.

She was wearing Ray Bans and lip gloss. It was black and white, but he knew she had on gloss not only because her lips were shiny but because strands of her hair had been caught on them seeing as it appeared the snap had been taken when she was turning her head while on the move, that phenomenal mane of hair flying out at the back.

It looked like a goddamned ad for sunglasses.

Or lip gloss.

“You got this in hand?” Hawk asked.

“Yeah, we got this in hand,” Tack answered.

“Good. We’re out,” Hawk muttered.

Rush didn’t look up as Tack said, “Later,” and he felt the other men leaving.

He flicked through the file, seeing a lot of shit typed out that he’d read later.

He was looking for more pictures.

He had no idea if it was a second or ten minutes before his father remarked, “My bead, considering your fascination with that file, you intend to take lead.”

Rush looked at his dad.

“I need Shy, Joke, Snap, Dutch and Jag.”

Tack shook his head. “Dutch and Jag are recruits.”

“I need them.”

“I promised Keely—”

“I need them.”

Tack closed his mouth.

“They won’t be in danger and they gotta do more than work the store and clean up biker bunny puke to earn their patches.”

Rush knew Tack saw the truth of this when he nodded shortly and offered, “You want Chill?”

“I only need six bikes to surround a car.”

Rush watched the slow smile spread around his dad’s ragged-bottomed goatee.

Then Tack slapped his son on the shoulder. “Don’t scare her too bad, son.”

He wouldn’t scare her.