Shelter From The Storm (The Bare Bones MC Book 6)(24)
Placing a “quiet” finger to his lips, he tiptoed around the corner of the shed. I followed like a Keystone Kop, peering around his arm. What the f*ck? A beautiful bird of prey sat at the foot of the wall, disgruntled. He looked around himself with surprise, like what the f*ck am I doing here? Yet obviously, he couldn’t leave, and he screamed that distant sort of cry you imagine pterodactyls make. Caw, caw. He was a red-tailed hawk, I could tell by the scream and his beautiful fan of burnt umber tail feathers.
“He’s injured,” said Fox, going right up and squatting beside the bird. “Too bad I don’t have my falconry glove on me.”
“Falconry?” I echoed stupidly. “What’s his injury?”
Fox turned his head this way and that, deciding. “Ah, here.” He pointed to a spot beyond the raptor. “He was eating that snake.”
“Rattlesnake?”
“No, luckily. That Desert Nightsnake has a mild venom. I think he’ll be okay but I’m taking him somewhere safe.” He turned and looked me up and down. “You don’t have any clothes to spare. Run out there and see if anyone’s got an extra shirt, jacket.”
“I’m on it.” I always wanted to say that, and now a person of authority was giving me a mission. As I raced back to the shooting line, a weird sight assaulted me. An extremely buff black man was leaning against the outside of his electric blue sports car, just watching. Some workers, operators and laborers and truck drivers, parked around that side of the building, but this guy was really out of place. First of all, what was so damned fascinating about a bunch of nerds shooting archery? Secondly, he was so obviously not a worker, with his shiny boots, mirrored shades, and enormously bulging muscles. Too much muscle. He could probably flex each pec independently of each other. Frighteningly, part of his jaw seemed to be eaten away, maybe by a tumor.
I saw Wolf was charming Tracy with a shooting lesson, so I asked Tobias, Slushy, and Sax. “I need a spare jacket. Don’t worry, nothing’ll happen to it.”
Tobias said, “I’ve got another one of these lumbersexual shirts in June’s Jeep.” I walked with him to the vehicle. “What’s it for?”
I told him about the raptor, and then an idea occurred to me. “Hey Tobias. You can track people down, can’t you?”
“I’d say I can, if my name isn’t Tobias Weingarten.”
“Good,” I said, grabbing the plaid shirt rudely. “I’ll come by later, give you the details. Thanks for the shirt.”
But Tobias, Sax, and Slushy now wanted to see the raptor, so I led a squad of men back with me to the shed. “Who’s that guy staring at us?” I asked off-handedly.
“I don’t know, but I don’t like it,” said Slushy. “Any time anyone is staring at us in this game, it’s bad news.”
“I’ll just go ask him,” said Sax, splitting off from our group.
“There’s a raptor conservancy just outside of town,” said Tobias. “Maybe Fox could take the bird there.”
I forgot about Sax in the excitement of watching Fox wrap the bird and hold it to his chest. By the time I remembered, the guy had taken off. Sax said he split when he saw him coming. I was left wondering if the guy was following me or Fox. I had a feeling there would always be that question with two fugitives like us.
Fox insisted on following me down Mescal Mountain in the Jeep. So he must have seen the guy. Now he’d be wondering who the f*ck the guy was after too.
CHAPTER NINE
FOX
It was the strangest thing. In the middle of a loud, rambunctious game of darts with guys named Tuzigoot and Duji at The Bum Steer, I suddenly found myself walking out the side door and up some metal steps to the next floor.
I was like a man possessed by an alien overlord. Must…walk…up steps…And I swear on my mother’s grave, I did not remember that up there was the apartment of Pippa Lofting, WITSEC witness for the prosecution.
Duji and Tuzigoot seemed to know it, though. I was wondering why all the catcalls. “Hey, Fox! Nail her for me too!” “You go get her, you foxy bastard!” “Give her a moustache ride!” That last was from Wolf Glaser. I suspected him of having many more bad euphemisms up his sleeve. He was happy because Tracy had been hanging onto his arm for a few days now since hooking up at the outdoor range. The bowl-headed Tobias was nowhere to be seen.
But once I was in the upstairs hallway, I saw a stranger at her door. I hung back, peering around the corner at the guy. His handsome face and bearing stuck a cold knife into my gut. I didn’t identify the feeling as jealousy until later. Who was this f*cking guy? As a federal witness, she really shouldn’t be talking to anyone. Maybe he lived in the same building.
“Okay, I’ll check back with you in a week or so,” said the guy, turning to leave.
“Sounds good, Randy,” she said.
I took the stairs two at a time, then straddled my scoot in the parking lot. The guy loped—yes, he actually loped, he was that leggy and graceful, like a runway model—to some bunkmobile of a Toyota. Randy. His asinine name matched his idiotic car, and my sicario soul threw daggers into the side of his head as he drove off.
It was only then I realized I was jealous. I had one makeout session with a girl, and I was jealous? Of some guy named Randy? I never wanted a hookup, and certainly not with a mark. I could somehow squirm out of killing her without making myself look too bad, but a fling? What the f*ck was wrong with me? I had advised her to create her own story. Well apparently I was busy creating mine without the consent of my own ego.