Shelter From The Storm (The Bare Bones MC Book 6)(6)

For the first time, I heavily doubted this as I tentatively made my way toward him. He stood stock still now, his hands fisting at his sides. Oh, yeah. Emily told him. She told him I work at A Joint System now. Good gracious, Ignatius.

“Hi, Randy.” I gave a little wave, hoping he’d tip me off to his status.

He didn’t fail me. “Hi Randy? Hi Randy is all you have to say? Listen, let’s go stand over by your car. I don’t want every Tom, Dick, and LaShawn hearing what I have to say.”

Randy still paced in smaller circles near my car. It looked like rage was literally coloring the whites of his eyes a shade of burgundy. “WITSEC rules are there for a reason, Pippa. Do you know how much you’re increasing your risk of exposure?”

I had my counter-defense all planned out. “By working in a medical marijuana store?”

“Any fool with eyes in his head can see that the majority of people going in there are stoners, Pippa. No medical disability whatsoever.”

“So stoners are somehow going to what, Randy? Somehow recognize me from my job being held in complete isolation inside a warehouse?” I sort of scream-whispered that last part, in case Randy had forgotten.

“Working at A Joint System puts you back into the whole world you’re trying to escape from! Why do you think we approved the tux rental store? Because what harm can come of consorting with hormone-driven teens out for the night of their life, that’s why. But a marijuana dispensary will put you right back in the circles you’re trying to escape.”

I sighed heavily. “Randy. I hardly think some stoners can be put on the same level as”—and I moved closer to him so I could speak in a stage whisper—“The Sinaloan cartel.”

He slapped his thighs with his hands. “Listen to this! You’re a relocated federal witness, Pippa. You can’t consort with known felons!”

“Well, are they? Is anyone from A Joint System a known felon?”

Randy sputtered. “Well—there’s—I’ll—it’s run by the Sergeant-at-arms for a dangerous, crime-riddled biker club.”

“The Bare Bones.”

“Yes. The Bare Bones MC. That stands for ‘motorcycle—’”

“I know what it stands for.” I suddenly felt very hip.

“—and I ran a background check on some of them. A certain Charles Bloor, otherwise known as Tuzigoot, has a record as long as your arm. B and E, assault, you name it.”

“I’d probably never meet him unless he smokes weed.”

“And they have an Antonio Medina, A K A Duji, who was charged with creating a public nuisance at a Pottery Barn.”

“Pfft. They hardly sound like hardened criminals, Randy. What was he trying to do? Walk out without paying for a succulent garden?”

Randy set his mouth grimly. “More like having a shootout with a bunch of Presencións.”

“Oh,” I said in a small voice. Of course I was familiar with the Presención dynasty. In my year being held in a warehouse, forced to synthesize drugs for the Jones cartel, I’d learned enough Spanish to get the basic lowdown on things. Presencións had their fingers in many pies—meth and human trafficking. “Well. He’s hardly going to bring any Presencións around A Joint System. That’d be the last thing he’d do.”

“It’s the element, Pippa, the atmosphere you’re around. You’re a high-profile protected witness. Changing your address and name aren’t a guarantee of your safety, and you’re hanging around God knows what sort of felons. It’s not just the Bare Bones I’m talking about. I’m talking the general clientele who comes into that sort of place.”

I drew myself up. “‘That sort of place’! I’ll have you know, everything Lytton Driving Hawk has done is above board! His long-flowering sativas are the envy of every Hempcon, and he’s won a shit ton of awards for his Eminence Front and Young Man Blue varietals.”

“Be that as it may. I don’t like you hanging around in that atmosphere. Too much potential for a security breach.”

“Randy. The Joneses didn’t deal in marijuana. Why would they, when Americans can get it just as easily locally grown, or from a dispensary? Down there they’ve replaced all their weed fields with opium fields.”

“I know.”

“I’m saying that I’m not moving in the same circles.”

“But what do the Bare Bones deal in?”

I shrugged. “Weed, as far as I know. Tux rentals. Archery ranges. They’ve got a big construction equipment rental business on some mesa.”

“Heroin?”

“Not as far as I know. Listen, Randy,” I said, in a fresh, hopeful tone. “I told August, the ganjier, that I’d take a half an hour lunch. I pride myself on being punctual. Why don’t you come to the dispensary and see for yourself? See how well-run and clean it is. I’m working in my environment again, Randy.”

“Which you’re not supposed to do.”

“Randy. I was a clinical research associate with the Coast Guard in Corpus Christi studying stem cells before I was abducted. That hardly prepped me for a career selling candy striped glass bubblers and Mountain High suckers.”

“Look, I understand what you’re saying, I really do. You’re saying working at A Joint System already is a different world from the Coast Guard.”