Own the Wind

  But I was no longer going through the motions. I was getting back to life, living it and not pretending.

  Thus I was out to lunch with Natalie and sharing with her my scheme.

  I looked into her pretty gray eyes framed by flawless peaches-and-cream skin and halo of fabulous ash-blonde hair with kick-ass highlights, and I narrowed my eyes.

  “You are,” she stated. “You are insane.”

  I leaned forward. “I’m not insane.”

  “Wrong,” she declared.

  “I didn’t say I was gonna go out and hunt down the man who killed Shy’s parents.”

  This was the reason Natalie thought I was insane.

  Although most of the time Shy and I were together I was blathering, there were some times when he talked. He shared. He laid it out. He was as comfortable giving it to me as I was giving it to him.

  He talked about his parents and brother a lot, which meant they were on his mind a lot. He did it often grinning, chuckling, natural, comfortable, but as time wore on, I saw this was all an act.

  Their loss bothered him.

  No, it didn’t bother him. It was coming clear it was eating at him.

  All his talk was understandable about his brother. He was in the Army and deployed in Afghanistan now, and I knew, even though Shy didn’t say it flat out, Shy was worried about him. I didn’t even know him but, for Shy, I was worried about him too.

  It was more than that, though. It was clear they had a good family, but it was a family interrupted, and the fact that the guy who murdered his parents was never caught and Shy was still talking about it meant he didn’t have any closure. He didn’t have a way to put it behind him, and I wanted to help him heal and move on like he’d done for me.

  So I figured finding the guy, bringing him to justice, if that could happen, would help Shy to heal. Or, at least, it wouldn’t hurt.

  “No,” Natalie cut into my thoughts, “you’re not goin’ to find the guy yourself, but that doesn’t mean you’re not insane.”

  “Why is finding that bastard insane?” I snapped.

  “How many reasons do you want?” she snapped back.

  “Five,” I retorted.

  She sat back in her chair, lifted her hand with one finger extended and launched in. “One, you’re hiring Lee Nightingale and, girl, you know, that dude has had books written about him. They were fictionalized, but he’s also in the paper all the time, so we both know whoever wrote that shit did not tone it down. He’s the badass to end all badasses. He’s such a badass, he’s the freakin’ definition of badass, and his team of badasses only exist to define alternate nuances of the same thing.” Her chin jerked out. “Badass.”

  “This is good in a private detective,” I pointed out.

  Natalie ignored me, lifted her hand again, and shook two fingers at me.

  “Two, he’s the best of the best, and the best of the best is expensive. You got a sweet gig as a nurse, but even so, you also don’t have that kind of cake.”

  I had to admit this was a concern.

  When I moved into my apartment, Dad and Tyra sprung for my living room furniture set, the brothers bought me a killer stereo, and the old ladies got together to outfit my kitchen with junk I could use to ruin food. I just had to buy my dining room table and bedroom furniture and I was good to go. My rent was also cheap. And Nat was right, I had a sweet gig. I wasn’t a millionaire but my salary was nothing to sneeze at, especially at my age.

  Therefore, I was comfortable.

  That said, I’d been thinking on this scheme for a while, and I’d called over a month ago to get an appointment with Lee Nightingale of Nightingale Investigations, the premier private investigation service in Denver or, maybe, from their reputation, the world. They set me up, but my appointment was next week. That was how in demand this guy was. And usually that kind of thing reflected in fees.

  “Three,” Natalie went on and I focused on her, “I don’t know, it’s a guess since I never was stupid enough to hire a badass but, I’d say, when a badass sends an invoice and it doesn’t get paid, he gets testy.”

  Another concern I had.

  “Maybe he’ll take installments,” I suggested.

  She again ignored me.

  “Four and five, because, girl, when I say it you’re gonna know this is worth two numbers, you manage to hire Lee Nightingale, he manages to find this guy, and, Tabby, you know Nightingale is so good, that case could be cold as the arctic and he’ll still find this guy, we’re talking about Shy Cage and Chaos here. The guy who whacked his parents is unearthed, he’s gonna go apocalyptic on his ass. We’re talkin’ takin’ this guy somewhere no one knows about, playin’ with him for maybe years, then probably tossing him into a pit, dousing him with lighter fluid, and setting him on fire like that stone-cold black dude did to Tig’s daughter on Sons of Anarchy.”

  “Chaos is not SAMCRO,” I returned, referring to the acronym for the motorcycle club in that TV show.

  She lifted her eyebrows.

  I decided not to argue that point.

  She leaned forward and continued, “Tab, I can see it. My girl is back and I don’t want to turn you to that dark place you’re leavin’ behind, but Shy Cage is not a physical therapist.” Her voice dipped quieter. “In other words, girl, he’s not Jason.”

  I licked my upper lip and fidgeted in my chair.

  Natalie kept talking, “If Jason’s parents were murdered, you found the guy who did it, he’d stand in front of reporters and make relieved statements about justice being done. You know, there is no way that motherfucker was found, Shy, who you’re suddenly weirdly tight with and we’ll talk about that later,” she declared ominously. “And your dad, I’ll put out there, since Shy is a brother and those brothers are all about the brotherhood, will not lose their fuckin’ badass biker minds and let that shit go unavenged the way they think it needs to be avenged.”

  Okay, even though I’d been thinking on this awhile, maybe I didn’t think it all the way through.

  “Okay,” I started. “Maybe I can make a deal with Nightingale that he finds enough evidence that when this guy goes inside, he never comes out.”

  Natalie sat back, her brows shot up and she cried, “Girl, do you not watch TV?”

  I glared at her.

  She leaned toward me again and stated, “These guys got networks. That guy would be in the joint about two seconds before some inmate who owed Chaos a marker got the word and he started carvin’ that motherfucker’s name in a shiv.”

  This, too, was probably true.

  I leaned toward her and admitted, “Natalie, he’s been supercool with me. You’re right, we’re tight and he talks about his folks all the time. I have to do something.”

  “Now we’re talkin’ about what I wanna talk about,” she informed me. “Tell me, how in the fuck am I in your kitchen for four hours last week helpin’ you botch batch after batch of cookies to get one good enough to give to Shy Cage?”

  “I told you, we had a bet, we played pool. I lost.”

  “Bullshit,” she returned and shook her head, her eyes moving over me, her face getting soft. “Tabby, I love you. I watched it happen. I watched you tossed into the pit of despair when you lost Jason. I took that fucked-up ride with you, and I’m tickled freakin’ pink that you’re finding the other side and comin’ back to you. And, babe, hear this, it’s been months and it’s time. Your girl parts are growin’ cobwebs. You need to get back in the saddle.” She held my eyes and her voice dipped quiet. “But not with Shy Cage.”

  I felt my back go straight and I told her, “It isn’t like that.”

  “You on the back of his bike?” she asked.

  I ignored that question and said again, “Nat, it isn’t like that.”

  She leaned further over the table. “Listen to me, Tab. I gotta give it to you straight and it sucks, but here it is. You know I didn’t like Jason. Thought he had a stick up his ass. I knew he didn’t like me. I know that was shit for you and I’m sorry
. Make no mistake, that apology is straight from the heart. Lookin’ back, wish I played that differently. I didn’t and I gotta live with that, him bein’ gone. I also know, much as I hate to admit it, he loved you. Loved you like I’ve never seen.” I felt my breath hollow out and her hand came across the table to grab mine. “And, girl, burns in me to remind you of this shit but I gotta. You are never gonna get that back. It’s gone, he’s gone. Still, even havin’ that good from him, that doesn’t mean you might not find something even better. You just gotta get your ass out there and look.”

  “I’m not ready for that,” I told her.

  “You are,” she shot back immediately, and I started to get pissed.

  “I am?” I asked sarcastically, pulling my hand from hers. “You know? Did you lose your fiancé three weeks before your wedding and I missed a memo?”

  “No, I watched my best girl endure that shit and pull herself through, but you can’t get frozen in the process and not see it through. It’s been near on a year, Tab. It’s time to see that process though. Sayin’ that, girl, you get to the other side and move on, you don’t do it with the likes of Shy Cage.”

  I felt the idea of moving on in life with Shy settle in my belly in a way that I immediately transferred it to my pit of denial.

  Then I hissed, “Natalie, it isn’t like that.”

  She shook her head, but her eyes never left mine. “Maybe not for you, but that boy is all about pussy. You think with you bein’ all sassy and hot and sweet and funny, he’s not doin’ the time in order to get payback?”

  “No,” I clipped. “I don’t think that.”

  “Well, you also know I have occasion to rub up close to the circles Chaos runs in and I know Shy Cage. I’ve seen him around a lot and, babe, he gets around a lot. Lee Nightingale defines badass. Shy Cage defines dawg.”

  “He’s a brother, he’s family,” I snapped.

  “He’s a dawg, Tabby, and you can’t forget that. If he’s bein’ cool with you, awesome. Pleased he’s givin’ that to you. Take it. You need family. I’m just tellin’ you to keep your eyes open and watch your heart. Or, more to the point, watch your ass because if you don’t, Shy’ll tap it.”

  I rolled my eyes.

  “No joke,” she stated.

  I rolled my eyes back to her. “I’m thinking I liked it better when you treated me like I was fragile.”

  “Kiss that good-bye,” she retorted.

  Great.

  I sucked in breath.

  “Nat, honestly, we’re just friends,” I whispered, and she studied me.

  Then she whispered back, “I believe you.”

  I nodded.

  “But do you feel me?” she pressed.

  “I feel you,” I said softly.

  She grinned.

  I grinned back.

  Then I sat back and she did too, turning her head and calling loudly and rudely to no one in particular, “Yo! Check!”

  My grin grew into a smile.

  That was Natalie. Loud, rude, funny, up for anything, always surprising and mostly always loving.

  I just wished she was willing to listen to advice just as easily as she was willing to dish it out, and I determined that during our next lunch, it was my turn to lay it out.

  This time, it was my turn to pay the check.

  * * *

  “Thanks, Lenny,” I called to the man under my car.

  “No problems, Tab, be done in about half an hour,” Lenny called back.

  “Cool,” I finished and then wandered out of the big garage bay at Ride.

  The good part about not holding a grudge against Shy anymore was that I was at Ride more, on Chaos more, with the boys more, my family more, and, obviously, Shy more.

  I also got free oil changes.

  I was heading toward the Compound to see if Shy was there and he wanted to share a drink when I saw him.

  Walking out of the Compound hand in hand with a tall, buxom brunette.

  My lungs started burning and my body tossed itself to the side of the cement steps that led to the office, hiding me from the couple.

  I crouched and deep-breathed.

  What the heck?

  What the heck?

  Okay, all right, okay.

  No. Not okay. Not all right.

  What the heck?

  I lifted up and peeked over the stairs toward the Compound and my lungs burst into flame at what I saw.

  Shy and the woman standing by his bike. Her hand was at his hip. His hand was at her neck. Their mouths were connected.

  I jerked down and my lungs turned to ash, I struggled for breath as I heard a Harley roar, and I pressed against the cement at the side of the steps, my eyes glued to the forecourt so I could see them as they drove by, Shy on his bike, the woman pressed to his back.

  Fortunately, Shy’s head was turned away from me.

  Heartbreakingly, her cheek was pressed to his shoulder.

  A huge wave crashed over me, pulling me under, whipping me around. I couldn’t get myself under control. I couldn’t strike out for the surface.

  I was drowning

  I’d grown up in the world of bikers and I knew.

  I knew.

  I knew what a piece of tail looked like riding on the back of a bike, and I knew what a biker’s woman looked like.

  That woman was not tail.

  She was Shy’s.

  I hadn’t even recovered and another wave crashed over me, bigger than the first. So huge and powerful, I’d never make it to the top.

  I watched until they disappeared and I kept watching, trying to surface, come up for air.

  “Honeybunch, what in the frig are you doin’?” I heard Big Petey ask.

  I shot up from my crouch and turned to see him moving my way, coming from one of the bays.

  “Um…” I mumbled but couldn’t go on.

  He looked at me and concern washed over his features. “You okay?”

  “Uh… yeah,” I forced out. “Great.”

  He stared at me then remarked, “You look like someone ran over your puppy.”

  Oh God.

  His eyes moved over my face, “You looked like when—”

  I held my breath. Pete stopped speaking then turned to look at the entrance to Ride. Then he scanned the Compound. Then something moved over his features and he looked at me.

  “He’s been seein’ her for three months.”

  Oh God.

  I clenched my teeth together so my mouth wouldn’t drop open. It felt like I’d been punched in the stomach.

  Three months.

  Shy had been seeing her for three months.

  Three months!

  How?

  How had he been seeing her when he’d been seeing me?

  And why didn’t he tell me?

  I came out of my fevered thoughts but not out of the haze of pain I was trying to deny because I didn’t get it. What I was feeling. How huge it was. How deep it hit me. How much pain it caused.

  No, I did but I was burying it.

  Pete’s hand curled around my upper arm. “Let’s get you a drink.”

  My head jerked back to look up at him. “No, that’s cool.” I said softly. “I’m driving.”

  His head dipped down to get closer to me. “Tabby, honeybunch, let’s get a drink. Promise, we’ll get one down you and we’ll get you out before they come back.”

  He held my eyes and I knew, like always, he was looking out for me, even, in this instance (though I was denying it), saving me from myself.

  Pete was the grandfather I never had.

  Dad’s dad was inside, serving life for double homicide. Dad hated him, I’d never met him and, seeing as Dad felt the way he did, I knew I never would.

  Mom’s dad was a good grandpa, but he didn’t understand the biker life. He also didn’t have a problem sharing this and frequently. He didn’t like his daughter being in it, and he didn’t like what he thought was my dad dragging her in. Before the divorce, when we were all together
, this made family visits not real fun, and I was close with my dad, so I never really forgave Gramps for being such a pain in the ass.

  He was down in Arizona now with my gram, and I never saw them. They sent cards and called on birthdays and Christmases, but they were checked out of the family. So much, for some whacked reason, they didn’t have it together enough to call and cancel the gift they bought for Jason and me. It, and the shot to the heart it carried, arrived five weeks after he died, when we would have arrived back from our honeymoon.

  So for me it was Pete, it had always been Pete.

  And looking in his eyes, I knew, since he only had one daughter, now passed, and no grandkids, it was always me.

  So I took the hand he offered and let him lead me to the Compound.

  He got me a drink.

  He also got me the heck out of there before Shy came back with his woman.

  Chapter Six

  Tied to Your Strings

  Two weeks later…

  I walked up the stairs to my apartment, dog tired.

  I was exhausted because I’d just had two days of back-to-back double shifts.

  I had a shift the next day too, and though it wasn’t a double, I needed a break.

  Thinking about tomorrow made me even more exhausted.

  And as if being dog tired wasn’t bad enough, I’d had another run-in with Dr. Dickhead that day and it was bad.

  Gossip was running amuck in the hospital that the nurse he was always banging in the supply closet was denying him his piece of tail until he asked his wife for a divorce. This did not make him happy. He was the kind of guy who wasn’t happy normally, but he was a lot less happy when he wasn’t getting it regular, and some woman trying to yank his chain just made things worse.

  Unfortunately, for whatever reason, he was taking this garbage out on me and (mostly) only me. I had somehow earned his focus. Maybe because I was the newest and youngest nurse on the ward and thus fresh meat. Maybe he just had it out for me because he was a douche.