Saved by the Outlaw(34)

The team starts digging, and I bite my nails anxiously, waiting for the first body to turn up. Sure enough, before long that first body we found is uncovered. “Got one, Detective!” shouts the digger. I glance over just in time to see Willis’s face go white as a sheet before he faints. Nelson catches him in his arms before the rookie falls completely to the ground, and in any other situation the sight would have been rather funny — a dignified old cop romantically cradling the swooning body of a younger officer.

But in context of the number of dead bodies turning up in this field… I can’t exactly blame the guy for passing out, especially since he’s clearly new to the job. He can’t be more than nineteen years old. I’m sure they’ve only got him out here as a kind of hazing process, to see if he can handle the dark side of being a cop. From the looks of it, the answer is a resounding no.

“Wake up, kiddo,” Nelson says to Willis, patting the kid’s cheek and jostling his blue-suited body to jolt him back to reality. The younger cop wakes up slowly, looks around to see at least a dozen bodies have already been exhumed, and he immediately claps a hand to his mouth and runs off to vomit.

Poor kid. Nelson sighs heavily, shaking his head with embarrassment.

“Ah, yeah. Everyone reacts uniquely to their first stiff,” comments one of the forensics guys flippantly, shrugging.

“I never fainted at the sight of a corpse!” Nelson retorts, puffing out his chest indignantly.

“I did, my first time,” Detective Hanson says. “But to be fair, it was covered in blood. Really nasty scene. But these guys here are pretty clean except for, you know, the dirt and everything. He’ll be okay, though. Just give him a minute to pull his shit together.”

“I hate rookies,” Nelson mumbles, walking away to check on his unfortunate partner.

Beyond the din of digging equipment and shouting voices, I hear a distant rumble approaching. The unmistakable grumble of the motorcycle club getting closer. I hoped they would stay away from the scene, keep their noses clean for the time being. I certainly don’t want them to be dragged into this any more than necessary, and I worry that the cops will not take me as seriously if they know I’m working with the Club. But of course they can’t stay out of it. I should have expected this.

“Look who’s here!” yells Nelson from the corner of the field where he’s patting Willis on the back comfortingly. He points to the road, where the motorcycles are pulling off into the grass. A bunch of the members are here, including Leon. My heart does a little skip at the sight of him — both in concern and something like giddiness.

Calm down, Cherry. You’re literally surrounded by corpses. Try not to seem too eager to climb all over this hot guy right now.

I grit my teeth and cross my arms over my chest, trying not to look overly interested in their arrival. Detective Hanson swears under her breath and starts jogging toward them.

“You can’t come in here, people! This is a crime scene! No onlookers, please.”

“We’re here to help out,” Leon tells her, holding his hands up innocently.

“Like you ‘helped out’ Mickey Lamar the other day? I don’t think so. Come on, don’t make me call for backup, guys. Just turn around and leave,” Detective Hanson warns them.

“So there’s going to be an investigation, right?” Leon counters, changing the subject.

“Yes, yes. But you know I can’t give details. So just head on outta here and watch the evening news tonight, okay? I’m sure those media vultures will have stuck their noses all up in this case by then, anyway,” she replies, exasperated. “Speaking of which, please keep this information to yourselves, alright? The last thing we need is community panic clouding our investigation and taking up our already limited resources.”

“We really just want to help,” Genn adds earnestly.

“I swear,” Leon tells her, standing his ground. “Obeshchayu.”

“Thank you for your concern,” the detective begins slowly, “but we’ve got it covered.”

Just then, a big black sedan with dark windows pulls over into the grass and a tall, thin man in a suit and thin spectacles gets out. He straightens his jacket and tie and starts walking toward the scene of the crime, his face pinched and serious.

I look over to see Leon’s own expression go sour and his hands curl into fists at his sides as he watches the suit approaching. “Really? The feds got a whiff of blood and decided to send their best hound dog out to fetch a case?” he calls out bitterly.

The suited man gives him a flat, unconcerned look, even though it’s apparent to me that the two are acquainted in one way or another. I wonder to myself if this is another detective or possibly someone higher up.