Chapter 7

CHAPTER

SEVEN

NATASHA

It had been past midnight when my phone rang. I was deep into a decent sleep, tucked into my sheets with my eye mask on to block out the glow of Ronnie's laptop. I wasn't sure I would have woken up if Ronnie hadn't given me a swift kick. Of course, she'd been awake. She was a little night owl if there ever was one.

"Phone Natty. It's Pike." That was all she gave me as she gave me a shake.

Pike: Police at the Pit. Have questions. Can u come

Me: Omw

Thankfully, I was well-versed in throwing myself together at the last minute. Most clients didn't give much notice, so I had my outfits pre-coordinated, and my makeup routine was down to a science. I could do it with my eyes closed. I was out the door in fifteen minutes flat. The proximity of the Pit was a bonus; despite Dimitri's house being in Haverboro, the towns were so close traffic wasn't a concern, especially in towns like these, where streets were empty at this time of night.

Stepping into the Pit, the heavy bass reverberated through the floor, syncing my heart with the music. The place was packed, as expected, with bikers and locals mingling in a haze of smoke and dim lighting. I scanned the room, looking for Pike, but he wasn't in sight yet. My heels clicked against the worn wooden floor as I approached the bar, weaving through groups of people and ignoring the low whistles. Cringing, I tried to ignore the slight tackiness of the floor. Gross. I dressed as I would to meet a client, but I stood out; that was clear. Maybe I should have dressed a little more casually.

As I reached the bar, I spotted Ed Cross, Pike's VP, standing there with a beer in hand. There must have been something in the water with the Cobras. Cross wasn't a slouch in the looks department either, although he looked like he'd be more at home in the board room. Ronnie had made me an excellent dossier of the Cobras members with photos and background information. Pike must be here somewhere. Cross would be the person who would be most likely to know where. He caught sight of me and nodded in acknowledgment. "You must be Ms. Petrova. I'm Cross," he greeted, his voice barely audible over the music.

"Nice to meet you," I replied, smiling briefly. "Where's Pike?"

"In the office," he said, tipping his head towards the rear of the building. "He's got Macmillan there waiting on you."

"Perfect," I said, trying to keep my tone neutral.

Cross raised an eyebrow but didn't press for details. "Follow me," he said, setting his beer down and leading the way through the crowd. I didn't need an escort but didn't bother declining it since he was body-blocking through the crowd.

We navigated through the bustling floor, the atmosphere thick with the scent of sweat and alcohol. The back of the Pit was quieter, the noise from the main room muffled by the walls. Cross maneuvered upstairs and stopped before the heavy office door, knocking twice before going ahead and pushing it open.

Pike was leaning against a desk, arms over his chest, as he stared down at the two officers from the Morinrock PD, his jaw locked tight. He looked up as we entered, his expression shifting from irritation to relief. He looked as if he was holding himself back from actually committing murder. I snickered.

"Natasha," he said, straightening up. "Thanks for coming."

"Of course." Stepping further into the room, I ignored the testosterone in the air. Cross came in behind me and closed the door, shutting off the noise downstairs and providing us some privacy. Macmillan, one of the officers who had brought Pike in for questioning, sat with what I could only describe as resignation in one of the club chairs opposite Pike's desk. I was surprised that Pike willingly allowed him to be in his office. Technically, he didn't have to without a warrant, but it wasn't the best look for a felon or someone who had been a suspect to refuse the police access. He'd made the right choice to let them in and call for his legal representation.

"Ms. Petrova," Macmillan nodded politely, his hands gripping a folder tightly in his lap. I couldn't quite figure out why he looked so anxious and pale. Granted, at the police station, he was the one in charge, and here, he didn't quite have the upper hand. Was that it?

"Come around and set up at the desk," Pike offered, moving out of the way. I accepted and crossed over to sit, laying my briefcase on the old oak surface, pulling the folio that contained the case notes out, and then my laptop with the video clips. Pike hadn't been specific on the phone about why the police were here. We weren't at the police station, which was a good sign. I'd been clear with the DA about the strength of the alibi I'd built, but I couldn't reason why they were here, and it made me itchy.

"The officers wanted my opinion on something," Pike began. My eyes snapped to his.

"His opinion?" I echoed into the office. Cross and Pike had their faces set in stone, but the officers looked like they wanted to puke at the thought that they needed Alexander ‘Pike' Walters for anything.

"There has been another murder, Ms. Petrova," Macmillan said nervously, his Adam's apple bobbing.

Tapping my fountain pen against the pad of paper, I shrugged as if it didn't bother me in the slightest, even as my heart picked up speed. "What does that have to do with my client, Officer Macmillan?" Pike smirked from where he stood just outside the police officer's view, and I did my best not to let my eyes linger on him and his overly pleased look.

"We're wondering if they're connected, is all," his words trailed off.

"And you can't figure that out?" I asked.

"We're still waiting on identification."

"Well," I leaned back in the chair. "What's the time of death for this case?"

"Five to six p.m. this evening, but we already know Mr. Walters's alibi is solid." My eyes narrowed at the greasy officer, who started looking everywhere but at me. "As soon as we found the body, it was the first thing we checked," he confessed. "His whereabouts were confirmed at the house of Mr. Volkov. We spoke to him while you were driving over." It went unsaid that there were plenty of witnesses. "Mr. Volkov has also provided us with video evidence," Macmillan said morosely as if someone had kicked his puppy. I needed to speak with my cousin about providing evidence without consulting me first. Although, in this instance, he had done the right thing, so maybe I wouldn't be a harpy.

Finding the killer was in Pike's best interest, especially if these were frame jobs. The last thing we needed was for him to be implicated in another murder. "Mr. Walters, let's see what they have," I instructed them to open the folder.

"Maybe you don't need to see this, ma'am?" Officer Macmillan suggested, but when I shook my head, he seemed to collapse a little more, finally understanding that I wouldn't budge and that it wasn't an option. Laying the folder on the desk, he laid out the photos. "The body was left in the field out behind the hardware store. Found it on patrol. Same ‘x,' but over the heart this time. Eyes gouged out like the last one. Throat slit."

This time it was a woman. She was clothed, which I suppose was a mercy, but her blouse had been unbuttoned part way and shoved over on one side for the ‘x' to be marked over the heart. Pike looked at the photos and then at me, his face set. My stomach sank. He knew who this was. There was no reason to hide it since they would find out. It would have made them suspicious if he had hidden the connection now. I nodded at him to answer them.

"This was another foster placement of mine from when I was a kid. Pretty sure the name was Hubbard." He rubbed the back of his neck, rolling it out. "Mary, maybe? She made us all call her Mrs. Hubbard. It used to make me think of that nursery rhyme," he chuckled darkly and moved the photos around on the desk. There was no doubt in my mind by the look on his face that she wasn't a nice person.

"Any idea why these victims?" Macmillan asked.

"Do you know if these are pre- or postmortem injuries?" I asked, cutting off the question. Nothing good would come of the answer, I was sure. If both victims were foster placements, they had a direct connection to Pike. That wasn't good at all.

The other officer chimed up eagerly, "The throat is the kill blow, the coroner said. The other stuff is done after." Macmillan shushed him, and the younger officer blushed, shoulders bowing inwards.

"Well, if that's all. My client is a busy man, and I was actually sleeping soundly when you interrupted." I rose to my feet, indicating that our business was concluded. "Best of luck, gentlemen. I'm not comfortable having a killer running around." I gave them a condescending look. "After all, I'm new to town and have my safety to consider." Pike looked like he was having trouble holding in a laugh. It wasn't exactly a lie. I wasn't comfortable that some serial killer was wandering around, but if they were dropping child abusers, then I could live with that. Not to mention, I could take care of myself.

The officers excused themselves reluctantly after Macmillan gave me a sour frown. Cross followed them, but I suspected that it was to make sure that they found their way directly to the front door and didn't take any detours. I sat in one of the chairs across from the desk, letting Pike have his space back.

?

"Well, what else do you know?" I finally asked. There was obviously something going on inside his brain. He'd given them the name and that she had been another placement, but that was all. I wanted to help him and be there for him if I could. Things that I didn't understand were simmering on the surface here. Typically I wouldn't dig into something so private, but here was a classic case of secrets that were going to keep coming back to bite you in the ass.

Pike fiddled with a stapler on his desk, clicking it randomly, his jaw clenched. Suddenly, he flung it as hard as he could at the wall without warning. "Fuck, fuck, fuck." The stapler exploded against the wall, components flying. Pike was out of his chair, pacing, and then his fist slammed against the wall. He seemed wild, fraught with emotion. I wasn't sure if I should intervene, try to calm him, or let him get his emotions out. Instead, I leaned back in my chair and schooled my features to a mask of calm and patience. An outburst like this was something I'd witnessed before, but it'd gone very badly. Sometimes, clients didn't react well to things, and I did work with predominately male clients. Even though I didn't know Pike well, I felt oddly safe with him, which made me feel better.

Finally, he leaned over his knees, sucking in deep breaths. He stood back up to his full height. "I'm sorry. That was uncalled for." He rubbed his hands over his back pockets and straightened his cut. I could see him building back up his mental walls brick by brick, trying to calm himself. "Everything feels like it is coming back." He pulled a hand through his hair, making it stand on end. "It seems like it's all catching up to me. I guess I'm going to need to talk to you about it. Tell you everything. I haven't ever had to, but there's no getting around it. I guess." His body had calmed down, but his eyes were wild, full of emotions that were hard for me to name. Pike's hair stood nearly on end, rumpled. "Can we do this outside somewhere? Dimitri's or my place on the patio? I can't talk about this inside. Inside is just too much." He scrubbed the back of his neck. There was so much to unpack, but I nodded.

Since we'd met, I'd noticed his anxiety with space and anywhere that lacked windows, and he'd come right out and told me some of it, but that night out in the desert when he'd been pulling in deep breaths as if he could finally breathe had clued me in. Being inside didn't work well for him. Standing immediately, I gathered my things. "Absolutely. Either place is fine. Wherever you're most comfortable, I'll follow you. I have my car." I wasn't sure about riding with him when he was so agitated.

"Ok." He looked around the office. "Sorry if I scared you with the stapler thing." Then he stomped to the door without waiting for confirmation, his boots thundering on the shitty floor. Stiffening my spine, I followed him down the stairs.

I made my way back through the Pit, my mind racing with the implications of this additional murder and how it would affect everything. Clearly, the police realized Pike wasn't responsible, but it made me nervous how closely connected the victims were to him. The music and chatter around me seemed distant, and my focus was solely on the task. Someone could be following us, so I needed to watch out for that, but we needed to start making connections. I also needed to keep a close watch on Pike. This all added up to a mess.

Once outside, the heat was a nice change from the overly chilly air conditioning and the smoky interior of the bar. Pike stuck close as we left his head on the swivel. He was looking for the person following him, too. I spotted Cross on our heels, skulking in the shadows behind us. There was no reason to bring it up, but I was sure this was to see if someone followed. It was definitely a good idea; they could catch the person in the act.

"You'll follow?" Pike asked in that Neanderthal grunt. I swear the man had zero social skills. The only way he'd gotten laid so far had been by club bunnies looking to take a ride on that magnificent cock of his. Well, let's be fair. Talking wasn't needed. Ugh, I needed help if I was thinking about his cock right now.

"Yep," I said, keeping it short and out of embarrassment more than anything else. I was conscious that he watched me the whole way as I headed to my car, his eyes nearly boring into me as I skirted around the hood of my car. Thankfully, I was only parked two spots away from his bike. I started the engine and pulled out onto the road, waiting for Pike to pull in front of me and keeping a discreet distance from his bike as he left the Pit.

Driving through the quiet streets of Morinrock, I dialed my sister. There was no way she was asleep. She answered on the second ring, her voice a mix of curiosity and concern. "Hey, Nat. I figured you'd be calling. After you left, I started scouring reports to see why Pike might have called and asked for you. I've already downloaded the crime photos to the case files in your Dropbox, and I should have the officer's reports shortly. Those are a little harder because they are so old school, but I'll get them. The autopsy should be complete in a few hours." I should have known Ronnie would have already been all over those files; actually, I'd counted on it.

"Thanks, Ronnie. You're so on top of everything." I didn't know what I would have done without her on this case. She was coming in clutch. "You're doing such a good job."

"I knew something was up when you left in such a hurry," she replied. I could tell she was still wired even though it was late. She did her best work at night. "Tell me what you need."

"Well, I'm following Pike right now. We're going to talk. Hopefully, he will give me a little more information about what he thinks the connection is. He said that the victim was Mary Hubbard, another foster placement."

"Hubbard," I could hear fingers clicking in the background. "I see her on the list. She had a reputation with the State. They liked her because they could use her as an emergency placement. She was approved for over capacity."

"What does that mean?" I wrinkled my nose. "Overcapacity?" That didn't sound good.

"Yeah. She liked to take in as many kids as she could. In it for the paycheck. Some kids complained that she didn't feed them, but the complaints were discounted." Ronnie was quiet for a few minutes. "There are just so many kids and not enough places to put them."

"Any other abuse in her file that kids complained about?" Porter had complaints in his case files, too.

"Both she and Porter were shut down. They weren't allowed to take in fosters—allegations of abuse and neglect. I have a database of placements with Porter and caseworkers. I'll start on one with Hubbard and cross reference. See if there were children or caseworkers with whom Pike may have crossed paths." We were turning into a small apartment complex. Pike's bike went up the slight incline of the parking lot.

"What about the names from the prison? The guard O'Conner and the prisoner …" my brain scrambled, "Virgil."

"So O'Conner was killed in a riot," Ronnie read off. "And Virgil Holder is out on parole as of last year. He was in for a drug charge and assault. Did ten years. Somehow, he got permission to move to Yuma and has been checking in with a parole officer there." There was skepticism in her voice that I'd like to follow up on. Did she think that maybe he wasn't really checking in? Pike was parking his bike, which was my cue for getting off the phone, so I needed to save those questions for later.

"Thanks, Ronnie. I'll check with you later. I'm going to talk to Pike about all this. Get his take."

"Love you, keep those peepers open for that stalker. I'm calling Maxim to find us a place in town. You know we can't keep hogging space at Dimitri's." I noticed that she threw in the thing about Maxim, saying it super fast.

"Love you too, Ronnie. Go ahead and call him," I hung up and then paused. Fuck and damn. I bounced the back of my head a few times on the back of the seat, then gave up. It did make sense to get our own place, but calling Maxim to help just meant he'd probably show up sooner rather than later, and we'd get an entire goon squad to watch us. Not that security wasn't a good idea with bodies falling. Maxim would send Enzo for me, who I liked and trusted, but I had just… I wanted a break. Was that so bad? It was hard to explain that to Ronnie. She'd been in the hospital when Mom decided to call Maxim and connect again to the Bratva. I don't think she remembered another life. Me, I did. I remember when I could walk to the cafe and get a cup of coffee without having a bodyguard. These few days here with Dimitri had felt almost normal. The couple times I'd gone to the Duck or even tonight when I'd driven alone to the Pit, I'd not been alone. It had been glorious. I'd felt like a normal person. Oh well.

I moved out of the car towards Pike, who watched me with a singular focus. Cross had parked a few spots away, but he nodded to me. "All clear. I didn't spot anyone." He obviously wasn't planning on staying; his motor was still running. "I'm just going to do a few circles and then take off."

"Thanks." I was glad Cross was shadowing Pike, even if it just discouraged the person from thinking that Pike was an easy target. I knew he felt it was club-related, but I wasn't so sure. It just all felt so connected to these victims.

Wordlessly, I followed Pike through the apartment and to the back patio. His home wasn't exactly what I expected. It was small but exceptionally tidy, with overstuffed couches and a pile of books on the coffee table that looked like they were from the library. I shouldn't have assumed what his home would look like, but I was still surprised. For some reason, Pike reading a library book was the last thing I expected, and I was dying to look at the titles. Please let them be smutty romance novels, I thought to myself.

"Can I get you a drink?" he asked. "We can sit out on the patio." Just outside the glass doors was a patio overlooking the Arizona desert that looked nicely put together, again nothing like I expected for a bachelor or a biker.

"Sure, a drink sounds good," I replied, trying to ease the tension. "Water will be fine."

Pike nodded and moved to the kitchen, grabbing a couple of water bottles from the fridge. I followed him through the living room and out to the patio, sitting in one of the chairs. The night air was cooler now as it edged towards morning, and the vast expanse of the desert stretched before us, the horizon barely visible in the dim light.

Pike handed me a bottle and sat down, his eyes fixed on the darkness beyond the patio. He took a deep breath, clearly trying to gather his thoughts. I waited, giving him the space he needed to open up. The silence was broken only by the distant sounds of nocturnal wildlife. I had so many questions about his past that only he could answer. I had the barebone facts, but some things could only be supplied by the person who was there and experienced them. Experiences colored your life, as I'd found out. They changed the fabric of your life, threading it with new ribbons and weaving it through with a pattern you didn't expect.

Finally, he spoke, his voice low and rough. "Mary Hubbard was a nightmare. Her place was one of the worst in its own way. I remember…" he hesitated, swallowing hard. I wondered if I should reach out to and comfort him, but he seemed to be barely holding on. The pulse point at his throat beat wildly as he continued. "I remember kids coming in and out of her house dirty and hungry, with bruises they couldn't explain. She was shut down, I think, but not before doing a lot of damage. Like many places, she brought kids in for a paycheck that she could cash. She'd cram as many bodies in as she could." He didn't look at me when he said, "She didn't have a heart." My breath caught in my throat at the implication of the words. He seemed oblivious and continued, "I don't have a solid memory of my parents. They were in a car wreck when my brother and I were little. After that, there was a string of fosters. One after the other. Some were bad. You think it — it happened. Beatings, starvation, sexual abuse." His face turned in the dark, his body pivoting to me. "The only thing I fought for was to keep my brother with me. I tried hard to protect him, but it wasn't enough."

"You were just a child. Adults were supposed to protect you." My heart broke from him. I'd known from some of the reports that this was his story, but hearing it from him made it harder. No child should have to live through abuse. I knew that many did, but it didn't make it right. I could envision a little boy trying to protect his baby brother and tried not to cry.

"That's a lie. Adults are pieces of shit." The words were bitter, hard, and true in some respects. There were undoubtedly adults in my experience who weren't good people, but my mother had protected me during my childhood. She had sacrificed herself to keep Ronnie and me away from my father. It was a heavy price, but I don't think she regretted it.

"My brother took it the hardest. He didn't remember anything about my parents at all. Nothing to anchor him. I tried my best, but he didn't have any reference." Pike swallowed some water and looked back to the desert. "He'd take dolls in the house or books with faces. Put an ‘x' over the eyes, or he'd pull the eyes out. That's what makes me wonder." His words caused a chill to move over my skin. The image of a disturbed little boy pulling out eyes made my skin crawl.

My body leaned forward. Ronnie had been looking, but there hadn't been much in the files other than labeling Eli a ‘problem' and ‘disruptive.' I'm sure foster placements that were abusive didn't want to make any waves or get help for a disturbed child. That would raise a lot of questions.

"We had some good placements, but they were quick to offload us once they became aware of Eli's little obsession with eyes. He was small, but he was feisty. Calming him down was tricky." Pike's voice took on a dreamy quality. "He wouldn't calm down. He couldn't calm down until all the eyes were gone." Goosebumps rose along my body, and the hairs on my neck prickled.

"Do you think this is him? A revisit to the past? Checking off a list?"