The Seventh Sons (Sycamore Moon Series Book 1) (10 page)

Maxim rubbed his arm and looked like he was in pain. He carefully circled around the big man, keeping a safe distance as one would with a wild animal. Then he stepped up to Diego and held his sore arm out. The biker handed the gun back to the cop.

"The Sanctuary suicides?" asked Maxim. "The ones over the falls?"

Nicola stood motionless and nodded.

The four of them in the back yard were imposing figures, each in their own way, but all allowed the silence to linger. They each wanted something: understanding, closure, family. It was easy for Nicola to blame Doka, but she knew she had some involvement, however small, and perhaps one day what she would seek would be forgiveness. But for now, she had other priorities.

Maxim cocked his pistol to make sure it was still loaded and ready to fire. "Do you have material evidence in these cases, Makarova?"

After quietly digesting the turn of events, Gaston spoke up. "Nicola, we don't talk to the police." He stood stubborn as Maxim glared at him. "Mom won't have it."

The detective quickly turned his pistol in his hand and butted Gaston hard in the face. The wolf stepped back with a scowl but thought better about resuming violence against the cop.

Maxim puffed out his chest and held the pistol tightly. "There you go," he said. "You're learning."

Diego huffed impatiently. "Maxim, we don't have time for this. I don't give a shit about dead people—I need to find my sister."

Nicola agreed. Everything else could wait. The detective, instead of answering, just looked at the ring on his finger.

Dead people. That's where his thoughts were. Nicola moved slowly towards Diego.

"I'm taking her out of here," he said, "away from the CDC."

"I can protect her," countered the detective.

Diego shook his head. "They will kill her."

"No one is dying here today," said Gaston with unusual restraint, "especially not Nicola." The big man positioned himself between them and Maxim, who half raised his gun. It was an act that Nicola attributed to his idealism and sense of brotherhood. It really was a shame that Gaston wasn't the MC president instead. "Diego," he said nobly, "take her."

Nicola made sure the big man blocked her from the pistol, but Diego didn't move. He just stood there, looking to the detective, waiting for his word.

Gaston urged him in a warning voice. "Diego..."

 

Up until now they had been alone. At least as far as Nicola knew. She had been looking back and forth nervously since this began, but this time, when she looked at the cabin door, she saw it was open a crack. Inside, behind the shadow of the sun, she saw two glowing orange eyes watching them, and she knew it was over.

Debbie kicked the back door fully open with her cowboy boot and had a look of disappointment on her face. "I can't say y'all are my favorite people right now."

The others all turned as one. This was a clear complication for everybody.

Diego, furthest from the house, spoke with a sardonic edge. "You lied to me about Angelica, Mom."

The older woman stepped outside and brushed her long hair to her back. "Now honey, what I told you was a truth you didn't want to hear."

"And what about Makarova not being in the club?" cut in Maxim. "Two days ago, you swore you didn't know who she was."

"Well that," said Mom, a sly smile on her face. "I guess you caught me there." The woman laboriously looked over each one of them. Her face was cold and Nicola couldn't meet her gaze. "My agreement with the CDC had to be upheld, unfortunately. None of that matters now that you're on Ms. Rao's team."

Nicola's eyes flitted to the detective. What did that mean? It was hard to trust either Debbie or Maxim right now. All the more reason for her to go with Diego.

Mom pulled off her cowboy hat and waved it in front of her face like a fan. "My, but it is hot out here this afternoon."

"Mom," said Gaston, ignoring her theatrics, "we can get Nicola out of here right now."

Debbie raised her eyebrows and looked at Maxim in surprise. A grand smile grew on her face, and she shook her head. "Oh no. Everything's all worked out with the CDC. There's nothing to worry about. Besides," she said, pausing as she caught Nicola's eye, "you don't know anything anyway. Do you, sugar?"

Her smile, her tone—nothing was right about this. Nicola tensed her muscles.

"Deborah," said the detective, "you need to tell me what happened to Lola right now." Maxim held his pistol tightly in his hand, but he pointed it down.

"Lola," said the woman, suddenly becoming less accommodating. She walked to Nicola and patted her on the shoulder gently. Nicola tried not to shudder at the touch as Deborah spoke. "Lola was my good friend, Maxim. We spent a lot of time together." The woman winked at Nicola and moved to Gaston, putting her arm around his shoulders. "That's more than I can say for you. You were always working, burying your head in other people's problems." Debbie walked around the big man's back and leaned on his other side. He softened his stiff posture some. "And when you finally decided to give it a rest, more than not, you would pick up the bottle."

Maxim's face hardened. Nicola saw there was truth to what Mom had said.

Debbie stepped away from Gaston and gave him a slight nod. Diego backed away from the dangerous wolf, but Mom wasn't moving toward him. Maxim was the target of her story.

"I know you have an intricate mind," she said to his face, "a detective's mind, but just because you investigate the insipid plots of the world don't mean something similar happened to Lola."

"Deborah," he warned.

"It's Debbie, hon," she said, tossing her hat onto the doorstep. "I never liked you, but your wife did. She cried the countless nights you ignored her. She never understood why your work consumed you." The others watched in rapt attention as Mom paced around the detective without masking her contempt. "Then one day—after suffering through all the drinking, after losing all the fights—one day, Lola realized that she didn't love you anymore."

A crease formed between the detective's eyebrows as he heard her words. He looked injured. The story came easily because it must have been true, and the man was about to break. But Mom didn't stop talking.

Debbie turned her back to him. "Your wife wasn't taken. She wasn't abducted." The woman returned to Gaston's side and coldly faced the troubled detective again. "Lola left you, Maxim. I should know. I helped her. She stayed at my house for a few days until she was ready to leave." Mom's voice broke a bit. Nicola thought her eyes were teary.

The cop's knees almost buckled. He wasn't looking at Mom or anyone anymore. His focus was past all of them, on a time and place far away. Slowly, the detective slid his pistol into the holster at his waist.

For a second, Mom put her face into her arms while leaning on Gaston's back, and then she wiped her eyes and continued. "Lola made her own decision, Maxim, and then she was gone."

The detective's chest heaved. He walked to the cabin and rested a hand against it, leaning over like he was ready to throw up. Nicola looked to Diego. He was uneasy.

Gaston suddenly jolted upright and let out a whimper. He dropped to the floor as Nicola saw the taser in Debbie's hands.

"Mom!" she yelled in a panic, not believing what she saw right in front of her.

"Out here, Nithya!" Debbie called.

As Gaston convulsed in the grass, Mom rolled him over, sat on his back, wrapped her arm around his neck, and squeezed. Nicola clenched her fists and looked at the distant trees. Adrenalin flooded her body as her thin frame gained invisible strength.

"Sorry, big guy," said Mom. "This is for your own good."

Diego immediately whipped a long silver blade from his jacket sleeve, the same one he had stabbed Steve with. He feinted forward, measuring his options.

Mom noticed the knife and leaned away from it, keeping pressure on the headlock. "Detective," Mom said briskly, "I do believe that's the murder weapon you've been looking for."

Diego looked to Maxim for a moment, feet glued to the floor, but the cop didn't respond or even look. He just knelt, weeping against the wall.

Gaston had barely seen what hit him, and he was weakly clawing at his neck. His open mouth was attempting to form words, but there was nothing he could do. His head fell limp.

He would be okay, thought Nicola. He wasn't the one they were trying to kill.

Nicola planted her feet to run to Diego, but Mom launched herself from the ground and hit her square in the gut, tackling her. Nicola fell on her side and, with quick reflexes, backhanded Debbie across the face. Debbie swatted her arm away and pounded on her abdomen. Pain exploded in her gut. Nicola tried to pick up her legs to fight off the stronger wolf.

Diego advanced with his silver knife drawn, and Mom jumped off of Nicola, being extra cautious when faced with the deadly metal.

"Let's go," Diego yelled. Nicola rolled forward in a somersault and jumped to her feet as Diego retreated to the tree line. As she ran, she glanced back at Maxim with his silver bullets safely tucked away in his holstered gun. It was now or never.

Nicola wasn't as strong as most others, but she was a good tracker, and she was fast. Faster than Debbie. She bolted along the same path that Diego was taking. Power surged through her body as she pushed ahead. The long stalks of white grass bent beneath her sinewy legs.

Her stomach still hurt, but the pain didn't slow her stride. She ran hard and overtook Diego, who was only human. A sort of tunnel vision formed and all she could see was the safety of the trees and shadows getting ever closer.

A gunshot rang out. Nicola instinctively ducked her head to make herself a smaller target. She had to hope that Diego would be able to make it out alive too, but there was no time to look. Only time to go.

Nicola ran as fast as she could, but she couldn't duck the next bullet. It wasn't immediately painful but her leg just failed her. She tripped up and fell into the tall grass. As she gripped her left thigh, blood spurted out. She squeezed it tightly and pushed herself to her feet. Diego ran by her in a flash. Go. Go.

Another loud report and the tree trunk ahead of Nicola exploded, throwing pieces of bark into the air. That one had whizzed right by her. She hopped forward like a wounded rabbit. She was almost there.

Nicola didn't hear the fourth shot. All of a sudden her throat erupted in a horrible warmth and she fell to the ground.

Ahead of her, Diego de la Torre disappeared into the Sycamore forest.

Nicola put her face down in the dirt. It was difficult to move. And breathe. She coughed and blood spilled from her mouth. She summoned all the adrenaline in her body, fighting, pushing to get up, but she could only lift herself a few inches.

The sound of footsteps got closer behind her. Nicola used every ounce of her strength to roll over onto her back.

She saw the detective on his feet now in the distance, standing at attention with his hands on the back of his head in shock. His gun wasn't drawn; he wasn't the one who had fired.

Nithya Rao sped towards Nicola, holding a pistol. The CDC woman—she was here. This wasn't good. Nicola still needed to search her Flagstaff house. She still needed to tell Diego about Doka.

A strange wheezing sound that Nicola had never heard before escaped from her throat. She felt a sensation of emptiness where she was hurt. She had been shot before but this was different. Nicola's breathing became more labored as she realized why her strength was being sapped away. Her body had been ripped by silver.

Nicola had been betrayed by the woman who had once saved her. She tried to get a view of her in the distance to make one last appeal, but her eyes couldn't find their target.

"Mom..." she said, straining to get the word to sound.

Nithya slowed to a casual walk as a disgusted scowl marred her smooth face. The woman stopped next to her, standing tall and blocking out the rays of the sun. Nicola spit up a spray of blood, and Nithya's heels weren't perfectly white any more.

"I'm the one you need to worry about," said the CDC woman, leveling her pistol at Nicola's head.

There was no sound. No muzzle flash. No pain.

 

 

 

 

 

Diego wedged the door open with his boot to catch another moment of the cool breeze. Despite the clear sky and beaming sun, the temperature had dropped into the high seventies today and he meant to enjoy what he could. Fall had a pleasant spirit in Arizona, and besides, the dim recesses of Sycamore Lodge could have used some ventilation.

A table of three gruff men in sweaty clothes held his regard. The truckers were mildly focused, partaking in occasional small talk but mostly going about the business of scarfing down their greasy lunches. They carried with them a presence of questionable repute that somehow made them at home in the roadhouse. As one of them turned to look at Diego, the biker shifted his gaze to another table.

A solitary man sat heedlessly staring into nothing in particular with a mug of beer in his hand. His white panama hat sat beside his left hand as it rapped on the table. Maxim had seen better days. It was barely 2 p.m. and he was clearly drunk, with little sign of being content.

Looking to the empty bar, a familiar face smiled. Melody was working again, looking a combination of sad and bored and frustrated. She seemed relieved to see Diego. Her thin eyebrows rose and her eyes lit up. She gave him a playful wave. Diego nodded and looked around. There wasn't anyone else of consequence inside.

It had almost been a week since the raid on the clubhouse and the execution of Nicola Makarova. To Diego's disappointment, the Seventh Sons and police alike had kept low profiles in that time. The biker had been forced to resort to less direct strategies. Now, Diego finally had a solid chance to talk to Maxim, but he felt an obligation to check in with Melody first.

He removed his foot from the door, took a deep breath, and walked over to the pretty bartender as she handed him a glass of Bloody Mary mix.

"I had fun last night," she said under her breath. She brushed her magenta hair behind her ear and smiled like a school girl. Diego gave her a confident wink.

She was a fun girl, but it still felt strange to sleep with someone who had been with his sister. Same as always, Melody had continually insisted that Angelica had moved on a while ago and left no ties behind. Was Mom right that she'd used the club as a means to an end? Angelica did always want to see the world, and it was no surprise to find that their struggling neighborhood in Detroit hadn't been compelling enough.

Still, Diego had something else in common with his sister. He felt like he had hidden reasons to get close to Melody too. How could he not when the girl knew about Angelica but told him so little? So they had spent the night at her cabin and become more familiar with each other. Diego was now convinced that the bartender had no way of getting in touch with his sister anymore. Melody didn't know anything.

Diego took a sip of his drink and nodded to the bartender in thanks. "Give me a second," he said, and strolled over to Maxim's table, leaving the glass behind. He stopped in front of an empty chair and waited for the detective to look up. After a moment, it was obvious that wasn't going to happen.

Diego wiped his thin mustache with his fingers. "You're working with the CDC now?" It was a spurious question, designed to instigate more than inquire, and it served its purpose.

"Right now, I am trying to have a drink." Maxim spoke strongly but stared at the table. The man was disheveled and had the beginnings of a scraggly beard. His white shirt was unbuttoned at the collar and his jacket and tie were nowhere in sight. He held a silver wedding band in his fingers and occasionally spun it like a top on the table. Sometimes he would clap down on it with his palm before it came to a stop, but usually he would allow it to tumble out of control and make jarring, uneven noises against the wood.

Diego sighed. "This is no time to drink for days on end."

"Isn't it?" Maxim asked. He looked up finally and raised his hands in mockery. "You should've told me that days ago. Could've saved me some trouble."

"You still have a job to do."

"Loosen up," commanded Maxim. "We got them. Another case closed." The detective recited the statement with little enthusiasm. Diego knew he placed no stock in the false words.

The poor man had realized that he had driven his wife away. It had been mean of Mom to tell him what she did, but then she had meant to distract him. Though Maxim had still held his gun, he was disarmed in spirit, and he still hadn't recovered.

Diego, too, felt as if he had failed Nicola. At first, he had meant to proceed without the detective's support. Now, however, he wasn't sure how much farther he could go without him.

The biker kicked a chair back with his boot and sat down. "I don't know if she can be trusted."

The ring spun on the table and created hypnotizing shapes. Diego's inference hung heavy in the air, however, and the officer picked it up.

"Nithya?"

Diego nodded.

"What do you know of it?"

"She killed Nicola right in front of us."

Maxim blinked slowly, lazily. "It was legal. It's fucked up, but she had orders."

"I doubt it," answered Diego briskly. The biker pulled out his wallet and flipped it open in front of the man.

Maxim squinted his eyes as he strained to read in the dim light. "United States Public Health Service Commissioned Corps. That's a mouthful."

"Protecting, promoting, and advancing the health and safety of the nation."

"That too." Maxim furrowed his brow. "You in the military?"

"Not really and not anymore," answered Diego.

"You're not supposed to give that ID back when you leave?"

Diego slanted his mouth in a smirk. "I left pretty fast." Maxim just nodded so he continued. "I was a ranger with them for six years. Of course, that profession doesn't officially exist. The Commissioned Corps is a noncombatant service, but a public health need arose to teach their particular skill set."

The detective looked at him blankly but then registered understanding. "Killing wolves."

Diego winced. He never liked thinking of himself as a killer.

"We are detailed to various agencies depending on need, but in the case of the rangers, we are almost always deployed by the CDC."

Maxim took another chug of beer and looked unimpressed.

"The point is, the Commissioned Corps is the strong arm of the CDC when hunting werewolves. They don't go after them on their own, and they definitely don't tap the local police." Diego leaned in to make sure he wasn't talking too loud. "If there was an Order To Kill issued for Nicola, the PHSCC would have been called out. Don't you find it strange that your office was asked to act outside your jurisdiction?"

"If it was illegal," Maxim countered, "why would she pull in a third party? Wouldn't that draw unnecessary suspicion?"

"Perhaps," said Diego, pondering the circumstances. "But then, you were investigating the Seventh Sons anyway. You were peeking under their rocks and poking them with sticks. What if the CDC just brought you in to placate you?"

The detective stared at him. Diego wasn't sure if he was being taken seriously or if the man was just too drunk to follow.

"Maxim, isn't it funny that everyone you arrested the night of the full moon is dead?"

Maxim took a long swig, upending the beer glass and emptying the swill down his throat. He waved to the waitress for another. "Except for you."

Yes. There was no question that Diego's actions were dangerous, but the others had been killed for what they knew. Diego, on the other hand, didn't know anything. That was his problem.

Maxim snapped his fingers and the ring popped from his hand and landed on the table in a blur, looking like a transparent globe as it spun. Diego shook his head.

The truckers beside them were exchanging heavy glances. They were silent now as the waitress stacked their plates for collection. Were they tense? That was a good sign.

"What was Nicola trying to tell us?" Diego asked suddenly, partially to himself. The answers had been so close. For everything she may have known, she left them with so little.

Maxim burped and wiped his mouth. "I've got bad news for you, Diego. Makarova wasn't a mastermind. She didn't know anything. She was a desperate woman who attacked a police officer and said anything she could to avoid getting killed."

Diego stomped his leather boot on the floor. "How could you sit here and not do anything about what she said?"

Maxim stared at the biker coldly to let it be known that he was getting annoyed with the questions.

Diego pressed the detective. "She mentioned suicides at the falls. She told Gaston that Doka was responsible for those abductions, that they weren't suicides at all, that he'd tried to kill me because I was asking after Angelica. Don't any of those count as leads?"

Maxim continued watching him with cold eyes. Then, once again, he spun the wedding band on the table.

Diego scoffed. "Look at you. You were so determined that night you arrested me. You didn't let Mom back you down before. But for what? You're all talk but no action."

Maxim hissed at him. "And you're all action but no thought. You can't just walk into a bar without a plan and flash a knife. Trust me, you might be the last of the four bikers from that night left alive, but you won't be for long if you keep this up."

A sigh escaped Diego's lips. "That's exactly why I need you, Maxim." The biker slid his seat closer to the table. "Listen, I know you're a good detective. I've asked around. There's no way you would leave something like this alone. We both know that when you're done wallowing in self-pity that you'll decide to follow up with the suicides. I am just asking for you to get there sooner rather than later."

Maxim stretched his eyes wide and let out a heavy breath. "I've already checked that out." The man grabbed his next mug from the waitress and paused until she scampered off. "There were three jumpers over the last two years. I even had the bodies exhumed. They're in the basement of the marshal's office right now: Sanctuary's private morgue." He took a sip from his glass.

"And?"

"And nothing. Cause of death is severe physical trauma on all three. I had tests run and nothing was found out of the ordinary. There's no physical evidence that supports homicide or any other suspicious circumstances."

"There needs to be something we're missing," protested Diego. "Why would the Seventh Sons be abducting people?"

The detective shrugged. "Excuse the play on words, Diego, but the bodies are a dead end."

The biker persisted. "Well, isn't the gang into drugs or something else that you can use against them?"

The detective shook his head dismissively. "Most certainly, but I can't do anything about it. That's a federal concern at this point." Maxim flicked his left hand again and the ring clattered against the table top. A wobbly ringing filled their ears.

Diego swatted down and snatched up the wedding band to silence to racket. "We need something new," Diego asserted desperately. "I don't have other leads to my sister. I'm lost, man."

The detective had a longing look on his face as pain flashed across his eyes. "Trust me," he said, "you can lose yourself in the truth just as easily."

The biker closed his eyes and leaned back. As he looked again, he focused on the wedding ring in his hand, the one Maxim often played with. It was a plain silver band, not especially shiny, with a smooth finish except for a single imperfection. There was a chip on the outside surface that cut into the edge. It was an odd shape, and the biker couldn't tell if it was intentional.

His sister's words were a paradox. They were meant to push him away, but they only spurred him on more. As long as he could hear her voice, he couldn't give up.

"Let me tell you about my truth, Maxim. I've always been pretty good at fighting. It's not a surprise, really, that I ended up doing what I did professionally. But I never liked it. It always grated on me, like I was disturbing the natural order of things."

Diego swallowed. "When I was a boy, there was this older kid that picked on me once in a while. It wasn't that much and it wasn't a big deal; I just ignored it, mostly. Then one day, for no reason, he shoved Angelica into the street. I was just giving her a ride on my back. She was having so much fun. I guess this kid wanted to get her away from me so he could push me around or something but Angelica fell and hit her head and started bleeding." Diego gritted his teeth firmly. "She was only eight."

He continued. "That was it for me. I beat that older boy down with my fists so hard that I literally never saw him again. I couldn't tell you what happened to him, but as we got older, I found myself having to protect my sister again and again. I'm still doing it. And I'll always do it. It's the one time where the violence makes sense."

Diego looked at Maxim solemnly. "Believe me when I tell you that I won't let up. I'm going to keep chasing this, and in the end, I'm going to find her."

Maxim looked at the man with a softened expression. The glaze over his eyes was still there. But behind that—there was a kinship, an understanding.

"I get it," said the detective, "but I've already been traveling down that road for two years." Maxim pulled the mug of beer to his mouth and slurped up the froth. "I just hope, for your sake, that when you reach the end of your road, you can come to grips with what you find there."

The three men sitting close to them stood up and downed the remainder of their drinks. Diego turned his attention to them as they marched out the door, his eyes following them past the large patio windows, towards the side of the establishment where their trucks were parked.

"Well," said Diego, taking a superior tone. "I'm not sitting on my ass doing nothing. I've been following the truckers for a few days."