Buried Treasure Ch. 06-10

The five of us stripped and shifted, staying in the front entry area and hallway. The scent of the jaguar was easy to pick up despite the amount of time, and I soon had it memorized. Dressing quickly, I walked into the house.

The scent of blood and death was slightly less overwhelming in human form. There were signs of a fight; the hall table smashed, dents in the wallboard that was smeared with blood. The keys were hanging by the door; I grabbed all of them and put them in my pocket.

I walked past the living room and kitchen, there wasn't much to see. Turning down the hallway, one door was open at the end of the hall. The master bedroom was soaked in blood. I stood at the doorway; the sheets had been taken as evidence and the mattress cut, but there was no doubt what had happened in here. A wooden chair was at the bottom of the bed, and from the bloodstains on the rug I could tell that was where Sean had been killed. Blood spray covered the dresser behind him, still surrounded in crime scene marks and tagged with numbers.

"You guys start packing up Harleigh's room, I'm going to get what I can from here. There's no way she's going to go through the house like this." The four moved into her room, while I took out the bag I'd brought with me. I focused on things she might want; photos, jewelry, keepsakes, whatever I could carry. They hadn't taken anything, and I was able to put her entire jewelry chest into a box I found in their closet. I checked his bedside table, removing the pistol that he hadn't been able to access. On her side, the lower drawer contained dozens of sex toys. I closed that drawer and moved on.

Taking the stuff I had packed out to the front door, I handed it to Mongo to put in the back of the SUV. "It's bad," I told him. "Hire some people to clean it up, and have the carpets and mattress taken to the dump. Don't let Harleigh anywhere near here," I said.

He nodded. "I figured as much. There is a company that does crime scene cleanup, I'll call them. When it's clean enough, maybe Harleigh will be able to do a walkthrough."

"I'd do that by Skype." He looked at me, wondering if it was that bad, and I nodded. "Just keep packing the truck, I'm going for the safe." I passed my Pack members as they carried out boxes of stuff and bundles of clothes. In the office, I found the safe where they said. It was bolted to the floor with lag bolts, but Werewolf strength was greater than that and I soon had it broken free. I carried it out, setting it on the floor in the back. "Hopefully, Harleigh knows the combination, otherwise I've got a guy who can walk us through getting it open." People who bought safes with electronic locks were fooling themselves thinking they were secure. Anyone could go on Youtube and figure out how to get it open in less than five minutes.

The Suburban was full. "Why don't you take Sean's Harley and lead these guys back. I'll stay. I want my other two here to learn the scent, and I can keep looking for anything Harleigh might want," I said.

"You sure? It's past midnight."

"I've got this for you, brother. Go back and get some sleep, you need to give Three Tequila a break in the hospital in the morning." He would take over watching her each morning so she could come home, shower and change.

I watched them drive away, then went inside. There was a lot to do yet.

Unknown POV

Orlando General Hospital

I walked out of the elevator onto the floor, the lights were dimmed and the night shift nurses were at their stations. I had already checked my wig, and my identification was close enough to the real thing to pass a cursory inspection. I was holding a tray with two cups of Starbucks coffee with sugar and creamer. I walked to the end of the hall, where the uniformed Orlando officer was sitting in his chair looking bored. I was lucky, no ring. "Hello officer," I said as he looked up. "I thought you might be able to use this." I extended the tray towards him.

He smiled, he was young and cute and thrilled a hot nurse was paying attention to him. "Why thank you, Miss... Jane?" He read my badge.

"Jane Ritter. Thank you for what you do. My uncle was a cop, he hated stakeout duty so I figured you could use a break." I smiled and put my hand on his. "I was hoping you'd still be here. My number is written on the bottom of the cup. I get off at six, maybe we could have breakfast?"

"I'd love that," he said as he took a taste. The drug I'd mixed in was impossible to detect, and if he drank even a quarter of the coffee he'd be out for hours.

"Me too. I have to get back to work, umm..." I looked at his badge.

"Ron. Ron Gant," he said with a smile.

"Have a quiet night, Ron." I walked away, swinging my hips a little in the scrubs I was wearing. I went back into the elevator, going to the basement and coming back up with a wheelchair. I pulled the syringe out of my pocket, hiding it in my hand as I pushed the chair past the sleeping cop and pushed the door open to the room.

The patient was sleeping, and the woman at her bedside was reading a book. She looked at the wheelchair, then at me. "What's going on," she asked.

"It's for another patient," I said as I walked over to the bed and injected the syringe into her IV drip, then took the other out of my pocket. I turned and covered her mouth, injecting the contents of the syringe into her neck. Her eyes got wide and she tried to push me off, but the sedative was fast acting. Both would be out for hours.

I turned off the machines and disconnected the IV, then moved the young girl into the wheelchair and fastened her chest with a Velcro strap. I picked up the woman, placing her in the bed facing the window. I put the blood pressure cuff back on and turned the machine on, the beeps telling me she was resting comfortably. Satisfied, I pulled the covers up so her hair could barely be seen. I grabbed her book and keys and put them under the pillow.

I covered the girl in the wheelchair with a blanket, then checked the hall before pushing her out and moving to the elevator. Taking it to the basement, I made my way to the loading dock where the van was waiting. "Any problems," he asked.

"No, and nobody stopped me," I said as we loaded the girl into the back seat. We were on the move seconds later, and I tossed the wig and glasses into the plastic bag, along with the fake identification, the syringes and the scrubs following. I pulled on my jeans and shirt as we were hitting the main road. "Anything on the police scanner?"

"We're clear. Good job." I sat back, pleased that I had performed my job so well. We drove north, dropping him at a street corner. Thirty minutes later, we were loading her into a private jet, her seat reclined and straps holding her in place. He walked back to the door. "No phones or communications. Secure her in the house, I'll take care of the rest." I smiled as the pilot pulled up the stairs and closed the door. Holding my man's hand, we celebrated with champagne as we reached cruising altitude.

Ch. 8

Sean's POV

Los Angeles, 1994

"PROSPECT! Get your ass in here!"

I ran inside the clubhouse from the garbage cans where I had been dumping the trash from tonight's party. As a biker club prospect, I was a slave to any patched member. Clean your room? Yes, sir. Gas up your bike? Right away. Drive your slut home after you've gotten her drunk and fucked her half the night? Just find her address. I'd been doing this for five months now, ever since I got out of lockout for fleeing police, resisting arrest, and possession of an unlicensed handgun.

Tonight's party had been a blowout. The Satan's Riders were a small club, just three chapters in the LA area. Our Chapter President, Switchblade, had finally given in and married his long-time girlfriend two weeks ago, and now was back after his honeymoon. The party involved most of the three chapters, and the eight other Prospects and I had been run ragged. Bartending, cooking, cleanup and errands, none of us had gotten rest, gotten drunk or gotten laid.

Parties were MUCH more fun as a Patched Member.

I entered the clubhouse through the back door by the kitchen. Smoke was waiting for me inside. He was my sponsor for Club membership and was directly responsible for everything I did. "You're wanted in the conference room, Drew."

"What's going on?"

He laughed uneasily. "You think the fucking Presidents check with me first? They say to get my Prospect I get my fucking Prospect. Now follow me." We walked out of the kitchen and into the office area in the back. The conference room where Church was held had a huge Satan's Riders emblem on the steel reinforced door. He knocked and was told to come in.

Switchblade sat imperially at the end of the table, the two other Chapter Presidents at each side. The Vice Presidents and Master-at-Arms of each Chapter were sitting along each side. "Prospect Andrew Killian here for you, sir."

Nobody said anything for a long time, and Smoke was starting to get nervous. I didn't care, I'd stood at attention for hours at a time, I would wait until I was told to do something. Blaster, our Master-At-Arms and the man responsible for Club security and discipline, got up and walked up to Smoke. Before he could react, Blaster had him face-down with a Glock to the back of his head. "What's the Club rule for bringing in a prospect, Smoke," he said in his low voice.

"You're responsible for them," Smoke said. "Drew is solid, I wouldn't have vouched for him otherwise."

Switchblade stood up, his bald head and three-hundred-pound body dominating the room. "That's too bad, Smoke, because your Prospect is a fucking Cop."

My stomach fell, but I didn't move. Smoke figured out he was about to end up dead from lead poisoning and pissed himself. I watched as the other two Masters-at-Arms got up and walked behind me, each grabbing an arm. "May I speak, sir."

Switchblade pulled his namesake weapon out of his back pocket, the six-inch blade snapping into place. "You'll fucking sing by the time I'm done with you, boy. I'll give you ONE chance. Admit you're a cop, tell me what they know about us, and I'll let you live."

"I'm not a fucking COP. Anyone who says so is lying, and I'll kill the fuckers myself if I find out who." I felt my cut being pulled from my shoulders and tossed aside. I didn't struggle, it was pointless. A metal chair was put behind me and I was roughly pulled down and my arms handcuffed together through the back. "You're wasting your time, and you're making a mistake."

Switchblade took his knife and grabbed my shirt at the collar, slicing it cleanly to the base. The men pulled the shirt off, then took my boots and jeans. I rolled commando style, so I sat naked in front of him. They pulled me forward until my junk was at the edge, then tied my thighs apart and my ankles to the back of the chair. I had a bad feeling there was a reason I was feeling the breeze on the boys. "I don't make mistakes. I'm going to ask some questions, and if I don't like the answer, you're going to lose something important to you."

"I'm not a cop," I said as I watched the tip of the blade.

"You don't think we run a background check on Prospects? You were a fucking Officer in the Marines Corps. I don't trust OFFICERS."

"You knew that from when I started prospecting, from my fucking tattoos. And you know I got kicked out of the Marine Corps for drugs and assault. Yeah, I resigned and took an administrative discharge, but it was only because I wasn't holding enough THAT day to make a felony charge."

He started to trace around my Marine emblem, the knife leaving a trail of blood. I didn't move. "We talked to a man in your unit. He said you were a fucking boy scout. Brave, but clean. Said he didn't believe it when you got busted out for drugs."

"I was smuggling drugs back from Afghanistan and selling them. You're damn right he didn't catch on, I was good at what I did." I looked at the other men. "You guys aren't thinking. When the fuck was I becoming a COP when I went right from the Marines to hanging out with you? And what cop is going to do seven fucking months inside for you? Jesus, if you think I'm a cop just kill me now or let me walk because you're just pissing me off with this shit."

The Presidents talked together, then nodded. The VP brought over some coke on a hand mirror and a rolled-up dollar bill. "Cops can't do drugs," he said.

"I told you I'm not a fucking cop. Make the lines." He used a razor blade to form them, then put the bill in my nose. I sucked those lines up like the drug user I was supposed to be. "FUCK yeah. That's good shit."

Blaster pulled Smoke to his feet and let him go. "Take a fucking shower and change your clothes, brother."

"What? Uh..."

"We had to know before we gave him this." I felt my hands being unlocked and my legs were cut free, then a cut with a patch was put around my shoulders. "Welcome to Satan's Riders, Bulldog."

"You damn near gave me a heart attack," I said as I pulled my jeans back on. I was embraced by all the men in the room as they welcomed me to their Club. When we walked out together, the Club erupted in applause and shots were lined up on the bar. I drank, fucked and partied my ass off that night.

I was Patched.

Six months later, my position in the club secure, I joined the Drug Enforcement Agency, backdated to when I left the Marines.

Nurse Wendy Cross's POV

Orlando General Hospital

"Time for two o'clock meds," I said to Denise. "Back in a bit." I got the medicine cart and logged into the computer before pushing it down the hall. I stopped when I saw the cop outside Harleigh Ryder's room passed out, his arms hanging low, a coffee cup on the ground with some leaking out. "Shit," I said to myself. I left the cart and ran over. He was not breathing, and I couldn't feel a pulse. "DENISE, CODE BLUE 587," I yelled.

I pulled him out of the chair, laying him on the ground. I ripped his shirt open, cursing because he was wearing a vest underneath. I tore at the Velcro straps and pulled it off his head before starting CPR. "CODE BLUE, ROOM 587. CODE BLUE, ROOM 587," the public address system announced. I focused on my compressions, counting them out loud as Denise came to my side with the crash cart.

She cut his undershirt away, then started attaching electrode pads. She had the heart monitor powered up and it was ready to scan as I hit county twenty-six of the second set. "Stop compressions for analysis." I knelt back, letting the machine do its work as the hallway started to fill with people. "Analysis complete. Shocking, stand clear," the machine said.

"CLEAR!" Denise pressed the button and the officer twitched when the electricity flowed through his chest. "Normal rhythm," she said with a smile.

"Load him up and let's get him downstairs," the cardiologist said. A gurney was brought alongside, the portable monitor placed by his legs. The team wheeled him away to the elevator.

I looked over at Denise, relief on my face. "What the hell," I said.

"I need to call the police and let them know, you stay with Miss Ryder," she said.

I just nodded, picking up the cup and tossing it in the trash as I walked through the door. I looked for Three Tequila, she wasn't in her chair and the bathroom was empty. She must have gone home, but that was weird because she or her husband were always here. Looking around, Harleigh was sleeping soundly, her vitals slow and steady. I looked over at the IV machine and frowned; the bag was half full, but the infusion pump was off. I turned it on and started it, only to find the tube was not connected to the patient. Thinking she pulled it out, I uncovered her hand and screamed.

It wasn't Harleigh, it was Three Tequila.

It took me a few moments to catch my thoughts. Moving over to the phone, I called Hospital Security. "This is Nurse Cross in room five eighty-seven. Our patient, Harleigh Ryder, has been taken. I need police here immediately."

"Taken? What do you mean taken?"

"They knocked out the guard and kidnapped her, you idiot! Now get the police here!" I slammed the phone down.

"Wendy?" Denise looked in from the door. "What's going on?"

"Help me with her," I said. I rolled Tequila onto her back; her vitals were still good along with her color. Checking her over, I found the bruised injection site in her neck. "She's been sedated," I said.

"I'll call it in, we should get her down to Emergency for a tox screen." She made a call downstairs; they would send a gurney up for her.

"What a night," I told Denise five minutes later as we watched her being taken down in the elevator. "I still have to do two o'clock meds," I said as I turned back towards our station.

"Never a dull moment on night shift," she said with a laugh. The elevator door opened, and her eyes got wide. "I'll take the drug cart. You need to talk to them." I looked back, there were two uniforms and a detective coming. "I'll call the husband."

"I think I'd rather deal with the bikers right now," I said. It was a long interview.

Mongo's POV

Orlando Clubhouse

My phone woke me up. Groaning, I reached out a hand and grabbed it off the night table. I'd crashed in my small room at the Club after going to Sean's house, and I'd only slept for an hour. "Yeah," I said sleepily.

"Sir, it's Nurse Denise at the hospital. There's been an incident, you need to come immediately."

I was awake instantly. "What? Is Harleigh all right?"

"I don't know. Harleigh's gone." My heart dropped through the floor. "Someone took her and drugged your wife, leaving her in the bed. The police officer was drugged too." I couldn't say anything for a moment. "You need to be here. Your wife has been taken down to the emergency room."

"I'll be right there." Jumping out of bed, I pulled on my jeans, boots and cut and was out the door in thirty seconds. I moved into the bar area like my hair was on fire. "Someone took Harleigh from the hospital and drugged Three Tequila," I said as I strode through and out the door.

A dozen guys were up and following me by the time I got to my ride. Firing it up, I yelled at the Prospect manning the gate to open it. I was through as soon as there was room, the rest following me.

They'd hurt my wife and kidnapped my niece. These fuckers were going to pay.

Ch. 9

Harleigh's POV

Somewhere Over Wisconsin

I started to wake and knew immediately something wasn't right. The loud hum in the background, the slight movement of my body, the feel of the bed, it was all wrong. I blinked my eyes open, the blurry vision clearing as I blinked away the film on them. I was in an airplane, a small jet, reclined back in one of the seats. I tried to move and groaned with the pain, finding my hands and feet were bound.

"Ah, my patient is awake," a man said as he moved to me. He looked to be in his forties, with a thin beard and salt-and-pepper hair. "My name is Doctor Olson, and I'll be taking care of you now. Just relax, your injuries are still healing, and I don't want you to hurt yourself. I need to check your vitals so just rest your head and I'll be done in a minute." I didn't have the energy to fight, and where was I going to go anyway? I could see the clouds out the window. If these were the bad guys, they wouldn't have a doctor caring for me. I relaxed with the thought that these were friends.

He checked my pulse and blood pressure, then put his stethoscope away. "Everything seems to be fine, but I'd avoid sudden movement and any strain. That bullet wound needs more time to heal." He started to remove the straps that held my legs, the Velcro ripping noise filling the cabin. "I'm leaving the seatbelt on for now. Would you like to sit up a little?"