Dark Guardian (Black Hoods MC #3) - Avelyn Paige Page 0,16

she lands flat on her ass, laughing, while Mom looks over to me and scowls.

“Woman’s gonna send me to an early grave, I’m telling ya.”

Shaking his head, he stalks toward her, yelling for her to get her old ass off that table before she breaks her hip. The longer they’re together, I swear, the crazier she gets.

She’s still laughing when he hauls her off the table, but then her expression turns serious when he lays into her, and she slaps him hard across the face.

I don’t envy him. I tried a relationship once, and it didn’t work out. Ain’t ready to try that bullshit again. I have enough on my plate with Kevin and Natalie, and there’s no need to add anymore chaos to my nuthouse of a life.

Grace

After yet another night of sleeplessness, I took a deep dive into web searching motorcycle clubs. From fictionalized shows on television to real-life clubs, my brain is pounding from information overload. The only thing I couldn’t find much on was the Black Hoods MC specifically, apart from a few new articles about charity rides and mentions in local crime ring busts the last few years. Aaron’s warning was clear about staying away from them, but this case may not allow for that to happen. I have to hope he can find out more information for me without putting myself in danger if I can help it. If I can’t, so be it.

With the promise that Aaron would get back to me later today with the information I had emailed him after the call, I pull out the notes I’d scribbled down last night while listening back over the recordings.

The first thing on the list may be the most crucial piece of the puzzle. Where is their mother? And why did this so-called uncle have the kids? If things were on the up-and-up, there would be records. Looking up the number for the court clerk’s office, I place the call. After a few rings, someone picks up.

“Clerk’s office.”

“Hi. My name is Grace Halfpenny, and I’m calling from DFPS. I need to have some court records pulled for a case I’m working on.”

“Case number?”

“I have two previous case numbers in our system. Case Number 18746, and 19430.”

I listen as the click of a keyboard fills the silent end of their receiver.

“I can have the records for these two cases couriered over to your office in a few hours.”

“That would be great. I also need a search for any other cases involving the mother…” I trail off, looking at my notes. “Teresa Ann Tucker. DOB 7/31/1979. I’m specifically looking for cases regarding legal custody of her children.”

“One moment, please.” A few heavy-handed keystrokes later, she informs me, “I don’t have any additional records for a Teresa Ann Tucker with that DOB. Could she have had an alternate alias?”

My stomach drops. “Zero records?”

“Correct. The last two records for her in our system under that name were the two previous cases you mentioned.”

Crap. She’s a ghost in the wind, legally speaking. “What about the two minor children, Kevin and Natalie Tucker? Anything on them?”

After a few moments, she sighs. “Same for the children. Just the two previous records.”

I stifle a curse. No record of the mother. No record of the uncle’s custody. On top of everything else, this case just continues to snowball, going from bad to worse.

“Is there anything else you need?” she asks politely.

With a defeated tone, I reply, “No, that’s it.”

“The courier service will have these over to you soon. Have a good day.”

She hangs up, and my head falls into my hand with the receiver still pressed against the side of my face.

“Everything okay?”

I peer up and see Aaron’s thick stature leaning against the doorframe, cradling a stack of folders, his normally clean-shaven face showing a hint of dark stubble. His head looms nearly at the top of the door, but being almost seven feet tall would make any space look frighteningly small. Aaron’s muscular build has grown larger since I last saw him. He’s like a gentle giant with a cowboy hat and a pistol at his hip. It’s no wonder he’s done so well in law enforcement, as he certainly looks the part. If I was on the other side of the law against him, I’d have no chance of getting away.

His large boots step into my office and he turns, closing the door behind him before settling into one of my way too small desk chairs. His knees press against