cooking again. Then we heard a short shriek, a thud, and then nothing for a moment until we heard the sound on the stairs. Someone dragging Harmon," he clarified. "Thumping noises. We've been trying to get out. But the fucking windows are barred and too small anyway. The door wouldn't budge. And there was no way to shoot through it."
Right.
Because I'd had the original replaced months before with one that was steel plated with locking security bars.
"What happened?" Che said as he and McCoy made it into the room.
"Someone took Harmon," Remy explained.
"How?" McCoy asked even as I was moving around the room, looking for any possible clues as to what happened.
And then I saw it, something black wedged half under the bed, likely dropped and the owner of it didn't want to waste time looking for it with two pissed off bikers in the basement.
I leaned down, grabbed it, finding some kind of flashlight. Or so I thought until I turned it on.
It wasn't a flashlight. It was one of those things women sometimes carried that flashed rapidly to try to disorient a mugger or rapist.
"That explains the vomit," Che said, pointing. "They used that to try to disorient her, not knowing about her condition, and she had a seizure."
"That was the thump we heard," Remy said, putting the pieces together. "Her falling."
"They couldn't have dragged her seizing down the stairs. She gets too stiff," I reasoned.
"Yeah, but that part didn't last long. The part after was when she was out of it and unresponsive," McCoy said, "and that would have been the perfect time. She wouldn't have even been able to fight."
"Goddamn it," I growled, charging out of the bedroom, making my way down the stairs. "The camera outside, that is working, right?" I asked, finally seeing how right McCoy was, that I had been distracted, that I wasn't on top of knowing this kind of shit, enforcing it.
"Yeah. The one is. Had an electrical issue with the other one," Seeley explained. "I figured one of you could help me with that when you got back. But the one that is up is by the garage. It should have caught a plate, if not the people themselves."
"Good. Figure it out," I demanded, going outside, pacing. "Why take her?" I asked, looking at my men. "Seeley and Remy were in the basement. Why aren't they dead?"
"Easier target?" Remy suggested.
"Holding her for ransom?" McCoy said, making my stomach tighten.
We had some funds. We were doing pretty well considering all the hiccups we'd had. But if they were going to start to ask for something in the millions, we weren't going to be able to pay that yet.
I mean, we could call in a favor with our mother chapter, get a loan.
We would do that if it came to it.
"What is this?" Che asked, making me turn to find a car pulling into the driveway.
"No, wait," McCoy said when I went to reach for my gun again. "That's Arty," he said just before the door swung open, and we all got to see for ourselves.
He'd showered and changed, but didn't look like he'd gotten any sleep.
"Hey. I got something," he said, giving up a victorious smile as he carried his laptop away from the car, walking up the driveway.
"They took Harmon."
"Who's Harmon?" Arty asked, then shook his head. "It doesn't matter. Anyway, I found the footage of the car leaving. And I finally got them at the right angle to get a plate."
"Tell me you could run it," I demanded, stomach tightening, hand itching to grab my gun, to put some nasty holes in anyone who thought they could put their hands on someone who belonged to me.
"I ran it," Arty said, smiling as he turned the screen toward me. "Comes back to Emiliano Gomez. He was shot down three weeks ago. But he was in a small off-shoot of one of the cartels. And from the looks of it, he has a little brother who is hungry to work his way up the food chain."
"Is that the address?" I asked, already moving toward my bike.
"Yeah, but..." he started to object.
But I wasn't listening.
I was already on my bike and driving off.
A couple seconds later, McCoy, Che, and Remy were coming with me.
And we all missed the dozen or so calls from Arty and Seeley.
Chapter Twelve
Harmon
The guys were making a lot more racket than I thought they would. I considered not recording, but a part of me knew that once Huck