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“I’ll work something out.”
Zep grunted. “I’m going to head over to Rachel’s. Keep me posted.”
“Yep.” Brodie got out of the SUV and blended into the foliage behind the parking lot.
The engine turned over and Zep purposely drove in the opposite direction of Rachel’s place. After ten minutes, he was satisfied no one was following him. As he pulled up a block from Rachel’s cottage, his phone rang.
“Dodge.”
“Abby and the cop are on the move. I’m following.”
“Good. I’ll take over from Mick. I need him with Brodie.”
Zep ended the call, hitting Mick’s number next. He explained the situation, then locked up the SUV, heading for Rachel’s on foot. It was nearing six in the evening and the sun was finally beginning to dip. It was autumn, but there were still a couple of weeks left of daylight savings time.
He entered the cottage through a side door, as he had last time he’d been there, and found Rachel sitting on the sofa, looking out at the ocean. A little dog jumped to its feet, growling at his intrusion. She chuckled.
“What’s so funny?” he asked, coming to stand beside the sofa.
“I was wondering how to get in touch with you, and you suddenly appear.” She looked brighter, dressed in her own clothes and in her own home. Her eyes had a little of her sparkle back. “How many men do you have watching us?”
“Four, including me.”
“Bruce, it’s alright,” she said to the little dog, before turning to him. “Come.” She patted the cushion beside her. “Sit.”
The sofa was a dark blue velvet, comfortable but firm enough to support a body in its sixth decade. The dog, Bruce, sniffed around his feet before settling back next to Rachel.
“Did you talk to Abby?” he asked.
Her mouth attempted to smile. “I did.”
He ran his hand over his moustache. “Didn’t go well, then?”
Rachel shook her head.
If it came to it, Zep would have one of the boys snatch her when the boyfriend wasn’t looking. She could yell and swear at him in a safer location.
“There’s been a complication.”
Zep’s eyes flew to Rachel’s face. Had Abby gone to the police after all? “What is it?”
She squared her shoulders, her expression neutral. “Me.”
Christ, was he going to have to snatch them both?
“I got the test results back.” She gave him a sad smile. “The news isn’t great.”
Zep's jaw clenched, his gut reminding him of what he’d suspected back at the hospital–Rachel was seriously ill.
“I have something called a pancreatic neuroendocrine tumour. The doctor thinks it's probably been there for years, not showing any symptoms. But now that it has, it’s incredibly aggressive.”
“They know what it is, so they must know how to treat it.” If she needed surgery, he’d factor that into the plan. Maybe get them overseas and find a good doctor.
“Well, that’s the complication.” She reached out and pulled his hand into hers, placing them on her lap. “Zep, there isn’t really any treatment that will make a difference.”
The mask he wore as the president of the MC, as the hard man he was, cracked, ever so slightly.
“I’m dying.”
