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he had a partner assigned to the case. “I’ll be fine.”
    * * * *
    Solo stepped into the club, Rowdy right behind him. He scanned the darkened interior, but didn’t see the brother he was looking for. “Brawny, you seen Roach today?”
    Brawny, the patched brother who tended the bar during the day, shook his head. “Hasn’t been in yet. Did you check the garage?”
    “Not yet,” Solo answered. He turned to face Rowdy. “I don’t want to do this in the garage. Let’s have a beer and wait.”
    Rowdy nodded before heading to his favorite booth. Like the members themselves, the club was made up of cast-offs. Deep red booths sat next to avocado green ones with a sprinkling of dumpster couches here and there. The result wasn’t pretty, but Solo had always considered it home.
    Solo slid into the booth across from Rowdy. “Shit. We should’ve grabbed a pitcher before we sat down. You know Brawley’s not gonna wait on us.”
    One of Rowdy’s black eyebrows rose. “Are you asking me to get the beer?”
    “Yeah, guess I am,” Solo acknowledged. He wanted to check in with Blue and would rather do it without an audience. The visit with Stevie Boy weighed on his mind. Roach had belonged to the club for years, a lot longer than Solo had. Questioning the brother about selling wouldn’t be an easy thing to do, nor would it be appreciated if the other brothers found out about it. Even if Roach was dealing, Solo had to believe he wouldn’t taint his shit. It really didn’t make sense for a dealer to sell his customers something that could kill them. The scumbags who sold were all about repeat customers and getting kids hooked while they were young.
    “You’re an asshole,” Rowdy grumbled as he climbed out of the booth.
    “I know.” Solo pulled out his phone and sent Blue a text.
    Anything?
    A minute later Solo’s phone rang. The caller ID made him grin. “Hey,” he answered.
    “Are you alone?” Blue asked.
    “I’m at the club. I talked to Stevie Boy and got three names that I’m going to follow up on,” Solo said. “And, no, I’m not giving you the names, so don’t ask.”
    “I need something. The captain’s on my ass because the chief plays fucking poker with the kid’s dad, and even though the punk’s awake, he’s not talking,” Blue informed Solo. “Meanwhile, I’m sitting here with my thumb up my ass with nothing to do. I’m planning to go by Turner after school and see if I can spot anything going down, but I know it’s a long shot. Tomorrow, I’ll try to get permission to talk to some of the students.”
    Solo turned sideways in the booth and rested his back against the wall. After their exchange the previous night, he wasn’t sure Blue would speak to him. Something inside him shifted at the realization that he’d get another chance to be with the hot cop. “You want to meet later?” He thought about it for a second before adding, “I can come to your place.”
    “Yeah. I’ll have to text you because I have no idea what I might find at the school.”
    Rowdy set a pitcher of beer on the table, putting an end to Solo’s conversation. “Okay, do that,” Solo told Blue.
    “Someone there?” Blue asked.
    “Yeah,” Solo answered.
    “Okay. I get it. I’ll text you in a couple hours,” Blue said before hanging up.
    Solo ended the call and shoved his phone into the small pocket of his cut. He waited for Rowdy to say something while he filled a glass. When no smart remark came, he eased back against the wall.
    Rowdy stared at him, but remained silent.
    “Just until we catch the guy,” Solo said in explanation. He began picking at a piece of red tape that covered a slit in the vinyl booth. It wasn’t a lie, necessarily. He did hope he could stop thinking about Blue by the time the investigation was over. He’d fucked people out of his system before, so it wasn’t entirely out of the question.
    Rowdy narrowed his eyes. “He’s a cop.”
    Even though he said it quietly enough