The Green Children: A Sycamore Moon Novel (Sycamore Moon Series Book 3) by Domino Finn Read Free Book Online

rolled his eyes. "What do you want from me?"
    "I want you to put in a full shift four days a week without asking for favors." Harry waited for a response but didn't get one. "Otherwise," he continued, "you'll be looking for your fourth job."
    The biker swiped at the air in frustration. He strolled over to the window and peeked through the mini blinds. The sun was out in full swing. Visibility was perfect. The sky was clear, the wind was blowing—it was a nice day to be outside.
    Diego thought of his past experience with outlaw bikers. "Cage" was the word they used for cars. Today, if Diego had to sit in the tow truck all day, he really would feel captive.
    "I'm gonna be looking for a little girl," said Diego. "You can fire me for that if you want."
    His boss laughed. "Oh I can, can I?" he asked mockingly. "Can I? Thanks for giving me that ability, Diego. I wasn't sure if I had that power as your boss. I wasn't sure if I could fire you for not doing your fucking job."
    "Thanks for keeping the big picture in mind," said Diego. "Just do what you need to do."
    The biker hung up the phone. He didn't know what he needed, but it definitely wasn't this hassle.

 
     
    Chapter 12

     
     

    Diego parked his Triumph Scrambler outside the camping office. His bike was a sleek roadster, black and chrome and sixties inspired. A shotgun holster attached to the frame rubbed against his right leg as he dismounted. In his outlaw days, Diego carried a Benelli M4 semi-auto shotgun. He had a thing for guns, and it was a sweet weapon, but he hadn't been able to replace his lost one yet. After the tragic events of the year before, he didn't know if he wanted to. Now the holster was an empty reminder of pain and loss.

    The biker wasn't completely unarmed, of course. He still packed a trusty knife that had kept him safe on many occasions. Whenever Diego went into the wild, the blade was always sheathed to his forearm under the sleeve of his riding jacket, but for now he left it on the Scrambler. It had its own spot, a custom slot built into his exhaust, hidden in plain sight.
    Diego wandered the grounds with a suspicious eye. He hoped he wouldn't need to use any weapons to get Hazel back, but he would if it came to it.
    Quiet Pines was a large, multi-use luxury campsite. Deluxe wood cabins took up a third of the property. Lacquered to a smooth glaze and ornamented with high roofs, the cabins had all the comforts of a fine hotel. Full electricity, plumbing, spa tubs, porch swings. It was about the furthest thing from camping that Diego could imagine, but the area was littered with pine trees and the air had the healthy smell of nature.
    Individual sections were available to less extravagant campers as well. Cars and trucks parked adjacent to picnic tables and tents. Each site had its own fire pit, and each large section had its own facilities building with bathrooms and showers.
    Finally, a row of RVs had their own parking spots, complete with full plug-ins. Power, water, waste management—it was all available to paying customers.
    Whatever happened to sleeping bags and campfires?
    At the end of his tour, Diego returned to the office where he'd parked and headed inside. A large man sat at a desk crowded with paperwork.
    "Which lot are you?" he asked.
    Diego furrowed his brow. "Sorry?"
    "What's the lot number of the campsite you're staying in?"
    Now Diego understood. "Oh, no. I'm not camping actually. I'm here about the girl that's missing."
    The sweaty man peered at Diego and nodded. "I remember you now. You were with the police yesterday."
    It was lucky the manager remembered him. The biker bowed his head and exaggerated his South American accent. "Diego de la Torre. Nice to meet you."
    The office manager didn't raise his hand to meet Diego's. "But you're not a police officer yourself," he said matter-of-factly.
    So much for his good luck. "Not exactly, but I'm working with them. And with Julia Cunningham."
    "Poor lady. You know something like