Chapter Thirty-Three

 

DAVIS

 

I feel better as soon as I can get back to work. That's how it is, and that's how it's always been. I don't want to talk about it and I don't want to think about it.

So when we climb back into the car, and Ryan tells me to start driving, and we'll figure out a plan on the road, I couldn't have asked for more.

"We need Logan," Ryan starts. I couldn't agree more.

"Okay."

"He thinks you used us as bait, though. He's not going to want to see your car out there."

"That's too bad. I'm not leaving you alone. You know what that could be risking? No chance."

"Then we'll need something of mine, at least. Come on. We need some way to raise a white flag and let him know not to try to blow my brains out. Hell, not to blow your brains out."

I don't like it, but I can't find any fault in what he's saying.

"So we go pick up your bike. You can hide it anywhere else, right?"

I look away from the road. I can't afford to keep looking at his face as long as I want to, but I have time to see him nod.

"Yeah, that's no problem. I've been getting a lot of practice lately."

My jaw tightens. I don't like this plan one bit. It's dangerous, and it's the sort of risk-taking that I've come to expect from Beauchamp. One of these days, it's going to come back to bite him in a bad way, but right now we're going to have to count on it.

"Okay."

I pull into the left turn lane at the last second as the light changes and put my foot down on the gas. The car lurches under us, but it makes the corner just fine.

Two and a half blocks back to Ryan's house. The place is dark, and I take a lap around the block before pulling up to the driveway and letting him out.

There might be surveillance. I can't guarantee there isn't. But it's better than our usual work, if there is. Nobody sitting in a car eating a cheeseburger and waiting for him to step out of my sedan.

He steps out, and my entire body tenses up, ready for someone to jump out at any minute. Nobody does. It's a bit anticlimactic as he walks up to the bike, steps into the saddle, and turns the key, and the bike growls to life.

I start driving, getting myself turned around so I can follow him. He starts moving, not too fast to follow, but he's in a hurry and I can tell.

Part of me feels bad about it. He's under a heavy pressure, and anyone can see it. But that doesn't mean that I can afford to change anything for him, either.

No, we're both under a lot of pressure, and there's not going to be any sort of release valve until Scheck and her boys are out of the picture.

I try not to think about alternative ways of getting them out of the way. I'm a cop, not a judge. Certainly not an executioner. My hands tighten around the wheel, and then I relax them again.

No reason to get crazy, now. I just have to keep myself under control. That's all. Nice and easy, no problems.

Ryan's hand comes up to signal a turn. How delightfully old-timey. I don't have anything I can do to signal that I've seen him, but I flick the indicator with my finger-tip. When he turns, I follow him.

It only takes five minutes, give or take, for the groups of houses to start looking in better repair, for the roads to be clearer under my tires, and then Ryan pulls off into one of the side streets.

I've been this route once before, but I was too busy trying not to fall off the bike to really remember it. Now that we're almost here, I'm recognizing more and more of it.

I pull up behind him in a driveway. The place looks empty, the lights all turned off. But then, the garage is closed, so there's no reason to assume that he hasn't just pulled his stuff inside, and it's still early morning. Might be he's not an early riser.

Ryan steps up to the window and knocks. I roll it down.

"Stay here. Keep the engine running. I'm gonna go get him, we'll follow you back to the hotel once we're out."

"Don't take too long. There might be someone watching, and if there is—"

"I get it," he says.

"As long as you know what's at stake."

He leans in and presses his lips against mine. He has a long way to go, and I have a long time to figure out what's going on, but somehow it still catches me off-guard. My lips are tingling when he pulls back from the kiss.

"I'll be back in just a minute. Trust me."

"Okay."

He has a key ring in his hand already. Hasn't even slipped it into his pocket. He flips to a key, undoes the front gate. It slides open real easy, and then he unlocks the front door and heads inside.

I can't hear anything. The house is quiet, and he doesn't turn on any lights. For all I know he closed the door and now he's standing right there inside the door, and in a minute he'll open it without having searched.

Or, just as likely, he's tearing the place up and the whole place is going to look like a hurricane ran through. The seconds tick by like minutes, and the minutes feel like hours.

I don't keep an exact count, but the digital car clock shows that six minutes pass before I see any movement in the house. Ryan opens the door, and then stops himself halfway out the door, leaning stiff-armed against the door frame and trying to catch his breath.

He doesn't move for a long time. I don't know what's upsetting him, but I know one thing for sure: Logan Beauchamp isn't right behind him. My stomach twists up, and I get a sick idea of what he might have found.

Ryan pushes himself off the wall and makes his way over to my car. I roll the window down as he comes up. I want to say how sorry I am, but I keep it to myself. He's not the kind of man who wants pity.

"Everything alright?"

"No, it's not fuckin' alright."

"What's the situation?"

"The place isn't looking too great. Signs of a struggle, you might say. No blood. The place is empty."

My face pinches into a frown.

"Do you think—"

"He promised to call me if he heard anything, that son of a bitch. Someone came in and got him, and he musta heard it, but he didn't call me." Ryan pulls a phone out of his jacket and unlocks it, shows me the call log. "No missed calls."

I take a deep breath.

"Who do you think took him?"

"I don't know. Your people might do this kind of shit, wouldn't they?"

It doesn't take me much thought before I nod. "Sure. Might have been the Crazy Horses, though."

"Yeah. I know."

He takes a deep breath and opens the passenger-side door.

"What's the plan, then?"

Beauchamp looks tired, even deflated. I don't know what to say to make the worry go away. I don't even know how to fix the exhaustion that I know lines my own face. He works his own way out of it.

"We can't go off half-cocked. We need to know who's got him."

"I agree," I say. I keep my voice as steady and confident as I can. He needs all the support he can get right now, and that's the best I can do.