Dean

 

Dean didn’t exactly mean to knock over his chair and tear across the floor to the bar, where Connell’s Scotch was kept. He didn’t exactly mean to take the bartender — Jimmy, he thought vaguely, Jimmy the Kid he called himself, the idiot — by the collar and put him up against a wall, jarring him hard enough that a couple glasses fell down, smashing on the floor. He didn’t mean to growl in the kid’s face, demanding to know where exactly that bottle had come from.

 

Jimmy didn’t have anything to say other than an incoherent spill of moans, and it took a long time for the pressure Dean felt on his wrists to resolve into the feeling of Connell’s fingers prying him loose. “He doesn’t know anything, Dean, for fuck’s sake, let the kid go before you hurt him.”

 

Dean forced himself to drop the kid, who sagged as soon as his feet touched the floor. Dean didn’t feel far from doing the same thing. He’d seen that mark on the bottom of the bottle, the sign that somehow, somehow the kidnapper had even infiltrated this place, where he was supposed to be away from all that shit, and his vision had just twisted into a knot.

 

“Connell,” he said, same as he had when he’d been hunched over yet another glass of whiskey. “Connell, my girl. My baby girl.”

 

“I know, boy,” Connell replied, and it was the first time Connell had called him that in nearly a decade. “I know. We’re going to find her. But you can’t go making this even worse for us than it already is. It won’t help us, and it won’t help her. Feel me?”

 

He wanted to rip Connell’s face off his skull, but he understood. He forced himself to nod.

 

“You check on Abbey yet?”

 

Dean shook his head. He knew damn well why Connell was changing the conversation, and he didn’t want any goddamn part of it. “Her girlfriend’s there with her. She’ll call me if she needs me.” He swallowed, then said the thing he didn’t want to say. “She doesn’t want a damn thing to do with me right now, Connell, and I can’t really fucking blame her. Shit, she’s spent more time with that kid than I have. She’s the one who puts the kid to bed at night, and gets her ready for school in the morning.”

 

He felt Connell nodding next to him, the man’s hand tightening on Dean’s bicep as Dean rested his trembling fists on the bar. “She’s done a real good job with the day to day raising of that child. But I’ve never once seen you bail on the girl. You’ve given her everything you could, including the best mother you could find for her. You stepped out of the way when you thought you wouldn’t be good enough for her, but you made sure you were still in her life. The way I figure it, you did a pretty good job. You’re fighting for her now harder than I’ve ever seen anyone fight for anything.”

 

“I love her,” Dean said, and he wondered for a moment if he’d ever said it out loud before.

 

“Figure she loves you, too,” Connell said. “And I figure she knows you’re going to come for her. Doesn’t matter if she calls you Uncle, or Daddy, or fuckin Santa Claus inside her head. The thing that matters is she knows you’re going to come for her. There’s a lot of kids in the world who don’t have that.”

 

“Yeah,” Dean made himself say, trying to believe the older man’s words. “I just don’t know where to start, Connell. I’ve run out of leads. A cryptic fucking drawing on the bottom of a bottle. What the hell does it even mean?”

 

“I’m going to call a guy over in organized crime,” Connell said. “I think I’ve seen that before. He might know a thing. Have you heard from your girlfriend?”

 

He could try to explain that he and Emma had not had any kind of organized conversation about exactly what the status of their non-relationship was, or he could just skip to the point where Connell took the next step and moved along. “No, Emma hasn’t been in touch yet.”

 

“Why’d you leave her behind, anyway?”

 

The million dollar question. Who the hell knew? Because he was afraid? Because he didn’t want to dishonor Sam’s memory? Because he was an absolute fool? All of the above? Maybe.

 

Connell let go of Dean’s arm and got him a glass of water. He set it down in front of the other man and patted his shoulder. “Drink that. Start thinking sober thoughts. Let me see what I can find out about this,” he said. He lifted the bottle and took a cell phone picture of the marking, then withdrew to the far corner of the room.

 

Dean drank the water, then glanced down at Jimmy, who’d gone and found a broom to sweep up the mess he’d made.

 

“Sorry about that,” Dean made himself say.

 

Jimmy shrugged. “They got your little girl, man. I’d fucking kill anyone who got in the way of me taking back my kid.”

 

Yeah. Yeah, that was just about it.

 

###

 

It took two hours, and then Dean was on the road again. Connell’s calls had revealed that the symbol, an arrow cutting through a diamond, had recently appeared on the north side of a building on the outside of town. One of Connell’s contacts had sent on an address, and after a very heated argument, Dean had mounted up on his bike and set his front wheel toward the warehouse district, yet again. There was nothing casual about driving up this time. He peeled into the yard, dumped the bike on its side, and strode angrily into the front office area of what had once been some kind of processing plant. There was a small administrative area, and a window overlooking a sunken plant full of rotting metal machinery and old barrels of God knew what.

 

Sitting behind a desk that looked like it dated back to the Vietnam era of pencil pushing was a gorgeous brunette who fulfilled every fantasy he’d ever had about a Girl Friday. She had carefully constructed waves in her hair, a pencil skirt, a slim blouse, and breasts that looked too luscious to allow into his dreams. He had to force himself to look away — and then was surprised that he did so. He’d never stopped himself from catching an eyeful, no matter who he was with, and he and Emma weren’t even together. Who was he even turning into?

 

The woman smiled at him, pleasant and empty, and waited for him to speak. He coughed once, then said, “My name is Dean Patterson. I’m here about this.” Connell had run off a copy of the photo he’d taken. Dean pulled it out of his pocket now and held the photo out. He wasn’t entirely sure what he’d expected, though complete and total bland indifference was not on the list. She glanced at the photo as if he’d held out a blank piece of paper, and then redirected her gaze up to his face. She seemed to focus just off from his eyes. There was no intimidation to it, just a casual not-caring.

 

“What can you tell me?” he asked after a little while, not entirely sure what else he should say.

 

“It’s a photo,” she replied. He searched the sounds for any sign of sarcasm or irritation or anything at all, but there was nothing there. Nothing. She was completely flat, totally unaffected.

 

“Yes, it is,” he said, trying to go along with the conversation as if it were some kind of code he just wasn’t quite sure of yet. “But do you know what the subject of the photo is meant to be?”

 

She gave another pretty little blink and didn’t say anything. He wanted to bang his fist on the table and demand that she tells him exactly what was going on, but he had a funny feeling that if he did, the last sound he’d hear would be the click of a safety coming off before his brain came out the front of his skull.

 

He forced himself to take a breath and remember the exact words that Connell had said before Dean left the clubhouse. “Make sure she knows you’re from the club,” he’d said. “That’s going to be important.”

 

“Let’s start again,” Dean said. “I’m Dean Patterson. I’m the Vice President for the Night Titans. I was sent by Connell, to find out where my daughter is. Someone left this for us in the clubhouse, and I can only assume that it’s a message.”

 

The woman’s calm exterior broke into a smile, and she somehow got even prettier. “I’m very glad to see you, Mr. Patterson,” she said, all the cold shell gone. “I’m so glad you got the message and came to see us. It seems that we have a mutual problem, and we are hoping that you will help us come to a mutually agreeable resolution.”

 

Somehow, he didn’t want to punch the table anymore. “I will deal when I have my daughter back, and not one moment before.” It was almost funny. He’d spent so long denying that Mia was his daughter, doing his damnedest to hide the connection between them. He’d referred to Mia as his daughter more times in the last few days than he had in her life before this.

 

“I don’t have your daughter, Mr. Patterson,” the woman said. “But I do know who does. I believe I have some idea of why he has taken her, and what we can do next.”

 

“Tell me.” He managed to keep his voice from morphing into a snarl, but it was a close thing.

 

“The name of our mutual problem is Soren Jay,” the woman said. “He is a trained contract killer who is represented by our organization. He has gone entirely rogue, and we’re looking for some help bringing him back to base so that we can make sure that all contracts are properly resolved.”

 

Dean knew that there was more to what the woman had said but he didn’t hear anything after the fact that his daughter was in the hands of a trained killer. He dropped into the seat across from the woman’s desk.

 

“Tell me what we need to do,” he said. Because what else was there to say?