by Lisa Ladew
“Oh God,” Brandon breathed, pulling the phone away from his ear again. Gingerly, he pressed END CALL and dropped the phone to his lap, his hand shaking. Police? Was that the police in Mexico? It had to be. They had Victor’s phone. And did that mean that Roxy and Mrs. Wells were… were gone? Were being brought back here? He shuddered, staring at the passenger seat that Ryker had vacated. There was no way for him to control Ryker without those two women. And Ryker would kill him. Brandon had seen the murder in his eyes many times over the last two days. When Fiore Savoy had laid out this plan for him, he hadn’t wanted to do it. But Uncle Savoy had convinced him, saying Brandon was the only hope the entire family had. That they would all be in prison for life if Brandon didn’t help them get out. If Brandon didn’t somehow convince Ryker Wells to help him. Brandon had never been given any job of any importance before. In fact he’d always been something of a joke. Not very smart, not very strong, not very brave, only good for running messages or picking up packages. But now, he’d been the one who had the idea to kidnap Ryker’s mom and sis. And Uncle Savoy had liked it. Had said it was a good idea. A smart idea. But it wasn’t his fault if it failed. It was Victor’s fault. Victor should be the one on the line for this, not him.
Brandon looked through the glass at the restaurant. Still no sign of Ryker. He had to think. But his hands were still shaking. Terror of Ryker had cleared his mind, but now the terror was eliminating his ability to think coherent thoughts about what to do. He had to get rid of Ryker for a while. Like when he’d thought Ryker had been sleeping. Brandon’s brain lit up with an idea. He reached into his right pocket and pulled out the plastic bag he felt there. Little white pills. That was his speed. He tried his left pocket and came out with a baggie of small green pills. Roofies. Dawn had gotten them for him to help him come down off speed without getting so violent. But they’d joked about using them on women. Dawn had very overt bisexual tendencies, but Brandon didn’t want her fucking around on him unless he was there. Even if it was with a woman. She was OK with that, but so far they hadn’t found any takers. The petite punk chick with the black hair and tattoos came into his mind. Dawn had really like her. But she didn’t seem interested. She’d been more into Ryker.
Brandon climbed out of his car, trying to remember the chick’s name. It was something short. He pushed the door open, and went to the counter, trying to forget about the girl and think of the plan that had hit him in the car. He needed food. And then what? His hands knew what to do. They emptied the pills out into his pocket. He ordered two meals and two sodas, watching nervously for Ryker.
The meals came and he took them to the napkin and ketchup station, throwing sharp glances over his shoulder. Ryker was taking forever in the bathroom. That was good. He pulled two pills out of his pocket and added them to one of the drinks. He hesitated then added two more. Ryker was big. Concentrating hard, he scooped up the drink and the bag of food and walked carefully towards the door. Once he got close enough he could see Ryker was in the car, watching him. Had Ryker seen him put the pills in the cup? If so, it was all over. He thought he could hear his heart beating in his chest. Brandon tightened his grip on the bag and gritted his teeth. There was no place to go but to his car.
He climbed in the driver’s seat and thrust the bag and drink at Ryker. “Here.”
Ryker looked at them dully but made no move to eat or drink anything. Brandon realized he’d left his own drink on the counter in the restaurant. Oh well. He’d get another one when Ryker passed out. If he passed out. Ryker had to be hungry. They hadn’t eaten all day. Come on, drink it, he chanted in his mind.
“What about my mom and sister?” Ryker said.
“Five minutes. They are calling me back in five minutes.”
Ryker grunted and took a long swallow of the soda, then opened the bag of food to see what was in it. Brandon sat back, relieved, then put the keys in the ignition and pulled out of the parking lot. He turned right and tried to concentrate on the road. Out of the corner of his eye he watched Ryker eat some hamburger, then take another long swallow of soda. Brandon grinned to himself as Ryker’s mouth opened in a wide yawn. Yes! It was going to work!
Brandon stopped at a stoplight and heard a thunk beside him. He looked at Ryker. Ryker’s eyes were closed and his head had hit the window next to him. Fuck yeah! he thought viciously. The roofies were 100% his plan, and they worked great. He grinned at his own cleverness. And just like that, he knew what to do next. He was going to ditch this car and ditch Ryker for a little bit. They had almost a full day before they had to be at the school with Monroe. Ryker would most likely sleep for at least ten hours. That meant Brandon could catch a bit of sleep himself. And then he would know better what to do. Maybe he would hear from Victor. Maybe it wasn’t cops that had his phone. Maybe there was a simple explanation and his plan was still on track.
He turned right and drove toward Victor’s empty house, which was where they had left Ryker’s truck. He could leave Ryker in the garage to sleep it off, take his truck, and head to Dawn’s house. Then everything would work out OK. It had to.
Brandon listened to Ryker’s soft snores as he finally pulled his car past Victor’s garage. He would back Ryker’s truck out, then pull this car in. He killed the engine, and turned to Ryker. He would need to lay Ryker flat to search through his pockets for his keys. He heaved Ryker off the window so that he sat more upright in his seat. He got out and went around the car, opening Ryker’s door and hitting the lever that laid the seat back, pushing Ryker back with it. Gingerly, he stuck his fingers in all of Ryker’s pockets, but all he came up with was a phone and a wad of cash. He pushed these back in Ryker’s pockets and pounded one fist on Ryker’s chest. “Where’s your fucking keys, asshole?”
The truck. Brandon slammed the door shut and entered Victor’s garage. Wouldn’t Ryker be livid if he knew they had left his truck at the house of the man that took Mrs. Wells and Roxy over the border. Brandon had paid Victor a thousand dollars in cash and given him Fiore Savoy’s promise that he would get another nine thousand when the job was done. Uncle Savoy had told Brandon to go to Victor, knowing Victor had connections at the Mexico border, and more connections in Mexico. It had all been so simple.
He snapped on the light in the garage and opened Ryker’s truck door. The keys weren’t in the glove box. They weren’t above the visors. Brandon rooted around under the seat and felt something rectangular and flat. His fingers passed over it, still looking for keys. They closed on cold metal. Yes! Brandon pulled out the keys and stared at them triumphantly. A tickle in the back of his mind made him put his hand back under the seat and pull out the other thing he’d felt there. A phone. But Ryker’s phone was in his pocket. So who’s phone was this? He turned it on and saw twenty four missed text messages from Ivy. Ivy! That had been the black-haired chick’s name.
Wait. Brandon dropped his head for a second and thought hard. His thoughts were still fragmented, but he knew this was important. He tapped the phone and opened up the stream of text messages. There were hundreds. Brandon read through them, starting with Ivy’s frantic messages wanting to know what is going on? where are you? Connections formed slowly in Brandon’s mind. He read back farther. Are you coming over tonight, handsome? You left your binder at my place. I’ll bring it. Brandon dropped the phone and tried to force his mind to remember Ivy and Ryker together at Dawn’s house. Were they a couple? Were they playing some sort of secret agent game right under his nose? Brandon’s abused neurons fired enough for him to realize, yeah, that sweet thing was fucking Ryker. And Ryker hadn’t wanted him to know. A grin spread across his face as he decided it didn’t matter if Mrs. Wells and Roxy were lost. Because he knew about Ivy. Now all he had to do was find her. Brandon grabbed his own phone and pressed the button to call Dawn. Wouldn’t that be lucky if Ivy were at Dawn’s house? Lucky for Brandon. Not so lucky for Ivy. Dawn’s phone rang a dozen times. Finally Brandon slammed it on the seat in frustration. Dawn couldn’t make anything easy, c
ould she? He’d have to head over there. Hopefully she wasn’t having another one of her famous parties. They always ended with the cops showing up. The last thing he needed right now was to deal with the cops.
Brandon’s mind seemed to be working better than it ever had. Maybe three days with no sleep was how he thrived. He found himself grabbing his phone again and calling the number Uncle Fiore had given him. A contact at the police department. A patrol officer who could use the computers and give him information. And who would be paid handsomely for it by Uncle.
A man picked up. “Yeager.”
“Yeah, Officer Yeager, this is—” Brandon’s mind blanked again and he forgot the code name he was supposed to use. Dammit! He thought frantically, then turned out his pockets, knowing he had written it down.
“Who is this?” the voice asked, turning suspicious. Brandon pawed through his baggies, his brass knuckles, his wireless phone charger, some gum, a miniature pen, and his keys, finally finding a wadded up piece of paper. He slapped his head, pissed that he couldn’t remember something so simple.
“Ah, this is Bart Simpson. I need you to find an address for me.”
Yeager’s voice was no longer suspicious. But he didn’t sound happy about being called by ‘Bart Simpson’. “OK. What’s the name?”
“Ivy Oakes.” Brandon heard the clicking of a keyboard as Yeager entered the information into a computer.
“You ready?”
Brandon scrambled for the pen and said he was. Officer Yeager recited the address and then his voice trailed off as if he were reading something.
“You know that she’s at the station, right?”
Brandon’s eyes widened. “No, what for?”
“For questioning in connection with a shooting.”
“She shot someone?”
“No, Dawn Reinold shot someone. Ivy Oakes was involved in some sort of altercation at the scene with Dawn. And now she’s in the cell block.”
Brandon swore under his breath. His fingers curled tightly around the phone in aggravation. Dawn shot someone? It didn’t surprise him but it did piss him off. Nobody better come looking for him because of it. She better not have used one of his guns. Anger spiked in his chest as he realized she probably did. Officer Yeager mumbling to himself as he read the rest of the report distracted Brandon from his thoughts. Brandon heard Yeager gasp. His voice turned sharp and accusatory as he spoke to Brandon once more. “Are these friends of yours?”
“What? No. My uncle needed to talk to Ivy Oakes.”
“What’s your real name?”
Brandon hit the END CALL button on his phone. This didn’t sound good at all. He eyed the baggies on the seat. Slowly, he picked up the one with the small white pills and dry-swallowed one, grimacing. There would be no sleep for him tonight.
Chapter 13
Ivy stumbled on the stairs, a police officer she'd never seen before holding her by the arm. He pushed her firmly down the walk and into the back of a squad car, shutting the door without even looking at her. No one had asked her what happened. No one had even spoken to her. Ivy had lain on the floor for almost an hour, handcuffed and humiliated, as paramedics, firefighters, detectives, and what seemed like the entire Westwood Harbor police department marched past her. The ambulance had taken officer Price in less than five minutes, barely taking the time to put an IV in her. Ivy had been thrilled to hear her talking before they whisked her down the steps. Dawn had lain there for longer without attention, except the officers swabbing her hands for gunpowder residue. Ivy’s hands had also been swabbed for gunpowder residue. “I didn’t shoot her,” Ivy had said, but the young officer hadn’t responded in any way. Ivy had felt like a piece of meat being prepped for sale. Several times she had the thought that when she was a cop she would do things differently. She wouldn’t treat anyone like she was being treated. But that thought had made her realize that it was early Sunday morning, the police recruit class started tomorrow, and there was almost no way she would be there. Her or Ryker. Sadness resounded inside Ivy, but it was a dull sadness. There were too many people in danger or getting hurt for her to feel too sorry for herself.
Ivy watched the parade of officers still traipsing in and out of Dawn’s house from the back seat of the squad car, her hands starting to ache from the handcuffs. She didn't recognize any of them. Finally, the young officer who had swabbed her hands, descended the steps and got behind the wheel of the squad car she was in. Again, he didn't say a word to her, but drove her to the station in silence.
Once there he photographed her, fingerprinted her, and asked her for her name and address. She tried to tell them that she hadn't done anything but he wouldn't listen. "I'm not supposed to take your statement. Save it for the detectives."
He took Ivy down a long hallway and through a gray metal door, into a large open area with a cage inside. He thrust Ivy into the cage with what looked like twenty other women, most of them sitting morosely on the benches along the wall.
Ivy edged her way into the cage, trying to look every way at once. Some of these women were downright scary looking. She found an empty seat and lowered herself onto it, scared for her own safety for the first time since this entire ordeal had started. Well, she thought, if I do end up making it to recruit class I'll have a lot of valuable experience already. She rolled her eyes at herself and her attempt to feel better. There was nothing valuable about being arrested, even if you knew you didn't do it. Especially if you knew you didn’t do it.
Ivy sat against the wall for what seemed like an eternity. She was glad it was nighttime. Most of the women were sleeping and no one spared her a second glance. No one was fighting or making trouble. The police had taken her phone and everything she had in her pockets. She had nothing to do but sit there and wait for whatever happened next. Her eyes felt incredibly heavy. She had only stolen an hour or two of sleep the night before, and it was late already. After midnight for sure. She felt exhausted. The longer she sat there, the more her eyes seemed to weigh. She tried to keep them open, but eventually they dropped closed and her head fell on the shoulder of the stocky woman sitting next to her. "Hey!" The woman yelled, jerking her shoulder away.
"Sorry," Ivy muttered, pulling herself as far away from the woman as she could. The woman seemed only slightly taller than Ivy and not nearly as formidable as some of the other women in the cell with them, but Ivy still didn't want to get on the wrong side of anyone. A fight would not make this night any better.
Defeated, Ivy looked around the cell for a corner where she could sleep without bothering anyone. She knew she couldn’t keep herself awake, even sitting up. All the corners were taken. She considered just stretching out in the middle of the floor like a few other women were, but before she had to make that decision the door opened and the young officer called her name.
Ivy stood up, glad to get out of the cell. Before she had a chance to wonder what was next, the officer led her to a small room that was bare except for a desk and four chairs. He pushed her inside without a word and locked the door from the outside. Ivy sat down, sinking in to the more comfortable chair. She put her head in her hands and was asleep within seconds.
The door rattled and Ivy forced herself awake. She didn’t know how long she’d been asleep but she certainly didn’t feel any better. It couldn’t have been very long. Ivy rubbed her eyes and sat up straight. Something reflected the light on the table in front of her. Mortified, she realized it was a tiny puddle of drool. She rubbed her sleeve over it just as the door opened. Officer Price’s partner came in. Ivy almost smiled at him, then remembered she was under arrest. She watched him with wide eyes. Did he think she shot her partner?
“Ivy,” he said, his voice tired and empty. He sat down across from her and rubbed his own face with his hands.
“I didn’t shoot her,” Ivy said quickly, fear stretching her words.
“I know. Dawn did. We got the test results back from your hands and her hands. I need to know exactly what happened, but a de
tective is on his way to take your statement.”
Relief flooded Ivy. She leaned forward. “I smashed a plate on Dawn’s head,” she told him, wanting him to know as soon as possible.
A ghost of a smile passed over his lips and Ivy sat back, satisfied. She read his name tag. Officer Bristow.
“How is she?” Ivy asked.
“Kara? I mean, Officer Price? She’s gonna be OK. The bullet hit her in the leg and tore off a pretty big piece of muscle. But she’s out of surgery already and they say she’ll be able to walk OK. She’s tough.”
Ivy could see the admiration and appreciation for his partner in Officer Bristow’s face. She remembered the anguish in his voice as he’d been calling for an ambulance and a lump formed in her throat. For the second time, the dangers of police work were thrust in her face. But she didn’t have time to think about that now. Right now, she just needed to get out of here and find Ryker. Ryker! Thinking of him made her realize there was no way she could go back to Dawn’s now to find him. No matter what. No way she could let Brandon even see her. If he found out that she had knocked Dawn out she was sure there would be hell to pay.
“Is there any way I could have my phone back?”
Officer Bristow looked at his watch. “Sorry. Not until you’re released. Which we can’t do until we get your statement.”
“How long will it take?”
“I don’t know. An hour or two.”
Another hour or two. Ivy dropped her eyes, wondering what Ryker was doing right now. Was he OK?
“It depends on when the detective gets here. I’ll go and look for him, but he’s on his own schedule. I only came in here because Officer Price wanted me to thank you.”