His Personal Mission

by Justine Davis

  His half shrug did nothing to alleviate the sudden burst of warmth Sasha felt. It was nothing like the heat he’d roused in her last night. It came from an entirely different source, but she had the odd feeling the two together could easily consume her.

  And right now, she wasn’t sure that wasn’t exactly what she wanted.

  “Tell me about Trish,” she said suddenly.

  He glanced at her. “Haven’t I? What I know, anyway?”

  “I mean, as a little girl,” Sasha explained. “Was she the typical baby sister pest? Bugging you all the time?”

  He laughed harshly. “Yeah. But I didn’t mind so much, not that I’d ever let her know that. It was kind of sweet, having someone think you’re the coolest guy on the planet.”

  “When she got older, did she ask you for advice?”

  His brow furrowed. “Advice?”

  “You know, about guys and stuff.”

  “Oh. Yeah. I mean, not advice, really, she’d just ask me why a guy she knew or liked would do this, that or the other thing. Or not do. Especially if she wanted him to.”

  “What seemed to attract her the most?”

  He frowned. “How would I know?”

  “Think, Ryan. I know guys aren’t used to framing everything in the context of relationships as women are, but you’re smart, and observant. What did she go for? What made you roll your eyes when she started in about some guy she liked, made you think ‘Here we go again.’”

  “Oh. That I can do. Music. If a guy was in a band, she was interested. If he was the lead singer, even better. If he wrote the songs, best of all.” He grimaced. “That’s why that bit SadBreeze wrote about maybe never being able to play again because of his hand got to her.”

  Sasha nodded as she glanced back at the pages she’d spread out. She remembered the heroic story he’d spun, something about rescuing a dog who’d fallen off a boat into the numbingly cold Puget Sound, and in the process slicing his hand on the propeller. He’d played Trish’s immediate distressed reaction as if he really were the virtuoso he’d claimed to be.

  “Maybe that’s it,” she said as she pulled out the list they’d made of the people who’d either posted on Trish’s page, or been added as “friends.” She quickly paged through to the spot she’d gotten to when he’d come in.

  “What?”

  “Here. A ‘friend’ from her page, who posted a few times. Seemed Trish was interested, until SadBreeze rolled in and swept her off her feet.”

  Ryan leaned over. “Nick90? Yeah, I remember reading stuff from him. Isn’t he the one who said he had a band? And that they played some local gigs?”

  “Yeah. I’m looking to see if he gave any specific venue names…”

  “Maybe they played the café,” Ryan said. “Local talent night.”

  She looked at him. “Great idea, Ryan. Call them.” She looked down. “He says the band’s name is Rich Passage.”

  She kept searching as he made the call. He hung up in the same moment that she found what she’d been looking for.

  “They’ve been there,” they said, almost in unison.

  The moment brought on mutual smiles that Sasha thought held more promise than even the moments last night when they’d almost gone further than they ever had before.

  “He mentions it, there,” she said, pointing to a spot on one of the middle pages. “Not by name, but by where it is. Talks about how they give local amateurs a shot, if they promise all their friends and family will show up and buy food and drinks.”

  “Sounds like a fair trade. Sandy said they’d played there twice, and did well. She remembers the kid, said he is talented, good voice. Why are we asking?”

  “Because, it occurred to me that maybe, even though Trish was coming here to see SadBreeze, she might well have contacted this Nick, too, told him she would be here.”

  “Damn,” Ryan said.

  She was still reading, her eyes darting as she picked out the lines prefaced with the Nick90 screen name. “Here,” she said suddenly, “he mentions the place again, and says if Trish were up here, she could come see them play.”

  “Damn,” Ryan said again. “Sandy said they’d probably play there again, but she wasn’t sure when. But she also said they play a couple of other places around the county.”

  He went quickly back to his room, and returned with his laptop. It was already booted up, and she wondered how many of the sleepless hours that had made his eyes look so weary had been spent staring at this screen.

  He set it down on the counter and she watched as he opened up a browser.

  “Wireless?” she asked. “I hadn’t realized.”

  “Yeah. Kate said she hooked it up because she needs to access her work computer from here, and she likes to work out on the porch sometimes.”

  “You thinking the band’s got a Web site?”

  “If they’re serious, they would,” Ryan said. Rather than searching first, he started with the most logical, the band’s name, and on the second variation got lucky.

  Sasha stopped searching, looking up in surprise at the music that started as the Web site opened. She’d expected some combination of the grunge that had been born up here in Seattle, maybe with a punk edge. Angry, maybe. But what she heard was a smooth, lilting ballad that owed more to green hills of Ireland than the cold streets of a big city.

  Curious, she turned to look at the page. The music segued into something more raucous, edgier, but still with a sensibility that surprised her. The singer wasn’t yelling, he was singing. And well.

  “Nice,” she said after a moment’s more listening.

  “Yeah. Surprised me.”

  “Nice to hear somebody who doesn’t think showing emotion just means screeching louder.”

  She leaned forward. “Photos?”

  Ryan nodded and clicked on the page. “They’re all of the band, not him. Hard to get a close look.”

  She opened her mouth to ask him to click the link labeled “gigs” but he’d already done it.

  They were playing tonight, a place called Canal Street, where they had played a few times before. Ryan noted the address, opened his map program and found it.

  “About ten miles south,” he said.

  He grabbed his phone, called the number listed for the place. Sasha kept looking through the pages, found a blog that was apparently kept up by the various members of the band in turn.

  “I got a recording,” Ryan said as he hung up, “saying they don’t open until nine. But it confirmed tonight is music night, and that they—” he gestured at the site “—are the featured act.”

  “One of them goes to Madrona college.”

  Ryan went still. “What?”

  “He mentions it here on the blog. Talks about what a bitch his history final was, how much he despised the professor, because the guy seemed to hate everything.”

  “Damn. Do you think maybe Marty was wrong about it being a staff parking sticker? That maybe the guy was younger than she thought, maybe this guy? Maybe she didn’t have her glasses on, and—”

  “Don’t take off running,” Sasha cautioned him. “It could be just coincidence.”

  “Do you believe in those?”

  She shrugged. “If they didn’t happen, we wouldn’t have the word for them.”

  “So what do we do now?”

  “I’d say we head that way,” she said, “and see if we can talk to people there who might know them, since they’ve played there a few times.”

  “And in the meantime, hope Rand’s able to wiggle something helpful out of the cops,” Ryan muttered.

  The place was funky, Ryan thought, in a cool sort of way. Set at the apex of a Y intersection of two one-lane roads, it was across from a small lagoon, visible now that the tide was out, but which would be swallowed up by the sound itself when the tide came back in.

  And apparently it was a popular place; the parking lot was already nearly full and they’d just opened for breakfast. Sasha suggested they take advantage
of that, given that neither of them had wanted to take time for breakfast at Rand’s.

  “Besides,” she pointed out, “they’re likely to be more forthcoming to paying customers.”

  Ryan didn’t argue. He dodged the stuffed deer’s head on the wall—not a real deer, he noticed, but one made of fabric and plastic antlers—and took a seat at the polished wood table with legs that looked as if they’d been made from trees cut down out back, pieces of bark still clinging. Funky was definitely the word, he thought.

  According to the story on the menu, the place had been originally built back in the 1800s, and at various times had been a tavern, a general store, a post office and now a restaurant.

  The manager who was responsible for booking the entertainment would be in this afternoon, the waitress told them. “I can tell you Rich Passage is one of our bigger draws, though.”

  “You know them?” Ryan asked.

  “Well, not personally, except to say hi. But I’ve stayed to listen a couple of times, because everybody was talking about how good they were. And they are.”

  “Do friends come to see them? Girlfriends and such?”

  “Probably, I guess. The lead singer’s pretty cute.” She cleared away the extra place settings on the table. “Stick around and you may see him. He comes in early sometimes, to check the equipment.”

  The meal they ended up with was good. Ryan’s omelet was richly tasty and Sasha said her waffle with locally made raspberry topping was perfect, but Ryan knew he didn’t pay as much attention to the food as it deserved. Just as he hadn’t to this whole place since they’d gotten off the plane, he thought.

  “That was an interesting thought,” Sasha said.

  He tapped his fingers on the table. “Just thinking this is a beautiful part of the world, but I haven’t paid much attention to it.” He gave her a sideways glance. “That tunnel vision of mine you used to complain about.”

  “My complaint,” Sasha said, “was never about the tunnel vision. I’m a big fan of it. I have my own version of it. It’s the hallmark of someone on a mission.”

  Ryan blinked. “Then what—”

  “I just felt what it was applied to mattered. And whether you could turn it off.”

  “I can turn it off.” He sounded lame even to himself.

  “Now,” she agreed. “Back then? Not so much.”

  He grimaced wryly. The waitress arrived with refilled glasses of a delicious berry-flavored lemonade they’d ordered on her recommendation. Sasha thanked her, then looked back at Ryan.

  “Remember we talked about how SadBreeze made Trish feel like the center of the universe? How I said that kind of single-minded focus, tunnel vision if you will, can be highly flattering?”

  He nodded, already having an uncomfortable feeling about where this was going. God, he hated this, this kind of analyzing. Why couldn’t a woman just be direct?

  “Then imagine the feeling if someone you’re interested in has that tunnel vision, turned somewhere else.”

  He blinked. That was pretty direct. He dug through the old memories, an interesting process since he’d spent so much time trying not to. “You said you wanted to go slow.”

  “That didn’t mean I didn’t want to go,” she said.

  “But I thought—”

  Sasha hushed him with an upheld hand.

  “Great,” he muttered. “First you want to talk, then when I finally—”

  “Ryan, stop!”

  She whispered it harshly. She was staring past his shoulder, toward the back of the restaurant. He turned to look, wondering what she’d seen.

  He saw a young man coming in the back way, turned halfway with an arm extended behind him. He was tugging at something that was resisting. Ryan looked back at Sasha; talk about tunnel vision, he thought, she was zeroed in on that guy like a laser.

  With a start, he belatedly realized the kid was the guy in the photos on the band Web site.

  He jerked around to look again, just in time to see what the kid had been pulling at come into view.

  It was Trish.

  Chapter 20

  “Ryan! Ryan, stop!”

  Sasha had to dodge around tables and chairs to get to the hallway. Ryan had exploded out of his seat and actually leapt the stub wall that channeled people who came in through the back door into the “Wait to be seated” area.

  By the time she got there, Trish’s screams were still echoing, and she was futilely tugging at her brother; Ryan had his hands around the kid’s throat. Sasha swiftly assessed the situation. Trish was her first priority, and the stark bruises on the girl’s cheek and neck didn’t bode well for the health of the kid who’d been pulling at her.

  But Trish was protesting vehemently, and unlike Ryan, who had clearly seen nothing but his bruised sister being dragged along by this guy, Sasha heard her. She moved in closer, ready to do what she could to stop Ryan before he really hurt this kid. That he was capable of just that right now was obvious. If she’d had any remaining doubts about just how much he cared, they were gone now, seared to ash by his quick, fierce response.

  “Let go, damn it! He didn’t hurt me.”

  “What do you call that?” Ryan asked, jerking his head toward her bruised face, but never taking his eyes off the frightened boy’s face.

  “I know, but he didn’t do it. Listen to me, bro, he didn’t do it. He helped me get away from that guy.”

  Sasha didn’t know if it was her words, or her use of the affectionate nickname, but she sensed Ryan’s rage slip down a notch.

  “Ryan, she’s here, she’s safe now. Let him go. Let’s figure it all out.”

  Ryan took his hands from the kid’s throat, but kept hold of his shoulders, pinning him back against the wall. Then the restaurant manager was there, urging them to take it, whatever it was, either outside or into his office.

  “Your office would be perfect,” Sasha said; this was not the man they were after, but she’d like him contained within four walls until they were sure.

  It took a moment longer to get the situation calm enough that they all responded, and a moment later Sasha was closing the office door behind them. The kid sank down on one of the two chairs in the room. Trish knelt beside him, obviously checking to see if he was all right.

  “Your brother?” he asked wryly, clearly thinking the inquiry unnecessary.

  “Yeah,” Trish said, standing up and finally turning to look at Ryan. Sasha sensed she was trying to decide how she felt, angry at her brother for attacking what was clearly a friend, or impressed that he’d come charging to her rescue.

  “Trish,” Sasha said gently, figuring there was one thing that would make that decision easy, “the girl he took after you told us he’d killed you.”

  Trish paled. “Oh, my God.”

  As Sasha had hoped, she saw the reality of what it had looked like from their point of view. And then she ran to her brother, threw her arms around him, and began to sob against his chest.

  “I’m sorry, Ryan. Really. I was so stupid.”

  “Yeah,” he said gruffly, but he was holding her so tightly Sasha was surprised she could breathe. She walked over to the boy in the chair, who was watching Ryan somewhat warily still, but Trish with satisfaction.

  “I was so stupid,” the girl was saying again. “I thought my life was boring, bland, even compared to yours.”

  Sasha saw Ryan’s mouth quirk at that.

  “Nick, isn’t it?” Sasha quietly asked the boy, who was shifting in his seat as if feeling awkward in front of all the family emotion.

  He nodded.

  “Let’s give them some time alone. Then we’ll work it all out.”

  He had the grace—and the sense, Sasha thought—to nod and follow her, closing the door on the reunion Sasha had feared might never happen.

  “You don’t have to rub it in, bro, I already feel stupid enough.”

  They were sitting outside, in the Redstone SUV, Trish in the front with Sasha, and Ryan in the backseat with Nick
, who by his expression knew exactly why that arrangement had been chosen.

  Good, Ryan thought. Until I know exactly what part you’ve played in this, you’re not out of my sight.

  “You have no idea what it’s been like for Mom and Dad,” Ryan said to Trish, leaving himself out of the equation. “Why didn’t you tell us? At least call? Your voice mail is full of panicked messages from…all of us.”

  “I was afraid to. I knew Mom and Dad would be furious.”

  “They weren’t furious. They were terrified.”

  “I know. Nick’s been laying that on me since I got here. And his mom.”

  Ryan’s attention shifted to the young man who had been observing the exchange with interest, but also with some trepidation. Obviously he wasn’t sure Ryan was convinced of his innocence yet.

  “Your mom?”

  “She’s been staying with us. We’ve been telling her to go home,” Nick said, “or at least call. That her folks wouldn’t care as long as they knew she was okay.”

  Ryan reined in his suspicions. Sasha seemed to believe the guy had been on the side of the angels, so he tried to get himself there, too.

  “So you just rode in on your white horse and saved my little sister?”

  “A red one, actually,” Nick said, risking a joke.

  Ryan wasn’t ready for jokes. Trish, accurately reading her brother, spoke quickly.

  “A motorcycle, Ryan. And it did save us. He was following us, for miles, until Nick found a place where he could ride between some buildings, down a walkway, and the guy couldn’t follow. By the time he got around the block, we were long gone.”

  “When? How long were you with him? Did he—”

  Sasha stopped him with a hand on his arm. He almost shrugged it off, this was his sister after all.

  But it was Sasha’s expertise. And that’s what he’d asked for, and it was her instincts that had brought them here. It would be foolish to stop trusting them now.

  “He didn’t rape me, if that’s what you mean.” Trish said it flatly, bitterly. “He didn’t have time.”