by J. C. Emery
“Now,” I yell. He smiles softly and nods.
“Very well. Now, pay attention, because I will not repeat myself. Thirty-nine, one, four, one, two, seven, four, sixty-eight. Negative one, two, and three. Eight hundred and ten, zero, and sixty-eight,” he rattles off so quickly I know I don’t catch it all. It’s not so much like he’s telling me a series of numbers as he’s playing a game with those numbers.
“That’s not a location,” I say.
“It is,” he insists. “And hurry—the degrees must be dropping by now, and it’s likely brackish.”
I look to Jim, who nods. I take off for my bike as quickly as I can. Once resting on the seat, I dial the only person I know who’s good enough with riddles to have even have a clue what all those numbers mean. Ian picks up on the first ring, to my immense relief.
“Knuck,” he says, using my nickname.
“Holly and Mindy are missing. Mancuso’s guy has them somewhere. Asshole gave me a bunch of numbers and said some seriously cryptic shit, but none of it made any sense.”
“You sure? I got a red line on one of his guys right now,” he says. Of course. I told Jim we needed a full table. Everybody we can spare is up here right now. We probably got at least four guys in those woods with sniper rifles on these assholes.
“Positive.”
“Meet me at the highway,” he says and hangs up. Turning the bike on and revving her up, I tear down the dirt road and make it to the highway in record time. I swing onto Highway 101, heading north. It’s not even a half mile before I see Ruby’s red Suburban parked off to the side. I pull up behind it and cut the engine. Ian strides over to me with a laptop in one hand and snaps his fingers together with the other.
“I caught thirty-nine, one four, and a few other numbers. Then negative one and sixty-eight, but there were a few numbers between those, too. He said to hurry because the degrees are dropping and it’s brackish?” I say in frustration. I should have paid better attention so I could remember it all.
“Brackish? Like water is brackish?” he asks me. I shrug.
“Fuck if I know,” I say.
“Degrees are dropping… like it’s getting cold? Cold water?” he muses and starts typing something into the laptop. We probably shouldn’t be getting signal out here, but some poor kid from Stanford’s computer sciences department needs money for his fancy fucking university, and we need signal in places only the government technically has. It’s a beneficial arrangement.
“Wait—degrees… what if it’s not temperature, but like a location?” I ask. Ian’s eyes dance for a moment before his brows draw together.
“Thirty-ninth parallel, do you think he could be talking about the thirty-ninth parallel?”
“I don’t even know what that fucking is,” I say.
“Longitude and latitude. Fort Bragg sits on the thirty-ninth parallel. They’re somewhere along the water,” he says in a hurry.
“How do you know that it’s the coastline and not farther inland?”
“Brackish water is salty. Lakes and rivers, with few exceptions, are not.”
“How the fuck do you know this?” I ask.
“I actually graduated high school, asshole,” he says back with a taunting smile.
“Okay, well, we have miles of coastline. They could be anywhere. I need something more specific.”
“I need you to remember the two numbers that come right after thirty-nine so I’ll be able to narrow it down to a few blocks,” he says.
“Shit,” I say and hit the handlebars of my bike. Holly’s life depends on my ability to remember a bunch of fucking numbers. Had I known this was going to be important one day, maybe I would have paid better attention in school, or maybe I wouldn’t have spent a couple of decades killing my brain cells. “It was… thirty-nine, one, four, two.”
“Cuffey’s Cove, down in Elk,” Ian says after typing a bunch of shit into the computer. I nod and start my bike. Ian rushes to the Suburban, tosses the computer inside, and climbs in. We head off south as fast as we can. The farther I get away from Fort Bragg, the less this feels right. Something nags at me, and I rack my brain trying to figure out what it is. We’ve been heading south for barely two minutes before I signal Ian to stop and pull over. When he does, I pull up to the driver’s window.
“Coordinates are wrong,” I shout over the noise of the Harley. Ian puts the SUV in park and leans over, grabs the laptop, and opens the screen. When he nods, I continue, “It’s not thirty-nine, one, four, two. It’s thirty-nine four, two seven.” He doesn’t ask, and I don’t bother to explain the Mad Hatter-like rhyming the bastard was doing and how confusing it was. He just enters the numbers into the computer and nods again.
“Follow me,” Ian says, and we turn around and take off, going north now. I’m not a spiritual man, but I kick myself half the ride, especially as we pass the dirt road that leads to the safe house. At some point, I’ve started to wonder if every fucked-up thing I’ve ever done is coming back to me. Am I such a bastard that the people I care about are going to keep getting hurt?
We pass the College of the Redwoods and nearly run a red light while we’re at it. Just before the bridge that spans over Noyo Bay, we turn into the parking lot for Coast RV Park. We nearly side-swipe a sedan that’s backing out of its space on the way through the lot toward the make-shift dirt roads that make up the streets for the RV park. Behind the small park of maybe twenty RVs is a curved road that practically hugs the cliffs of the coastline.
He pulls off to the side of a road that doesn’t look like it gets much action and hops out of the SUV. I pull up behind him and turn off my engine. All I can see is dirt and RVs and, in the distance, the college and some ramshackle buildings that have no distinctive purpose anymore and should probably be torn down. Ian strides around the SUV and looks to the water. From behind him, I can see the water perfectly. Every sharp rock, and every steep dip comes into view. I’ve seen enough sick shit in my time to know that the coast is prime place to dump a body. The salt water and the currents, not the mention the wildlife, do a good job at tearing up flesh. The ocean is nature’s garbage disposal.
To our right is the bridge that connects the southern end of town with everything else. It’s where the Noyo River spills into Noyo Bay, which eventually becomes part of the Pacific. The straight that leads the bay into the ocean is narrow and partially aided by a concrete sea wall that extends out a good twenty feet. The concrete wall is narrow and not made for lounging, but there at the very end, sit two figures. I’m still for a solid minute until I see movement from both of them. My chest hurts from all the stress, but in this moment, it’s as though a weight has been lifted. I have no idea what condition Holly will be in when I get to her, but the fact that she’s moving is enough for me right now. I still won’t let myself consider that he was inside of her, that he violated her in that way. Not after everything we just went through with Duke’s woman and her ex. I can’t go there.
I just can’t.
I take off to the cliff, easily finding a path that’s been worn into the dirt and rock by whoever services the coastline here. I doubt it’s the Coast Guard. We don’t have anything worth their interest up here. The closer I get to the water, the steeper and more difficult to navigate it becomes. Rocks become slick and sharp, and the water itself is more aggressive this close up. Ian is right behind me. He struggles about as much as I do, having to occasionally grab a rock beneath his feet in order to steady himself.
When I reach the sea wall, I breathe a sigh of relief that it’s wider than it appeared from shore. It’s nearly five feet wide and, though it’s wet, the extra width provides me some comfort as I run forward toward Holly. The sea wall is shaped like an “L,” bending midway. I slow at the turn, careful not to lose my footing, and then pick up speed again as I near the girls. The closer I get, the easier it is to see how they’re sitting. Back to back, they each have their legs dangling over the edge of the sea wall. Neither one looks badly hurt.
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nbsp; Holly’s head turns. Her mouth is covered in duct tape, and when her gaze lands on me, her shoulders sink and her eyes water. The absolute terror that shines in them breaks me into a thousand useless pieces. Closing the distance between us, I drop to my knees and take her face in my hands. I don’t know how much of it is insanity and how much is a message from a higher power, but this woman has been thrown into my life and I think it’s for a reason.
I don't want the complication of an Old Lady, but it looks like fate has other plans.
For the first time in a week, I can breathe easy. Holly's here, and I know she's safe. She can fight me all she wants, but I'm here and she's stuck now.
THE COLD WIND slices through my thin tee shirt. I knew I should have grabbed a jacket this morning, but we were running late and it didn’t seem important. Apparently, I was wrong. Sitting on this slab of concrete, with the icy breeze and spray from the Pacific rushing up at us, I’m reconsidering not only my wardrobe, but all of my life choices.
I don’t know that I should have moved home. The first few months back here in Fort Bragg were pretty boring, but these last several weeks have me thinking I’m going to lose my mind. Actually, maybe I shouldn’t have broken up with my ex. Or the guy before him. The longer I think on it, and the farther back I go through my exes, the more depressed I feel. I go to open my mouth and tell Mindy that I’ve always dated assholes, but my lips aren’t able to move. The duct tape pulls at my skin, so I stop trying to force out sound.
Mindy leans back and rests herself against me. My eyes narrow, and I find myself realizing that perhaps there is one more poor choice I’ve made in life—renting an apartment with Mindy. Every inch of my body aches, and I’m cold and tired, and she has the nerve to use me as a support system. The extra pressure sends a painful spasm down my spine. I’m tempted to push her off me, but I don’t want her to get hurt, and I have the kind of luck that if I push her, she’ll fall in the water and I might go with her. So instead, I take the high road and hold back the tears that form at being in this situation. I remind myself that she's in this situation because of my association with Grady, so I let her lean on me while I quash further thoughts about sending her overboard.
Noise sounds to my left, and I turn my head to see what’s going on. My heart beats faster with worry that the crazy mafia guy is back. He wasn’t exactly rude when he insisted that we get into his car with him, and he was pretty polite when he explained what he had to do and the message he wants me to give to Grady. He and his two men were even quite considerate as they walked us down this seawall and asked us to sit facing opposite directions. They made sure we didn’t hurt ourselves when they tied us together and were quite delicate when they applied the duct tape to our faces. Still, we were kidnapped, tied up, and left on a seawall, so it doesn’t really matter how goddamn polite they were about it.
Rushing down the seawall, coming right at us, is Sterling Grady. The very sight of him makes me stop breathing for a good second. His face is red, and his wavy hair whips itself across his face and covers his eyes. He doesn’t let it deter him, though. My chest constricts with every step that he comes closer. I can’t even begin to process how it feels to see him right now. A hundred emotions swell inside of me—gratitude, anger, self-pity, fear, relief, anxiety, lust.
Barely a foot away, he drops to his knees. My eyes don’t leave his as he reaches forward and takes my face in his hands. It’s a simple gesture, yet so intimate and gentle that it brings tears to my eyes. I might be losing my mind, but I need a little safety right now. Even though Grady is the most dangerous person I know, I don’t feel it in my heart. Right now he looks like a man wrecked. His chest is heaving, and his eyes are turned down like he’s in pain. The last time we were this close, I kissed him. I just took charge and did it and he liked it. Maybe if I had stayed then, we wouldn’t be here now.
Behind Grady stands a younger man, around my age if I had to guess. He is tall and lanky, with wavy blond hair and a nasty scar that runs from his ear to his mouth. I see little else about him because I don’t want to take my eyes off Grady. There’s something in Grady’s expression—like he’s a man destroyed—that I don’t understand. But it doesn’t matter. He came to save us. I don’t think I can let go of him. Ever.
Very slowly, he removes one of his hands and peels the duct tape off my face. It stings as it goes, but every time I jerk back, he whispers gently and shushes me into silence. He leans in closer, a pout practically covering his entire face, and says, “It’s okay.”
When he gets the tape off, he leans me forward and inspects the rope that binds my and Mindy’s wrists together. In a matter of seconds he has the knots untied and our wrists are free. Out of my line of sight, I can hear the telltale peeling of tape, and then Mindy gasps. Grady stands and backs up a foot to make room for his companion. The man steps forward and offers Mindy his hand, which she takes and awkwardly stands. He leads her down the seawall and toward the cliff side.
Grady crouches down and grasps my upper arms with both of his hands. We stand together. I lose my footing and accidentally step on his booted foot, which sends me sideways, but Grady pulls me into his chest and holds me tight to his leather vest. My eyes close, and I pull in a deep breath, absorbing as much of his scent as I can. I’ve always loved the salty ocean air. It was a sign that I was home or close to it, and even though I didn’t want to be here, I never wanted to be too far away, either. Only now, the last thing I want to smell is the ocean.
With my face pressed into Grady’s chest, I breathe in deeply, much preferring his masculine musk to the salty air around us.
“You’re freezing. Let’s get you in the SUV.” I nod and he releases me. I turn around carefully, and we walk the length of the seawall to shore in less than a minute. The first time I walked this wall, it felt like it’d taken at least five minutes, but before I’m even done considering it, we’ve reached the shore. I let out a heavy sigh and have to stop my lower lip from trembling. As we make our way up the hill, Grady takes the lead, grabbing my hand to make sure I don’t slip. I try to make a joke about tumbling into the ocean after his efforts to rescue me, but it doesn’t go over so well. He just gives me a look over his shoulder before he continues moving forward.
At the top of the hill, Grady’s companion is getting Mindy into the back of a red Suburban. He wears a Forsaken cut just like Grady does. There’s something about his face that makes me uncomfortable. I want to think it’s not the heinous scar, but something else. He seems off. His brows are pulled together in the center, and his eyes are focused so intently on something off in the distance that I can’t see.
“Ian’s going to take you in the SUV with Mindy. I’ll be right behind you on my bike, okay?” Grady says. I give him a slight nod. At some point, down on that seawall, I decided to give up trying to make decisions for myself. Every decision I make gets me into some kind of trouble no matter how well thought-out it is, so I’m done. If Grady wants me in the SUV, I’ll get in the SUV. Still, a part of me would rather he be in the SUV with me or I be on his bike with him. In his presence is the only place I’ve felt safe lately. But I pushed him away. I just want a reason to cling to him now and to hang on until this awful fear of something else happening passes. Unfortunately, I have a feeling that if I stay in his world for too long it won’t ever pass.
Inside the SUV, Mindy is silent. She keeps her gaze on her hands as they fidget in her lap. It’s occurred to me that my association with Grady has brought her to this place where she doesn’t even want to look at me. Ian shuts my door, and I let my head fall back against the seat. Save for the sounds of us putting on our seat belts, it’s silent as Ian starts the engine and pulls away. Behind us, Grady’s bike roars to life. The deep growl of the Harley keeps me company as we make our way through town.
Soon enough, we’re pulled up in front of my and Mindy’s apartment building. Ian parks the SUV, gets out, and walks around to open Mindy’s door. Her hands shake as she unbuckles her seatbelt
, but when she finally gets it, she’s off like a light, Ian on her tail. I don’t notice the sound of the bike until it’s turned off and the silence is deafening. In those moments before Grady opens up my door and helps me out, I feel so alone and exposed that it makes my skin crawl. Annoyed with my own weaknesses, I mentally kick myself in the ass for feeling like a stupid trauma patient. The man from the mafia didn’t hurt us—he was actually kind of nice about what he did. I don’t think I really have a right to be as affected by the experience as I am.
Silently, Grady leads me up into the apartment, where we stand awkwardly in the entryway. Mindy is curled up on the couch in the living room, and Ian has his eyes transfixed on the window that looks down on the street below. The door shuts behind me, and Grady quickly checks out the small hall bathroom, then my room, and Mindy’s. The galley kitchen is exposed to the living room, and there’s nowhere to hide. All in all, our apartment is really quite modest. Grady’s home, though not opulent, is obviously cared for and lived in. By comparison, this apartment looks like a place for boarders, not a home.
“Did he touch you?” Grady asks. His mood is dark and the scowl on his face is too intense for me to even consider arguing with him. Mindy scrubs her face with her hands and taps her foot nervously.
The question catches me off guard. I struggle with a response, but eventually end up saying, “No.”
Relief washes over him almost immediately. Blowing out a deep breath he says, “You two need to pack your bags. You’re coming to my house.”
“I’m not going anywhere with you! You are off your rocker!” Mindy shouts and jumps up from the couch. With wild eyes, she stumbles over her words and is screeching about not knowing him and not being safe anywhere and having no idea what’s going on and why we were just forcibly taken and that she is refusing to go anywhere. Grady keeps his expression neutral, but I think I’ve had enough run-ins with him to know that he’s having to work at it. Patiently, he waits until she’s done and has puttered off into some kind of incoherent babble. Her eyebrows are raised and she’s pretty much pleading with him, but it’s doing no good. I know that flat expression of his. It means that the only way you’re getting out of doing what he wants is to either shoot him or overpower him. Since she can do neither, I don’t hold my breath for her success. “I don’t know what’s going on, but that asshole was watching me for weeks. He was in the shop all the time and I… I thought he liked me. “Just, please. Leave me alone.”