Page 156 of Bad Attitude
No, it won’t.Usual process is to simply walk away. I frown. Mercer knows that. But she hasn’t finished.
“…if you happen to find anything along the way, that might help.”
“Uh-huh,” I say slowly. “Something like… a package?”
“Well, that would be ideal.” A pause. “You have days, not weeks.”
“Understood.”
“Any idea who has it?”
Raven.“Possibly.”
“Find it, Declan. Get whoever has it. Torture it out of them if you need to, I don’t care.”
I assume that’s hyperbole, but I can’t be sure. Her tone is edged with desperation. It’s clear the call isn’t being recorded.
“I get it.” What I get is that she’s trying to save her own ass after fucking this opportunity over six ways from Sunday. Makes me wonder what else our dear Assistant Director said to her. And what awaits me if I go back empty-handed.
“Do your job, Maddox.”
“My job, huh.” Like she hasn’t just fucked up hers.
But I’m speaking to a dead line.
I stare at my phone, Mercer’s voice ringing in my ears.Torture it out of them if you need to.
Raven, tied up, just me and her, and a few hours of… play.
Why does that idea appeal so much?
Raven’s apartment is empty. I know that even before I get off my bike: hers isn’t here.
Wherever she is, it’s not home. Or she’s been and gone.
Part of me wonders if she’s headed for my apartment instead, looking for me. Or maybe not even got back yet.
I can’t imagine it’s the latter. She wouldn’t have stopped last night, not like I did. A few hours at a motel at best. And she was heading south, hours ahead of me before I even started. No, she’s had time to get back. The question is, did she?
I try her number again, as I have every time I stopped for gas since leaving San Fran. It still tells me the call can’t be completed.
Even though it’s pointless, I let myself in and head up to her apartment. Door’s closed and locked, no answer to a pounding. No one comes out to see what the noise is. Pity, really; I could do with putting herasshole of a neighbor into the wall again. Work through some tension by taking it out on him.
My pickup is where I left it, and my thigh is aching so bad from all the riding that I switch over, dumping my jacket and helmet on the seat beside me.
Then I head for my apartment. A shower, a change of clothes. It’s seven o’clock; I can be at Renner’s unit by eight, and see who’s there. Maybe they’ll have ideas.
But my phone rings before I’ve even driven halfway. It’s Renner’s number.
This should be interesting.
“Hello?”
“Declan, it’s Kurt.”
“Shit, I’m glad to hear from you.”I hope. “Dario said you got picked up.”
“Yes, I did.” He doesn’t offer any more.
