Golden Trail (The 'Burg #3)(231)

“Maybe a location, though I doubt she’ll double up. Definitely cause for a warrant,” Layne answered.

“Obviously none of them talked,” Ryker noted.

“Probably too scared,” Layne replied.

“So maybe they won’t talk now,” Ryker observed, his face and body tight. He was a man who liked to be on the move, in the thick of things, with Alexis on the line, this was killing him.

“Marissa Gibbons was hard as nails, Ryker, and she talked because she didn’t want another girl to face what happened to her. They’ll talk.”

“It’ll take time, they’ll –” Ryker started.

“Patience, brother,” Layne whispered and Ryker got scary again.

“Your girl isn’t right now keepin’ company with sheer evil, bro,” he whispered back.

Layne held his gaze. “Stick with me, big man.”

Ryker held his eyes and a muscle danced in his cheek. Then he looked to the house and muttered, “Gotta check on my babe.”

Then he walked to the house.

Layne looked at his shoes, thinking, f**k, we f**king missed something.

Then he looked up when Joe Callahan slid his truck to a halt in front of the house, Vi’s Mustang sliding in behind him. He watched Vi get out, she pushed back her seat to get to Angela’s baby seat in the back. Cal jumped down and walked to Layne, his face intense.

He just made it to Layne when February Colton’s VW Beetle slid up behind the Mustang.

That was the women of the ‘burg. Trouble comes, they close ranks.

Cal stopped at him.

“Talk to me,” he ordered.

Layne locked eyes with him then he talked.

Vi with Angela at her hip and Feb with her son Jack at hers rushed into the house.

* * * * *

When Layne could take no more, he tore his eyes from Tara Murdoch, her weeping mother, her stony-faced father, the softly-speaking Patrick Sullivan and the watchful child psychologist and he walked out of the observation room.

Cal moved with him.

Layne pulled his phone out of his jacket, flipped it open, scrolled down and hit go while he walked to the buzzing bullpen.

“What?” Ryker barked in his ear.

“Meet me at Towers’s apartment at The Brendel,” Layne ordered.

“I’ll be there yesterday,” Ryker replied and then dead air.

“Tanner,” Cal murmured and Layne stopped and turned to him.

“You can stay here or follow,” Layne stated.

“I’m with you,” Cal replied instantly.

“Tanner!” Sean O’Leary jogged up to him and Layne checked his movement and looked to Sean.

“Yeah?”

“Bad news and kind of good news,” Sean said and when Layne did nothing but stare impatiently, Sean went on. “Rutledge didn’t lead us to the location but he did lead us straight to four of her army. The cop on his tail called backup. They came in quick but cool and were there when Rutledge either pushed too hard or got impatient. Whatever reason, shots were fired, the boys moved in.”

“Rutledge?” Layne asked.

“He went down, he’s still alive, it’s bad though and he’s on his way to hospital,” Sean answered.

“Fuck, Sean, that is not good news,” Layne clipped.

“No, the kind of good news is that Rutledge took down one of her army, the cops got the other three, they were all armed and, man, it is highly likely we’ll get ballistic matches on the slugs they pulled outta you,” Sean returned.

Sean was right, that was kind of good news.

“Any of her crew know where the party is located?” Layne asked.

“They’re workin’ them now,” Sean answered.

Layne nodded and moved, Cal moving with him. They separated in the parking lot, both going to their trucks, Cal following close as Layne headed to The Brendel.

Ryker’s bike was parked at the foot of the stairs leading up to Towers’ apartment. Layne didn’t bother finding a spot and neither did Cal, they parked at the curb. They both got out and started to jog up the stairs where Ryker was waiting.

“Bust it,” Layne ordered, his head tipped back to look at Ryker and Ryker didn’t delay, he took a step back, lifted his big motorcycle boot and the apartment door crashed in.

The alarm immediately went off, Ryker and Layne ignored it, both of them moving into the space. Cal went to the alarm panel, ripped the face off, twisted some wires together and the alarm stopped.

“Shit, child’s play,” he muttered, his eyes slicing to Layne. “Rocky lives here, to do list, man.”

Layne didn’t have to think about Roc’s security. Rocky was, that night, officially no longer living at The Fucking Brendel.

“What are we lookin’ for?” Ryker asked.

“Anything,” Layne answered. “Just look.”

“Devin sifted through this place, bro, and I get the sense he’s good at what he does,” Ryker noted, pulling cushions off the couch.

Layne picked up a cushion Ryker pulled off, yanked his army knife out of his jeans and his eyes locked on Ryker.

“He had to go easy,” Layne said softly. “We don’t.”

Then he ripped the cushion open with his knife.

Ryker smiled his ugly smile, it was without humor but filled with something else which made it uglier and a f**kuva lot scarier.