Surviving Ice (Burying Water #4)(99)

And already missing him, as I go in to face this alone.

Something I’ve been comfortable with all my life.

Until now.

FORTY-TWO

SEBASTIAN

She’s terrified. I could feel it in the shake of her hands, hear it in the pitch of her voice, see it in her eyes. And I just left her to deal with that alone.

I feel like a complete *.

But what she doesn’t realize is that I’m just as scared, because everything is going to move at lightning speed from here on in, and if I misstep just once . . .

I’m guessing that Detective Fields found something in Royce’s mother’s scrapbook. I’m guessing it connects at least Scalero, if not Ricky as well. And I’m guessing whoever Bentley has on the inside will be calling him as soon as the APB is released for his contractors’ arrests.

This could all just be my paranoia, but my gut tells me it’s not. That this is the loose end—the threat—that they were afraid of.

I stare at the burner phone resting beside me. Itching to hit Dial, to confront Bentley. To ask him when exactly he sold his honor and morality for cash. And why he thought he could use me to help him do it. But that would be the dumbest thing I could do right now, because then I’d be tipping him off and giving those f*ck wits a head start.

If I had only myself to think about, I’d do it, and I’d enjoy it. Let them come to me.

But now there’s also Ivy to think about, and I can’t risk this falling on her.

Which means I need to play my cards right.

And fast.

Rolling down the window, I toss out the battery, then the burner phone, watching the pieces get crushed under the wheels of a truck.

Gravel kicks up behind my tires as I speed into the lot. I can just make out Bobby’s hulking figure in the office as he shifts around a filing cabinet.

I reconsider this plan of mine. Can I really trust the likes of these guys?

Yeah, I think I can. And I don’t have a choice. I know that Fez and the other two don’t have the brains or strength to go head-to-head with Ivy. But this two-hundred-and-fifty-pound biker . . . well, he at least has the strength and I don’t doubt he has the know-how, one way or another.

And from what I’ve seen, these guys are honorable enough when it comes to Ivy.

The buzzer goes off as I push through the door. Bobby glances up. “You better not be here to give me any grief about earlier.”

“I don’t give a shit about that.” If Dakota wants to nail this guy, have at it.

“What do you want, then?”

“Is that how you treat all your customers?”

“You need somethin’ towed? ’Cause I’ve missed plenty of work over here on account of helping with Ned’s house.”

“And you’re about to miss some more.”

Suspicion fills his face. “Who says?”

I sigh. Threatening him into helping isn’t going to get me anywhere. “I need your help with Ivy until I get back.”

Tossing the paperwork on the desk, he settles his arms across his chest. “Back from where?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

His eyes narrow.

I know he’s always been suspicious of me. Now I’m going to give him more reason to be. “It has to do with what happened to Ned.”

“I knew there was something off about you.” His lips twist with disdain. “You a pig?”

I chuckle. “No.”

He rounds the desk, his arms dropped and looking ready to grab hold of me. “Did you have something to do with Ned being put down? Because if you did—”

“No. But I know who did.”

He seems to consider that. “You better not be lookin’ to cash in on whatever it was he was into.”

“No, I want nothing to do with that. I want to make sure these guys get what they deserve.”

His tongue presses on the inside of his mouth as he considers this. It’s language he knows well, I suspect. “Me and my guys would be more than willin’ to help—”

“I work alone.” I hesitate. “But thanks anyway.”

He purses his lips and then nods. “What exactly do I need to do?”

I sigh. “Something Ivy’s probably not gonna agree to so easily.” I hand him a new burner phone.

“Fuck . . . You’re gonna owe me.” He shakes his head. “That one’s something else when she’s mad.”

FORTY-THREE

IVY

“Yeah. That’s the scar.”

“You sure?” Detective Fields hovers over my shoulder, his musky cologne the only appealing thing in this place. I was on edge the moment I stepped into the precinct, part of me anxious to turn around and run out, the other part excited to finally nail someone to the wall for what they did to Ned.

“I’m positive.” Now that it’s come back to me, I remember it well. I even drew a sketch of it that I hold up next to the computer monitor. The guy’s hand is blown up and, though pixelated, I can still see the shape of it clearly.

“They’re identical,” he agrees. “That’s . . . crazy how accurate that is.”

“Are we done here?” I don’t know what I expected, but it wasn’t this long-drawn-out process to get to this place. Still, I feel lighter than when I stepped in here. I was afraid that Sebastian was right, and nothing would come of this. That Ned’s killers are long gone.