Into the Fury (BOSS, Inc. #1)(101)
His weapon lay on the floor within easy reach, though he had told her the security alarms had all been set and there was no way anyone could reach the cabin without setting them off. He looked tired. He’d ridden hard to get back to Seattle to help Ethan. He was a good man.
Val couldn’t help wondering if Meg had made the right decision.
She looked over at Dirk, and an image arose of him striding out of the back bedroom of his burning house, an assault rifle strapped across his chest. She tried to imagine Dirk with Charlie, a father to Meg’s little boy, but the image wouldn’t come.
She thought of Ethan and the shoot-out, and the echo of gunfire filled her head. For a minute she was back on the street, cradling Bobby’s head in her lap, her heart breaking as she watched the crimson flow of his blood sliding through her hands.
She had vowed never to enter that world again and yet here she was. Surrounded by gunmen, bullets flying, running for her life. One of them could have died today. Did she want to live that way? Live with the fear and the worry?
After her wild motorcycle ride, her arm had started throbbing again, a reminder of what it would be like to live in Ethan’s world.
He had said she would have a choice. Was he hinting at a future for them? She was in love with him. Of course she wanted to be with him. But could she handle the uncertainty? Never being completely sure that he would be coming home?
She glanced over at Dirk. Maybe Meg had done the right thing. But Val wasn’t Meg. She didn’t have a child to consider. Was giving up Ethan the right choice for her?
She leaned back in the overstuffed chair and closed her eyes, praying the answer would come.
Praying the men would stay safe.
Ethan swore as he strode through Bick Gallagher’s empty apartment. As Dirk had rightly guessed, Gallagher was in the wind. His closet door stood open. The hangers were bare, his clothes missing. Dresser drawers were left open. A locked desk drawer had been opened, then hadn’t been pushed completely shut. Ethan figured Gallagher probably kept another passport, another identity in that drawer.
He phoned Bruce Hoover, told the lieutenant Bick Gallagher, aka Ray Bickford, was one of the shooters at Dirk’s house. Val had recognized the guy and Ethan had shot him in the leg. He told Hoover about his hunch that Gallagher was the guy who had killed Delilah Larsen.
Ethan wouldn’t get the chance to interrogate the bastard, as he had planned, but with any luck, Gallagher wouldn’t escape.
Hoover spoke into the phone. “I need you, Valentine Hart, and Dirk Reynolds to come into the station,” the detective said. “You know how it works. I’ve got irate neighbors and cops swarming the area around Reynolds’ house. I’ve talked to Hernandez, but I need a statement from everyone involved.”
Hoover needed a statement, but Ethan couldn’t mention the evidence Sadie had come up with, because it wasn’t exactly obtained by legal means. Besides, at the moment he had more important things to do.
“Later,” he said. “I’ll tell Reynolds you’re looking for him. I’ll bring Val with me and we’ll both give you statements. At the moment, there’s something I need to do.”
Hoover was still talking when Ethan ended the call. He flicked a glance at his brother, who prowled up beside him. “Time to talk to Stern,” Ethan said.
“Oh, yeah,” Luke agreed.
They headed back to Luke’s vehicle, a beat-up black-and-tan Ford Bronco at least ten years old. Being a bounty hunter required stealth. The old SUV could pass without notice. Unless you looked under the hood.
The Bronco sported a brand-new Ford Racing Alumina-tor XS 5.0 liter Coyote 500 horse engine. The SUV had been fully rebuilt. It had top-of-the-line four-wheel drive for off-road terrain and the speed of a gazelle.
Luke slid in behind the wheel and fired up the big V8 engine. “You got the address?”
Ethan rattled off a number on Olympic Drive in the Highlands, one of the most expensive neighborhoods in Seattle. Luke drove his battered Ford up to the tall iron gates at the entrance to the exclusive community. Ethan smiled at the look on the gate guard’s round darkly suntanned face.
Just to be obnoxious, Luke gunned the powerful engine.
The man’s black eyebrows went up. His dark red uniform jacket suited him perfectly. He looked like he’d just gone AWOL from the Bengal army.
“May I help you?”
“We’re here to see Jason Stern,” Luke said.
“Your name, please.”
Ethan leaned over to speak through the driver-side window. “You won’t find our name in your visitor log. Call Stern, tell him Ethan Brodie needs to talk to him.”
The guard’s mouth lifted in a smirk. He didn’t think for a second Stern would give them permission to drive through the gate.
The Bronco idled, growling like an impatient tiger.
The guard spoke into the phone, listened, and started nodding. “Yes, sir. Of course, Mr. Stern. I’ll send them right up.” He turned, cast them an imperious glance. “You may proceed.”
The gate swung slowly open. Luke stepped on the gas and the beast rolled forward. They wound their way along the road through the lush green foliage, then up the circular drive, around the fountain in the middle of the circle.
The dented old Bronco looked completely out of place when Luke stopped directly in front of the house. Tudor style, constructed of brick, more than two stories high, the mansion had to be ten thousand square feet.