by Lexi Whitlow
“Alright,” he says, shrugging. “Whatever floats your boat.”
Salvatore drives me across the bay to my apartment, making small talk about his upcoming retirement. My brain is otherwise occupied, running down all the possibilities for where Avery might be, mentally and physically. We’ll head for Avery’s apartment first to see if there might be any clues, and then I’ll go over to Ella’s. She’s the only person Avery might trust when it comes to getting away from her parents.
“So I was thinking,” Salvatore says, rounding the block toward my apartment building. “When all this shit you’re dealing with settles down, you and I should have a discussion about the future, like I said. My separation paperwork is already in process. I’ve got three more months, then I’m cut loose. I’ve been formulating a little business plan I’d like to discuss.”
I nod. “Yeah. Sure,” I say, motioning for him to pull over. “I’ll give you a call. I really appreciate everything you did over the last couple days. Getting the lawyer, standing up for me. I’ll make it up to you...”
“Make it up to me by calling me and letting me know what happens with your girl. And don’t get in any more altercations. That’s the last time I want to see you at the wrong table in a court room. You got me?”
“Yes sir,” I say.
“I’m headed back to Twenty Nine Palms. I expect to hear from you inside 24 hours.”
I promise him he will hear from me as I exit his truck, my eyes cast across the street to Avery’s apartment building. I offer distracted goodbyes and then dart through traffic, heading toward her place.
The doorman is reading a comic book as I bound in. He looks up, surprised, then a little bit frightened.
“Miss Thomas left early yesterday morning,” he says anxiously. “A few hours later her mother and what looked like half the linebackers from the Forty-Niners come looking for her. Her mother threw a fit when she wasn’t here – like it was my fault.”
“And Avery hasn’t come back?” I ask. “Not even to get anything?”
He shakes his head. “No. She had a packed bag when she left. She didn’t say where she was going.”
No. She wouldn’t have.
The only thing I need from my place is my sidearm. I make quick work of retrieving it, stash it in a bag with a couple bottles of water and a jacket.
I call Ella, and then I call her again. Each time, it goes straight to voicemail.
“You better be home,” I mutter.
Traffic is miserable but my brain settles into mission mode — no distractions, keep cool, observe carefully, and focus on the goal. My observation skills pay off quickly when I notice two, familiar looking black Range Rovers illegally parked in handicapped spaces just yards away from the front entrance of Ella’s building. Those are Thomas’ security detail vehicles – I’m certain of it.
This should be interesting.
I circle the block, find a place to park, shove my HK into my waistband under my jacket, and head to Ella’s apartment.
I hear the commotion inside before I even get near the door. It sounds like an epic battle of wills is going down. Ella is raising hell at someone, screaming at them to leave.
“I don’t know where she is!” I hear her shout, her voice bitter with outrage. “And you have no right to barge up in here, take my phone, and act like I’m your prisoner. Get the fuck out of my house!”
That’s all I need to hear to know exactly what’s going on. I draw my gun, release the safety, put my hand on the door latch, and turn. The door opens slightly – just enough so I can peek inside and see Dan Diamond looming over Ella with at least a couple other guys searching her apartment and going through her things.
I shove the door open, raising my weapon, and move fast toward Diamond and the girl, checking my flank.
“Let her go.” I instruct calmly, putting the barrel of the .45 to his head. “Ella. Take two steps backwards and then walk out of here. Go downstairs and call 911. Don’t come back till they’re here.”
Ella’s brown eyes glint in my direction, widening. She says nothing at all. She does exactly as I say, and in another second she is gone.
There are three more guys in the house, and they all turn toward me reaching for their weapons.
“Make one threatening move and Dan’s brains are wall art,” I say. “You know I’m just crazy enough to do it, and you know you’re here illegally and the girl will back me up. This smells like a home invasion with an added charge of kidnapping for holding her against her will. Blowing Dan’s head off is clear self-defense.”
I keep the gun on Diamond, while I grab his collar with my left hand, dragging him along with me toward the biggest of the three men.
“Dan. Take his gun, drop the mag, unload the one in the chamber, and toss it on the floor.”
Diamond cuts his eyes at me. They are wildly frightened. I press the barrel of my gun into his temple for a little more encouragement. This motivates him.
We repeat this exercise three times. By the third time his hands are shaking so badly he can barely rack the slide on the gun to unload it.
“Now,” I say. “Everybody on their knees, then face down, hands behind your head.”
“Fuck that.” One of the guys – a burly kid with an Army haircut – says. “I don’t fucking get on the ground for anybody.”
I push Dan to his knees and then I lean down and speak in his ear. “Dan. Tell your boy to get down, or the cleaning crew is gonna to be picking your skull fragments out of the carpet for weeks.”
After a little bit of encouragement, they all do as they are told.
I hold them there just like that until the police arrive. I put my HK down, raise my hands, and I lay down on the ground until the cops sort everything out. Ella is quite helpful in that respect.
“I was sure they were gonna kill me till my friend Maddox got here,” she says dramatically, glancing in my direction. “They’re looking for a friend of mine, but I swear I don’t know where she is!”
Everything is handled within an hour — an hour I would have preferred spending looking for Avery, but nevertheless, it goest quickly enough.
“You do that badass, sweep in and save the day thing pretty well,” Ella says as soon as the door closes on the last cop leaving the apartment. She regards me with some considerable suspicion. “Shame you’re a little late. We were expecting you yesterday.”
“You know where she is?” I ask, realizing Ella hasn’t been altogether forthcoming with either the Thomas’ security guys or the police.
“She’s on her way to Vancouver to stay with my Aunt Bebe. She left yesterday, running from her parents. Scared as shit of them – thanks to that damn report.”
“You got an address?” I ask.
“You going after her?” she asks me.
“Of course I’m going after her.”
“Why?”
Her question feels ridiculous, but I remind myself that she doesn’t know me. She only knows what she’s heard from Avery.
“Because I love her.” I reply with every ounce of unmasked sincerity I can muster. “With all my heart. And she’s out there all by herself, and I promised her I’d take care of her – and so far I’m fucking that up pretty badly.”
Ella is unmoved by my declarations. “Then where the hell have you been for the last twenty-four hours?”
It’s a reasonable question. It deserves an honest response.
“I landed a couple of pretty good punches on her father’s face. Put him down. Got arrested. Got hauled to County lock up and held. It took a little effort and cost some cash to get out – but here I am,” I say. “I stopped to get my gun between there and here. Sorry for the added delay.”
“You fucked up General Richard Thomas? You punched him in the face?” She doesn’t appear to believe me.
I nod. “I broke his jaw – or so I was told.”
Ella smiles, and then she grins. “No shit? Damn.”
She takes a seat on her couch and
proceeds to tell me almost everything. Avery left yesterday, middle of the afternoon, driving Ella’s Honda Civic, headed north. Her plan was to drive until dark and then get a room for the night, get some rest, then get on the road again in the morning.
“She called me from somewhere called Grant’s Pass in Oregon last night about ten.” Ella said. “Not quite half way there.”
I ask about her car and its condition. What I learn doesn’t inspire me with confidence. The car is old, beat to shit, and while it may be a Honda, Ella uses it for around town trips – not thousand mile cross-country excursions.
“Why won’t she answer her phone?” I ask.
Ella smiles. “Her phone is here,” she says. “She was afraid to take it with her. Afraid her parents would ping the GPS signal and track her down. Which I’d say was good thinking on her part, based on the appearance of my house guests this morning.”
“So she’s out on the highway, alone, with no phone?” My heart sinks.
Ella nods.
Good lord could it be any harder – or any more dangerous for her?
“Alright,” I say. “I’m leaving now. Give me your aunt’s address in Vancouver. If you hear from Avery, tell her I’m on my way. Get her to call me. If either you or your Aunt hear anything at all – or don’t hear anything when you think you should – call me. Call me. Understand?”
Ella writes the address and her aunt’s phone number on a slip of paper. She hands it to me.
“You’re going?” She asks me again.
I take the paper and shove it in my pocket. I stand and turn to leave. “Going now,” I say. “Lock your doors and don’t let anyone else in here. I don’t think Evelyn Thomas is stupid enough to risk the rest of her security detail, but you never know.”
I move toward the door, anxious to get on my way.
“Maddox,” Ella says. “There’s one more thing.”
“What’s that?” I ask absently, checking my gun in its holster at my waist and fumbling with my car keys.
She takes a step toward me. Her face is calm and the expression in her eyes earnest.
“She really does care about you. You know that, right?”
I meet her eyes. “I do know that, Ella,” I say. “She’s not good at admitting it, but I know.”
“There’s one more thing you ought to know.”
I really want to go and this girl is getting tedious.
“What’s that?” I ask, impatience creeping in to my voice.
The world slows down as Ella walks over to her little kitchen table and picks something up. She must have shoved it under her laptop, because I didn’t see it when she walked in. It’s a little white stick with a pink tip, and in the middle of it is a blaring magenta plus sign.
“She’s pregnant. That’s why she’s been so sick.” Ella deposits the test into my outstretched hand. “She missed her Depo shot. So that throws a wrench in things.”
“She’s what?”
The world trembles underneath my feet.
“She’s pregnant. Are you hard of hearing?” Ella says again. “And right now she’s alone, knowing that her own parents paid someone to hurt her. She hasn’t heard from you. She’s on the run. So – Mr. Body Guard, Mr. Marine – if you leave her on the run, alone, scared. I will personally take your sorry ass apart and feed your bits to the sea-life down at Fisherman’s Wharf.”
“Okay,” I say, hearing my own voice falter. I hear my heart pumping in my ears, pounding like a tympani drum. I collect myself, thinking. I know I need to reassure Ella, who obviously cares a great deal about my girl. “If I don’t find her,” I say. “...and take care of her and protect her, then you’re welcome to feed my bits to the sea-life. I’ll deserve it.”
She nods. “Okay then. I’ll call you if I hear anything. You do the same.”
We shake on it. I realize that Avery’s friend is the genuine article.
“You gonna be okay?” I ask her. “What if they come back?”
She gives me a smirk and before I know what’s next, she snatches a razor sharp gaff blade from a decorative pendant around her neck, clutching it snug between her index and middle finger.
“Baby, I was raised in Oakland. I may put on a good show with the damsel in distress bit, but if shit really goes down, some dudes are gonna go down with me. That shit you walked in on, that was just me playing along.”
Ella, I realize, has more depth and strength than I ever imagined. I understand what Avery sees in her. Maybe it’s something similar to what Avery sees in me. We both know a little bit more than we’re willing to let on.
“Call me if you need me,” I say. “Call me if anything comes up.”
“I will,” she promises. “Find Avery. Make sure she’s safe.”
“I will,” I echo. It’s a promise I have to keep.
* * *
Pregnant. She hasn’t heard from me in more than twenty-four hours. She’s on the run, by herself, isolated, with no clue in the world what’s kept me from her. I haven’t heard from her, and I have no idea if she got a burner phone or not. What must she be thinking? She’s terrified of her parents and their very long reach, and probably equally terrified that I’ve taken some deal and abandoned her.
I never should have left her. I should have waited for her to wake up so we could talk. My impatience always ruins everything. I promised her I’d take care of her – always. And now I don’t even know where she is.
If I can find her, I’ll never let her out of my sight again. Good lord, she’s got our baby. I have to find her. I have to take care of both of them. I want to take care of them both.
Chapter 25
Avery
I wasted an hour and a half in the hotel room throwing up. Finally it passed and I was steady enough to get back on the road, but it’s not without its perils. Ella’s car is – shall we say – very basic transportation. It’s got no air conditioning (which is fine) or radio (which sucks). Two days on the road, listening only to the thoughts in my head — it’s enough to make me crazy.
I should not have left Maddox all on his own to face my criminally insane parents. They probably have him locked up in a dungeon somewhere by now. If not that, then they’ve offered him a king’s ransom to stay away from me, once and for all. And seriously, considering the epic train wreck I am, who could blame him if he took the deal and just surfed back to Los Angeles?
If he knew I was pregnant, he’d be a fool not to head for the hills. He is a fool though, falling for the likes of me. He told me he loved me and then he went off to slay the dragon. I hope the dragon didn’t slay him. I hope he’s okay. I miss him so much.
I want to believe he’ll come after me. But I have to prepare myself for anything. Ella promised she wouldn’t tell Maddox about the baby. She swore. I want us to be together, but not because he feels some sense of obligation. I just hope that my folks haven’t bought him off or bullied him into giving us up, like they did before.
Is the car acting funny?
The engine is bucking a bit. I glance down at the gauges to see if something is amiss. There’s plenty of fuel. I just filled up when I left Grant’s Pass. RPMs are fluctuating oddly. What does that mean? Battery is fine. Holy shit! The temperature is climbing! It’s well past half way up and rising.
Before the gauge hits the red line, I downshift, put on my flashers, and pull off into the service lane.
Now what?
I turn the key, killing the engine; all the gauges drop. Everything is quiet inside the car except for the click, click, click of the hazard lights and the pounding of my heart in my ears. All of a sudden a noisy blast rattles my senses. A semi truck blows past, just an arms length away on the highway to my left. A second later a half dozen cars fly by, then it’s quiet again for a moment.
It occurs to me that I have no clue what to do. I don’t know the first thing about cars. My AAA card is in the glove box of my Range Rover, and I have no phone so I couldn’t even call them if I had it in hand.
&nbs
p; Okay. I know where the engine is. And I know there’s a radiator. I should look at them to see if I can see anything wrong. How will I know?
I fish around under the dash, searching for the latch that releases the hood. I pop it and then sit back, checking my mirrors to see if it’s safe to get out of the car, or if another semi is about to roar past. It takes me a few minutes to figure out how to get the hood up as traffic hauls past me down the highway at speed, kicking up wind. With the hood up, I peer into the engine compartment. I have no idea what I’m looking at – or what I’m looking for. It’s just an incomprehensible tangle of wires, hoses, belts, and metal boxes. It’s hot and filthy, and it smells like burned rubber and old oil.
What does a radiator look like? I should know this. Every adult should know this. Why don’t I know this? Because my parents took care of everything. They paid people to know things like this on my behalf, so I would never have to do for myself. They insulated me from the hot, dirty, and the unpleasant, and it’s made me incapable of solving even the most basic of problems by myself. As I study the puzzle of the Honda’s engine in front of me, I wonder which of my parent’s crimes is worse? That they paid someone to stalk and assault me? Or that they made me completely dependent, never letting me find my own way in the world?
A bit of red lettering on a nob near the front of the engine compartment catches my eye. It reads,
CAUTION. Engine Coolant. Never Open When Hot.
Ella said something about having anti-freeze in the back of the car. Is that what goes in there?
I fumble around in the area behind the seats, finding an odd assortment of tools, along with engine oil, a container of washer fluid, brake fluid, and a blue plastic jug – half full – labeled “Peak Antifreeze + Coolant, Full-Strength Concentrate.”
I think this is what I need.
I read the instructions on the reverse of the container. They warn me to let the engine cool before opening the radiator. I wait fifteen minutes but the engine still seems pretty hot, so I wait ten more before turning the cap of the radiator. I expect some kind of drama when I open it, but nothing happens. Crossing my fingers that I’m doing the right thing, I pour the bright yellow liquid into the radiator, spilling some around the edges. I continue until bubbles rise and the level sinks, then I add more until there’s no room left to pour another drop. I replace the radiator cap, pull the hood down, and say a quick prayer.
