The twins’ father came back with a worried frown. “If it’s the same thing,” he said, “it’s out at Victor’s Hummock.”
“Call the police,” William told them. “Wait here and direct them, tell them everything.” He turned toward his vehicle.
“Where are you going?” Bisky asked.
“I’m heading out there.” He started walking.
She marched after him. “I’m coming too.”
“No, it’s not safe. I’ll be able to scout the area more easily if I’m alone.”
Bisky looked back to where the twins’ parents were both on their phones. “Not true,” she said. “I can look one way, you can look the other. If one of us is in trouble, the other calls for backup. Besides,” she said, her voice catching, “it’s my daughter.”
He’d opened his mouth, obviously intending to argue with her, but at her last words, he went silent. He looked at her, and she knew he understood her sheer terror: Sunny was at risk.
“All right,” he said abruptly. “Get in.”
They drove at high speed over the rough roads toward the old gathering area known as Victor’s Hummock. Bisky did an online search for dogfighting and read out some of the details: gambling, illegal in all fifty states, still very popular on both a small and a large scale.
She got a text from the twins’ mom. The two cops on duty in their small department were both out at a bad wreck on the highway, but one of them, at least, would come as soon as possible. She texted back, suggesting that they try to contact Trey, then had to add a “never mind” when she remembered he was out of town.
When they got close to Victor’s Hummock, William slowed down, and when he came to a couple of cars pulled off the road, he stopped, backed up, and pulled his car behind a clump of bushes. “We’ll walk from here,” he said. His phone buzzed, but he ignored it.
She was glad he didn’t try to tell her to stay in the car. They made their way, slowly and quietly, up the road, aided by moonlight and guided by the sound of people talking and laughing, the smell of barbecue. “That’s what the stuff I read said,” she whispered. “They make an event of it. Admission charge, food, beer.”
“Sick.” William held out a hand. “We’re close. Let’s stay to the side.”
His phone buzzed again, and this time he pulled it out and looked at it. His forehead wrinkled.
“What’s wrong?” she asked quietly.
He glanced at her, glanced down at the phone, and shook his head.
They crept forward and soon got to a point where they could see a small crowd, probably twenty adults, gathered. Most were men, but Bisky spotted several women. Clothing was mixed; some wore plain, functional cargo pants and sweaters, while others had on more expensive-looking outdoor gear. Bisky didn’t see anyone she knew, and of that, she was glad.
The sounds of dogs barking came from a row of dog crates, and Bisky’s jaw clenched. To watch a couple of dogs fight, possibly to the death...to think about how they’d been trained to do so...
And if she was sickened, Sunny would be, too, and Sunny might be out here somewhere. Not discovered by the adults, thankfully; everyone looked relaxed, in a partying mood, oblivious to any teen or adult spies. “Maybe they’re not here.”
“We can hope.” He checked his phone and frowned. “No service.”
“Who’s been texting you?” Bisky asked him. “That’s not Sunny or another one of the teenagers, is it?”
He shook his head, sucked in a breath, and let it out. “It was my ex,” he said without looking at her. “She says she needs me.”
Hurt and resentment washed over Bisky. The woman was his ex. They were divorced. And she, Bisky, needed William more, now, to help her daughter.
Still, she tried to be fair. “What’s going on with her?”
“She said her live-in is going to hurt her.” He looked at Bisky and his face was tight. “I don’t... I can’t...” He looked from his phone to the crowd of dogfight spectators in the distance and then back to her.
He wanted her to absolve him of any responsibility here, she could see that in his eyes. But she needed him. She needed help.
You can handle it alone. You always have. He isn’t responsible for your kid.
She looked into his eyes—haunted eyes—and drew in a breath, straightened her shoulders. “If you need to go, go,” she said. “I’ll take care of things here.”
“I want to help you.”
But he wanted to help his ex more; she could see that. “Go ahead. They’re probably not even here. It’s fine.”
He pushed the keys of his car into her hand. “You need a vehicle. I’ll run back.”
“And do what? You need to drive to get to her.” It was hard to choke out the words. Bisky did need a vehicle, in case Sunny were here and they needed to make a quick escape. She fumbled in her pocket. “Here. Run the back way to my place and take my car.”
“Okay. Okay.” He squeezed her shoulder, looking hard into her eyes. “You’re strong. You can handle anything. Right?”
“Of course I can.” She felt sick inside.
“If you need me, though, call me. I’ll get back as fast as I can. And I’ll call the police, push them to come out here, as soon as I’m back in range.”
“Go,” she said through a tight throat.
He nodded and started back down the road at a dead run.
Bisky watched him, blowing out a sigh. He admired her strength, but when it came to a choice, he’d picked the petite, beautiful, needy woman.
* * *
WILLIAM DROVE UP the peninsula toward the Bay Bridge, doubting himself. Why had he agreed, again, to help Ellie? Especially when Bisky needed him?
Yes, he’d called the police, emphasized that they needed to get to Victor’s Hummock as soon as possible. The dispatcher had put him through to a frazzled Evan Stone, who’d promised to try. But there had been sirens and voices in the background, and Evan had hung up quickly. He was clearly in the thick of investigating a serious accident.
With all his heart, William wanted to be the one who was there for Bisky and Sunny. Wanted to help them and yes, take care of them.
The reason wasn’t hard to find: he loved Bisky. Sometime in the weeks of living here and working with her, talking with her, remembering the past, he’d fallen in love.
It was an outgrowth of his childhood friendship for her, but it was so much more. Now, he admired her as a woman, felt passion for her unlike anything he’d ever felt before. Even now, in this turbulent situation, his body quickened at the thought of her, loving and concerned and strong.
So why had he abandoned her in favor of Ellie?
That answer wasn’t hard to find, either. Rushing to Ellie’s aid had everything to do with the way he hadn’t been able to rush to Jenna’s. If only Jenna had realized someone was in the house, had stayed in her room and called him, he might have been able to save her.
Every time Ellie needed his help, he replayed the same drama, always hoping he could make Jenna’s outcome different.
But Ellie wasn’t Jenna. Yes, they looked a little bit alike; yes, they’d been mother and daughter. But Ellie was weak and, he had to admit it, manipulative. She didn’t call him because of real emergencies. She called because she wanted to see if he was still willing to drop everything and come to her aid.
So far, he always had been. But now, driving through the darkness, looking ahead to the distant lights of the Bay Bridge, he had a realization: nothing he did to help Ellie would bring Jenna back. He could never replay that scene. He could never make it so that it was Jenna calling him. He could never reach Jenna in time.
He pulled to the side of the road and called Ellie.
“Are you here?” she asked, sounding breathless.
“No,” he said, “and I’m not coming. If there’s a problem with your boyfriend, you need to call the polic
e.”
She didn’t answer for a moment, and then he heard her say “It’s William,” to someone else in the room.
There was a little shouting then, and William had a flashback: one time, during a fight with Ellie, she’d flaunted her phone and told him she’d called one of her many exes, that he was coming to get her.
Was Ellie doing the same thing now? “You’re still on Parkside Lane?” he asked.
“Yes. Come quickly.” Her voice sounded breathless, but he couldn’t hear blows, and even the shouting had stopped.
“The police will be there.”
“No, don’t—”
He ended the call, placed another to her local police, and turned his car around.
* * *
BISKY STOOD WATCHING the rowdy crowd of dogfighting spectators. One man knelt by a big, ice-filled galvanized tub, throwing beers to others nearby. Two men sat on the tailgate of a truck, a money box between them, a couple of others talking to them, handing them cash. Obviously placing bets. A couple stood by a line of dog crates, the woman leaning in close to the dogs, then jumping back and clinging to the man’s arms when they snarled and flung themselves against the wire.
Bisky had stayed long enough to be reasonably sure the teenagers weren’t here, and she was absolutely certain she couldn’t stop this event on her own. She’d go where there was cell phone service and call the police. Yes, the twins’ parents were supposed to be calling them, and so was William. But she felt like she could add urgency to the plea to get at least one officer out here, even if they had to call in an off-duty officer.
Suddenly someone grabbed her arm and her heart almost burst. She let out a yelp and quickly stifled it.
“Mom! What are you doing here?” Sunny’s whisper was sharp. She tugged at Bisky’s arm. “Come on!”
Sunny was safe. That fact wiped away Bisky’s hurt feelings about William, because Sunny was the important thing. “You come on,” Bisky said. “You have to get out of here!”
“Can’t. Everyone’s here. The twins, and Caden.”
Bisky held Sunny’s arm. “You’re putting yourself and your friends at risk. We have to leave, now.”
“We’re not leaving,” Sunny said. Her eyes were cool and focused. “We’re not going to let this continue. We’re stopping it now.”
Anger at her daughter’s defiance warred with doubt that she could do anything about it. Could she drag her daughter away without revealing her whereabouts, revealing all the kids’ presence, to the group of criminal, undisciplined, probably armed dogfight spectators? “Where are the others?” she asked, keeping her voice low.
“Come on,” Sunny said again and led Bisky toward a weathered shack, raised on wooden stilts, some kind of hunters’ blind. They climbed up, and there were the twins and Caden, too.
“You’re in big trouble,” she whispered to Sunny, and then squeezed her close for just a second. “What possessed you to come out here? We told you not to get involved!”
“Caden’s been out here before, and he remembered this place. Figured it would be a good hiding spot. We’ve been here for hours, before they started getting set up.”
“It’s a small operation from what we can see.” Caden kept his voice low, quieter than the racket being made by the spectators and dogs.
“I want you well away from the action.” Bisky glared at each teenager in turn. “In fact, I want you all out of here.”
“We’ll leave soon,” Caden promised, and the others nodded, too vigorously to be believable. “We want to be witnesses, get evidence.”
Bisky pressed her lips together, then turned to Sunny. “You didn’t answer your phone.”
“Turned off,” Sunny explained. “I didn’t want to give us away.” Their voices were low, and the crowd on the ground was getting louder, the penned dogs barking and yelping. There wasn’t much risk of being overheard.
“They’re about to get started,” Avery said from her observation point, and they all crowded together to look out the narrow top window, made so that hunters could observe their prey without being seen. The crowd below was mostly in darkness, but a pit ringed by rope was spotlighted.
There were long moments of waiting for something to happen. The crowd talked and partied, laughing, drinking and betting. A pickup and a car pulled up, the occupants spilling out and joining the group.
Bisky kept trying to talk Sunny into leaving, tried to talk them all into it, but they flat-out refused.
So, rather than leave them alone, she stayed with them in the blind. She kept expecting the police any minute, but when they didn’t come, she wondered whether William had even remembered to call them, given his preoccupation with his ex.
Every few minutes, the crowd noise surged and the dogs yipped more frantically, and it seemed like the fight was about to start. She was afraid of what the teenagers might do when that happened.
Then someone started shouting through a megaphone, and although the dogs’ barking escalated, the people’s voices quieted down.
“We’re startin’ with a warm-up,” the voice called.
A few of the people cheered.
“We’ve got this scrappy little pup wants to try her strength against Moloch,” he said. “Even though Moloch outweighs her by just a little...”
There were catcalls and laughter from the crowd. Bisky looked at Sunny, eyebrows raised. Now what?
Sunny pointed at Avery, who had her phone out and was videoing the proceedings. So that was their plan for gathering evidence. Okay, but had they thought it through? Had they considered what it would be like to watch, helpless, while two dogs tried to kill each other?
“She’s small, but she’s game.” There was roaring from the crowd, and growling and barking from the dogs, and Bisky leaned forward, squinting, trying to see what was going on. There were two handlers, each holding a dog back on either side of the illuminated sand pit. One of the dogs was much bigger than the other.
The megaphone man was speaking again. “Now Moloch, here, never lost a fight. But there’s a first time for everything.”
“Takin’ bets,” one of the pickup truck guys called out.
Bisky looked at the other dog, half Moloch’s size, and she had heard enough. “Come on, let’s get out of here. You’ve got your evidence.” She didn’t want Sunny to have to listen to the fight, see it. Didn’t want that for any of the kids.
“Face your dogs!” came the cry from ringside.
Then everything happened at once. The handlers let the two dogs loose on each other, and the crowd yelled and cheered for their favorites. Sunny stood watching the vicious fight, her face growing more and more horrified. And then she twisted out of Bisky’s grasp and scrambled down the ladder.
“Wait!” Bisky called sharply. Sunny paused, and Bisky turned to the twins.
Avery was still at the window, holding up her phone. Bisky took the girl’s shoulders from behind. “You and Aiden go get help,” she ordered. “I’m going after Sunny.”
“I have to stay and film,” Avery protested.
Bisky glanced behind her and when she saw that Sunny had started to climb down the ladder, her stomach turned over.
“I have a better phone camera,” Caden said, moving to stand beside Avery. “I’ll video the rest.”
“Promise. Now.” Bisky had to get to Sunny, but she wasn’t fooling herself she could fight this battle alone. “Call Evan Stone, any cop, your parents. We need you to do this.”
Avery glanced over at her twin, and they seemed to communicate without words. “Okay. We will.”
Bisky scrambled down the ladder after Sunny then, just in time to see her reach the edge of the ring. A big man grabbed her. “Whoa, little lady,” he said, pulling Sunny back from the fray as if she were a small child.
Bisky jogged toward them, her heart nearly exploding, trying to make a plan.
Sunny struggled against the man. “Let go of me!”
The man’s expression went from jovial to suspicious, and he pulled Sunny back from the pit. “You can’t go in there. Who are you? What are you doing here?”
“I’m trying to save those poor animals,” Sunny yelled.
That caught the attention of another man who seemed to be in a similar, guarding role, and he walked over and stood on Sunny’s other side. “What’s going on, sweetheart?”
Bisky slowed down, then stopped. She was still hidden by the trees. How could she best help Sunny?
A few people glanced toward Sunny and the two men, but most seemed content to let the bouncers handle it. The crowd was focused on the snarling, yelping dogs.
Wait. Think.
When the newly arrived bouncer ran a hand through Sunny’s hair, though, Bisky couldn’t stop herself; she charged in. “Don’t you touch her,” she ordered. “I’m her mother. Let her go.”
A meaty hand grabbed her arm and spun her around. She struggled and kicked, but the man held her at arm’s length, impervious to her efforts. “Cut it out or we’ll hurt your kid,” he grunted, and Bisky immediately went still.
Struggling against these men was futile anyway, Bisky realized as she caught her breath. She was strong and fit, and so was Sunny, but both of the guards had guns, and they were both burly, muscular men. They shoved Bisky and Sunny farther to the edge of the crowd and then stopped, one standing behind each of them, guns poking at their backs. “Deal with ’em after,” one guard muttered to the other. “I got a grand riding on this fight.”
Twenty yards away, the dogs screamed and snarled in the ring, and the dogs in crates on the other side of the ring barked and threw themselves against the doors as if they wanted nothing more than to get in on the fight.
Bisky berated herself for letting things go this far. She didn’t think the men who were now holding them captive would actually shoot them, but having her daughter beside her facing this kind of risk lodged her heart in her throat.
Sunny was crying now, watching the dogs tear into each other, teeth bared and flashing, muscular bodies hurling into each other with audible thuds. “That big dog’s going to kill the little one,” she choked out. She didn’t even seem that scared of the man who’d grabbed her, so strong was her protective instinct toward the dogs.
Home to the Harbor--A Novel Page 22
