Ryan Lock Series Box Set 2

by Sean Black

  71

  Don Price grabbed the girl by the shoulders and shook her. “Where’s my daughter? I need to find her.”

  Lock pulled him away from her. “Take it easy.”

  Don spun round, spittle flecking the corners of his mouth. “Don’t tell me to take it easy. I need to find Ruth.”

  Something seemed to register with the girl, who had been inches from being killed by Lock’s vehicle. He took a step toward her. “Ruth Price. Do you know her?”

  “Ruth’s my friend. Why? Who are you?”

  Don shouldered his way past Lock. This time he kept his hands to himself. “I’m Ruth’s father. I came here to get her. Now, can you tell me where she is?”

  The girl stared at him. It was as if she was experiencing everything from behind some kind of screen. “I don’t know. We were in the barn together.”

  Don turned back toward Lock. “You hear that? She’s in the barn. Let’s go.”

  “No, we got out. A man helped us.”

  “Okay, so where is she now?” Lock asked, trying to coax some kind of sense out of her.

  “I don’t know.”

  Don looked like he was about to explode again. Lock placed himself between Ruth’s father and the girl. This was going to take a little time. The girl wasn’t lying, or being difficult, he was sure of that. She was in shock. “What’s your name?” he asked.

  “Mary. I’m Mary. Ruth’s my friend.”

  “Okay, Mary,” said Lock. “I’m going to get someone to take a look at your arm for you, and make sure you’re somewhere safe. How does that sound?”

  She was staring at him. He still wasn’t sure he was getting through to her, but it was a start.

  “Okay,” she said.

  “Now, Mary, you were with Ruth. Where did she go?”

  “We went down to the road,” she said. “There was a Minivan. Ruth got into it. It drove off. I don’t know where.”

  “That’s good. You’re doing really well. Now, can you tell me anything else about this van? Did you see who else was in it?”

  “It was a man.”

  “And what did this man look like? Can you describe him to me?”

  The blank look drifted across Mary’s face again.

  “Was he white? Black? Old? Young?”

  “White. Kind of old. He had like this big, bushy beard.”

  Behind them, Don Price cursed.

  “And the Minivan?” Lock pressed, his mind turning over, pieces falling into place. “What can you tell me about that? What color was it?”

  “Black. It was black.”

  “And you’re sure that Ruth got into it, and it drove off with her inside?”

  Mary nodded.

  “Which way did it go?” Lock asked.

  She pointed across to the east, away from town. “That way.”

  “Okay,” said Lock. “You did really good.”

  “Take her with you,” he shouted to Don, tossing him the keys for the Explorer. “Drop her at the first emergency room. Then you can go on and get your daughter.”

  “You know where she is?”

  “I have a good idea where she’s headed.”

  “Where?”

  Lock gave him brief directions and an address he could plug into the Explorer’s GPS system. “The man with the beard. I don’t think he’s going to hurt her so when you find Ruth take it easy on him, okay? Oh, and as soon you can, call the local sheriff, state troopers, and the feds. We’re going to need bodies up here, and fast.”

  “What are you talking about—the man with the beard? Who is he? Why won’t he hurt Ruth?” Don asked.

  A fresh crack of gunfire broke the silence. It was coming from the school. Whatever was going on, and whoever was firing, it wasn’t good. Lock turned and took off running.

  72

  Ty squatted, his back against the dorm building, his cell phone pressed to his ear. “Ryan?” he whispered.

  “I’m almost there. What’s the gunfire?”

  “Some of the kids have turned the tables. There are three of them, and they’re armed. We got two staff members dead, and one about to barbecue. I have three rounds left.”

  “Okay. I have extra clips and I’m almost there. Cops should be on their way, too.”

  The news didn’t fill Ty with confidence. It was likely that local law enforcement would be first to the scene. They could easily blunder in and turn a crisis into a catastrophe. The three kids with weapons were well dispersed among the others.

  “When you hit the ranch house, circle east. That’ll bring you down to where I’m at, by the last dorm building.”

  “Copy. Sit tight.”

  * * *

  Jacob counted off the hands raised in the air. Apart from the remaining staff members, only a handful of students had kept their hands down. Part of him admired their guts. Not that guts would stop him killing them when the time came.

  He crouched next to Gretchen, and whispered, “Bad news, Ms Applewhite. A majority want to see you on the fire.”

  She whimpered, her neck twisting round, her eyes rolling white with terror. Jacob smiled. After all this time, she had a window into his world. She felt as he had. Knowing that something bad was about to done to you and there was no way to stop it.

  “Jake!”

  Jacob looked at Adam. He had his gun up. He was pointing it at the corner of the dorm building.

  * * *

  Ty stood, arms by his sides, palms open, facing the fire pits, one step out from the corner.

  “What? The FNG doesn’t get an invitation to the party of the year?” he said to Jacob. “That’s kind of rude, don’t you think?”

  Jacob didn’t seem fazed, but the other two shooters were nervy. That could go either way. Bad, if they developed an itchy trigger finger. Good, if they’d been thrown off balance by his gatecrashing their event.

  “The FNG?” Jacob asked.

  Ty rolled his eyes. Kids these days. “It stands for ‘the fucking new guy’. Pardon my language.”

  Jacob raised his gun. There was forty feet between him and Ty. A tough shot with a handgun for a kid who didn’t look like he’d spent any time on a gun range.

  Jacob waved the weapon at him. “Come sit down.”

  Ty shifted his weight, ready to move. His eyes flicked between the two shooters who had guns on him. “No can do.”

  Lips peeled back from his teeth, Jacob snarled at him, “I told you to sit down.”

  “Okay,” said Ty. “But I need to tell you something first. I came here to make sure Ruth Price was safe. I was hired by her father.”

  Ty’s eyes kept darting between the shooters. It was all well and good giving a speech. It wouldn’t look so hot if he caught another bullet before he finished it.

  So far, Jacob didn’t seem all that impressed by what Ty was telling him. “And?”

  “What’s happened here is wrong. What Gretchen’s done is wrong. People going along with it are wrong too. But so is this.”

  The two other shooters were looking at Jacob. Trying to see his reaction. Looking to take their cue from what he did or said. Which told Ty that if Jacob called it a day, so would they. They were followers.

  “You toss her on that fire, and you’re no better than she is,” Ty continued. “You’re worse.”

  “How do you make that out?”

  “You know what you’re doing’s messed up. You didn’t come in here like this. You do this, and she’s won. She’s turned you into something you’re not.”

  Jacob glanced down at the ground. He lowered his weapon. No one said anything. Ty took a breath. It seemed like he’d gotten through.

  Jacob raised his head. “Shoot him,” he said to Adam, raising his gun.

  Ty pivoted back, as Adam fired. The corner of the building fragmented, a chunk of wood and plaster puffing out, as he dove for cover.

  He heard someone rushing toward his position. Ty drew his SIG, and tucked in tight, refusing to offer his back to whoever was barreling toward h
im. His back against the wall, Ty waited.

  A second later, Adam rounded the corner. He came in tight, rather than giving himself some distance between the open ground and the wall. Ty spun, angling downwards, and caught him flush in the face with the elbow of his right hand.

  The kid’s legs wobbled. He fell. Ty followed him to the ground. He threw two fast jabs, the SIG still in his hand, the gun catching Adam in the face, breaking his nose, and crushing a cheekbone.

  The gun fell from Adam’s hand. Ty reached down, grabbed it and threw it behind them, safely out of reach. He reached down, and pulled Adam back to his feet, dazed and bleeding.

  “Ty!”

  Lock’s voice from behind him. A blur of movement. Ty looked left. Jacob was standing there, gun raised. He was within ten feet, his finger on the trigger, the gun pointed straight at Ty.

  A shot from behind Ty. Muzzle flash and a deafening bang. Jacob stumbled back, Lock’s bullet catching him in the middle of his chest, an inch below his rib cage.

  Another shot from Lock’s gun. This one an inch above the first. Jacob’s expression was one of shock, like he couldn’t believe what had just happened to him. He sat down with a bump, then fell onto his back.

  Ty rushed to the corner. The third shooter was standing there, dumbfounded. Ty punched out his SIG, aiming at him. “Put it down!” he screamed.

  The kid’s hand went limp. The rifle he’d been holding dropped. Ty watched Rachel break from where she was sitting, and grab the stock. Two of the older boys rushed the shooter, taking him to the ground.

  Ty turned back to where Lock was crouched over Jacob. He had taken the boy’s gun and now ejected the clip with a tap of his palm.

  Lock’s chin dropped to his chest. He swallowed hard. He reached out a hand to brush a stray strand of hair away from the boy’s eye. His hand passed over Jacob’s face twice more, closing his eyes, giving him a little dignity in death.

  Adam was lying on his side. Ty walked back to retrieve his weapon. Then he went to Lock, who was still crouching over Jacob. Lock was crying without making any noise. His chest rose and fell.

  Ty put a hand down to his friend’s shoulder. “It was him or me, Ryan.”

  “Doesn’t make it right,” said Lock.

  73

  Don Price sped up the driveway toward the black Minivan. He exited the Explorer at speed, running toward the front door. The porch light was on. He stopped in his tracks as he saw three people sitting on the porch. One was a middle-aged woman. The other a slightly older man with a long bushy beard. The third person was his daughter, Ruth.

  When he saw her, he stopped dead in his tracks. She looked at him, but didn’t move. Don couldn’t see a gun, and Ruth didn’t seem distressed. She was clearly exhausted, and tearful, but fine.

  The woman got up and started down the steps toward him. Don met her halfway. “It’s okay,” said the woman. “She’s fine.”

  Don wasn’t sure where to start. “Who are you? What the hell is going on?

  The woman smiled. “You’ll have to lower your voice. My husband is easily upset.”

  “No kidding,” said Don. “Now, do you mind telling me why you have my daughter?”

  “Don’t you want to talk to her first? I know it’s been a while since you’ve seen each other.”

  Caught off-guard, Don managed a mumbled “Sure.”

  He walked past the woman and up the stairs. The man with the beard got up. His eyes darted to Don, then to Ruth and back again.

  “Jenny? Who is this?” he asked Ruth.

  Ruth reached out and patted the man’s hand. “It’s okay. Don’t worry.”

  She got up and walked toward Don. Her eyes were filled with tears. So were Don’s. She took a step toward him. He wrapped his arms around her, hugging her tight. Wanting never to let go.

  They stayed like that. Both crying and holding onto each other.

  The woman walked up the steps and onto the porch. She gently coaxed the bearded man up from where he was sitting. “Come on, bed time.”

  “But who’s that man with Jenny?” he asked.

  “If you come with me, I’ll tell you.”

  Hesitantly, the man got up and followed her inside. She kept her hand resting gently on his elbow as she guided him through the front door.

  Eventually Don let go of Ruth. He took a step back. “You’re okay?”

  “I’m tougher than I look.”

  74

  Three days later

  Ryan Lock knocked at the hospital-room door and waited for a reply.

  From the other side, Ty shouted, “Come on in.”

  He pushed the door open and walked in. Ty was reclining in bed, his feet jutting out over the edge. His bedside locker was covered with cards and flowers. Head propped up by three pillows, he was watching TV. Pinched between his fingers was what looked suspiciously like a joint.

  “Oh, it’s you.” He sounded deflated.

  “Sorry, who were you hoping for?”

  “That cute little brunette nurse promised me a sponge bath.”

  Unlike Lock, who had an aversion to hospitals, Ty had seemed to embrace the entire experience. Especially when it came to interactions with the female medical staff. And, from what Lock had seen, the feeling appeared to be mutual. On every other visit, he had walked in to find Ty surrounded by a coterie of admiring medical professionals.

  “You know smoking isn’t allowed in here, Tyrone.”

  Ty looked from the hand-rolled cigarette to Lock. “I ain’t smoking. This here’s medicinal.”

  “Medicinal?”

  “You heard me. Pain management. Hey, you couldn’t order me up a pizza from that Italian place down the street, could you?”

  Lock laughed. Perhaps the first time he’d laughed since the shootings at Broken Ridge. “I take it you’re feeling better, then.”

  Ty swiveled his neck, and glanced at his bandaged shoulder. “This ain’t shit. Done worse to myself shaving.”

  Ty was playing it off, but Lock knew different. Even if the bullet had only clipped his shoulder, it had still done some damage. Thankfully it had missed the subclavian artery, and the collarbone, but it had still blown out a small chunk of his trapezius muscle, which meant he’d need physiotherapy.

  Much of what had allowed Ty to deal with being shot, particularly in the hours immediately after it had happened, was his psychological toughness. Lock had seen people survive and fight after being shot if they could deal with the shock. He’d also seen people die because they’d not been able to cope with the psychological impact.

  It had helped that Ty had been focused on salvaging what he could from the mess he’d found at Broken Ridge. He had been handed a mission. With no time to dwell on himself he’d powered through it because that was who he was, and what he’d been trained to do. Not that Lock was about to tell him any of that.

  “You feel well enough to have some visitors?” Lock asked his friend.

  “Sure. Send ’em on in.”

  “You might want to get rid of that joint before I get rid of it for you,” said Lock.

  “Oh, yeah,” said Ty, taking one final hit, then stubbing it out in a small ashtray and stowing it underneath his bed.

  Lock opened the door. “Come on in.”

  He held the door open for Ruth and her friend, Mary. They had both insisted on seeing Ty before they went home.

  The girls walked in, both a little nervous. Ruth sniffed the air. “What’s that smell?”

  “It’s medicine,” said Lock, leaving Ty to explain that one.

  Lock edged back out of the door and into the corridor. Mary’s parents, with Don Price and his ex-wife Sandra were there. Lock counted as some kind of progress Don being able to occupy the same physical space as his ex-wife without either of them screaming at each other.

  If their daughter’s narrow escape hadn’t exactly brought reconciliation, it seemed to have returned a measure of sanity, not to mention perspective. Part of that was, no doubt, down to th
e amount of damage Sandra had to undo if she ever wanted to have any kind of relationship with her daughter.

  Between them they had agreed to share custody of Ruth. Sandra was going to move to D.C., so that Ruth could be enrolled in a school there and be closer to her dad. A regular school that didn’t rely upon psychological manipulation and electro-shock therapy to deal with its students when they stepped out of line.

  Mary’s parents came over to Lock. They thanked him again for what he and Ty had done. While someone outside the situation might have blamed them, Lock didn’t. They had been desperate and looking for help. Gretchen had exploited that need, as she had with so many other parents, and she’d paid the ultimate price.

  There was the sound of laughter from Ty’s room. It spilled out into the corridor. After everything that had happened, it was good to hear something that reminded Lock of the good in people.

  75

  Six weeks later

  The UPS truck rolled down the quiet suburban street and came to a stop outside a picture-perfect two-story Cape Cod-style house. Inside, Brice Walker put the truck into Park, switched off the engine and glanced at his partner, Mike.

  “You forget your glasses again?”

  Mike reached into his shirt pocket and, with a flourish, pulled out a pair of black-framed reading glasses. “New pair!”

  “Good. So who we got?”

  Mike grabbed the clipboard and flicked past the cover page. “Gabriel Mansur. Fourteen. Going to Coral Bay in Florida. We have an eight o’clock flight out of LAX.”

  “Not LAX.” Brice hated taking kids through LAX. The place was a zoo, and if the kid made a fuss it got even worse.

  “Sorry, man.”

  “Okay, let’s go through the check.”

  Mike flicked back to the front page. Brice reached behind him and grabbed the equipment bag.

  “Okay,” said Mike. “Let’s see here,” he said, squinting at the list. “Pepper spray? Two canisters.”