Hard As You Can

Chapter 17

When the knock finally sounded against Shane’s bedroom door, he’d expected it. After they’d returned to Hard Ink the previous night, the only talking Shane had been up to was to share what Garza had said about another delivery happening Friday night. Then Shane had handed off his camera and called it quits on the day. The other guys had stayed up to debrief the op, but Shane’s mood had been for shit, his emotions were too volatile, and his brain was so scrambled, he wouldn’t have been of any analytical use to anyone anyway.

Late, late in the night, he’d finally managed to calm the storm raging in his head long enough to fall asleep for a few hours, but his dreams had been a relentless, horrifying, and heartbreaking search for Molly that always had him showing up moments too late or running into a dead end.

He woke up more tired and strung out than when he’d gone to bed, so he’d lain in the early-morning gloom spilling in from the high window and tried to get his head screwed on straight.

No luck yet.

The knock came again.

Shane sighed and sat up against the headboard. It was then that he realized Molly’s butterfly necklace was still wrapped around his fingers from the night before. He’d been turning the chain round and round, looking for a little peace or wisdom or insight. He was still looking. “Come in,” he called.

The door eased open, revealing Nick, so recently out of the shower his hair was still wet, and damp spots showed through his black T-shirt where he hadn’t bothered to dry off. “What’s up?” he asked.

Shane just shook his head. “Need me for something?”

“No, man.” He came all the way in and closed the door behind him, then he leaned against it and crossed his arms. “That scene last night—”

“Don’t,” Shane bit out, more harshly than he’d intended, but he really couldn’t help himself. The memory of the women’s bodies being delivered into those boats made him feel a whole lot like a giant exposed nerve. And everything—his clothes, the covers, even the very air—rubbed it raw and made it hurt.

Nick pushed off the wall, crossed the room, and sat heavily on the edge of the bed. “I’m going there, Shane. And you need me to.”

Shane drew up his sweats-covered knees and rested his arms on them, the necklace dangling from the fingers of his right hand. “Damnit, Rix. I said, don’t—”

“There was nothing we could do. There was nothing you could do,” Nick said, turning toward him.

“I know,” Shane said. And he did. His rational self knew Nick was right. But that didn’t keep his heart from splintering inside his chest.

“Shane?”

He dragged his gaze up from the little silver chain and met Nick’s intense stare. “Yeah?”

For possessing such an unusually pale color, Nick’s eyes could be warm with sympathy when he wanted them to be. And now was one of those times. Shane should’ve realized what was coming. “Would you finally tell me what happened the day Molly disappeared?” Nick asked.

The question sucker punched him hard in the gut, stealing his breath and beckoning a rolling wave of nausea. The team knew Shane’s little sister had disappeared when Shane was a teenager and that he felt responsible, but not the details. In fact, the last person he’d told the details to had been an Army shrink during his SF in-processing.

“Why?” Shane whispered. All he could manage.

Nick raked his hand through his damp hair, once, twice. “Because what happened to her is eating you up like a cancer, and the harder you try to beat it back, the more aggressive it becomes. This situation is strumming that string so hard, I can’t help but think it’s gotta snap.” He shook his head. “I missed the thing with Merritt because I didn’t trust my gut. And right now, my gut’s saying you’re in trouble. I thought so before last night, but now, just looking at you, I know it’s true.”

Thoughts whirling, heart beating almost painfully in his chest, Shane braced his elbows on his knees and held up the necklace. Shane couldn’t remember when Molly had gotten it, but she’d loved it because it wasn’t a little girl’s piece of jewelry. It was a grown-up necklace, which meant the pendant had hung low on her chest. But she hadn’t minded. In fact, she’d thought she looked fancy. Her word.

Taking the butterfly into his fingers, he smoothed his thumb over the heart-shaped wings made of purple and white rhinestones.

“I found this—” Shane began, his voice catching. “I found it down the street from my house, lying on the curb.” He turned the butterfly over and over in his fingers. “She would never . . . never have dropped it on purpose.”

Wondering how it had come off? That was the stuff of which nightmares were made.

For a moment, Shane got sucked back into time, to that hot summer day. Late July. Him and Henry Waller and Kevin Ryan, his two best friends from his baseball team, were up in his room playing video games. His father had a round of golf that morning, and his mother was down the street at a bridal shower. Just for a few hours. And, besides, at thirteen, they occasionally left him to babysit Molly.

The first time Molly had knocked on his door, she’d wanted permission to get a snack. So Shane had okayed the Goldfish and juice box and sent her on her way.

The second time she’d knocked, she’d asked if she could play with them. Or, if not play, watch. But what teenage guy wanted his eight-year-old sister hanging out in his room with his friends? So he’d told her no and sent her on her way.

The third time she’d knocked, he’d been so annoyed at the constant interruptions that he’d wrenched open the door and told her to leave them alone. And, then, to drive home the point, he’d told her to go away.

The better part of an hour later, another knock sounded at his door. It was his mother, home from the shower and looking for Molly. As he’d searched and searched, he’d been so sure she was hiding to get him in trouble as payback for not letting her play that he’d been mad. But as the hours passed, the search widened, and his parents’ eyes filled with fear and panic, and he’d realized that Molly wasn’t playing a game.

Shane had found the necklace late that afternoon, and he’d had to turn it over to the police to test for fingerprints it didn’t have. They’d returned it to the family a few weeks later, and Shane had kept it on him ever since.

“Jesus,” Nick said.

Only then did Shane realize he’d recounted the story out loud. And that something wet had rolled down his cheeks. He scrubbed the errant moisture away and pinched his fingers against his eyelids, catching a bit more wetness against his fingertips. The last time he’d shed tears over Molly had been the night of what would’ve been her thirteenth birthday. Because it was the age he’d been when he’d lost her, when he’d sent her away, and she’d gone. Never to be heard from again.

“You were a kid, Shane. You didn’t want anything bad to happen to her. You didn’t cause it. You couldn’t have predicted it. It wasn’t your fault.”

Words he’d heard from a shrink. From his parents. They’d just never sank in. “But I—”

“No. The only one to blame was the sociopath who took her.” Nick scooted closer. “Look at me, man. If you had a son, and the same thing happened to him. What would you tell him?” Shane shook his head, and Nick pressed. “What would you tell him? Would you look that little boy in the eyes and blame him?”

“It’s different,” he said, voice strained, mind reeling.

“How?” Nick said.

“It just is.”

“Look that little boy in the eyes, Shane, and tell him who’s responsible.” With both hands on the sides of Shane’s face, Nick forced their gazes to meet. “Tell him,” he said, voice gentler.

“I don’t know,” Shane said, his breath coming in a shudder. “Not . . . him. Not him. Not him.”

“Not him,” Nick said, dropping his hands. “Not you.” He lowered his gaze to the floor, as if he knew Shane felt too exposed, too vulnerable, too embarrassed at the emotional display, at the weakness of his tears.

Shane gulped in a breath and turned his face toward the wall, where he made quick work of removing all traces of the wetness that had somehow appeared there again.

“And you weren’t responsible for the loss of those women last night, either. None of us was. But you know who was?” Nick gave him a sideways glance.

That one was a no-brainer. Shane nailed him with a cold, hard stare. “Church.”

Nick nodded. “Church.” He didn’t need to say anything more. Because Shane knew. If they were going to hurt Church and right the wrongs done against them and their dead teammates, he had to get off his ass and get out of his head. “Marz wants to confab as soon as we’re all up and moving,” Nick said, pushing off the bed.

Shane forced himself up, too. “Wait. I owe you some words,” he said, rubbing a hand over the winged-heart tattoo he’d gotten in Molly’s memory. This Shane could make right here and now, and he wasn’t waiting another second to get his best friend back once and for all.

Frowning, Nick shook his head. “I don’t—”

“The whole last year, I blamed you for falling off the radar. I blamed you for dropping out of my life when we got back in country. I saw your silence as just one more betrayal—”

“I know, and I’m so—”

“No. I was wrong, Nick. Because I was the one who failed you. I should’ve known the Nick Rixey I’d known all these years wouldn’t fall off the grid without a damn good reason. And instead of going the extra mile and finding out what was really going on, I made assumptions that weren’t true. You deserved better than that. You deserved me being a better friend to you than that.”

Nick rubbed the back of his neck and nodded. “Okay.” His gaze cut to Shane’s. “Thanks.”

“We’re okay?” Shane asked, extending a hand.

“Yeah. More than.” He returned the shake, pressed his lips into a tight line, and narrowed his gaze. “We’re also kinda fucked up.”

Shane barked out a laugh and scrubbed his hands over his face. “We are all kinds of fucked up, bro.”

Nick moved toward the door and checked his watch. “Getcha ass moving. We have work to do.” He let himself out of the room without looking back.

Closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, Shane let his head hang forward. He felt drained, exhausted, and a little hollow. But his head was quiet, and his heart a little lighter.

Shit on a fucking brick, he hadn’t realized the weight of what he’d been carrying until he passed some of it to another to share. And not only that, but resolving this thing with Nick once and for all eased a whole other part of his soul.

And he knew something else that would help, too. Seeing Crystal. Telling her what he wanted. And making it clear it was her.

FRESH OUT OF the shower, Shane was lured to the kitchen by the warm, buttery scent of pancakes. Nick, Beckett, and Easy sat along the breakfast bar, talking over coffee as Becca plated up the hotcakes.

“Morning,” he said from the edge of the room.

“Hey, Shane,” Becca said, smiling. “Hungry?”

“Thanks,” he said. “But I think I’ll just start with some coffee.” He fixed himself a cup and stood at the side of the bar.

“How are you?” Beckett said in a low voice.

Shane’s gut tensed, but no sense avoiding the obvious, that being the fact he’d come close to going off the rez last night. “My head’s on straight again,” he said. “I’m sorry about last night.”

Beckett shook his head and stared into his black coffee. “I appreciate the apology, Shane, but don’t think for a minute it’s necessary. That scene last night was brutal for me to watch, too. And, straight up, I don’t have a missing sister or a girlfriend stuck working for a known trafficker. If I did, I don’t think I’d have held it together as well as you.”

Shane swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded. “Thanks,” he managed.

Beckett’s cell rang, breaking up the seriousness of the moment. Thankfully.

“Fucking Marz,” Beckett said with amusement in his voice. He put the phone on speaker and answered. “Are you seriously calling me from across the hall?”

“I seriously am, motherfucker. What the hell are you people doing?”

“Becca made pancakes,” he said, offering a rare grin to the group.

“Becca . . . what?” Marz hung up.

“Five-dollar bets on how fast he’ll get over here,” Beckett said, setting the stop watch on his phone. “I say twenty-five seconds.”

“Forty seconds,” Shane said.

“Thirty,” said Easy.

Nick chuckled. “A minute.”

When the door opened, the whole lot of them erupted in laughter before Marz stepped all the way through.

Beckett held up his iPhone. “Thirty-eight seconds,” he said, grinning. “Damn.”

“Aw, I’m closest. Pony up, suckers,” Shane said, collecting a stack of fives from all the men.

“You sonofabitches bet on me?” Shaking his head, Marz made for the only open chair at the breakfast bar.

Beckett nodded. “On how long it would take you to haul ass over here at the mention of food.”

As Marz hefted himself up onto the tall stool, Becca settled a plate of hot, steaming pancakes in front of him. “Thank you, Becca. You’re a sweetheart.” He winked.

“You’re welcome. We were going to come get you,” she said, smiling.

“Yeah, we definitely were,” Nick said, elbowing him. He scooped a big bite into his mouth.

“Uh-huh. Right after you finished eating them all,” Marz said, pouring a healthy serving of syrup atop his stack. “I know how you assholes are.” He sliced his fork into the soft cakes and took a big bite. “Oh, these are good, Becca. Thank you.”

“No problem. You guys ate on the go all day yesterday, so I figured you could use something hot to start off today.”

Marz nodded around another sweet bite. “Oh,” he said as he swallowed. “Mattress delivery is here. Jeremy went to meet ’em.”

“I’ll go see if he needs help,” Shane said from where he leaned against the bar.

“Just chill out, McCallan,” Marz said, eyeballing Shane like maybe he was worried about him. “Ike’s helping him. And the deliverymen.”

Shane nodded. Might as well get another cup of coffee, then.

“Make any progress on the facial-recognition work?” Nick asked Marz. They’d taken hundreds of photographs last night so Marz could run a comparison of the images against online arrest-record databases. Fortunately, all that information, including the booking photographs, was public record.

“Jeremy entered the pictures of the fifteen unknown men from last night’s op into the facial-recognition search I set up. It’ll take a while to start seeing results.”

“Find anything on Garza?” Shane asked. He still couldn’t get over the guy’s appearance. Finding prior SF mixed up in all of this just ate at his gut. Where was the honor? Where was the integrity? To think his brothers had been killed by some of their own. Shane shook his head.

Marz swallowed a bite. “Short answer is no. Long answer is that Garza’s a freaking ghost. No phone numbers, no Web presence, no social-media accounts, no memberships in any of the various SF forums or alumni groups. That only leaves a hack into Army and Veterans Affairs personnel records, which is some serious shit.”

“Didn’t Charlie say he’d done that?” Nick asked, pushing his plate away.

“Yeah. Just didn’t want to bug him until he was on the mend,” Marz said. “But I want to pick his brain about how he did it without bringing a detachment of MPs down on his head.” Marz sipped his coffee and shook his head. “I also had to restart the Port Authority registries search. Keeps crashing.”

“It lives,” croaked a voice from the side of the room. Charlie. In a pair of scrub bottoms and a white T-shirt, and holding his bandaged hand and forearm against his stomach. A round of cheerful greetings sounded out from everyone.

Shane gave him a once-over—a little pale and a lot drawn, but conscious with none of the feverish symptoms of just thirty-six hours ago. He counted that a major victory.

“Sit here,” Beckett said, emptying his seat and pushing his plate to the side.

“Thanks,” Charlie said, sliding onto the end seat.

Becca came around to his side and put her hand against his forehead. “How are you?”

“I feel like somebody cut off my fingers,” he said, a tired but amused expression on his pale face.

The men all gave a low chuckle. Gallows humor was common among people who had to deal with life and death on a daily basis, so Shane respected Charlie’s ability to address his new reality head-on. They all did.

Becca ruffled his hair and rolled her eyes. “I’m serious.”

“Me too,” he said, bumping his shoulder into her. “Got any left?”

Her expression brightened. “Yes, definitely.” She plated him two big, golden pancakes and Marz slid him the bottle of syrup.

“Good to see you up and around, man,” Marz said, leaning forward so he could see Charlie.

Charlie nodded. “I’m going a little batshit lying in there.”

“Well, when you’re ready, I’d love to pick your brain about some things.”

“Shower first,” he said with a small smile. “If I’m still standing afterward . . .”

Finishing his pancakes, Marz nodded. “Fair enough.” He pushed off the stool and deposited his plate in the sink. “Thank you, ma’am,” he said, squeezing Becca in against his side. “You’re too good to us.”

She shook her head. “I’m with Charlie. I can’t just sit around and do nothing. Feeding you guys isn’t much, but at least it keeps me busy.”

Nick rose off his stool, came around the island, and settled his plate in the sink, too. “An army can’t march on an empty stomach, sunshine. We appreciate it. And don’t forget you’ve been funding this whole operation. So none of this would be possible without your support all the way around,” he said, pulling Becca into his arms. From the very beginning, Becca had offered up her father’s life-insurance monies without reservation. After all, bullets and computers and pancakes didn’t grow on trees. “And this won’t last forever.”

“No,” Easy said. “But it’s not clear how long it will last. How’s everyone situated if this drags out?”

“I’ve already told the firms that hire me for process serving that I’m going to be unavailable for a few weeks,” Nick said.

“I put in for two weeks’ leave,” Shane said. “And I’ll ask for more if we need it.”

Beckett braced his hands against the counter near Charlie. “I farmed out what I could, pushed back what I couldn’t hand off to someone else, and have put out the word I’m not taking on any new clients right now,” Beckett said, referring to his private security firm in D.C.

Like Beck, Marz was self-employed, too, doing computer-security consulting. “Same thing,” Marz said. “I finished the two most time-sensitive projects I had on my plate the other night, and let everyone else know I’m off the grid for a while.”

Charlie rubbed his good hand over his messy blond hair. “Shit. I’ve got some people probably wondering where I am,” he said. “I need to send some emails today. Oh.” He looked around the group. “I need to get my laptops from Becca’s basement.”

Nick frowned. “Tell me where they are, and I’ll run over and get them later. But as far as the world is concerned, you’re a missing person. Until we figure more of this out, maybe it’s better to leave it that way.”

“Oh?” Charlie rubbed his palm over his forehead. “If you say so, I will.”

“Is it safe to go to my place?” Becca said, looking up at Nick.

“To stay? Probably not.” Not after the place had been tossed twice in the past week. “But a quick in and out should be fine. I’ll be careful,” he said, kissing Becca’s hair.

“How ’bout you, E?” Marz said.

Shane studied the guy. From one burdened man to another, he didn’t think he was imagining that Easy looked like the weight of the world sat on his shoulders.

“Oh, uh. I’ve been working for my father, so it’s cool.” He twisted his paper napkin in his hands.

“Yeah? A family business?” Beckett said. “What is it?”

“Philly’s largest auto parts dealer,” he said in a flat voice.

Auto parts? Not exactly where Shane would’ve expected their weapons and explosives specialist to end up, but who was he to judge?

“Well, sounds like we’re squared away for at least a little while,” Marz said. “I’m getting back to it. When you people are done lollygagging, come over and let’s make a plan.”

“Lollygagging?” Beckett said, smirking. “Has anyone used that word since 1952?”

“I’m bringing it back, baby,” Marz said, flicking Beckett the middle finger over his shoulder.

Jeremy entered just as Marz reached the door. “All set,” Jer said, as he and Marz joined the group at the island. “We’ve got three brand-new beds ready to use upstairs.” Jeremy headed to the kitchen and poured a cup of coffee.

“Thanks,” Nick said. “Marz said Ike helped you.”

“Yeah,” Jeremy said, nodding. “Wanted to know if I was starting a harem. I just told him I wanted to rent the apartment furnished when it was done. He was cool.”

“Okay,” Becca said, tugging at the hem of Jer’s shirt. “What’s this one say?” I put the long in schlong. “Omigod, Jeremy.” Everyone chuckled as Becca’s face pinked.

Nick put his arm around her. “It’s not his fault. My parents dropped him on his head when he was a baby.”

Jeremy took a long pull from his mug. “Becca, you know you’re way too sweet to be with my asshole brother, right?”

She shook her head. “Don’t put me in the middle, you two.” She grinned at Jer. “I have enough batter for a few more pancakes if you want some.”

“Nah, I ate cereal earlier. Gotta watch my girlish figure.”

Marz braced his hands on the counter. “Hey, Jer, I’ve been meaning to ask. What can you tell me about Ike and his motorcycle club?” Shane had been wondering this since that first day he’d admired Ike’s bike.

“Why?” Jeremy asked.

“Can I be straight with you?” Marz asked.

“Of course,” Jeremy said, frowning. “What’s up?”

“There are social clubs and outlaw clubs, right?” Marz said. “Most of the OMCs started in the sixties, real anti-establishment types. Most of them provide their members a livelihood via some criminal activity—drugs, guns, prostitution, gambling, you name it.” Shane’s gut sank at the description. Man, the last thing they needed was a fight on another front.

Jeremy nodded, his expression darkening, like he knew where Marz was going with this.

“The Raven Riders are in the Maryland gang report Becca’s friend gave us last week, Jer. They’re outlaws. So I need to know if he represents a liability or a threat in our own house, so to speak. Hell, for all we know, the Riders could be in bed with Church.” Marz looked from Jeremy to Nick and back again.

Damn, wouldn’t that be a gagglefuck?

Jeremy crossed his arms. “Ike’s as good as they come. I’ve known him for seven years. Never brings any trouble to Hard Ink. And I’ve met some of his friends from the club, too. Seem like good guys.”

Nick nodded. “I agree.”

Marz shifted feet, like maybe his leg was bothering him. The guy was so competent on his prosthesis that you could almost forget he wore it. As Marz grimaced and shifted again, it occurred to Shane that maybe all wasn’t as copasetic in Marz’s world as it seemed. The thought sank through his gut. “They may be, Jer. I’m not questioning that. Just saying we have to be hyperaware of who knows about us.”

“Okay,” Jeremy said. “That’s fair.”

“In fact, let’s take a look-see right now,” Marz said, pulling his iPhone from his pocket. After a minute, he said, “Looks like the Raven Riders are associated with the Green Valley Speedway west of the city?”

Jeremy peered down at the screen. “Yeah. The main club’s out there. I’ve been to a few stock car races. They also have drag racing and motocross.”

“The Raven Riders own a speedway?” Shane asked. That was big business. Question was, what were the activities that had landed them in that gang report?

“It’s cool,” Jeremy said, nodding.

“So, if the club’s twenty miles from here, what does Ike do in the city?” Marz asked, still scrolling through the page on his phone.

Jeremy shrugged. “I don’t know, man. He works for me. Told you, his club business doesn’t interfere here. But, I get it, look into them more if you like, just keep it discreet for Ike’s sake.”

“Can do,” Marz said, nodding. Shane was glad Jeremy and Nick had no reservations about the guy, but he couldn’t help agreeing with Marz that, right now, they couldn’t be cautious enough.

For the next thirty minutes, they hashed out what they did and didn’t know. And damn if that list wasn’t lopsided as hell—and not in their favor. One thing they did know was that there was going to be another delivery tomorrow night. So once again they were in need of the when and where, which put Marz back on surveillance duty for the next twelve to twenty-four.

“Maybe Crystal could be useful with the details again?” Marz suggested, looking at Shane.

Aw, hell. How was he going to learn what she might know when the last time he saw her, she’d run away from him? But he owed his teammates—the ones standing around him and the ones cold in the ground—his best effort. “I’d be willing to ask what she’s heard.”

“Good. Because shy of that—”

The muffled ring of a cell phone sounded out.

“That’s me,” Shane said, fishing the cell from his pocket. Relief and excitement shot through him, at once easing the tension in his shoulders and spiking his heart rate. “Speaking of . . . it’s Crystal.” Three minutes and a short, awkward conversation later, Shane had the answer to his question. “I’m meeting her in thirty,” he said.

Shane couldn’t help but pin a lot of hope on this meeting. Hope that he could ensure her safety by convincing her to stay with him at Hard Ink. Hope that he could assist their mission by learning about the second delivery. Hope that that delivery would provide more answers to help them right the wrongs they’d all suffered.

And, goddamnit all, they were overdue for a little sunshine and good luck.