Hold On

“Yo, Garrett, son,” Dave answered, talking quickly. “Ernie heard it. Tanner phoned me just after Ernie heard it. Tanner’s out. I’m out too. So’s Ernie and Spike. Don’t you worry. We’ll find that car.”


His father and his retired BPD cronies were not unwanted additions to the search.

But he needed something else.

“Shit gets around, Dad. It’s still early, school’s not out for a while, and I appreciate you lookin’ for Cher. But I need someone to deal with Ethan. Ethan and Grace.”

He stopped at the car and looked over the roof to see Mike still had his phone to his ear, but he beeped the locks.

“I’ll call Rocky,” Dave told him.

“Rocky’s in class.”

“She’ll sort somethin’ out, Garrett. You need men on the streets, not me holdin’ Grace’s hand.”

His dad was right.

He needed men on the streets.

He needed that car found.

He needed Cher found.

Fuck, his head hurt.

“Call Rocky, Dad,” he ordered as he yanked open the door and folded into the car.

“You got it, son.”

He was taking the phone from his ear to disconnect when he heard his father call his name.

“Yeah?” he asked when he put it back.

“We’ll find her,” his father said quietly.

They would. They absolutely would.

They had to.

For Ethan. For Grace.

For Garrett.

They had to find her.

He couldn’t think of it another way.

He couldn’t think of her not behind the bar at J&J’s when he walked in. He couldn’t think of her not there, pretending she was annoyed her kid and him were giving her shit over pancakes. He couldn’t think of losing her brand of sweet. Never seeing it again, when she could be cute.

He couldn’t think of not waking up to her pretty every morning.

He couldn’t think of never having that look from her, that look that said she loved him.

He couldn’t think of losing what his father lost how his father lost it, in other words, in a way he’d never get it back and the child she made who he loved wouldn’t either.

He couldn’t think of that.

If he did, his head would explode.

Or his heart would stop.

And if that shit happened, he couldn’t help find her.

“Yeah, Dad. Got calls to make, shit to do. Later, yeah?”

“Later, son.”

He took his phone from his ear as Mike backed out of their spot. “Ryker’s not answering.”

“Fuck,” Garrett muttered.

“Called Tanner. Tanner’s been tryin’ him too. Incommunicado.”

Not unusual with Ryker.

Just irritating because they needed everyone they could get.

“He didn’t report back on Jones,” Garrett told Mike. “Don’t know where he found him. Don’t know where he was stayin’. Don’t know what he did to get him gone. Just know he disappeared and Cher didn’t hear shit. Until now.”

“We don’t know this is that guy, Merry,” Mike pointed out.

They didn’t.

He had not gotten sick-fuck vibes from Walter Jones. He hadn’t gotten any read on him except ex-cop.

In truth, until they pulled Bobbie’s camera feeds, they had to go forward thinking it could be anyone. It might not have anything to do with Dennis Lowe. It could be someone losing it at Christmas because they lost their job and couldn’t afford presents. Or they cheated on their wife and she threw them out and they were messed up and wanted to make some woman pay. Or they had some fucked part of their head get more fucked and they went to the parking lot of a goddamned garden shop and abducted a woman.

It could be anyone.

Anyone who had Cher.

His blood started to burn.

He lifted a hand and pressed his middle three fingers to his forehead, and he did it hard.

“She’s tough, brother,” Mike said softly.

Garrett pressed in harder.

Chatter was coming from their radio. Men and women out, reporting in. Checking parking lots. Driving down streets. Off-duty officers from Avon, Danville, Plainfield were all mucking in. Shots fired. A woman abducted. She belonged to a cop. The brotherhood was closing in.

“I love her,” Garrett told his knees, pressing harder into his forehead, holding back the rage, keeping it contained, trying not to fly apart.