51—NOW
She recognized Tyler the instant the wooden door swung open. Of course, prison had aged him, even beyond the sixteen years since Livia had last seen him, on the barge from Portland. He’d been about twenty-five then, but now his face looked closer to fifty, the skin looser, a network of seams around the eyes. But the gait was the same, the expression, the businesslike don’t-fuck-with-me attitude. The sleeves of his fleece were rolled up, and she saw the tats she remembered on his forearms, though on the barge she hadn’t understood their significance. Lightning bolts and Iron Crosses—white supremacist symbols. Probably there was a lot worse under his shirt. On the barge, the other two had been beefy while Tyler was lean and sinewy, but the lean aspect was gone now, replaced by probably twenty pounds of new muscle. Well, not much to do in prison but work out.
Her heart started pounding as all the emotions of that horrible time came surging back, and she closed her eyes for a moment, concentrating on her breathing the way she once had before matches, walling off the nervousness, reassuring herself she had trained for this, she could do it, she was ready.
He had a gym bag slung over his shoulder—the meth, no doubt. He wasn’t stupid enough to leave it in the truck, even for a quick bathroom break. She saw him log her, then check his perimeter as he approached, the same as she had checked hers, his head swiveling, confirming there was no one else here, this wasn’t a hit or a heist. And once he realized it was just a petite, pretty Asian woman out for a ride, his shoulders relaxed. He smiled and rolled right up to her, just as she’d hoped.
“Little engine trouble there?” he said over the wind, when he was about ten feet away.
“Nothing I can’t handle, thanks.” She could see the bag was unzipped. A safe bet he had a weapon inside it. She was glad. If he thought he could access a weapon, it would relax him, increase his confidence. While at the same time, making no difference. She was already holding the Glock on the other side of the engine. He couldn’t see it, but it would sure as hell be faster than anything he might try to pull from the bag, or from anywhere else, for that matter.
“You sure?” he said, coming closer. “I’m pretty good with engines. Nice Ninja, by the way. I’m strictly a Harley man myself, but hey, it takes all types to make a world.”
She looked at him over the seat of the bike. “You really don’t remember me, do you?”
He frowned. “Remember you?”
“Yeah, remember me. I mean, how many thirteen-year-old girls have you kidnapped and brought to Llewellyn from Portland by barge?”
He stared, squinting, and she could see the recognition. And the fear.
Then his expression hardened. “What the hell’s this about?”
“Then you do remember me.”
He glanced around. “I don’t know if I remember you or I don’t.”
“Then why are you looking over your shoulder?”
He hesitated for a moment, then said, “I don’t know what you’re talking about. So excuse me, but I’ve got places to be.” He took a step in the direction of the truck.
“You mean meth to deliver?”
He stopped. She saw what he was thinking and raised the Glock over the Ninja so it was pointing at his chest.
“Don’t. Seattle PD.” She pulled her badge from the jacket pocket and held it up so he could see it.
He lost a lot of color and started breathing rapidly. She realized he might panic and do something stupid. That would be catastrophic. He’d be useless to her dead.
“Be cool, Weed,” she said. “I’m not here to arrest you. I just want to talk.”
“What is this?”
She glanced at the picnic table. “Why don’t we sit over there? It’ll be more comfortable. We have a lot to catch up on, right?”
He shook his head. “If you think I’ve got anything to say to you, you’re crazy.”
She returned the badge to her pocket and stood, the Glock still pointed at his chest. “You know I have probable cause to believe you’ve got meth in that bag. Along with a weapon a felon like you isn’t legally permitted to carry. But I don’t want what’s in the bag. I want what’s in your head.”
He glanced at the pistol, then at her eyes, then held up his hands, palms forward. “All right, look. It was a long time ago. I told the AUSA back then, I didn’t know anything. I didn’t, and I don’t.”
“You don’t seem to understand. Right now, I just want to talk. If you tell me what you know about how I wound up on that barge, I’ll be grateful, and that’ll be the end of it. If you want to dummy up, I’m going to arrest you and search that bag.”
There was a pause. She could see the gears turning in his mind as he weighed the options, the risks.
“All right,” he said. “You win.”