“You copy that, Gull?” Izzy asked Seagull. In lieu of headsets, they’d tied their cellphones together via conference call. Whatever worked. “Seatbelt on.”
“I’m ready,” the kid said from behind the wheel of Izzy’s car.
“D’ja get a head count in the sedan, Schloss?” Timebomb asked Hans from his position across the street.
“Two,” Hans reported. “Both in the front of the vehicle. Plus, the plates match the info Lindsey gave us. It’s definitely Bob Nelson. Or at least his car. I’m coming down.”
“Excellent, and here we go,” Izzy said as the blue sedan in question appeared, coming around the corner and moving much too fast considering the size of the street and the industrial neighborhood. Fortunately, there was no other traffic.
Except for Seagull, who pulled Izzy’s car directly in front of the sedan in an impromptu roadblock.
Brakes squealed and the sedan skidded to a near-violent stop, but before the driver could throw the car into reverse, Izzy was at the driver’s side window, tap-tap-tapping on it with the barrel of his handgun.
Timebomb was on the other side, weapon up and aimed, as Seagull similarly advanced from the front. They were both young, but their war faces were impressively fierce.
“Bob Nelson?” Izzy asked, first of the driver—another skinhead like the guys back at the garage—and then of the passenger, older and puffy and wild-eyed, and ordering the driver to move, move! He was definitely Nelson.
But the driver, wisely, had his hands up in clear view as Hans Schlossman came running toward them, followed by a group of detectives and uniformed police officers.
“Go to jail,” Izzy told Nelson. “Go directly to jail. Do not pass go, do not collect two hundred dollars.”
The detective who’d granted him that permission-ish-ness was incredulous as she approached. “I said you could watch for him,” she said. “What the hell is this?”
“This is watching,” Izzy said, stepping back to give the uni-ed officers access. One of them immediately began to Miranda the pair. You have the right to remain silent….“We found him, and now we’re watching him. You’re welcome.”
“They’re Navy SEALs,” one of the other detectives said, as if that explained everything.
“Let’s go, guys,” Izzy told Boat Squad John. “I promised you pancakes, and I will now deliver.”
Dingo was going to make it.
Maddie hadn’t let herself cry—not in the garage when she’d been certain she was going to die. Not when Dingo had gotten himself shot to save her. Not when Stank had broken her nose. Not even when the doctor had examined her here in the hospital, even though that had hurt worse than getting punched.
But after hours of sitting and waiting for Dingo to come out of surgery, after talking, endlessly, to the police and telling them the same story over and over and over—both the story of Fiona framing Maddie for the money she’d stolen from Nelson, and what had gone down today in Nelson’s garage—when the good news finally came, Maddie dissolved into tears of relief.
Dingo was still in intensive care, and would be for a while, but the bullet had missed his spine, and the doctors expected him to make a full recovery.
And then, when Shayla showed her that text that Dingo had sent to her and Dad, in case he died…
Maddie didn’t think she’d ever stop crying again.
It was then, while she was sobbing uncontrollably, that she had a number of awkward conversations.
One started with her telling her father, “I’m so sorry that I didn’t come to you for help….” She was sincere while she groveled about that, but she might’ve been a touch calculating when she then segued into “I know he’s too old for me, but after he’s out of the hospital, can Dingo come over for dinner, so you could maybe get to know him, and so that both of us can get to know you—and Shayla, too?”
Not much he could say to that, besides Yes.
Although, he also wasn’t fooled. He knew exactly what she was up to. But that was okay. She knew what he was up to with Shayla. Maddie could tell, just from the way they smiled when they were together, and the intensity with which they hugged each other, that they were in love. And that was good. She’d wished Lisa had found someone worthy, but her mom had been terminally attracted to assholes—which was probably proof that Dad wasn’t one.
It was during that weepy period that he apologized again for not being around for her when she was growing up. He got a little teary-eyed about that himself, which got her weeping again. But then he suggested moving back to Palm Springs so she could finish up high school there, and Maddie was so aghast that she stopped crying and just stared at him.
“I hated Palm Springs,” she said. “Why would I want to go back? I mean, yeah, I want to visit Grandma every few weeks, and you know, maybe we can give Aunt Hiroko a ride, too? It’s hard for her to get there, because she doesn’t like to drive at night.”
That conversation moved on to a different topic pretty quickly, and it wasn’t until later that Maddie realized exactly what her father had offered her. If they moved to Palm Springs, he would have to leave the Navy and stop being a SEAL. Not only that, he’d have to move away from Shayla, whose sons went to high school in San Diego.
That was crazy.
But he was ready to do that.
For her.
Shortly after that, Dingo’s mom and dad arrived at the hospital. And because they were his parents, they were allowed to go into the ICU to see him. It was clear that Dingo’s mom loved him—she called him Ricky—and she insisted that Maddie be allowed in to see him, too.
And as they walked down the hall to Dingo’s room, his asshole dad cleared his throat and said, “Pretty girl like you could do better than Richard.”
Maddie looked at him. He didn’t scare her. “When’s the last time you took a bullet for someone? Or fast-roped or even just walked into a room of angry gunmen?” she added, thinking not just of Dingo, but also of Dad and Shayla.
He didn’t answer. Because, yeah, his silent never was exactly what she’d thought.
And then nothing else mattered, because she got to sit and hold Dingo’s hand while machines beeped and whirred around them.
Maddie had no idea what the future would bring—only that Dingo was alive, and she was, too, and they were going to be okay.
What was it her father had said, back in the truck?
Loving someone, and being loved in return, was a very good place to start.
EPILOGUE
One year later
Shayla was writing again.
In fact, she was on fire.
Peter had tried to take credit, and yeah, having him in her life was a very, very, very good thing. In so many ways.