Beyond the Stix (Warrior Black #2)

Chapter 21

TWENTY-ONE

John

“Dante agrees to this?” I ask, making sure I’m hearing Tobias correctly. Leaving isn’t my idea, but his. Finding out that Jessup disappeared from the park, with no traces of his whereabouts, has me on the edge. There’s only one choice I can make, and that’s to track that asshole down and make sure Jessup will never bother Connor again.

“Reluctantly, yes. But I didn’t give them a choice,” Tobias says with determination. “Just make sure Lee can dig up the proof to pass along to the cops.”

“I have no doubt he can.” What I don’t mention, is what if there isn’t any proof other than those damn text messages he sent to Connor? I shake off that thought and turn to Tobias. “I don’t want to leave, not without seeing Connor.”

Tobias shakes his head. “You don’t have time. A car’s coming.”

I turn and immediately grimace. “What the fuck?”

“He’s on Dean’s payroll,” Tobias confesses with a smirk.

“You must have forgotten that bit of detail earlier?” I shoot back, but my eyes never leave the familiar red sedan that brought me here.

“I didn’t think it mattered until now,” Tobias adds, as we both approach the vehicle.

Ben climbs out of the car, his smile wide as the desert.

“You can wipe that shit off your face,” I growl.

His grin drops. “Get in the fucking car.”

Ben slides back in, and I suddenly feel a hint better.

“Play nice,” Tobias says as he turns to leave.

“Not if I can help it,” I reply as I get in the passenger side.

“You’re a fucking dick,” Ben spits out, his face contorting in a fierce sneer. “And I thought there was something between us. But you end up being a douche after all.”

I grunt, not taking his bait. Ben knew the score of our hookup. He just assumed I’d fall madly in love with him. But that’s certainly not the case.

Ben pulls onto the road leading out of the venue and heads to CR-34, and not long until we arrive at Black Rock City Municipal Airport. Even at this time of night, it’s well-lit as Ben drives around and I spot a small plane landing.

When Ben pulls up to a building that has “Vista Skies” on its facade, I glance at him in question.

“Get out of my car,” he hisses, not bothering to look at me.

“Ben—”

“I don’t give a fuck, John. Get out.”

I climb out of the car and, before the door even shuts, Ben flashes me a finger and then takes off like it’s a race for his life. I chuckle at his immaturity. But I guess I deserved that.

I’ll worry about Ben’s feelings later, once I know Connor doesn’t have to deal with his fucking uncle.

With a quick look around, I realize that Ben dropped me off at a private plane hangar. With no details on where to go, I have no choice but walk in and see if Dean set up something for me here.

My phone rings right then. I glance down at the screen and see Dean’s name on the caller ID. “Hey,” I utter in relief.

“Since it’s last minute, I called one of my contacts and got you on a private plane. Lee will be sending details. Fig will meet you at Paine Field Airport in Seattle, Washington.”

“Why am I going to Seattle? Jessup’s in Black Rock.” I glance down at the text that comes through and I have about twenty minutes before the flight leaves.

“Fig will explain when you meet up.”

“Okay, I guess. Anything else on Jessup?”

“Clean as a washed plate,” Dean throws out. “But Lee’s determined.”

“So am I,” I admit as I step inside the business end of the hangar. “I’m heading in.”

“Will let you know if Lee finds something,” Dean says before hanging up.

After a tired woman behind the counter confirms my ID, she points me in the direction of the small jet that’s apparently waiting for me.

I’m too restless to notice the inside of the plane as I plunk my ass in the seat the steward directs me to. A snack, water, and a nap make the ninety-minute flight seem quick. Mind you, the entire time, I’m wondering how Connor is doing.

I should have called him before the plane took off, but I doubt that he wants to talk to me after the disaster at Black Rock with Jessup.

There is a huge chance that he will never forgive me, but that’s alright, I’ll still protect him—even from his own family, no matter how he feels about me.

The plane finally lands. Half way through the small terminal, I get a text from Fig that he’s arrived and waiting for me out front.

I speed up my pace, not having to worry about crowds of people and their rolling luggage at this airport.

Right outside, I meet Fig by a neon yellow Mojave X. Even though dawn is barely skimming the horizon, the damn vehicle glows like a beacon.

“This is yours?” I don’t know why I bother asking. Fig is as flashy as it gets, where his vehicles are concerned.

“Hell yeah.” He grins. “Now get in.”

I glance in the back seat and spot two bags. “Are you planning on staying longer than a day?”

“No asshole.” Fig side-eyes me. “The second bag has clothes and shit for you. Now we have about an hour’s drive to where we’re going to be staying at. It’s a small motel, but it’s a clean place, and I already checked in.”

“Where are we going?”

“Lee found three homes in Jessup Wild’s name. This one, he has owned for fifteen years.”

“Did someone scope it out?” I ask while clicking my seat belt on.

“Yes. I did a drive-by already. Selleck is a tiny, nondescript town. Where that douche canoe’s house sits, it’s away from the other homes in the area. He has no security system in place or animals,” Fig explains as he clips his cell phone onto the black mount. “Trust me, we’ll get into the house without issues. We just need to wait until tonight when it gets dark.”

“Explain to me what we’re looking for?” I grab the oh-shit handle as Fig takes the corner a little too fast.

“See this?” Fig pulls out a small black container from the middle console and hands it to me. “Open it.”

I pop open the box, and inside is a miniature, near-transparent disk that looks like it can fit on the pad of my pinky finger.

“Yeah, what is it?”

“Lee says it’s a bug of some sort. We place this little beauty on the underside of Jessup’s computer or a laptop, and it will let Lee see what that bastard is hiding—if he’s hiding anything at all.”

“I hope so,” I say, as Fig gets on the 4-05 going South. I’m impressed with what Lee has devised, but I still like the good, old-fashioned detective work.

It’s early, just half past five in the morning. Traffic around the airport is light, but morning rush hour has already started around Seattle. It will take a bit longer than we anticipated to get to the motel.

Fig stops at a small mom-and-pop place to get some groceries, and then go through a Starbucks drive-thru for some caffeinated coffee. He then hops back onto the road until we arrive at the motel. Once we settle in the room, there’s nothing to do but hunker down here until we get the go.

It’s been almost eight hours since I heard Connor’s voice. My fingers itch to reach for my phone and call him. Instead, I tell Fig, “I can’t sit here anymore. I’m going for a walk.”

“Keep close, just in case,” he calls out to me from the bathroom.

“In case of what? We’ve been waiting for more information from Lee for two hours, and it won’t be go-time until tonight.” But I get silence.

I close the door, and walk to one end of this ten-room rectangular building situated in the middle of nowhere. The closest town we passed was thirty minutes away.

At the end of the building, I spot a sign that reads, “ Come to Greg’s Diner, there ain’t nothing Finer” .

I roll my eyes at the ridiculous marketing promo. But I have to give it to the owners who thought that up. I won’t forget it.

With a bit hunger gnawing at my gut, I walk the block down to Greg’s twenty-four-hour diner. Before I grab for the door handle, my phone chimes with a text. I debate for a few seconds whether I should look at the message. Distancing myself from the entrance, I look at the screen.

My heart rate ratchets up at the message I received from Connor.

Him: Hey. I’m sorry .

The ache in my chest begins to ease at those words.

Me: For what?

Him: You’re going to make me say it.

Me: I’m not making you say anything. We’re texting.

He sends me a middle finger emoji.

Him: Where are you?

This is going to be a tricky one to answer. I don’t want to lie to him, but I can’t tell him the truth, yet.

Me: Away from you, like you wanted .

I know that’s a low blow, but it’s better than lying to him.

Connor is texting something, as the ellipses on the screen are blinking. But they stop, then start again. This happens several times, before a long text appears.

Him: I didn’t mean it… I mean I did, but not anymore. I miss you. God, I hate doing this over text. How close are you from to me?

My chest swells with happiness, to know that he misses me. But if I want to mend that trust between us, I have to be open with Connor.

Me: I miss you, too. But I’m not close.

Another pause on his end, then finally…

Him: We’re here until Saturday after the concert.

Me: Can’t make it to you. I’m on a job.

My phone rings this time. “No more texting?”

“John.” It’s good to hear his voice and the gruff way he says my name.

“It won’t be long—but I promise you, once I’m done, I’ll head to you, and then we’ll talk.” It’s all I can give him right now. But nothing will happen until Connor is free and clear of his uncle.

Connor sighs. “I guess I don’t have a choice, do I?”

“No, you don’t.” I glance up and watch Fig striding my way with grim determination on his face. “Con, I have to go.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, I just have a job to do,” I say. I’m not lying to him, but it sure feels like I am.

“Call me when you get a free moment, there’s so much more to say.”

“I’ll try.” Then I hang up right as Fig stops a foot away. “What’s going on?”

“Lee called me. He found something in the dark web, and you’re not going to like it one bit.”

“What is it?”

“We need to head back to the room, so I can show you,” he says in a low growl.

My stomach drops at his tone. “This is bad.”

“The worst,” he says over his shoulder.

As I silently follow Fig back to the motel room, I keep what Connor says in the back of my mind. He misses me. And that gives me the strength, especially to what I’m about to see.

I sit in the motel room, shock choking the breath out of me as I look away from the screen—from the images Lee discovered in the dark web.

“I know he’s a sick-fuck, but this level of depravity goes beyond anything I expected,” Fig grimaces, pacing in front of me.

“Lee, can you delete those photos?” I ask, hoping the Harper Security tech guru can remove the images. I wish he could wipe them from my mind.

“I can, but it’s not a guarantee that the scumbags in the dark web don’t have copies and will repost them,” Lee says gravely. “I do have a program that can remove any images with the drummer’s young face, but l can’t promise you a hundred percent.”

“Alright.” I release a breath, trying to ease the disgust gnarled-up in my gut. I can’t imagine how Connor is going to react to the news of what his uncle has done. It will be a blow.

“I need to call Dean to apprise him of the details of what I found.” Lee yawns with exhaustion. “I can’t wait until we find this bastard.”

From what Fig said, Lee has been working around the clock, dealing with several projects at the same time. No wonder the guy sounds fatigued.

It’s October and it’s been a dark, gloomy day—which means the night will fall early.

Thank fuck .

Fig and I both manage to grab a quick power nap. But my sleep is restless and I wake before the four p.m. alarm.

The second the buzzer goes off, Fig sits up, and looks brighter than a fucking daisy. “Are you ready?” he says in a chipper tone.

I harrumph, before downing what’s left of my cold coffee. “Let’s do this.”

We dress in black, to mask us in the dark, in case someone is on or around the Jessup’s property.

“In and out,” I say to Fig, who’s tucking the box with the micro dot in his jacket pocket.

“Enter, check and locate, tops seven minutes,” he says, a smirk on his face.

I chuckle. “You want to bet now?” But I’m not surprised.

“Why not? How about a hundred bucks.” He extends his hand.

I stare at his gloved hand, before shaking it. “Okay. Any longer than seven minutes and you owe me two.”

Fig shakes his head, chuckling. “You got it.”

We park about a half a block down from the house, in one of those weird alcoves off the road. Even with the neon hue of the truck, the trees and the darkness hide us well, so any passersby can’t see the vehicle.

We approach the single-story from the south side of the property. The grass along the chain link fence that surrounds three quarters of the property has grown half way up. That tells me the resident hasn’t been home for a long while.

Once over the fence, I go left, whereas Fig heads right and we meet in the front of the house. There’s a single light on at the front door that faces away from the road, but no security or video security system is visible. With that confirmed, we head around the back, and Fig opens the back door with a simple tool from his pocket.

Inside, we click on our penlights, which show a thin layer of dust coating the counters in the kitchen, the furniture, all the surfaces in the home. We’re careful not to disturb it.

Fig heads down the hall to check the last room on the right, and I take the small master bedroom on the left. Nothing looks odd, but again, the place is sparsely furnished, like no one really lives here.

I’m about to walk out when I decide to check the door next to the entrance. When I open it, I find it’s a walk-in closet. Standing in the threshold, I run my light and a gloved finger along one of the hanging shirts. “Weird.” There’s a layer of dust on the clothes, like they haven’t been worn for years.

“Did you find anything?” Fig asks as he stands behind me.

“No—wait.” I step further inside, and my stomach bottoms out of me. “Jesus fucking Christ.”

Fig moves past me, and finds what I’m staring at.

On the far wall, partially covered by men’s clothes, are pictures. A familiar pair of eyes peeks between a pair of black slacks and a white dress shirt.

I know that face all too well. “Connor,” I whisper.

Fig further parts the clothing, exposing the entire back wall—a memorial of some sort. There are pictures of Connor from infancy to a gig he and the band had played when they were in high school.

I lean in, peering closely at the papers pinned with each image. My heart lurches when I realize that each piece of paper is a love letter to Connor.

“I need to call Dean and report what we’ve found,” Fig says, as he raises his cellphone and takes several pictures of the wall.

“Did you find a computer or a laptop?” I croak out.

“No. It’s like the place hasn’t been lived in for a while,” Fig admits, before stepping away from the makeshift shrine.

“If he hasn’t been living here for years, where has he been staying?” Then a thought hits me. I look at Fig, and say, “He lives?—”

“—near Connor,” Fig finishes as he points to the image of Connor and his friends in a back yard, barbequing.

“Oh, shit. He must have a place near the Wild’s residence. We have to get out of here. You call Dean, and I’ll call Tobias.”

Without hesitation, Fig and I leave the house, and take off toward his vehicle. I glance at my watch and grimace at the time. It’s hitting close to nine at night and I don’t remember the band’s schedule, but Warrior Black should be on stage or will be soon. However, I have no choice but to call Tobias and warn him what we found.

I just hope Connor doesn’t hear about this. At least, not before we locate Jessup.