Good for him.
Joey had picked Crosby and Pearson to go with him—apologizing to Garcia and Swan of course.
“Naw, I get it,” Garcia had said generously.“Cowboy there is built like a fuckin’ house.You’re gonna want some of that with you.”That he used “Cowboy” as an endearmentanda nickname was actually sweet as fuck, but nobody on the team was going to tell Garcia that because it might make him mean.
“And you and Gail could take out an army with knives alone,” Manny Swan said generously.“So, you know.Go take out an army, brother.”
They’d been on the side of the road in front of the car rental agency, where the two SUVs they’d had waiting for them when they’d arrived at the quiet, federally owned airstrip only five miles away were parked on the side of the road.
After some grim bids of “good hunting” and some quick, hard back-thumping warrior hugs, Crosby, Pearson, and Joey slid away, running quietly in the woods alongside the road until they were out of sight.In ten minutes, the SUVs would pass in front of the storage center, and the motorcycles would draft along for a few miles until Joey took them into the reservation.
With any luck, by the time Stevie knew of the SUVs, the motorcycles would be out of sight in the barren back quarter of the res.
Crosby was deft and powerful on the electric motorcycle, and Pearson was a fearless passenger behind Joey.
They ghosted offroad, through long, dry grasses and powdery dirt for a mile or so before Joey led them behind the little line shack, where they dismounted.Neither of his teammates showed the slightest bit of “bike wobble,” as Gideon called it, both of them striding around like they chose that mode of transpo all the time.
Joey had sort of suspected that might be the case.
He was in the middle of pulling a tarp over the motorcycles while Crosby and Pearson re-fitted their flack helmets and adjusted their weaponry when it occurred to him that he might be kissing these two vehicles goodbye.
He’d had such plans, he thought now.Him and Gideon reclaiming them.Taking them to Lake Erie to meet Gideon’s stepmother and his father.Of maybe traveling a little, seeing more of the East Coast than places he got sent out to for calls.
And even if they did get Gideon back, there was no guarantee they’d be leaving this way.
He left the keys in the ignition of both bikes, and when Crosby cocked his head, Joey shrugged.
“If we don’t get back to them, I don’t want them to rot,” he confessed, thinking about the leather bomber jacket.It had started to crack after eight years in storage.That was a terrible thing to do to something useful and beautiful.
“We’ll get him back,” Pearson said, patting him on the back.“Don’t worry, Carlyle.It’s not just you here.Although—” She gestured to the break in the fence, which hung as rusty and as disused as it had that Christmas.“—you are the one who’s got to lead the way.”
They’d all brought water and food bars and salt tablets, which was important.Because even though it was only ten in the morning (oh God, had they only gone dancinglast night?Had it only been that long before Gideon had been yanked inside Stevie Carlyle’s vehicle and dragged away?) it was already hot and humid, and they were jogging through some rough terrain.
But Joey and Gideon ran nearly every morning they woke up together, and he had the feeling Pearson and Crosby weren’t far off that mark either.They all used the fitness facilities in the office—and they all practiced combat almost daily.
The five or so miles to the mansion was no big deal, as long as they followed in Joey’s footsteps as he avoided the pitfalls of what was now barren rock and close trees.
About a mile in, Joey caught the pungent smell of large-cat urine, and he sucked in a breath and stopped.
“Recognize that smell?”he asked.
“It’s like cleaning the cat box times a thousand,” Crosby muttered.Crosby and Garcia had adopted a giant fluffy white thing named Sampson.The last time Joey had been over there, he and Sampson had spent an hour bonding, leaving Joey coated in long white hairs and cat drool.In a million years, Joey couldn’t imagine that massive furry vortex of goodwill exuding this much acid.
“Keep your eyes peeled,” Joey said.“My path swings wide of the caves—we should be on the fringe of the big cat’s territory but not intruding.”He started walking again, but he kept his eyes swinging, left to right, right to left, the hair on his neck standing straight up as they neared the stand of rocks where he knew the cave sat, the mountain lion’s lair.There were enough boulders and rough terrain here to make getting this close to the place inescapable—another reason, Joey reflected sourly, that it had taken his father so long to get rid of the grizzled old warrior.Stevie Carlyle didn’t like the woods.He likedowningthem—and he’d definitely enjoyed gloating that he’d taken so much of them from the reservation—but walking through them, not so much.
Maybe it was that thought that distracted him, because he almost startled when his gaze swung toward the rise of rocks again, and he saw the quiet figure, sitting, back straight, observing the three SCTF agents as they jogged toward the house.
Joey stopped short, but when he heard Pearson and Crosby go for their weapons, he shook his head.
The gamekeeper watched them impassively, and Joey gave him a short nod.
“You are going to kill the old man?”the gamekeeper asked.
“Yes,” Joey said, not imagining this would end any other way.
“Good.The cameras are out until you get to the house.”
“Thank you,” Joey said, that tiny part of his back relaxing.
