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Ridge heardCorbett’s bike as soon as his friend turned onto his street. He wondered if bikes were supposed to be that loud, or if Corbett’s precious Stella was going to need another restoration soon. Grabbing the plastic bag with the letter in it, he went outside to meet him. As Corbett drove into the driveway and removed his helmet, the first thing Ridge noticed was how rough he looked. If he didn’t know better, he would think he actually was a skin head biker.
“Hey!” Corbett said, leaping off Stella.
Ridge made a play of looking up and down the street before Corbett approached him. “Hey, I just want to make sure none of my neighbors see me associating with a ruffian.”
Corbett flipped him off. “This ruffian had about two hours’ sleep last night while sitting straight up. One night in his own bed and the three nights before that on a cement cot with a mattress that was an inch thick. Do you really want to mess with me?”
Ridge laughed. “I sure as hell wouldn’t if I didn’t know what a nice guy you really are. Thanks for looking into this. I don’t mind calling the Marshals if you’re too busy to handle it.”
“No, I think it’s actually going to help me out with another case, so thanks.”
“Sure, anything my girlfriend, her dead-beat brother, and I can do to help.”
“I have to run,” Corbett said suddenly, checking his watch. “Maybe we can get that beer next week?”
“Sounds good. Should I shave my head too, so I fit in?”
“Fuck you,” Corbett said with a grin.
Ridge watched Corbett leave with a tiny twinge of envy. He loved Raven, and he loved his life here. Occasionally, though, the part of him that became a Navy SEAL, not only because he wanted to save the world but because he was also an adrenaline junkie, felt like it might boil over. He shrugged it off. He had dishes and laundry to finish before Raven came home. His craving for a surge of adrenaline was replaced with something called contentment, and he liked that just as well.
After cleaning the dishes, he went out to the garage to transfer the clothes from the washer to the dryer. As he did, he heard a tiny little click. Anyone else may have ignored it, but Ridge knew that sound as well as he did his own name. It was a magazine being pulled back.
There was someone in the house with a loaded gun.
Moving against the wall closest to the door that led into the kitchen, he reached up quietly to the top of the old storage cabinet that held his yard tools. On top, there was a small hand ax. Grabbing it, he stepped slowly around the cabinet and came face to face with the business end of a .38.
On the other side of the gun was a tall, very overdressed Mexican man. He was wearing a white suit with a black vest. His hair was combed back and his shoes were so shiny that Ridge could see the reflection of the gun the man held in them.
As if he was here as an invited guest, he smiled insincerely and said, “Hola, Mr. Dawson. Cutting wood today?”
“I was thinking about cutting something. What about you? Going salsa dancing at the range?”
The man laughed. “Funny, even with a gun in your face.”
“I got the Most Likely to Become a Comedian Award in my senior class. But tell me more about you. What brings you and your gun to my home today?”
“I was hoping that you might be up for taking a ride with me,” the man said.
“I’d love to,” Ridge challenged, “but I’m really not dressed for it, and if I don’t get this laundry done, the girlfriend will be mad as a hornet when she gets home.”
“That is okay, Mr. Dawson,” the man said. “She is not coming home tonight… or ever.”
That was it. No one threatened Raven. The adrenaline surge he’d wanted so bad was triggered. He did a round kick, dropping the man and the gun in one swoop. The man scrambled across the garage to where the gun landed, but Ridge had another idea in mind.
Right before the man reached the gun, Ridge stepped on his thigh, less than gently, and said, “I think you’re getting that pretty suit all dirty. Let me get that for you.”
But the man bucked as Ridge reached forward and head butted him in the chin. Dropping the ax, Ridge flew backwards and hit the storage shelf with the back of his head. He looked up in time to see the man grab the gun and spin around.
“Drop it!” someone shouted.
Corbett was standing in the doorway, gun drawn.
Ridge felt dizzy and slightly giddy as the room spun around him. “It took you long enough. Jeez, did you have to go home and get your gun?”
Without taking his eyes off the man he had his gun trained on, who was also pointing one back at him, Corbett flipped Ridge off.
“I said drop it, asshole.¿Hablas inglés?”
