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“Yes, I speak it very well,” the man said. “I just speak it better with my gun in my hand.”
“What did you mean when you said that Raven wasn’t coming home?” Ridge asked him, his momentary haze leaving him.
This caused the man to look as if he was pondering something, and then he said, “Either way, I die.”
Within a second, he turned the gun back on Ridge.
And then he was dead.
Corbett had hit the man square in the chest, straight into his heart. The white of the man’s suit turned red under the stain of his own blood. But he would never know. Lying on the garage floor, he was lifeless.
“How did you know he was here?” Ridge asked.
“When I pulled out onto the street, I looked into my side mirror and noticed a blue car sitting at the end of the cul-de-sac. There was a guy in the driver’s seat, and though he was pretty far away, it looked like he was watching your house through a pair of binoculars. I went towards the highway, so he wouldn’t suspect anything, and turned around.”
He reached a hand out to help Ridge up. “You okay?”
A thought suddenly occurred to him. “I have to get to Raven,” he announced frantically, scrambling to his feet.
As he grabbed his keys and his phone, he repeated to Corbett what the man had said about Raven. Corbett was already on his bike when Ridge left the house. He backed out behind Corbett, holding the phone to his ear after punching Raven’s number on speed dial. It rang and rang.
“Come on, Raven. Pick up, baby,” he pleaded.
Her voice suddenly came on the line. “Hi, this is Raven. Leave a message.”
“Shit!” Ridge yelled, ending the call and pressing the number for the bakery. He got voicemail there as well. As he got on the highway, he knew he had to try and calm down. He told himself, “They’re just busy… she’s okay,” over and over like a mantra.
Before jumping on his bike,Corbett had called the Stockdale police and told them to get to the bakery. He told them to detain everyone there, and he would be there in less than twenty. As he raced up the highway, having to dart in and out between cars and eighteen wheelers, he found himself wishing Stella was equipped with lights and sirens so these assholes would at least think about getting out of his way.
Stockdale, Texas
Numerous police carswere parked outside the front of the bakery when Corbett came flying around the corner on Stella. Thankful they had responded so quickly, he skidded to a stop and slammed down the kickstand. Jumping off the bike, he ran up to the door, just as Ridge’s tires came squealing around the corner.
A young officer posted at the door stopped him. “Nobody in or out.”
“I’m Special Agent Corbett Lindstrom with the DEA. I called you.”
“Let me see some ID,” the guy ordered.
Before he could take out his wallet, Corbett heard Ridge run up behind him with no intention of stopping. To prevent his friend from getting his head blown off, he grabbed Ridge just before he barreled through the cop and the door.
“Easy buddy,” Corbett said. The officer already had his hand on his holster. “It’s okay,” Corbett reassured him as he slipped his wallet out and opened it. “He’s with me.” The officer scrutinized his ID, gave Ridge another suspicious glance, and then stepped aside. Ridge jerked away from Corbett and ran in ahead.
Corbett stepped in just as Raven threw herself into Ridge’s arms.
There were two customers, Raven, Cheryl, and six cops inside. With Ridge and Corbett, the place was full.
“Who’s in charge?” Corbett asked the cop at the counter.
“My partner and I got here first,” he said.
“Was this how you found things?” Corbett asked him.
“Pretty much,” the cop said. “The ladies were in the back. There was some kind of mixing machine running. No one else here except the two old men you see over there.”
Corbett heard Raven ask Ridge what was going on.
“Raven,” Corbett said, “do you know those customers over there?”
