Surviving Ice

  He holds his hands up. “Not doing it! Especially not with those fucking pigs coming around.”

  She frowns. “Cops were here again?”

  He pulls a card from his shirt pocket, holding it like he’s going to catch leprosy from the paper. “Came by an hour ago, looking for you.”

  She digs her phone out of her purse. “Crap, I didn’t hear it.” She looks back at me. “It’s Fields. I wonder what that’s about?” She hits Dial and holds the phone to her ear.

  My body breaks out in a cold sweat as I listen to her conversation, easily filling in the side that I can’t hear.

  FORTY-ONE

  IVY

  The silence in the car is deafening as Sebastian pulls up to the curb at the precinct.

  “You’re not coming in with me?”

  Sebastian bows his head to peer out the passenger-side window, his eyes hidden behind glasses. “You’ll be safe in there.”

  “Well, yeah. I’m not worried about that.” I’m going to be looking at pictures of criminals. They want me to identify Ned’s killers. “What kind of errands do you suddenly have?” Only an hour ago, we were going to be shopping for paint supplies and an apartment.

  “Shit I need to do.” His face has taken on that stony expression that I really don’t like, not right now anyway.

  I glare at him.

  “Don’t suddenly turn into one of those women, Ivy. Please.”

  “What . . . One of those . . .” I feel like he just sucker-punched me. “I’m not ‘one of those women.’ I will never be ‘one of those women.’ ” I have never questioned him about anything until now. Even when I desperately want to know what’s going on. And the fact that I desperately want to know makes me pissed off at myself, and him. “Maybe you could stop being so fucking mysterious!” I snap, yanking on the handle to get the hell out of the car before he sees the tears beginning to well.

  A viselike grip latches onto my wrist and pulls me back in. “You’ll be fine. They may not even have anything concrete.” He sounds about as convincing as he did when he was telling me that drugged-out junkies might have trashed Ned’s house.

  I don’t get this guy sometimes.

  He leans in and plants a quick but hard kiss on my mouth, and the feel of his stubble against my skin makes some of my anger melt. “Call me when you’re done and I’ll be here to pick you up.”

  “Yup.” I slip out of the car and make my way to the precinct doors. Not until I’m inside and turning around to check the street do I see him pull away, the tires squealing.

  Leaving me confused and sad.

  And already missing him, as I go in to face this alone.

  Something I’ve been comfortable with all my life.

  Until now.

  FORTY-TWO

  SEBASTIAN

  She’s terrified. I could feel it in the shake of her hands, hear it in the pitch of her voice, see it in her eyes. And I just left her to deal with that alone.

  I feel like a complete asshole.

  But what she doesn’t realize is that I’m just as scared, because everything is going to move at lightning speed from here on in, and if I misstep just once . . .

  I’m guessing that Detective Fields found something in Royce’s mother’s scrapbook. I’m guessing it connects at least Scalero, if not Ricky as well. And I’m guessing whoever Bentley has on the inside will be calling him as soon as the APB is released for his contractors’ arrests.

  This could all just be my paranoia, but my gut tells me it’s not. That this is the loose end—the threat—that they were afraid of.

  I stare at the burner phone resting beside me. Itching to hit Dial, to confront Bentley. To ask him when exactly he sold his honor and morality for cash. And why he thought he could use me to help him do it. But that would be the dumbest thing I could do right now, because then I’d be tipping him off and giving those fuck wits a head start.

  If I had only myself to think about, I’d do it, and I’d enjoy it. Let them come to me.

  But now there’s also Ivy to think about, and I can’t risk this falling on her.

  Which means I need to play my cards right.

  And fast.

  Rolling down the window, I toss out the battery, then the burner phone, watching the pieces get crushed under the wheels of a truck.

  Gravel kicks up behind my tires as I speed into the lot. I can just make out Bobby’s hulking figure in the office as he shifts around a filing cabinet.

  I reconsider this plan of mine. Can I really trust the likes of these guys?

  Yeah, I think I can. And I don’t have a choice. I know that Fez and the other two don’t have the brains or strength to go head-to-head with Ivy. But this two-hundred-and-fifty-pound biker . . . well, he at least has the strength and I don’t doubt he has the know-how, one way or another.

  And from what I’ve seen, these guys are honorable enough when it comes to Ivy.

  The buzzer goes off as I push through the door. Bobby glances up. “You better not be here to give me any grief about earlier.”

  “I don’t give a shit about that.” If Dakota wants to nail this guy, have at it.

  “What do you want, then?”

  “Is that how you treat all your customers?”

  “You need somethin’ towed? ’Cause I’ve missed plenty of work over here on account of helping with Ned’s house.”

  “And you’re about to miss some more.”

  Suspicion fills his face. “Who says?”

  I sigh. Threatening him into helping isn’t going to get me anywhere. “I need your help with Ivy until I get back.”

  Tossing the paperwork on the desk, he settles his arms across his chest. “Back from where?”

  “Doesn’t matter.”

  His eyes narrow.

  I know he’s always been suspicious of me. Now I’m going to give him more reason to be. “It has to do with what happened to Ned.”

  “I knew there was something off about you.” His lips twist with disdain. “You a pig?”

  I chuckle. “No.”

  He rounds the desk, his arms dropped and looking ready to grab hold of me. “Did you have something to do with Ned being put down? Because if you did—”

  “No. But I know who did.”

  He seems to consider that. “You better not be lookin’ to cash in on whatever it was he was into.”

  “No, I want nothing to do with that. I want to make sure these guys get what they deserve.”

  His tongue presses on the inside of his mouth as he considers this. It’s language he knows well, I suspect. “Me and my guys would be more than willin’ to help—”

  “I work alone.” I hesitate. “But thanks anyway.”

  He purses his lips and then nods. “What exactly do I need to do?”

  I sigh. “Something Ivy’s probably not gonna agree to so easily.” I hand him a new burner phone.

  “Fuck . . . You’re gonna owe me.” He shakes his head. “That one’s something else when she’s mad.”

  FORTY-THREE

  IVY

  “Yeah. That’s the scar.”

  “You sure?” Detective Fields hovers over my shoulder, his musky cologne the only appealing thing in this place. I was on edge the moment I stepped into the precinct, part of me anxious to turn around and run out, the other part excited to finally nail someone to the wall for what they did to Ned.

  “I’m positive.” Now that it’s come back to me, I remember it well. I even drew a sketch of it that I hold up next to the computer monitor. The guy’s hand is blown up and, though pixelated, I can still see the shape of it clearly.

  “They’re identical,” he agrees. “That’s . . . crazy how accurate that is.”

  “Are we done here?” I don’t know what I expected, but it wasn’t this long-drawn-out process to get to this place. Still, I feel lighter than when I stepped in here. I was afraid that Sebastian was right, and nothing would come of this. That Ned’s killers are long gone.

  “For n
ow. We’ll put APBs out on these guys and bring them in for a lineup. You’ll need to come back in to positively ID them.”

  “You have my number.” I collect my purse and stand to leave. “How’d you find them¸ anyway?”

  Fields thumps a handful of folders against his desk to tidy the papers tucked inside. “While I had some of my guys looking into our main angle with the bikers, I thought I’d check out some less likely ones. Just to close the loop. That’s what I like to do. So I started looking into Dylan Royce as the potential prime target instead of your uncle. He was an ex-Marine with an impressive record and the know-how to defend himself. I figured whoever took him out had to know what they were doing, gun or not. Made me think that they knew each other, so I started digging into his Marine Corps buddies.”

  “These two guys were Marines?” An unsettling feeling begins to stir within me. There has been an unusual influx of military guys in my life lately. One in particular.

  “Ex. Now they’re working for a private security company.”

  A private security company.

  Like Sebastian.

  “I’ve already told you more than I should. Keep it to yourself, okay?” He leads me down the hall, toward the main entrance, files tucked under his arm. “How are repairs going at your house, anyway?”

  “Almost ready for paint,” I answer, though I’m not really listening anymore, my mind racing. You’re not stupid, Ivy.

  Sebastian walking into your shop wasn’t a coincidence, Ivy.

  I don’t want to listen to my conscience, but I can’t seem to drown it out anymore, either.

  Be smart, Ivy. He’s not really a bodyguard, is he . . .

  Fields’s voice finally overpowers my dark worries. “. . . I know this is a bit of a shock to your system. Do you have someone picking you up?”

  “My . . .” What is he? “. . . Friend. You know him.”

  He scans the case folder still tucked under his arm. “Gregory. Or Greg? Yeah.”

  What? “No. Sebastian.”

  He frowns. “Then, no. Don’t know him. I only met the guy at the house the night of the robbery. Anyway, let me know if you need anything, and keep your phone close to you because I’m going to call as soon as we’ve picked up these guys,” he throws over his shoulder, already on his way back to work.

  He leaves me standing inside the front doors.

  Sebastian gave the cops a fake name. Or is Sebastian the fake name?

  No, his parents called him Sebastian.

  I shake my head. I think I’ve reached my limit with that guy for today. The last thing I want to do is see him right now. Let him run his errands. He can come find me and explain shit when he’s done. And if he doesn’t want to explain?

  I’m done.

  Even as I tell myself that, I know I’m lying. All he has to do is tell me the truth and I’ll accept it, I’m sure of it.

  But I am going to make him work for it. At least a bit.

  I push through the glass doors, intent on defying Sebastian and hailing a cab to Black Rabbit. I’m almost at the sidewalk before I see Bobby’s hairy face. My feet falter. “What are you doing here?” Besides Sebastian, he’s the last person I want to talk to right now, given how I saw—and heard—way too much of him only hours ago.

  “I need you to come with me.”

  “What?” I snort. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”

  He heaves a sigh, like he was expecting this. “Your guy asked me to come get you.”

  Okay, now I know he’s full of shit. “No, he didn’t. He doesn’t trust you.”

  “Well, I guess he trusts me enough right now.”

  I grab my phone and quickly hit Dial on Sebastian’s number. It goes to automated voice mail. I can’t even leave a message. It’s been turned off.

  What the hell is going on? Sebastian expected me to call when I was finished so he could pick me up, so why is his phone now off? Did these guys do something to him? Did they finally get even for him embarrassing them so badly?

  Bobby’s heavy boots scrape against the concrete as he closes the distance. All calm, like he’s approaching a wild animal, and an edge of unease settles in. I glance around. A few people mill about. There are security cameras in front of the precinct, pointing down this way. Are they too far?

  “Don’t make this hard, Ivy.” Bobby reaches out and grabs my puny biceps. I can’t break free.

  He opens the door to the pickup truck. Carl’s behind the wheel.

  “I’m going to scream.” This is an obvious abduction. Why is no one doing anything?

  Bobby’s hand slaps over my mouth in answer, and then his large arm ropes around me, pinning my arms down. I squirm and kick, and sink my teeth into his fingers, but it’s to no avail. In no time I’m lifted and stuffed into the middle of the truck. Bobby slams the door shut, and the truck is roaring to life and heading down the street.

  “Did you have to bite me? Fuck!” Bobby yells. “I’m bleeding!”

  I open my mouth to let out an ear-piercing scream, when a familiar gruff voice from behind steals my breath.

  “Ivy, Jesus! We’re not going to hurt you!” Moe sits in the extended cab. He reaches over the seat to cuff Bobby in the head. “What the hell did you say to her?”

  “Nothin’! I told you she was gonna be a pain in the ass.” To me, he demands, “Gimme your phone.”

  “No.”

  He snatches my purse out of my hand and roots around until he’s found it. Rolling down the window, he tosses it out.

  “Why the hell did you do that?” I yell.

  “So no one can find you.”

  My stomach does a complete flip.

  “Oh, relax. Here.” He opens a basic flip phone and, pressing Redial, hands it to me.

  Sebastian answers on the third ring.

  “What is going on?” I can hear an engine in the background. He must be on the road.

  “You’re with Bobby? Everything okay?”

  I look at Bobby’s hand, at the marks sunk into his fingers. The sensation of biting into his soft flesh is still fresh on my teeth, making my mouth water in disgust. “Yes.”

  “Did you ID the guys?”

  Do I want to tell him that? Do I trust him? I don’t know.

  “Ivy,” he barks. “It’s important that I know. Did you ID them?”

  “Yes. They were two ex-Marines that knew Ned’s client.” How the hell is Ned involved with this? Was he just in the wrong place at the wrong time? Did his gambling debt have anything to do with this after all? There are still far too many unanswered questions.

  But I’m focused on one in particular for now. “Who’s Gregory White?”

  “An alias.” He didn’t even hesitate.

  “Why do you have an alias?”

  “I’ll explain later. Stay with Bobby. He’ll take care of you.”

  “Fine. But when this is over, you’re telling me everything, and I’m not asking.”

  “Okay, Ivy.” There’s resignation in his voice.

  The phone goes dead. I close it and hand it back to Bobby, who is shooting daggers at me, a ball of tissue in his fist. “Ned always said you were as fucking stubborn as a mule.”

  “Stop sulking.”

  I eye the giant metal warehouselike building ahead and the chain-link fence surrounding the property. The rows of motorcycles along the far side mark this place for what it is. “Seriously?” It took almost an hour to get to their clubhouse, in a remote neighborhood south of San Francisco. They haven’t told me a goddamn thing. Bobby swears he doesn’t know anything.

  I think he’s a big fat fucking liar.

  “It’s safe here. Fences, security . . .” Bobby says, pointing out the cameras in the corners.

  “To keep the bad guys in?”

  He chuckles, like that’s so funny.

  A woman’s giggle carries across the parking lot. Probably a hooker. Ned said these guys throw some wild parties. Though tonight it seems pretty quiet.

  I spot my
kit in Carl’s hand and dive to snatch it out of his grip. “Why do you have this?”

  “It was at Dakota’s. I swung by to pick it up,” Bobby answers with a smile.

  “Why?” I already know exactly why.

  Moe steps in behind me, settling a hand on my back. I bristle and speed up to walk ahead of him. “Oh, don’t be like that with me, girl. Slow down!”

  I don’t, pushing my way through the solid front doors. The inside of their clubhouse is much more lively than the outside. I count eighteen members sitting around in the makeshift living room/bar, some looking every bit the stereotypical biker with their leather vests and beards, others looking like normal young guys in faded T-shirts and ripped jeans. Open beer bottles are scattered throughout, and the buzz of a radio playing old rock carries through the air. Three scantily clad women float around, cackling at whatever the men are saying.

  A few at a time, heads turn at our entrance, and I feel them sizing me up. I don’t recognize any of them, but Ned did say this club had over two hundred members.

  I wonder how many of them are truly “just bikers.” They can’t all be into the kinds of things that Bobby, Moe, and the others have their hands in.

  “How long am I stuck here for?” I ask Moe. I’ve cycled through panic and anger and have settled into exhaustion. I just want to go home.

  “Until Bobby hears otherwise,” Moe murmurs, leaving us to chat with the other guys.

  “And until then, he promised me you’d do a shoulder piece I was thinking about gettin’ done, seeing as he owes me for this and we have time to kill.”

  “You want me to give you a tattoo now?” I grit my teeth in a smile that can’t be pleasant. “Sure, I’ll do that for you.”

  Doubt flickers over his face. “Maybe we’ll wait until you’ve cooled off a bit.”

  “Probably a good idea.” Taking a deep breath, I march farther into the clubhouse, putting on my best tough-girl gaze, even though inside I’m feeling anything but.

  FORTY-FOUR