Chapter 17
Peyton
I didn’t know much about the various areas of Los Angeles, but the farther inland my Uber went, the worse the neighborhoods looked.
In Boston, I’d had a short list of neighborhoods I wouldn’t venture into and a longer list if it was dark. As the blocks went by, this section of the city was looking more and more like it belonged on that first list.
My driver slowed in front of a house that had seen better days on a street where the residents didn’t mind parking on the dried-up lawns, or putting their cars up on blocks out front, although I didn’t see any work being done.
She pulled to the curb. “Are you sure this is it?” she asked. Her tone questioned my sanity for wanting to get out in a neighborhood like this.
I checked the number on the house. “It’s the address I was given.
” Looking up and down the street, I joined her in questioning my sanity when I noted the bars on all the windows.
This neighborhood was not one I’d be returning to.
But I desperately needed my bike. “Could you maybe hold on for a second? I’ll ring the bell and see if this is the right place. ”
“If you’re quick about it. Wave if this is it, and I’m out of here.”
After climbing out, I closed the car’s door and hoped she would actually stay long enough for me if this wasn’t the lady who’d found my bike.
What if I’d written down the wrong address? This was the wrong part of town to be left alone in. I made it to the door and checked over my shoulder.
My ride was still idling on the street.
Pressing the button, I didn’t hear anything inside, no chime, no movement. With my heart in my throat, I pulled open the heavy metal gate to knock on the wooden door. That’s when I heard movement inside.
An older woman with a mass of longish gray hair opened the door. A cigarette hung in her lips. The faint sound of a television came from the darkened house.
“I’m here about the bike,” I said as assertively as I could.
She looked behind me to the left and right. “The pink one?”
How did an old lady like this end up with my bike? At least I was at the right house. “Yes.”
“You come alone?” She opened the door to come out, squinting against the sunlight.
“Uh-huh.” I stepped back and waved to my Uber driver, who left in a hurry.
She looked up and down the street before holding out her hand. “Money?” She counted the bills after I gave them to her.
“My bike?” I asked.
“You Peyton Smith?” she asked with a puff of acrid smoke.
“Yes.”
“It’s around back.” She pointed past the decrepit garage door.
I walked with her that way.
Reaching the corner, she took the cigarette out of her mouth and smiled through yellowed teeth. “She’s all yours, boys,” she yelled. “You owe me a hundred bucks.”
The gate of the side fence opened, and dread took my breath away.
The two men from the first night came out.
“The man wants to talk to you,” Shorty said with an evil laugh. At least he didn’t have a knife out.
“Yeah, but first we’re gonna party,” Buzzcut said. He held a beer in his hand and seemed a little drunk, just like last time.
This would not be like last time. With my heart racing, I did the one thing I could. I turned and ran. This time I didn’t have on heels.
“Get her,” Buzzcut yelled. With his bulk, he obviously didn’t run much.
I took off down the uneven sidewalk. The problem was, since leaving Boston, I hadn’t been running either, and my quickly labored breathing showed that. A quick look back told me Shorty was gaining on me.
“Not this time,” he yelled.
I reached for another gear, but came up short.
He grabbed my ponytail and yanked me back.
The pain was intense as I stumbled. With an extra effort, I managed to avoid hitting the pavement and landed on the dirt that had once been grass.
He landed on me and yanked my hair again.
It hurt like hell, but my training kicked in. I elbowed him in the face and pushed his shoulder as hard as I could.
He yowled. Blood spurted from his nose as he rolled to the side. “Fucking bitch.”
Eyes, throat, knees, balls. I clambered to my feet and aimed a kick at his balls, but he shifted and I got him in the stomach. At least there was a satisfying woof as the air rushed out of him.
“Got you,” Buzzcut yelled just as he slammed me to the ground.
“She fucking broke my nose,” Shorty complained.
“Shut the fuck up, you pussy,” Buzzcut swore as he towered over me. “You’ll forget all about it when you fuck her.”
“Never ever give up. You always have an option.” My instructor’s words came back to me.
Buzzcut was just close enough. Lifting my hips, I kicked up into his groin.
He doubled over with a moan. “Fuck, that hurts.” I hadn’t connected hard enough. “You’re gonna regret that, bitch. I get her first,” he hissed to Shorty, who was just now getting to his knees.
Buzzcut grabbed my shirt and yanked me up.
While my shirt ripped, I swung at him.
He caught my arm and slugged me with his fist.
Pain radiated through my skull, and I crumpled to the ground.
Zane
Upstairs in the Hawk building, I first went to Lucas’s office to warn him that I’d used his name and thank him, but his door was closed.
Jordy poked his head out of his NASA-like office. “Hey, Zane. I got that info you wanted on the stolen e-bike, and I gave it to Peyton.”
I’d totally forgotten to follow up with Jordy on that. Perhaps I’d expected it to take longer. “Thanks, what did you find?”
“A lady found it and posted it on lost and found.”
Now we were getting somewhere. “Where is she? I’ll go pick it up.”
“No way. The lady knows it belongs to Peyton and won’t even talk to a man. I gave Peyton the contact info, and she was going to call.”
I shook my head. “Are you telling me you don’t have an address?”
“Nope, but Peyton does.”
Walking down to my office, I dialed her. It went to voicemail. “Hey. Call me.”
I tried again, and it went to voicemail a second time, so instead of leaving another message, I called Terry like I had earlier.
“She’s not here,” he told me. “She left a while ago.”
“Did she say where she was going?”
He conferred with Constance and came back with, “She went to get her bike. She said she’d be gone a while.”
“Thanks, man.” Gone a while? Crap.
“Hold on,” Terry added before I could hang up. “Constance wants a word.”
“Sure.”
“I wanted to thank you,” Constance said, “for the flowers.”
“What flowers?” I feigned surprise.
“Don’t pull that on me, March. I’m a trained investigator. You used the same florist as last time, and she admitted it was you.”
I shrugged, even though she couldn’t see it. “You deserved them for going above and beyond, spending your night running down my fingerprints.”
“It’s all part of the job, but thank you anyway. They made my day.”
“You’re welcome. Now I gotta go.”
She hung up after one more thanks.
With a feeling of foreboding, I rushed back to Jordy’s office. “I need you to locate her for me.” Drivers in this town weren’t the best, and I didn’t like the idea of her biking very far.
“I tried that. It was a cell phone, not a land line, and it doesn’t have GPS. I checked.”
“Not the lady who found the bike, Peyton.”
“You should have said so,” our tech guru mumbled at his screen. After a few seconds of keyboard clacking, a map showed up on one of his screens. “She’s the orange dot.” Naturally, he didn’t have to ask me for her phone number.
The dot wasn’t anywhere near her work, and it was moving east. That was not good, because farther east did not translate to a nicer part of town.
“Where’s she going?” I demanded.
“Calm down, Romeo. How would I know?”
What’s with the Romeo reference? Did I have I kissed Peyton once and want to do it again tattooed on my forehead?
“She doesn’t have a car, and Terry said you could track rideshares.”
“He wasn’t supposed to mention that.” He returned to torturing his keyboard with rapid keystrokes.
I shifted back and forth, waiting for the answer, but careful to not complain. I’d seen Jordy stop work once when his brother Duke pushed him too hard.
A minute later, Jordy sat back. The map scrolled and another dot appeared, with an address in text at the bottom. “That’s her destination.”
“Thanks, man. I mean it.”
“A bottle of Macallan—”
“Twelve.” I finished for him. “I know. Give me a day or two.”
He held up two fingers. “Any time.”
I pulled out my phone and shot a picture of the address. It was neither a nice part of town nor a short ride back to her work, and I was damned well going to insist she let me give her a ride back. “I may call you later for an updated position if she starts riding back before I reach her.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” he said with a wave.
Hurrying downstairs, I found Joe had the hood of my car up. “Hey, I need to go.”
“I was just checking the belts for ya.” He closed the hood gently as I hopped inside.
That was Joe kind of maintenance, checking the belts on a car with less than fifteen thousand miles on it.
I raced out and headed for the freeway. From Peyton’s work, her driver needed to use the surface streets, but from here, taking the freeway would help me make up time.
I read the address into my phone for navigation, and the answer was that I might or might not make it there before she picked up her bike and started back.