22. Kyle
CHAPTER 22
KYLE
“ C ars don’t blow up!” Everett was ranting over the deafening wind as he tore out of the trailer park and onto the highway. “It just doesn’t happen! It doesn’t! Especially not from a gunshot!”
I didn’t try to talk him down. His fury over the violation of physics was keeping his focus away from the guns and the danger, and that was probably for the better. He wasn’t doing so hot at keeping us between the faded lines of the county road, but that was pretty normal.
I twisted around in the passenger seat, gun still in hand as I murmured, “I know, baby, it’s weird.” I checked my cats as much as I could in the low light through the Plexiglas divider. Jeff was still being vocally opinionated about the indignity of his accommodations, and Patches seemed a little concerned by Everett’s driving. They were uninjured, though, and I was both surprised and impressed—not to mention relieved—to realize Everett had taken the time to belt them in. At least then if we wrecked or he took a corner on two wheels, the cats wouldn’t be tossed around in the patrol car’s backseat.
Suddenly, Everett cried, “Oh my God!”
I dropped back into the passenger seat and looked around. “What? What’s going on?”
Everett snapped his fingers. “Propane. There was a propane tank by the car. I must’ve hit that instead, and that’s what blew up.” He tsked and rolled his eyes, chuckling at himself. “Okay, now it makes sense.”
I blinked.
He glanced at me. “What?”
“I…” I shook myself. “Nothing.” I glanced in the side mirror. No headlights coming up yet.
And, now that I thought about it… the radio was quiet.
I’d ridden in my dad’s and brother’s patrol cars enough to know the radios were rarely quiet. They sure as hell wouldn’t have been quiet in the minutes since a patrol car had been stolen.
“We need to ditch this car,” I declared. “Like now .”
The car in question swerved a little as Everett looked at me again. “Huh? Why?”
“Because every cop within a thousand miles is going to be searching for it, and I think that was Reardon’s plan.”
“It— what? ” The car swerved again.
“Everett! Focus on the road!”
There was some slight fishtailing, but he mostly straightened out.
I spoke fast. “Look, Reardon wasn’t putting up nearly as much of a fight as he should’ve been in the trailer. I shouldn’t have been able to hold him off like that. And there’s no way he’d just… leave the engine running. Not unless?—”
“Not unless he wanted us to take it,” Everett breathed.
“Exactly. And I’d bet everything I have that there’s a tracker in this thing—and there was probably one on…” I closed my eyes and pressed back against the seat. “Fucking hell. They tracked Colin’s car. I guarantee it. I just… I fucking guarantee it.” I couldn’t believe I hadn’t pieced that together. There was probably something on my dad’s car, too, because who else would I go to when I needed to blow town?
Try to outsmart a detective, I said.
It’ll be a really good fucking idea, I said.
Everett was quiet for a moment. Then, “When you say you’d bet everything you have—does that include Steve?”
I eyed him. Sometimes the way this man’s mind worked blew my mind.
But then the corner of his mouth twitched.
I rolled my eyes and laughed. “Shut up.” He chuckled, though, apparently satisfied he’d broken through my internal panic.
He had, too. That random mental derailment jarred me enough that I was able to refocus instead of flailing.
I looked around. “Okay, so we need another car. Let’s…” I pursed my lips. We were in a rural area now, so it wasn’t like we could just vanish into a Wal-Mart parking lot. And there wouldn’t be a lot of cars out right now anyway since it was fuck-this-thirty in the morning. So we?—
Everett veered off the road, and for a split second, I thought we were about to crash into the ditch. But no, he took us down a driveway toward a dark ranch-style house similar to my own.
“What are you doing?” I asked in a harsh whisper as if I might wake the occupants.
“They’re the only ones on the street with their trash cans still out,” he said as he slowed to a stop in front of their garage. “Whoever’s taking care of the place while they’re out of town isn’t coming by every day.”
I blinked. “They…” I glanced over my shoulder. Okay, yeah, they did have their trash cans out. But that didn’t necessarily mean anything. “I’ve left mine out before just because I’m stupid.”
Everett shrugged, putting the patrol car in park. “If they’re home, we’ll ask if we can borrow the car.”
“Borrow the—are you—” I sputtered. “Wait, where are you going?”
“Give me a minute.”
With that, he got out of the patrol car and strode confidently up to the front door. And he…
“Oh my God,” I muttered, facepalming as he pounded on the door. He was shouting something too.
I craned my neck.
“Hey, we’ve got a bit of an emergency! It’s a long story, but we’ll explain!” Then as he started off the porch, he threw over his shoulder, “I promise I’ll bring it back!”
He disappeared around the back of the house, and I stared, slack-jawed, just waiting for lights to start coming on and an underwear-clad homeowner to burst out with a shotgun.
Behind me, voice muffled by the Plexiglas, Jeff squawked.
“I know, buddy,” I told him. “My boyfriend is crazy.”
That prompted an emphatic meow of agreement. Or maybe he was announcing his displeasure with the situation. Either way, I concurred.
To my utter astonishment, the house’s garage door started to open, the light inside coming on and spilling out into the night. One bay was empty. In the other, there was a late model sedan I couldn’t quite name, and Everett was jogging out with a set of keys in his hand.
He threw open the backseat of the patrol car. “Let’s get the cats! Let’s go!”
“What—did you just—did you break into the house? ” Oh my God, we were going to jail, weren’t we?
“I didn’t break—okay, technically and legally I did.” He leaned over Jeff’s carrier and unclipped the seat belt. “But I didn’t break anything.”
“Oh. Well.” I got out of the passenger side. “That changes everything, doesn’t it?”
“We have a car that’s not being tracked by evil homicidal cops!”
He… did have a point.
I made sure I still had our guns, then grabbed Patches’ carrier out of the back and followed Everett into the garage.
In under two minutes, he was backing us out of the garage. Then, as the door came down, he drove us back up the driveway and onto the highway, heading in the general direction of home.
“For the record,” he said, “there was a house key under the mat, and the car keys were on a hook by the kitchen door.” He tsked and rolled his eyes. “People really need to learn not to hang their keys by a door. Like, do you want your car getting stolen out of your garage? Because that’s how you get your car stolen out of your garage.”
“Let’s not look that gift horse in the mouth, shall we?” I glanced back at the cats. Jeff was complaining, and Patches had joined in. They both peered up at me, displeasure all over their faces. I kind of wished we’d left them in the house where we’d stolen the car. It wouldn’t be ideal and I’d be worried sick about them, but at least they wouldn’t be in here with us, subject to whatever chaos and violence came our way.
“Sorry, guys,” I told them.
Jeff gave a bitchy meow. Patches gave an equally bitchy glare.
Everett tapped his thumbs on the wheel. “So what do we do now?”
“I need to reach out to my brother.” I pulled one of the burner phones from my pocket. “And meet with him. Probably someplace public.”
“Public?” Everett glanced at me. “At this time of night? Everything is closed or deserted.”
I chewed my lip. “Shit. I mean, maybe Colin will know?—”
“Waffles!” He thumped the wheel with his hand. “Waffles? is open, and there are always people there this time of night!”
“Oh, hell. Good idea.” I thumbed a text to my brother.
Shit went bad. Reardon after us. Meet us at Waffles ASAP.
Then I paused and added,
Bring Tess’s car, NOT YOURS!
We slipped back into town undetected. Three patrol cars went screaming by us in the opposite direction, running full code despite the mostly deserted roads.
Everett looked in the rearview. “Think they’re looking for us?”
“Let’s hope so, because they’re going the wrong way.”
He grunted in agreement and continued making his way through the empty streets.
Up ahead, the familiar green neon lights of Waffles? came into view. I swallowed. The lights were on. There were cars in the parking lot. During the day, the restaurant and its part of the giant parking lot were out of place—cracked, pothole-riddled asphalt with weeds shooting up every which way around a diner that didn’t know what era it was from, all surrounded by gleaming modern structures.
Tonight, it was like the single oasis of life in an otherwise vacant and silent wasteland. Even the two fast food chains across the street were closed, their drive-thrus having shut down at like four in the morning. Their logos still glowed bright—red and yellow for one, orange and blue for the other—but the buildings were dark and the parking lots were empty.
Only Waffles? still buzzed with life, and I hoped to God my sister-in-law’s car was among those parked outside.
It wasn’t. I texted asking where he was, and he assured me he’d be here soon.
Wait for me inside. You’ll be safer.
No shit, but I didn’t like that he was as sure as I was that we weren’t safe unless we were out in public under bright lights.
It was what we had to work with, though.
Everett parked between a beater pickup and a classic Mustang, and he managed to avoid scraping our stolen—er, borrowed —car on either vehicle or the curb. As he shut off the engine, he looked over his shoulder. “What do we do with them?”
I peered at the cats and quirked my lips. “Well, we can’t just leave them.” Technically we probably could; it was a cool night, and if we cracked the windows, left them some water, and checked on them frequently, they’d be fine.
But this was a volatile situation, and I didn’t want my cats out of sight any more than I wanted my boyfriend out of sight.
“Let’s take them in with us.” I unbuckled my seat belt. “We’ll say they’re emotional support animals or something.”
I braced for Everett to have a very sound and logical argument for why that wouldn’t work—starting with their lack of harnesses indicating they were ESAs—but he just shrugged and got out.
On the way into Waffles?, my stomach wound itself into knots as I mentally rehearsed every argument we’d need to make.
The hostess was one I hadn’t seen before, and she looked about forty years late for retirement as she peered at the carriers. “Are those… cats?”
“They’re emotional support cats,” Everett announced cheerfully. “I was diagnosed with type three panic disorder that causes unregulated anxiety and?—”
“Right this way.” The hostess sounded like she couldn’t give less of a fuck about anything, including ESAs, and she grabbed two menus as she led us toward the far end of the restaurant.
The Goth kids were drinking coffee and nibbling on French fries, and one of them did a double take when he saw the carriers. “Are those cats? In a restaurant?”
“Yep!” Everett said. “Emotional supp?—”
“Oh my God, cats!” one of the other boys shoved his friend out of the way so he could get up from the bench. “Let me see!” He crouched in front of Patches’s carrier, his movements surprisingly nimble in those black skinny jeans and tightly-laced knee-high boots.
“Aiden. God.” One of the others scoffed and rolled his black-lined eyes. “You’re not supposed to bug working animals!”
The one called Aiden froze, hand still outstretched, and looked up at me. He was sheepish as hell, and I wondered if he was blushing beneath all that white makeup.
“Uh.” I cleared my throat. “It’s fine. They’re off-duty.”
I had a split second to worry I’d just tipped our hand to the hostess, but her give-a-fuck had clearly clocked out ages ago. She shrugged, put down our menus, and told us she’d be back with coffee.
Meanwhile, the Goth kids all piled out of their booth, cooing and smiling as they let the cats sniff their fingers.
“Man, I wish my mom would let me get a cat,” one said as Patches licked her finger.
“Parents are fascists,” another declared while scratching behind Jeff’s ear.
That was when I got an idea. I glanced over my shoulder. A car was pulling into the parking lot, and I thought it was Colin’s wife’s Toyota. He was here. And Reardon was hunting for us. And he’d probably radioed other cops to search for us. Which meant there was a chance—and I hoped it was a very slim one— that things could get ugly. I didn’t want my cats in the middle of it, and I also didn’t want to be distracted by them.
Facing the Goth kids, I whispered, “Hey, can you guys keep on eye on them? I, uh…” I nodded toward the parking lot. “We’ve got some shit to deal with, I don’t want them getting tangled up in it.”
Instantly, they were talking over each other with more liveliness than I’d ever imagined coming from this group.
“Hell, yeah! We’ll watch the cats!”
“Come sit with us, kitties! We’ve got bacon!” Beat. “Can they eat bacon?”
“They can eat bacon, yes. And thank you so much.”
“Don’t mention it.”
We handed over the carriers, and the kids made quick work of hiding them. Jeff was beneath a black trench coat between two of the boys, and Patches was under a pile of purses and hats.
The mix of cooing and pspspsing along with “we’re hiding fugitives!” and “fuck the police!” would’ve been hilarious if I wasn’t so damn scared.
At least my cats were relatively safe, and the kids were slipping them pieces of bacon, which kept them quiet.
“Keep your heads down, okay?” I whispered.
They all nodded. Someone leaned over a bit to shield Jeff even more.
Man. If we made it through this, the Goth kids’ coffee was on me for a year .
Colin came in the front of the restaurant and looked around. When he saw us, he started in our direction, his expression grim.
“What the fuck happened?” he demanded as he slid into the booth next to me. “I told you two to stay?—”
“Reardon found us,” I hissed.
Colin’s eyes went wide and he blanched. “What?”
“My guess?” I shrugged. “He and his boys knew either you or Dad would try to hide us.” I tipped my head toward the parking lot. “That’s why I told you to bring Tess’s car. I think there’s a tracker on yours.”
His lips parted, and he turned to Everett as if for confirmation.
Everett nodded like, duh, dude, what did you think happened?
Colin shook himself and turned to me. “How did you guys get back here, then?”
“Uh… well…” I cleared my throat. “So we were asleep, and?—”
“Detective Reardon broke in and started shooting, so we stole his squad car, then ditched it and stole some random car, which we definitely need to bring back in good condition because I don’t want to go to jail.”
My brother genuinely looked like his brain was shorting out. How his eye hadn’t started twitching, I had no idea. He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Kyle, what’s the real story?”
“Exactly what he?—”
“Hey!” Everett glared at Colin. “I’m not a fucking liar, dude.”
Colin sat back a bit, staring at Everett.
“Reardon left his car running outside,” Everett growled. “Kyle realized that probably means he wanted us to take it. Especially since Reardon wasn’t actually shooting at him all that much.”
“Shooting at—wait, he shot at you?”
I nodded. “And I shot back, but I wasn’t trying to hit him, and I don’t think he was trying to hit me either. He wanted to flush us out. It didn’t occur to me in the moment, but like—a cop car, outside, with the engine running?” I flailed a hand. “He fucking wanted us to steal it, probably so he could track us and so he could charge us with stealing a patrol car.”
Colin’s expression reminded me a lot of my piranhas. Not as pissy as Steve, but the sort of wide-eyed, open-mouthed look that Bill always got. After a second, he shook himself. “So you… ditched the squad car and stole?—”
“Yes!” Everett threw up his hands. “Now can we figure out a solution before Reardon finds us? Because I don’t think we have a lot of time before?—”
Right then, the Goth kids started making pig noises.
I whipped around.
And, oh… fuck my life.
One… two… six patrol cars came parading into the lot, filling the whole restaurant with flashing blue lights as if aliens were landing outside.
“Oh, what in the world?” Our long-suffering hostess huffed with annoyance and glared toward the kitchen. “Chet, I swear to God—if you brought your stash to work to sell again, I will fire your dumbass! Your mama won’t be able to get you out of?—”
“What?” came the affronted squawk from the kitchen. “I ain’t got none of that on me! Calm the hell down, Carol!”
With that, Chet and Carol were yelling at each other.
The Goth kids kept snorting like pigs.
And the cops had Waffles? surrounded.