If only I could get her to listen to me, but once she’s got her mind set, she’s stubborn as hell. I bet that biker friend of hers could stop her from this madness; unfortunately, I don’t have his number. I tap my finger some more and an idea comes to me. I know someone who might be able to get in touch with him.
I do a quick search on my phone and call the diner, then ask to speak to the waitress named Savannah.
A hissy older woman, who sounds put out, snaps, “Just a minute.”
Finally, I hear the phone clatter as it’s picked up. “Hello?”
“Hi, Savannah?”
“Yes?”
“My name is Bethany. You don’t know me, but are you the waitress involved with one of those bikers? The Kings of Carnage?”
“Who are you? Why are you asking?”
“My friend is seeing a guy named Sly. She’s about to do something really stupid, and I think he may be the only one who can stop her. I need to get a message to him. I thought maybe you could help me. Am I wrong?”
“Um, well, I might be able to get a message through. What’s your number? Maybe I can have him call you.”
I give her my number. “Just tell him, Michaela is up on Cotton Road, and she’s about to do something that’s going to put her in danger. I hope he’ll understand, and I hope he’ll care.”
“Cotton Road. Got it. I’ll do what I can, Bethany.”
“Thank you, Savannah.” I hang up and wait.
Sly—
Just as Bash leans over the green felt with a pool cue in hand, preparing to make a shot, he looks over and asks, “Come to think of it, where’d you disappear to last night?”
I wait until he pulls back his cue, and say, “Ask your old lady.”
He skews his shot and scratches, then straightens and glares at my grinning face. “Now, see, why you gotta be a dick?”
I chuckle and his phone goes off. He pulls it out.
“Hey, angel. How’s my girl?”
I take my shot and sink the cue ball. Fucking hell.
North sits on a barstool, watching. He chuckles. “Karma’s a bitch. But then you’re game’s been in the toilet all day. What the fuck’s the matter with you? Thought you got your dick wet last night.”
I cut my eyes to him. “Shut up, asshole.”
He makes a kissy face at me.
Bash taps my arm, his ear still to the phone. “Write this number down.”
I frown at him. The fuck? Like I’ve got a pen. I huff and pull my cell out and type the number in as he reels it off.
“Cotton Road. Got it. Thanks, babe.” He ends the call and slides the phone in his pocket, then looks at me. “Your girl might be in trouble. Some chick named Bethany called the diner and asked for Savannah. Wanted to know if she could get a message through to you. Says Michaela is up on Cotton Road and she’s about to get herself in some trouble.”
I know exactly who lives up on Cotton Road. Goddamn it. I’m making the call before he even finishes, striding out to my bike as I do.
I hear North shout, “Call us if you need backup, brother.”
I lift an arm in acknowledgement as I push through the door. Bethany picks up on the first ring.
“Hello.”
“Babe, it’s Sly. Talk to me.”
“Oh, thank God you called. She’s gone off the deep end. She made me drive her up here. She’s going to try to break into Arthur Stanfield’s house.”
“What the fuck for?”
“She’s got it in her head there’s evidence inside that will prove he killed her father.”
“Jesus Christ.” I run a hand down my face. I can’t ride the bike and talk. I’m itching to go, so I’m short with her. “Tell me where the fuck you are.”
“I’m parked at four ninety-three. Stanfield’s gated driveway is supposed to be just over the rise. She jogged off that way about ten minutes ago.”
“What kind of car you got, Bethany?”
“Silver Nissan Sentra.”
“I’m headed your way.” I disconnect and roar out onto the highway. I roughly know the location of Cotton Road. There’s a turn off at that restaurant where I spotted Michaela with Stanfield. It leads back around the golf course. I’m pretty sure it’s all one big, long road, so I hope it’ll be easy to find.
Thirty-Two
Michaela—
I find Arthur’s gate and glance around. I jog past twenty yards, and then double back, checking the area. I see no one. So I stop before I reach the gate, bending over like I need to catch my breath, and then scan the area. There’s a buzzer box and a camera high up on a post aimed at the drive. The fence is a six-foot-high black wrought iron; bushes run along the front. I walk in a circle, cooling off, then duck into the shrubs.
I hesitate, stalling as I reconsider this whole plan. Maybe Bethany is right. Maybe this is crazy. If Arthur catches me, what do I say?
If he were capable of killing Da, what would stop him from doing the same to me? If he thinks I’m getting suspicious …
Just how dangerous this all really is finally sinks in. But if I can’t prove my father was murdered, I’ll lose the bar. I’ve got to do this. I have no choice.
Shit, just do it, Michaela. Don’t chicken out now. I grab the top rail between the vertical bars and hoist myself up. I get my foot up and then vault over, landing in a squat. I’m in! I glance around, wondering if he has any guard dogs. The land is made up of rolling green grass with tall pines and magnolias. A row of azalea bushes lines the drive up to the estate home. Perhaps if I use them for concealment, I can make it up to the house unseen. I dash forward, hide behind one, and scope out the place. I can’t see the tennis courts from here, but I hear a ping-ponging ball sound, followed by a mechanical sound. I bet he has an automatic ball server. Good. That means he’s alone out there.
I think I hear a motorcycle in the distance, but the sound fades and is gone. I start nibbling on my bottom lip. Should I try the front entrance? No, if any door is going to be open, it’s going to be the back door, the one he used when he walked out to the courts.
I study the home and wonder how many servants he has? God, I wish I’d paid more attention at dinner. I remember him saying he was lonely with his wife gone. But would he have a cook? A housekeeper? Someone who lives in? I don’t see any service vehicles—no maintenance repair van, no brightly painted maid-service car.
I hear a twig snap behind me, and turn, practically jumping out of my skin when I see a figure squatting in about the same spot where I’d climbed the fence.
“Michaela,” I hear a voice hiss.
“Sly?”
“Get your ass over here.”
“No. Go home, Sly.”
He bends over and shuffles quickly to my spot behind the bush.
“What the fuck are you doing, woman?”
“None of your business. How did you know I was here?”
“Bethany.”
“Bethany? She doesn’t have your number.”
“She called Savannah. Savannah called Bash, Bash told me. I got on my bike and raced over here to stop you from doing something fucking stupid like breaking and entering. A felony, by the way, which carries prison time if you aren’t met with a Smith and Wesson in the hands of the homeowner first.”