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“Was he ... could you tell ...” Claire clamped a hand over her mouth, unable to finish.
“He was bloody,” Missy said, filling in the blanks. “But he was breathing when they put him in a van.”
“What’s going on?” I asked.
Enough standing on the sidelines. It was time not just to intervene, but to take charge. I wouldn’t allow Martin to fuck up the lives of people I cared about.
“Something with Martin.” Rachel took Claire’s hand and mine. “Did you know Kyle works for Martin Skellin?” she asked me.
“No.” My gaze hardened. The ice water in my veins was solid ice now.
“Kyle didn’t know his mother was Martin’s sister.” Rachel gave me a disbelieving look. I was having a hard time absorbing that bit of information too. “Why didn’t she tell him?”
I shrugged. “I guess because she felt like she didn’t have a family anymore since they all turned their backs on her.”
“Missy,” Claire said into her phone. I hadn’t realized her friend was still on the line. “What’s going on? Are you still there?”
“Yes, Claire. I’m here. Sorry. Tommy and his dad just arrived. I called Tommy before you.”
Barry was there? On the scene with Martin lurking around?
No, no, no.Now I was the one trembling.
“Why?” Claire asked Missy.
“Because we’re going to get Kyle,” Missy said.
“Going to get him where?” Claire asked.
She didn’t understand, but I did even before Missy answered.
“Martin’s compound.”
“We’re going there too. We’ll meet you there,” Claire said and ended the call.
Before she could even ask, I said, “I’ll take you.”
Rachel stood. “You’re not leaving me out. I’m coming with you.”
• • •
Barry
I peeled some rubber off my expensive new tires turning sharply into the subsidized apartment complex where Addy used to live.
Spotting Missy, I slammed on the brakes. When Tommy hopped out, I threw open my door and stepped my thick-soled boots on the pavement, littered with broken glass and discarded needles.
“Are you okay?” I asked, watching my son stride to his friend’s side.
Missy nodded and tucked the phone she’d called us on into the front pocket of her jeans.
“Get her in the Z,” I told Tommy.
Standing lookout while he threw his arm around Missy to lead her to the side of the Camaro, I noted the usual suspects—druggies, pimps, and prostitutes—but no dealer that I could tell.
I turned toward the car. “Strap in.”
“Yeah, Pop, of course. I know how you drive.”
