Golden Trail (22 page)

“Listen Dave, Roc and I were supposed to go
pick up some shit from her old house. We got our wires crossed. I
thought she was meeting me at my place but she didn’t show. She’s
not at her place either. I figure she went over there already and
Astley’s over there with his girl. Do you have the address?”

There was silence, then, “He’s over
there?”

Layne bleeped the doors on his truck.
“Yeah.”

“He was supposed to take off so she could do
what she had to do,” Dave informed him.

“We ran into him at dinner last night and he
decided he didn’t want to be so cooperative,” Layne explained.

There was more silence, then, quietly, “That
guy’s a piece of work.”

“Yeah, Dave. Do you have the address?” Layne
asked as he swung into the driver’s seat.

“One three three Greenbriar. The
Heritage.”

“Got it, thanks,” Layne said and flipped his
phone closed, started up the truck, backed out of his space and
headed to The Heritage.

He’d never been to Rocky’s place but he’d
been to The Heritage. He had a couple of clients who lived there.
The development was exclusive, the lots large, the houses huge, the
estates spread-out. The space of The Hermitage was vast but there
weren’t a lot of homes in it. One couldn’t say that the ‘burg
didn’t have its elite but there weren’t that many of them and even
fewer who could afford a place on The Heritage. Most of the
occupants of The Heritage worked and socialized in Indy, some of
them even commuted to Chicago.

Layne didn’t have trouble finding one three
three Greenbriar. He stopped across the street and looked at
Rocky’s house. Like Merry said, it was on the manmade lake and it
was a monster. He couldn’t visualize a Rocky, drinking beer, eating
pizza, jumping up and down like a crazy woman when Tripp made his
touchdown and telling her students rock stars were storytellers
living in that behemoth. He could, however, visualize the Rocky of
last night with that dress and those shoes living there.

One of the three garage doors was open and a
shiny, silver Aston Martin was in the bay. Outside in the drive was
a yellow Corvette, Marissa’s new toy that Layne’s searches had
shown that Astley had bought for her just over four weeks ago.

Rocky’s Mercedes was nowhere to be seen and
there were no other cars in the drive or on the street. Layne
looked at the clock on his dash to see it wasn’t yet eleven. She
said what she had to do wouldn’t take long but it had to take
longer than an hour unless she went early.

He pulled out of The Heritage and went to
his offices, opening them up, he fired up his computer and looked
up Chip Judd’s address. He wrote it down, shut down his computer,
locked down the offices and scanned the street when he went
outside. Then he hit Mimi’s for a coffee and to check if Rocky was
in there.

She wasn’t.

He swung by Josie Judd’s and saw no
Mercedes, not on the street or in the drive. Layne then rolled by
Colt’s, just in case she went to Feb or Violet.

No Mercedes.

His next stop was Dave’s. No Mercedes. Next
was Merry’s. No Mercedes, not in the lot in front of Merry’s place
and, gliding through the complex, not anywhere.

Layne swung into a spot in front of Merry’s
unit and looked up at it. It wasn’t really even a condo, the doors
opened to the elements. It was an apartment complex, maybe nicer
than some, not others. They called them condos because you could
purchase the units even though most were rented out by their
owners.

Layne sat there thinking that, apparently,
during the getting to know you again part of the operation, Layne
had not gotten to know Rocky very well. He was out of leads.

Layne leaned forward and pulled out his
phone. He scrolled to the second number down from his recent calls
file and hit go.

He put the phone to his ear and practiced
deep breathing as it rang.

“You’ve reached Rocky’s voicemail… leave me
a message.”

“You get this, Roc, you call me,” Layne
growled, flipped the phone shut, tossed it on the dash and headed
home.

* * * * *

Layne lounged on his couch, his cell on the
armrest, his finger tapping it.

Surrounding his feet on the coffee table was
the detritus of a Sunday at home watching football with his boys.
Empty chip bags. A bowl of drying out, spiced, once-melted yellow
cheese. Microwave popcorn packets. Empty pop cans and beer bottles.
Mostly empty boxes of cookies.

Tripp was upstairs at Layne’s computer doing
homework.

Jasper was in the armchair at the left of
the couch marathon texting Keira, his buds and half the population
of Indiana.

It was after six o’clock, night had fallen
and Rocky hadn’t phoned.

Layne made a decision.

Actually, he made three.

“Jas,” Layne called and Jasper’s head came
up. “Got things to do. Tomorrow morning, I’ll give you money and
you and Tripp need to swing by the grocery store after
practice.”

“For what?” Jasper asked and Layne’s eyes
swept the coffee table before going back to his son.

“For everything,” he answered and Jas
grinned. “Pick this shit up before goin’ to bed tonight, yeah?”
Layne indicated what shit he meant by dipping his head toward the
coffee table.

Jasper sighed then nodded.

“Got another job for you,” Layne went
on.

“What?” Jasper asked, not belligerent,
asshole teenaged kid, just resigned, teenaged kid. He thought he’d
scored more chores but he wasn’t shoveling attitude.

Progress.

Layne took his feet off the coffee table,
put them on the floor and leaned his elbows into his knees, his
eyes never leaving his son. “I need you to get me your Mom’s work
schedule.”

Jasper straightened in his chair. “Why?”

Layne told him straight out. “’Cause I got
two options with this showdown with Stew. I hit him at work, I got
witnesses. I don’t give a fuck about that but that shit could get
back to your Mom. I hit him at home, when your Mom is at work, I
got no witnesses and it’s up to Stew whether he wants to share. I
reckon he won’t want to share. I’m pickin’ option two, I don’t know
when I’ll do it but it’ll help me out knowin’ when your Mom’ll be
outta the house.”

Jasper stared at him awhile before
nodding.

Layne nabbed his phone and pushed up from
the couch, muttering, “Sooner the better, Bud.”

“Right,” Jasper replied.

On his feet, Layne looked down at his son.
“Be smart about it, yeah? I don’t want her cottoning on.”

“I’ll be smart,” Jasper assured and Layne
knew he would.

“I gotta go out. I don’t know when I’ll be
back. I’ll have my cell, you need anything.”

“Okay, Dad.”

Layne turned toward the kitchen saying,
“Later, Bud.”

“Later, Dad.”

Layne walked to the kitchen shouting up the
stairs, “Goin’ out, Tripp!”

“Okay Dad!” Tripp shouted back.

“You help your brother clean up the mess in
the living room, got me?”

“Got you!”

Layne grabbed his keys, went to his truck
and drove to Rocky’s.

The Merc was parked in a spot.

He swung the Suburban in beside it and took
his time switching off the ignition, jumping down from the truck
and walking up to her apartment. He did this in an effort to
control his temper. Last night had not been good and Rocky had left
in a highly emotional state which was worsened by the fact that she
felt humiliated after taking that fall. Even though it was
absolutely not cool she disappeared, there were reasons and Layne
knew he needed to handle this situation with care.

He hit her buzzer and waited. It took awhile
but the door opened two inches. Layne could see Rocky, hair back in
a ponytail, through the shiny silver latch that secured the
door.

Layne’s control on his temper slipped.

“Open the latch, Rocky,” he ordered.

“Layne, now’s not a good time. I’ve got
papers to grade.”

His control slipped further.

“Open the latch,” he repeated.

“Really, Layne, I’m being serious. This is
going to take all night.”

His control slipped even further.

“Open the fuckin’ latch, Roc.”

“I don’t think –”

He lost his hold on his temper.

“Okay, then step back,” he demanded.

Through the small space, he saw her eyes
widen. “Why?”

“’Cause I don’t want you to get hurt when I
kick open the goddamned door,” he gritted out.

She studied him and he saw she understood
instantly now was not the time for a stare down. The door closed
and immediately opened. Layne put a hand on it and shoved in,
throwing the door to behind him so hard it slammed.

Rocky was retreating. Hair in that goddamned
ponytail. Faded jeans hanging low on her hips and clinging in all
the right places, a split in the left knee. A tight blue tee with
the word “Butler” across the tits. An ace bandage wrapped tight
around her right wrist.

The bandage should have served to remind him
he should take a minute to calm the fuck down.

It didn’t.

He advanced and she kept retreating.

“Layne –” she began, lifting up her bandaged
hand.

He cut her off. “We had plans today.”

She kept retreating, Layne kept
advancing.

“I know but I changed my mind,” she told
him.

He tilted his head to the side and backed
her into her kitchen. “You changed your mind?”

“Yeah, I changed my mind.” She hit counter
and pressed back.

Layne invaded her space and pressed in,
putting a hand on the counter by either side of her waist, he
tipped his head forward to look down at her.

“You think to tell me there was a change of
plans?”

“I –”

“Maybe pick up one of the four times I
called you?”

“Layne, it –”

“Call me back after I left a message?”

“I thought –”

“Where have you been all day?”

Her head jerked. “What?”

“Where have you been all day?”

“I… went somewhere. To think.”

“Where?”

“Somewhere, Layne!” she snapped. “Would you
please move back?”

“Where… have you been… all day?”

“It’s none of your business, Layne, step
back!”

Layne tipped his head deeper and got into
her face. “
Where the fuck have you been all day!
” he
roared.

“
Step back!
” she shouted.

“Rocky, we’re workin’ an operation and you
do
not
fuckin’
disappear
in the middle of a
fucking operation!
”

“As you can see, I was
fine!
”

“Yeah, but all day, I didn’t fuckin’ know
that!”

“Now you do!”

He returned to his earlier subject. “Where
have been all day?”

“Layne –”

“
Tell me, goddammit!
” he shouted.

“
At Mom’s grave!
” she shouted back
and Layne’s body locked. “Step back!”

His voice had quieted when he asked, “You
were at your mother’s grave?”

“Yes, I go there when I have to think. Now
step back.”

He didn’t step back. He pressed forward.

“And what were you thinkin’ about Roc?”

She tossed her head, looked him in the eye
and declared, “I’m quitting.”

“You’re quitting?”

“Yes.”

“Quitting what?”

“Our operation.”

“You’re quitting our operation,” Layne
repeated.

“Yes,” Rocky hissed.

Layne scowled down at her then his eyes went
over her shoulder and he stared at the black-tiled backsplash.

“Step back,” she demanded.

He looked back at her. “You can’t quit.
You’re my cover.”

“I can. We both know that’s bullshit. You
can do your thing without me providing cover.”

“Yeah, that was true two weeks ago. Now,
since we’ve started this shit, the whole town’s in on it and you’re
bonding with Rutledge, it isn’t true.”

“I’m sure we can figure something out.”

“You’re sure?” he asked.

“Yes, I’m sure,” she answered.

“How sure, Roc?”

“
Very
sure, Layne. Now, I asked you,
step back.
”

“Tripp says hi.”

She went still and stared up at him, her
face going pale.

Too pissed at that point to do anything but,
Layne pushed it. “And Jasper wants me to talk to you about comin’
over when he makes pasta bake for Keira. Apparently, Keira thinks
you’re the shit. And I know Jas thinks Keira is the shit. He wants
to impress her and, he’s my boy, I want him to have what he
wants.”

“Layne,” she whispered.

“You got us all in your snare, sweetcheeks,
we’re bound up in it. You can’t cut us loose just because of
whatever-the-fuck is goin’ on in that head of yours. This time,
baby, with my boys in the mix, you can’t cut us loose and go your
merry fuckin’ way because I’m not gonna
let
you cut us
loose.”

“Layne,” she repeated on another
whisper.

“You are not quitting. You are not backin’
out. I know you’re good at that, sweetcheeks, but I gotta
disappoint you. This time you’re gonna see it through to the bitter
fuckin’ end.”

He pushed away from the counter and went to
her fridge, opening it, he saw two brown bottles of fancy-ass beer.
He grabbed one and shut the fridge. He went to the counter and
reckoned that she kept her utensils close to the fridge, an area
where she’d prepare food, it made more sense not to have to walk
far to get what she needed. He opened the drawer and found the
bottle opener, he used it, flipped the cap on the counter, tossed
the opener in the drawer and closed it with his hip.

Then he turned to her before taking a
pull.

She was still pressed against the counter
where he left her, her elbows back, the palms of her hands on the
counter. Her eyes were on him and he didn’t allow himself to
process the look on her face.