64. Bull

64

Bull

At the Stallion Inn , I marched right up to the desk and told the clerk to give me Agent Calahan’s room number. He gave me a whole load of horseshit about privacy laws, so I picked him up by the shirt and pressed his back against the ceiling. He got a lot more cooperative after that.

I didn’t mean to bust the lock on Calahan’s door. I just twisted the handle and pushed and the damn thing broke in my hand. Shitty cheap motel locks.

Calahan was sitting on the bed, stripped to the waist. Damn city boy wasn’t as big as me, but he was ripped. He looked like a damn underwear model. He dived for his holster when the door broke and, an instant later, I was staring down the barrel of a handgun.

Then he saw it was me and lowered the gun. I was a little offended.

“I’m not trying to take your girlfriend,” Calahan growled. “Cute as she is. So if this is some jealous rage thing you can kiss— ”

I stepped into the room. “Some guy took her. Antonio. Said he was her cousin, but—”

“ Took her?!”

“He went over to her place and they had a fight and—there’s blood. And she’s gone. And so’s his car.”

“ Fuck! I fucking knew it. I knew they’d find her.” He grabbed his cell phone and started dialing.

“Who? Who is he?”

He gave me a disbelieving look. I shook my head firmly, my anger building. Yeah, I’m really that dumb, I thought. Just tell me.

His call connected so I had to wait again. Agent Samuel Calahan, FBI, he said, and then he spat out instructions to the local police in rapid-fire jargon. Then he did the same thing with the state police and the FBI. I gave him the best description of the car that I could.

When he finally put the phone down, I said, “ So? Who is this guy? Who’s got Lily?”

He looked at me tiredly. “Jesus. She really didn’t tell you?”

The frustration was scalding hot inside me, now. I advanced on him. “ No! So for the love of God will you please give me a straight fucking answer?”

Calahan gave a long sigh. “Your girlfriend’s real name is Tessa. And she’s the niece of Erico Fiorentini, a mob boss in New York. She ran away two years ago. That guy’s taking her back to him.”

My head spun as if I’d downed a whole bottle of whisky. Tessa? This is what she’d been hiding? “You’re not here to arrest her?” I asked.

“ Arrest her? I was here to try to get her to testify against her uncle.” Calahan frowned. “What the hell would I be arresting her for? ”

Shit. He had no idea about the passports. “Doesn’t matter,” I said. I grabbed his wrist and hauled him off the bed. “Come on. We gotta go.”

“Go where? I want to find her as much as you do, but—”

“There’s only one damn road to the highway. You got one of those red flashing lights on your car?”

We’d almost given up hope when we got a call from the state police. A motorcycle cop had pulled over a car matching my description just a few miles ahead. Calahan told him to wait.

When we pulled up behind them at the side of the road, I was out almost before the car had stopped moving. The rage was swelling inside me now like a slow-motion explosion, filling every muscle and making it hard and ready. As I strode towards the car, I was panting with it, snorting like a—

“Bull—” said Calahan behind me.

I ignored him.

Antonio was alone in the car. Wrenching open the driver’s door, I hauled him out. He was a big guy but I was bigger and plenty angrier. I lifted him off his feet and slammed him down on the car’s roof.

Calahan and the motorcycle cop grabbed me from behind, one on each shoulder. I shook them off like flies, got a fresh grip on the guy, and slammed him down on the roof again, so hard his teeth rattled.

“BULL!” yelled Calahan.

“Fuck off,” I growled. The anger was throbbing through my veins, red hot and insidious. Anger at him for what he’d done to her. Anger at her for lying to me. Anger at myself for sending him over to her place. This is all my fault.

I lifted the guy off the roof and drew back my fist.

There was a metallic click. When I glanced around, Calahan was pointing his gun at me. This time, he looked serious. “ Back off,” he told me.

I backed off about an inch. “Where is she?” I growled at Antonio. “The trunk?” I glanced at Calahan. “Check the trunk.”

Calahan lowered the gun a little and tried the trunk. “It’s locked.”

“ Open the damn trunk!” I roared in the guy’s face. I threw him towards the rear of the car.

He sprawled on the ground, rolled and staggered to his feet. “I want a lawyer,” he panted.

I growled.

“You don’t open that trunk in the next few seconds,” Calahan told him, “that guy’s going to tear you apart. And I’m not inclined to stop him.”

I started to warm to Calahan a little.

Hands shaking, Antonio unlocked the trunk. Calahan shone a flashlight into the depths. My stomach knotted as I remembered the blood and piss at the bus. Was she tied up? Alive? Dead?

I stepped forward to look.

The trunk was empty.