GATOR: Wolves MC (Riding With Wolves Book 2) (10 page)

September 15, 2015–Los Angeles, California

I didn’t have to pull Gator’s file out of my bag. The moment he mentioned it, I knew where he was going—and I couldn’t believe I hadn’t gone there myself, twelve years ago.

“Carl Struthers,” I said. I felt a flash of coldness sweep over my body. How did a girl who never looked into such simple facts ever manage to make detective one day? I was embarrassed of, and for, myself. Gator was right—for someone so smart, I sure missed a big one.

“That’s right,” Gator replied. “My father. We both have the same name. No junior or senior—just two Carl Struthers… And I reckon if your daddy gave a check to ‘Carl Struthers,’ he must’ve given it to
my
daddy, because he sure as hell never gave it to me.”

For twelve years, I had believed that Gator sold himself—his soul and our relationship—to my father for two thousand five hundred dollars. For twelve years, I had believed that Gator thought such a relatively small amount of money was more important than I was. For twelve years, I had believed… something that wasn’t true.

Still I couldn’t just take his word for it. He could’ve still been covering his ass or telling me what I wanted to hear for all I knew. Twelve years ago, I might not have asked the questions a detective asks—but I was a detective now, and I wouldn’t make the same mistake twice.

“So you’re tell me my dad paid your father, not you?” I asked. “And that you never knew about it… until now?”

“Yep,” Gator said, somewhat arrogantly, taking a drink of his beer. He’d been drinking pretty steadily since he came in, which was fine by me. Alcohol tends to give people loose lips, and there was still so much I wanted him to spill.

“So all these years…” I started saying something, but lost my train of thought halfway through the sentence. No matter what I was going to say, there was no way in the world it could summarize what I
wanted
to say.

Gator turned his head, ever so slightly, and looked at me, and I’m pretty sure I saw a glistening in his eye that wasn’t there before. It was a tear for sure—and it was about as big and salty as the one that was forming in my eye.

I’d never known that Gator got sick from the alligator bite. I never knew he had to finish school over the summer like he did. And I never knew it was his dad, not him, who took my father’s bribe. There was so, so much I didn’t know—and there was probably so much he didn’t know either. So I figured it was my turn to tell him
my
side of the story, as I remembered it.

“You know,” I said, turning my face away from Gator’s, “when you left my house that night, I wanted you to turn around and come back, too. I wanted you to stand up for yourself, me, and our relationship. And I was upset that you didn’t. I was heartbroken and mad.

“And I was even more pissed off when you didn’t try to call me the next day. I stayed mad at you for a few more days, then decided to call you and tell you off. I ended up leaving a message on your answering machine—and I called back the next day and did the same thing.

“My mom must have overheard me leaving you that second message because later that night, when my dad got home, the shit really hit the fan. He told me not to try and contact you anymore and reminded me of all those awful things he’d said before.

“He even went so far as to have our phone number changed the next day so that you couldn’t get ahold of me—and he kept watch on me like the Dickens, to make sure I didn’t try and sneak off.

“But I did manage to call and leave you one last message, which included my new phone number… Though I guess you never got that message—or any of the one’s before it—and after what happened a few days later, I never called again.”

I could tell that Gator was listening, too, and looking at me intently as I spoke, but I couldn’t stand to look at him as I did. I felt very foolish for my oversight and assumptions, but most of all, I felt like I’d somehow let him down, and I couldn’t bear to see the disappointment on his face.

“My dad came to me a few days later,” I picked up, “and told me that he’d
won
. He told me that everyone had a price, and that he’d just paid yours. Then he showed me a signed, cashed check for twenty five hundred dollars and said I’d be an idiot if I ever saw you again.

“I quickly jumped to the conclusion that the signature on the check was
yours
—and, given that conclusion, I decided my father was right. I went from lov—I went from having positive feelings about you to having negative ones. I hated you for selling yourself to my dad, for dismissing our relationship so quickly and easily, and for doing it all so cheaply. I didn’t want anything to do with you ever again. I was done. So I finished out my summer at home, left early for college, and tried to erase you from my mind.”

I still hadn’t looked at Gator, but from the sounds of things, I could tell he’d taken a few drinks from his pint glass as I talked. I heard him take another sip, followed by a sigh, and then there was a moment of silence, which felt too thick to tolerate.

“That’s pretty fucked up,” Gator finally said with a cold, hard laugh. “Neither one of us ever knew the full story—and it’s taken us this long to find out. But what are we gonna do about it now? My dad’s been dead about five years, so I can’t get on his case or ask him to issue a refund. And I’m sure
your
dad would stick by his decision to this day, especially given the predicament we’re now in, with this dead junkie and all. The past is the past. We can’t turn back time.”

“I’m sorry,” I said. I hadn’t intended to say it, but for some reason, I automatically did.

“I know,” Gator replied just as automatically. “I am, too.”

There was, again, a moment of silence.

“We need to worry about right now,” Gator said, breaking it. “Despite who did or didn’t do what twelve years ago, there’s someone else trying to do something
now
—and what they’re tryin’ to do ain’t good. We need to put our minds to
that
, instead of to the past, no matter how surprising this new information is.”

I was finally able to look at Gator again. And when I did, he wore the most enchanting, endearing smile. It made me feel comfortable, despite all that had just been said.

“You’re right,” I said, flashing Gator my own smile. I hoped it was nearly as kind and telling as his. “So where do we go from here? What do we do next? You said there are people I should talk to—who, what, where, and when?”

“It’s almost midnight right now,” Gator said, peering at the round clock on the wall. “It’s probably too late to do it tonight, especially since I’d have to make some calls first… So I say, let’s call it a night for tonight and get together in the morning, and I’ll have some of those people lined up for you.”

“Alright,” I replied, a little let down. To tell you the truth, I’d kind of hoped for some late-night excursion through L.A.’s underbelly, with Gator as my guide.

Gator chugged what was left of his drink and waited for me to finish mine. Then, he reached into his pocket, pulled out some cash, and put thirty dollars on the counter.

We both stood up at the same time and walked toward the door. As soon as we got to it, he stopped me.

“You know I’ll be following you, right?” he asked. “I’m not going to let you out of my sight.”

“I know,” I said. Earlier I’d held back tears, and now, I had to fight even harder to hold back my smile.

September 15, 2015–Los Angeles, California

It wasn’t a long drive back from the bar to the motel, but it gave me plenty of time to think. If I’d known back then what I knew now, would my life have turned out the same? Would Gator’s have? My mind flooded with a million questions, and each time I checked the rearview mirror, Gator was on my tail—just like he’d always, albeit secretly, been.

When I pulled into the motel parking lot, I waited until Gator pulled in to get out of my car. He parked several spots away from me and kept watch, like a sentinel, as I unloaded a few things from my car.

Barnes’ oversized trench coat and fedora reminded me that I’d given me my motel room key, and that I needed his. So I searched the front seat for his wallet, found the key, and took both with me as I headed past Gator, toward the motel entrance.

“May I?” he asked, stepping off of his bike as I drew near. He looked like a hunk from a Hollywood movie when he stepped off of that thing, and if it’d been a different time and place, I probably would’ve swooned.

“Hm?” I asked.

“Walk you to your room,” he said with a smile. “Like I said, no use going to the distance just to give up at the last bend. I should see you to your room safely.”

“Fine,” I said, smiling back a Gator. I only half-believed what he’d just said. It seemed that he, too, was looking forward to spending more time with me, even if it was just the few moments it took to walk me to my door.

My room was on the second floor of two-story motel, and Gator and I made it rather quickly up the steps. Once we were at my door, he stood by me for a moment, as if he was waiting for me to ask him in—and I probably would have, but then I did something clumsy instead… thankfully.

I was shifting my belongings to get a better hold of my key when I shifted a bit too suddenly and dropped my key on the floor. Gator and I bent over to get it at exactly the same time and nearly bumped heads.

Although we avoided a head on collision, my cellphone fell out of my pocket and landed on the ground. The back popped off and the battery came out, and Gator started picking up the pieces.

As Gator stood up, I felt his eyes examining me from foot to head, and a feeling spread over me, the likes of which I hadn’t felt in years. He was standing so close to me that I could feel his warmth and taste his cologne.

“You might need this,” he said, handing my multi-piece phone to me. “In case your boss tries to call you… or your husband calls to tell you sweet dreams.”

“Fat chance of
that
,” I said, taking the parts from him and dropping them in my bag. “For someone who’s kept his eyes on me for so long,” I added, mimicking his earlier tone, “you sure stopped watching at the wrong time.”

Gator tilted his head toward me in an inquisitive, intrigued, and intriguing way. His warmth felt even warmer now—almost hot.

“We’ve been divorced for almost three years,” I informed him. “I just hung onto to my married name for convenience’s sake.”

“Really?” Gator asked with an indescribable twinkle in his eye. “Go figure! I thought you were still happily married, living behind a white picket fence somewhere, with two kids and a big yellow dog.”

“Nope,” I replied. “No husband, no picket fence, no dog, and no kids. But—”

Suddenly, I thought of Barnes again, and about how driving from San Fran to L.A. with him was like driving with a kid, and probably the closest experience I’d ever have to having one. I wondered how the poor rookie was doing after breaking his lean protein diet and tossing his late lunch.
And
I hoped that he wasn’t spying on me and Gator from his room, since the sight of us together like this would’ve been enough to raise the suspicions of even a novice like him.

With all these things in mind, I glanced down toward Barnes’ room. And
instantly
, my skin felt hard and on fire, and it felt like someone was playing the drums in my head.

“Hold this,” I said, pushing my bag into Gator’s arms. “And
stay here
.”

I reached to my holster and removed my weapon as I slowly crept up to the room three doors down from mine. The door was cracked open about six inches, which wasn’t enough to see into the room, but I could see enough to tell that there didn’t seem to be any activity or motion going on within.

Still, I crept slowly. Then I kicked the door open and rolled to the other side.

Nothing happened from inside the room, or from outside of it. Gator was still motionless a few yards away, and I looked at him before peeking around the doorframe.

I saw no one in front of me, no one across from me, or no one to my side. But I let out the most god-awful whimper—the most painful, regretful shriek—when I saw who was below, on the floor.

“Barnes,” I said, as soon as I could speak again. I turned to look at Gator. “My partner,” I told him, “is dead.”

Gator ran down to my side.

“What?” he asked in a loud whisper.

But as soon as he saw what I saw, he didn’t need me to repeat what I’d said.

I may not have needed to repeat it. But I did have to correct it.

“Someone killed him,” I said, stating the obvious. Barnes wasn’t just lying on the floor dead, like some kid who had an untimely heart attack or stroke. His throat—like John “Pigpen” Berry’s—had been slashed. Though it appeared to be slashed by the large kitchen knife that was tossed at his side, not by a switchblade.

“I don’t know why they chose to kill
him
,” Gator said, “but whatever the case, we gotta get the hell outta here…
now
.”

“This was supposed to be my room,” I said, feeling a little dizzy.

“Huh?” Gator asked.

“This room was registered under
my
name,” I explained. “I switched keys with Barnes at the station, because he left his key in the car. This room was supposed to be
mine
.”

I put my weapon back in my holster and ran my hand over my forehead. “Whoever killed Barnes was supposed to kill
me
,” I added. I tried to collect myself, but I felt like I was falling to pieces, just like my cell phone had done.

“Probably so,” Gator said, wrapping his arm around me to steady me. I hadn’t even noticed that I’d inadvertently begun to sway. “I told you, there’s some greater plan here, and we’re all just pawns. We need to get out of here before
they
make their next move.”

“Where are we going?” I asked. “Shouldn’t I call this in? I need to call my chief and get local out here and—”

“
You need to come with me
,” Gator said, firmly interrupting me. “We need to get out of here pronto and go somewhere safe.
Then
we’ll take care of all the other details.”

Gator grabbed me by the arm and pulled me out of the motel room, leaving the door open. He still had my bag in his hands, but he handed it to me as soon as we got to the stairs. I was slowly but surely pulling myself back together, but to say the least, I still wasn’t myself yet.

“Get in your car and drive it back to L.A.P.D. Central Station,” Gator said. “Park in the back, and I’ll be around to get you on my bike.”

I nodded my head and ran to my car, then did as Gator had instructed. If the drive from the bar to the motel was quick, it felt like the one from the motel to the station was even quicker. It went by in a flash—in an instant—and to tell you the truth, I really don’t remember a damn thing about it.

All I know is that I did as I was told, like a robot—and wham, bam, before I knew it, I was behind L.A.P.D. Central Station, waiting for Gator’s headlights to catch my eyes. I didn’t know from which direction he’d be headed, until a moment later, when he drove toward me in the opposing lane.

The brightness of his headlights caught me a little off guard, and I tried to shield my eyes by turning them down and to the right. And when I did, I was caught off guard again. I knew that Barnes’ oversized trench coat and fedora were there, but still, I felt alarmed and unnerved to see them.

I grabbed my bag, hopped out of my car, and crossed the street to where Gator had pulled over. Then I climbed on the back of his bike and wrapped one arm around his waist. My keys were still in my other hand, and before Gator pulled onto the street again, I held my hand out in the air and pressed the “lock” button on my keychain.

Given, I don’t usually lock my car. But I figured Barnes’ fiancée might want his stuff, and I owed it to them both to protect his belongings.

As Gator drove off into the cool midnight air, I buried my head into his back, between his shoulders, and wept. I’d chosen Barnes as my partner for this trip and interrogation for a reason, remember—and that choice was now something that I’d never forget… and always regret.