Long Way Home
Page 90

This room is a makeshift office for the police department. It contains two chairs and a desk pushed against the wall. Like the other rooms, it also contains fancy computers and electronics.
I widen a hole in my jeans with my finger and wonder if this was the best outfit to pick. The detective said to wear whatever I’d normally wear, so I pulled my favorite pair of jeans and a purple T-shirt out of the dryer, then put on my tennis shoes, my bracelets, Dad’s watch and his cross.
After I returned home from the party, I found another note from the Riot in my English notebook. It had a time for the meet and they selected a new meeting place. Guess they feel like their safe house is a loss now that the police are aware of its existence.
My skin crawls and I rub at my arms. I hate that these bastards were in my house, in my room...obviously in there while my mother and brother were sleeping. They were in my home.
My home.
Sorrow fills me and it’s so heavy that I gasp as if I’m drowning. I didn’t get to say goodbye to Mom and Brandon. They left the party with waves from across the crowd and they were still asleep when I left this morning. I had no idea when they left last night that I’d be meeting with the Riot so soon today.
I wish I could have seen them this morning. Hugged them both a little tighter and told them that I loved them. My knee begins to bounce. Maybe it’s a good thing I didn’t get to say goodbye. They’d know something was wrong.
“Tell me where you’re meeting the Riot,” Chevy says for the millionth time.
And for the millionth time I answer, “No. The detective and I agreed that telling you that information is futile. It’s only going to cause you to want to go and your being there jeopardizes me and this plan.”
“I just want to know,” he says. “I’ve already promised to stay here. When I give my word, it’s a done deal.”
“Do you take me for a fool? If I tell you, you’ll stay because you promised, but then you’ll tell Oz or Razor and then they’ll show.”
Chevy only scowls.
“We have to trust the police on this. Period. Now, how are the Riot getting into my house?” I ask to change the conversation.
In the chair next to me, he’s acting like he’s relaxed with his legs kicked out and arms sprawled along the chair, but there’s an underlying current of anger that’s just as powerful as a live electrical wire. “We only have someone watching your house from the front. Once the club finds out about the wiretapping, we’ll have them watch your mom, brother and house twenty-four hours from all sides.”
“The club has holes.” Black holes where the Riot is slipping through.
Chevy folds his hands over his stomach. “I know, and that’s not going to go over well. Regardless, the safety of you, Razor and anyone close to the two of you will be the priority.”
I nudge Chevy with my foot. “Listen to you being all decisive. Making decisions about stuff the club doesn’t even know about yet. It’s like you’re a whole new man.”
“I’m not playing when it comes to you and Razor. You’re both putting yourselves on the line. Least we can do is back you up.” Chevy takes in the small room and continues to speak before I can react and inform him that’s he avoiding what I said. “It’s smart.”
“What?”
“For the police to have a place like this. If someone is working for them and they’re being followed, then they can’t go into a police station. But someone visiting a run-down trailer in the middle of a hundred run-down trailers? It’s a good cover.”
“We also have houses in middle-class neighborhoods and a mansion in a fancier place. We chose this place because it’s closer to where you’re going.” Detective Barlow strolls in and, like always, he’s in a white button-down shirt. “How are you doing, Violet?”
“I’m good.” If good means on the verge of puking. “So how does this wiretapping thing work? What happens if they pat me down? Should I have worn something bulkier so they don’t see the wires and stuff?”
The good detective comes close to smiling and that unnerves me. This man is not the type who smiles. He rubs his knuckles against his jaw. “Did you bring what I asked?”
Yes, and I don’t like the idea of this being in anyone else’s hands beside me and my mother’s. I reach into my pocket and extract Dad’s watch. It’s old-school. A Rolex my grandfather gave my dad the day I was born. Gramps told my dad that he had become a real man that day—bringing a child into the world.
The detective reaches for it and I curl my fingers around it, then bring it to my chest. “What are you doing?”
“We have a professional in the next room who is going to open the watch and insert a mini voice recorder. Once we’re done, my guy will take out the recorder and return the watch to exactly how it is now.”
“I already lost this watch once and it broke my mom’s heart. She’s keeping it in the curio cabinet. Do you know what that means? It’s precious to her.” It means it’s her world.
“You wore this watch when you were kidnapped. They won’t question it being on you again. I put another piece of jewelry on you or a button that doesn’t quite match or anything else, they might jump to the right conclusion. This watch will give me the audio recording I need and will keep you safe.”
Handing him Dad’s watch. It’s like he asked me to cut off my leg.