I pulled up alongside the curb in front of his house and cut the ignition with a frown. He had a new front door and the full length window that lined the side was covered with a strip of plywood. That didn’t sit well. I pulled his Ruger out of my ankle holster and checked to make sure there was a bullet in the chamber, then I got out of the car and headed down his side yard. I flipped the latch on the gate and circled around the back yard.
The sight of his deck was familiar and enough to slow my thrumming heartbeat. I peered in through the sliding glass door. The house looked much as I’d left it when we parted, with the exception of a new rug in the entryway. Something wasn’t right.
Behind me, the sun dipped toward the horizon and I groaned. It was clear Golden wasn’t home, but something had happened here. I had his phone number, but I still didn’t have a phone, not having replaced mine after the attack.
“Idiot.”
I jogged back to my car and drove to the liquor store to buy a burner. I dialed the number I knew to be his, only to find it had been disconnected. I punched my steering wheel and threw the phone in the back seat.
Fuck.
Come on, Sage. Get it together.
Calm down and think this through.
His friends.
The doctor.
I hadn’t bothered to pull records on all of his friends, but I knew where the doctor worked, so I drove to First Presbyterian Hospital and called to see if he was on duty, which he was. I waited outside the staff entrance for just over four hours before a tired and battered-looking man appeared in faded blue scrubs and black sneakers. His badge identified him as Ronan Thompson, the face that had evaded me for weeks. The man who’d saved my life.
“Hey, Doc,” I greeted, uncrossing my legs and pushing up out of the uncomfortable wood and metal bench I’d been parked on for the duration.
He turned his head to see where the voice had come from and when his stare landed on me, his eyes widened. He skittered backward, shoulders slamming against the wall. He slid along the wall away from me, holding his hands up to fend me off.
“Please, no,” he said, a tight grimace on his face.
“Please no, what?” I asked, stalling in my approach.
My halt seemed to trigger something in him, and he stopped moving away, dropping his hands to his sides and flattening them against the wall.
“You’re not here to kill me?” Ronan asked, relief clear in his voice
“Why would I kill you?”
“Someone wants to.” He narrowed his eyes.
“What are you talking about?”
Instinctively, I looked over my shoulder, checked our surroundings, slipped my hand into my jacket to check my holster. Ronan seemed to follow my stare as I scanned the public space, offering me a tentative half smile.
“I try to not linger,” he said with a loud exhale. “Do you want to come back to the condo and talk?”
“I’m honestly just looking for Golden,” I told him, not eager to join him for tea and biscuits.
“Yeah.” He winced. “You should come to the condo. I don’t live far and it’s secure.”
“Give me the address and I'll follow you.”
“The gate code…”
I held up my hand to silence him. What a fucking luxury to not make a life out of following a checklist of precautions when there was always someone who could be in earshot.
“Just wait for me and I’ll follow you in,” I said.
He gave me a nod.
“And I know what kind of car you have,” I told him, ignoring the expression that flitted across his face at the admission, “so I’ll wait for you at the exit.”
