He might regret letting Jax know that. After all, if he wanted to, he could leverage Ryson’s position and force his hand to get something the lieutenant didn’t want to give him.
Cops streamed across the front yard, and a small team of officers—one of whom had a battering ram—approached thedoor. They were inside in less than a minute, storming the house.
“Hey.”
Jax glanced over his shoulder and spotted Zeyla approaching, wearing her usual black jeans and sweater, but with a jacket over it and no hat or gloves. Her nose was red.
Jax said, “Hang back until they clear it.”
She nodded but still followed behind him to the front door. “Is it weird that I want them to be in there as much as I don’t want them to be in there?”
“I’d rather they’d never been taken in the first place.” Jax stepped up onto the front stoop, beside which someone had taped a now-fadedNo Solicitingsign. “But that’s not real life.”
Inside, he could hear the police yelling, clearing rooms as they went.
Jax heard enough that he stepped inside. “Where have you been?”
She shrugged. “Around.”
He hadn’t seen her much since the family dinner at the Rysons’. “Have you heard from Ramon at all?”
She shook her head, looking like she was trying to convince him it wasn’t a big deal. There was no indication she cared that Ramon was currently AWOL, doing whatever with Bear and his team.
Besides, they all had more important things to do here.
A younger officer circled back to the front entry. Blond hair shaved tight on the sides, slightly longer on top. Light blue eyes. “The lieutenant said to join him. Down the hall.” The guy caught sight of Zeyla and blinked, standing there dumbstruck.
Jax heard her snort under her breath. He didn’t blame the guy, though. She had that warrior-princess thing going on, a little edgier than Kenna. An air of danger that some guys liked.This guy didn’t know who she was or why she was at an active scene. All of it made her that much more interesting.
Jax headed down the hall toward the gathering of cops at a doorway. “Ryson!”
“In here,” he called back.
Ryson was on the other side of the hall, opposite the gathering of cops, alone in the room with the suspect’s things.
Jax asked, “What’s going on?”
“Artwork.” Ryson shook his head. “Clear it out, guys!”
Then he went back to the dresser drawers, while a bunch of “Yes, Lieutenant!” calls echoed across the hall.
Jax realized the officer had come with Zeyla into the room. She stood by the door with her arms folded.
“I’m Officer Bridget, what’s your name?”
Jax turned away from him. “This is the bedroom?” Bit of an obvious observation, given the bed. “What’s across the hall?”
“Another bedroom, but it belongs to someone older. Or it used to. The bed is empty, but there’s a depression and enough pill bottles and stuff you’d find in a hospital room that I figure the guy had an older family member he was taking care of.”
“So this is Wallace’s room.” Jax walked to the closet and slid the door open. “Whoa.” He stepped back and took in the row of rifles leaning against the wall. Handguns on the shelf. Boxes of ammo. “Was this guy looking to start a war?”
Zeyla came over and stared at the guns, muttering to herself. He caught the word “Russian,” so he said, “You recognize some of these?”
“Cheap, Eastern European knockoffs. Half of them probably misfire the first time you squeeze the trigger. Some collectors think they’re interesting enough to buy and sell, as if they’re collectibles.” She shrugged. “They just aren’t the usual American-made stuff. It’s more novelty.”
“Or because they’re so different, they look scary.” Officer Bridget peered between Zeyla and Jax.
They both turned to look at him.
