Hawk: (17 page)

Hawk glanced at his watch and compared the time to the clock on the wall, hopi
ng it was fast. It wasn’t, and Tildy would still be waiting. He picked up a spark plug. The Cowboy and Easy had already clocked out. Shooter was still in the office and Hawk wasn’t sure there was actually anything in there, especially not past 5 o’clock on a Saturday, except not go home. Trouble on the home front was a near daily thing lately.

The office door opened, and Shooter emerged. He looked a bit tired this evening as he tossed a few stray tools into a box.

“I don’t think there’s much left,” Hawk said cautiously.

Shooter glanced up at him, his frown deepening. “Do I seem like a coward?” he asked, half-joking.

Hawk grinned. “Nah. Just tired.”

“The end is nigh, my friend,” Shooter replied rather ominously.

Hawk’s eyebrow quirked up. “Oh, yeah?”

“I don’t think I can get it up anymore. There. I said it out loud. Satan’s lacing up his ice skates.” He smiled, only a tab bit ruefully.

Hawk laughed deep in his chest.

“I’m serious!” the older man half-whined. “Twice a day. Sometimes at lunch, too.”

Hawk held up a hand. “I do not need to know what happens on that couch,” he intoned, jerking his chin toward the open office door and the leather couch that lay beyond.

Undeterred, Shooter said, “Even the French maid costume isn’t doing it for me anymore.”

“You could always go for another weekend in Vegas,” Hawk suggested.

This time the smile was genuine.
“We might actually get arrested,” Shooter muttered. “Obsessed.” Hawk assumed he was referring to Slick.

“Excited,” Hawk countered.

“Desperate,” Shooter said quietly. “She takes her temperature like every day.”

Hawk grinned. “Where do you stick the thermometer?”

Shooter snorted. “Jesus. I’m not Tex.” He glanced away, wistfully. “I’ll get her a puppy.”

“Shooter, you can’t keep giving your woman pets to fix her problems. And anyway, she’s going to notice it’s not a baby.”

His boss groaned loudly.

“It’ll happen,” Hawk promised. “When things calm down, get back to normal...
bam.” He laid a rag over his worktable. “I gotta go get Tildy. I’m late.”

Shooter smiled. “For a very important date?”

“It’s not a date.”

“You gonna give her a ride on your bike?”

“Still not a date.”

“True. It’s only a date if you let her ride something else.”

Hawk twitched a little as he remembered saying the exact same thing to Tildy. “We’re just friends,” he insisted heading for the door.

“You want all my extra condoms?” Shooter called after him. “Since I’m not using them anymore?”

Hawk flipped him off without looking back.

He wove through traffic and parked his bike next to Tildy’s Mercedes. There weren’t very many other cars left in the lot, and he cursed himself for being this late. He couldn’t have blown Garrett off though. He killed the Harley’s engine and swung down to t
he pavement. It was hot outside and the heat coming off the pavement was making it worse. As he opened the door to the Community Center and stepped in, he noticed the building didn’t have air conditioning.

Large industrial fans hummed somewhere out of sight. His black shirt stuck to h
is torso. He needed a shower and so would Tildy after being in this building all afternoon. He shook his head as he pictured taking her home and the two of them getting into the shower together.

He stopped at the room Tildy used as a classroom and looked in, even though it was clearly empty. Her class had ended over half an hour ago. The hallway, likewise, was empty. Hawk followed the unmistakable sound of basketballs on a polished floor. Turning down the next hallway and heading through a set of large double doors, he spied a group of boys shooting hoops. The squeak of their sneakers on the floor could be heard over the drone of the fans. Mostly they were Hispanic; he scanned the group for any kids from the Rez, finding none.

“Hola,” he called out. The boys paused to glance his way. “Has visto a Matilda?” he said to the largest one.

“El que tiene e
l pelo largo,” he said to the others.
The one with the long hair.
The boys conferred with each other a moment.

They shook their heads at their friend
, then at Hawk.

“No, man,” the oldest one said.

“Thanks,” Hawk replied and turned away. The building wasn’t that big, so there weren’t many places she could be. He checked the women’s restroom, which was empty. He could have checked the entire building, but he already knew there was no point. He pulled out his phone and dialed Tildy’s number- no answer. He let it go to voice mail before he hung up, not bothering to leave a message. He didn’t even have to look at the screen as he dialed the next number.

Shoving through the front doors again and back out into the summer heat, Hawk scanned t
he parking lot as he listened to his phone ring on the other end.

“Yo,” Caleb said, answering on the third ring.

“She’s gone,” Hawk said into the phone, forcing his voice to remain steady. “He took her.”

“I don’t understand,” Deirdre Fletcher said for about the fifth or sixth time. Hawk tried very
hard not to roll his eyes or smack her. “How do you know Matilda?” she asked, eyeing him warily.

Hawk c
onsidered carefully what to say. Pissing them off too much was likely to make everything more difficult. “I’m the mechanic who worked on her car,” he said, speaking mostly to Mr. Fletcher rather than his wife. So far Tildy’s father didn’t seem to recognize him. “We’re friends.”

“
Friends,
” Mrs. Fletcher replied. Her tone implied she didn’t believe Tildy would be friends with a man like him any more than she believed her daughter had been kidnapped.

Hawk’s brow furrowed. It had been a bad decision to keep Tildy’s assault from her parents, but it was her choice, her insistence that they never know. Hawk had gone along with it, because ultimately Tildy’s parents couldn’t protect her. They’d obviously shown no concern for her welfare up to this point. Now they seemed more interested in what their daughter had been up to recently than in where she was now.

“Listen to me,” Hawk said, quickly losing his patience. “Tildy was assaulted.”

Deirdre’s eyes widened. “When? Today? Now? Where is she?” she asked, looking around as though Caleb hadn’t already told her Tildy was missing. Hawk fisted his hands, held them that way a moment, and slowly unfurled them.

“No,” he said more calmly than he felt. “Earlier. She didn’t tell you. She didn’t want you to worry,” he added quickly, trying to make things easier for Tildy when they eventually found her. They
would
find her; Hawk had already decided this. He would not lose her.

Shooter pulled up in his truck and swung out. He slammed the door behind him.

“
He’s
the mechanic!” Blake Fletcher said, jabbing a finger at him.

Hawk almost punched him.

“Mr. Fletcher,” Shooter said curtly, giving the man a sharp nod. He was mostly focused on Hawk. Hawk looked away from him. It was obvious why Caleb had called him. Shooter had once lost Sarah in exactly the same way. Once upon a time, Chris Sullivan had felt exactly the way Hawk was feeling now, though Hawk would never acknowledge it. Sarah had been through hell when she was taken by a psycho and brutalized. To admit that Chris knew how he felt was to admit that Tildy was in the same situation.

She wasn’t. He’d find her somehow. He’d find her before she was hurt. It didn’t matter that they didn’t know who had her or where to look. This couldn’t happen to his Angel.

Tildy felt a distinct rattle in her h
ead. There really wasn’t a better way to describe it. The left side of her face felt cool, damp even. Her eyelids fluttered open. Below her, a blur of white came into sharper focus- a white stripe, pavement, and a rocky shoulder. She had been slumped against the door with her head against the glass, which accounted for the rattle. The pain, however, was another story. Gingerly, she sat up and pressed her fingertips to her forehead. They came away sticky and red. She craned her neck, stiff as it was, and looked around.

They were on the highway and already out of Rapid City, judging by the flat landscape drifting past. The thunderclouds that had been hovering
all day obscured most of the sun, which was hanging low in front of them, just over the horizon. They were headed east, but it would be miles before the next town.

Tildy turned to look at Garrett. She silently tried to gauge his thoughts. She had never really considered him a threat, only someone to be pitied. In fact, if she were being honest, she’d barely thought about Garrett at all, which was why she was here now.

He glanced at her. “This is all your fault, you know,” he told her, confirming her thoughts.

“Those other guys, I’ve asked around about them. They’re not saints; not one of them,” Garrett spat. “They’d accept me. I’m no different than them. Raina, she wants me around. And my folks, they’re trying.” He turned toward her again, a hard steel look in his eyes. “You,” he snarled. “You’re the only thing that’s different.”

Tildy remembered Garrett trying over and over to reconnect with Hawk, the brother of his childhood. How many times had Hawk turned him away or simply not answered his phone?

“Garrett,” she said quietly.

“So, you have to go,” he declared, as though she hadn’t spoken at all. “Once you’re gone, once he’s not trying to impress his little white princess, he’ll come back.”

Tildy fought the panic that was rising inside her. She took another look around the cab of the truck. The door was unlocked, not that it mattered. They were going way too fast to risk jumping. It would be better, safer at least, to try and talk him down, but Tildy was certain that she wasn’t the right person for the job. She spied her knapsack on the floor at her feet.

“Let’s just call him,” she told Garrett and bent down, hand groping for the strap. “Let’s just-”

The motion was a blur. She didn’t really see the
hand that shot out toward her, but she felt the splintering crack, as Garrett’s fist connected with the side of her face. The force of the blow slammed Tildy against the passenger door, and the strap of her bag fell from her fingers.

“He’ll choose you!” Garrett cried. “He always chooses you. But if you’re gone, if you’re not around, then there’s no other option.”

He turned away from her, focusing once again on the road. The grassy fields were giving way to scrub plains as they drove further from the city. “It won’t hurt,” he said, more to himself than to her. “I wouldn’t do that. I’m not like that. Just a tap to the back of the head. Quick. You won’t even feel it.”

Tildy didn’t see a gun. It could have been anywhere, possibly in the glove compartment in front of her. There was no way she could reach it if there was. He was too fast. He’d only hit her again or maybe worse. Even if she managed to get her hands on it, she wouldn’t know how to use it.

“Garrett if-”

“Shut up!” he yelled,
lifting his fist again. It only hovered near her head as she ducked away from him.

Tildy tore her gaze from him and instead focused on the road. Sunset wasn’t for another hour or so, but it was already
pretty dark outside, due to the impending storm. Tildy thought again about jumping, but there was nowhere to go, assuming she didn’t break a leg in the process. Even if she did manage to make it, she knew he would still chase her down.

One drop, then two hit the dirty windshield. Garrett turned on the wipers but mostly managed to just smear the dirt around. Ahead, lightning flashed, just once, but more
would follow soon enough.

They rode in silence until Garrett eased the truck off the highway and toward the rock formations that cut a ragged silhouette against the
darkening horizon. Tildy took a deep breath to keep the tears at bay. He took them down a dirt fire road where there were no other cars around. She knew, once she got out of the truck, it would be over. They’d find her body- or not- in the scrub that lay just before the sterile canyons.

One tear did fall, and Tildy decided
that she had to try. She might not survive- most likely she would not- but she just had to try. She didn’t go for the door; they were still driving too fast. She didn’t go for the glove box either. Instead, she lunged across the seat toward Garrett. She gripped the steering wheel with both hands and pulled it as hard as she could in order to slow the truck down enough to jump.

The tires skidded, dust and rocks flying in all directions. The truck careened wildly and for a moment, tilted as though it would roll. Garrett yanked the wheel back in the other direction with one arm and viciously elbowed her with the other, but Tildy couldn’t afford to let go. The truck spun, even as he let off the accelerator. The front bumper
on the driver’s side clipped a large rock outcropping, and Garrett tamped down on the brakes to prevent them from advancing head on into another large boulder.

Tildy took advantage of the sudden deceleration and threw herself against the passenger door, her fingers scrabbling for the handle. It flew open, and she pushed off with one foot in an attempt to get clear of the vehicle. Garrett grabbed at her shirt, getting a fistful of hair, fabric, and the thin gold chain around her neck. Tildy twisted
wildly to try and break his hold on her as the truck continued to slow down.

The
chain broke, her shirt tore, and she didn’t want to think about how much of her hair and even possibly her scalp had torn free in Garrett’s hand as she half-jumped, half-fell out of the cab. Garrett, trapped on his side by the boulder, clawed his way over the seat after her, refusing to let go. Tildy grabbed the door with both hands and slammed it as hard as she could. Garrett howled as it smashed his arm against the truck’s frame. He finally lost his hold on her.

Tildy stumbled, her shoes losing traction on the packed dirt and rocks. She glanced over her shoulder to see Garrett scramblin
g out of the truck. The road meant death, she realized, so she turned away from it. Garrett was sure to be faster and would catch her in minutes, if it even took that long. Another streak of lightning came down, drawing her attention to the canyons to the left. Thunder cracked loudly. The storm was almost on top of them. Fat raindrops began to plaster her hair down as she spun and took off toward the relative safety of the canyon. There were boulders and arroyos for miles. If she could beat Garrett to the rock line, she could hide.

She sprinted as fast as she could, losing one ballet flat to a rock half-buried in the dirt. She didn’t dare look back; she could hear Garrett shouting, cursing at her. Suddenly, another loud crack sounded, but Tildy realized it wasn’t thunder. A scream tore from her throat as the boulder next to her splintered. This time she did look back. Garrett was running toward her and aiming at the same time. She instinctively darted left as he squeezed off another round. This one missed her too, though she didn’t see where it went.

She made one final push for the canyons; she was more than halfway there. Another boom sounded; this time Tildy didn’t know if it was thunder or another bullet. Her blood was pounding in her ears, and the rain was distorting her hearing. As she made it to the edge of the rocks, her bare foot came down on a jagged stone, and she fell. She clawed at the ground and righted herself. At the same time, she twisted her body around a large boulder, cutting off the line of sight to Garrett. She took two more steps, another loud crash sounded overhead, and suddenly all was lost.

Tildy had made it to the
rock line and quickly, too quickly, because she couldn’t stop herself from careening toward a steep arroyo. Her barefoot slid, and the ground gave way underneath her. Tildy fell, and began sliding downwards. Rocks cut her arms and hands as she tried to slow her decent into the canyon below her. There were several large rocks at the bottom. If she landed on one she’d definitely break bones.

She
twisted her body to aim herself between the two largest rocks, still hitting the flat bottom of the canyon very hard. Pain shot up through her arm as she tried to keep from hitting her head on the hard ground. Glancing over her shoulder, she could make out Garrett’s shape trying to negotiate the perilous edge and she crawled behind a boulder as another shot rang out.

The rain was coming hard now, and Tildy was trapped in an arroyo that was quickly flooding. She didn’t know if Garrett would take the risk of coming down after her to finish h
er off. Since he couldn’t walk down, he’d have to slide, and there was a very good chance he wouldn’t be able to climb back out while it was raining. Tildy’s hands were flat on the ground and now an inch deep in water. If it didn’t stop raining soon, Garrett wouldn’t need to pursue her at all.

He seemed to have realized this as well, because she couldn’t hear
any sounds of him coming down to get her.

Lightning struck overhead again, illuminating the canyon, which Tildy could see was more like a hole. There was no way out, except up the steep walls. She flexed her right hand and tried to move her wrist. It was painful, but she could
manage it. She couldn’t tell if it was broken or just sprained. Even if Garrett was not there, waiting for her to stick her head out, she was uncertain she could make the climb.

Trapped behind
the boulder and sitting in rising flood waters, Tildy reached absently for her medal and remembered the chain snapping. “Isa,” she whispered, but the sound of the storm drowned out her words. Though she tried, she couldn’t feel the comfort that had always been there when she needed it. No one knew where she was. If Isa was watching her, she could do nothing to help. Tildy didn’t bother to stop the tears that came, lost amidst the rain streaming down her face. Now, she was totally alone.