Dreamwalker (Stormwalker #5) - Allyson James Page 0,40
disappeared somewhere, though when Mick and I went to the shed for his motorcycle, I saw him on the patio, where my father was now surrounded by people who were asking him about his flute. Gina was at his side, fielding the questions for my shy father. She seemed to know exactly when to let him answer and when to take over. My heart warmed again. She was so good for my dad, and I loved her for it.
Gabrielle was there as well, sidling up to Colby as I watched. Colby looked down at her, delight in his eyes.
I’d have to deal with Gabrielle and her obsession with dragons later. For now, I clung to Mick while we raced up to Flat Mesa at Mick’s usual breakneck speed.
The wind was cool, playing in my long hair. A hint of my dream came back to me—riding with Mick as we had years ago, carefree, happy, I thought. I missed that life, when I’d been innocent—mostly—and worried about nothing but riding from town to town and falling in love.
I knew I was viewing the past through the mist of nostalgia and had to admit that the present was better. I had figured out what my life was about, I’d found Mick again, and we’d connected with new understanding. The ring clasping my finger meant we’d committed to each other, come what may.
The evils we’d had to battle had become pretty much a day in the life of a Stormwalker and a dragon. After the fights, we’d celebrate our victory, and in between disasters, we settled in to take care of the hotel, ride out on our motorcycles, hang out with friends, or just be alone—so happy with each other we didn’t need to speak.
But such things could never last. Emmett was going to eat hot magic for ruining my alone time with Mick.
We rolled into Flat Mesa in less than fifteen minutes, then Mick cut his speed to a third of what he’d been doing, and we sedately slid through the little town. Nash wouldn’t hesitate to give Mick a ticket for going even a mile over the speed limit. Hopi County needed every dollar, Nash would say, as he busily wrote the ticket.
The courthouse, jail, and sheriff’s office sat on one edge of the town, surrounded by a parking lot that gave off into flat dry desert. This late, the building was nearly deserted, but Deputy Lopez was on duty, along with a clerk at the desk.
“Hey there, Janet,” Paco Lopez said when I walked in. His dark eyes sparkled with welcome and also curiosity.
I hadn’t been able to find my cell phone, so I’d used the hotel’s land line to call the sheriff’s department and ask to interview Emmett’s thugs. Lopez had told me that, sure, he’d arrange it. He’d also told me that Nash wasn’t there.
“Out on a date with Maya,” Lopez had said with glee. “Can you believe it?”
Jones actually leaving work to do something pleasant was pretty remarkable. I had the feeling Maya had insisted.
Lopez led us through the door to the cells, letting it lock behind us, and took us down the hall toward the heart of the small jail. I looked around with unease, remembering the night Nash had arrested me and put me in the cells to cool. A skinwalker had attacked, trying to get to me. I’d been terrified, feeling trapped and helpless.
“They have a good lawyer, but Jones won’t let them go,” Lopez was saying as we entered the cell block. “These guys are wanted for dealing and all kinds of assault. Illegal weapons, fraud, robbery, you name it.”
“Interesting,” Mick said. “You’d think Smith would hire people who kept a lower profile.”
“Well, they haven’t been linked with any crimes in the past couple years,” Lopez said. “Not since they started working for this Emmett Smith. I guess he keeps them in line.”
We came to the cells. The thugs Nash had arrested, three of them, had been locked into individual cells all in a row. Solid walls lay between the cells, which were fronted with floor-to-ceiling bars.
The guys in each cell, two lounging back on their bunks, one sitting up with his hands dangling from his knees, were very different body shapes from one another. One was solid muscle with a shaved head, one thin and wiry with skin tanned chocolate from the desert sun. The third, the driver, had muscle gone to fat and a shock of bright red hair.