Boz reared back, feeling for the door handle behind him.
“Don’t run,” Jason warned him.
Boz turned and ran.
The door swung shut behind him with another twinkling of pixie dust.
Jason swore. Dreyfus yelled, “FBI, halt!”
“Dreyfus, we don’t have just ca—”
Dreyfus bolted after Boz, the musical sound of fairies floating down as the door opened and closed again. Two seconds later she raced past the rain-streaked plate glass front windows, shouting, “FBI! I said halt.”
“Are. You. Fucking. Kidding. Me?” Jason said.
Terry met his eyes and spread his arms in a Don’t Look at Me, Man.
Jason pulled out his phone. “Where’s he live?” he asked Terry.
“You think he’s going home?” Terry was doubtful.
“Yep. I think he’s running straight home the way he’s been doing since he was five years old. Because that’s what they all do.”
“He lives down the street. Over the old fun house.”
Well, yeah, of course, because this was an alternate universe called Wyoming. “Where the hell is the fun house?” Jason questioned.
“Down the street to your left. It’s the big yellow and blue building with an evil clown over the doorway and a neon sign that says Fun House. You can’t miss it. It’s right on the corner.”
Plus…evil clown. Kind of a giveaway. Jason pressed Dreyfus’ contact info. The number began to ring as he reached the door.
Dreyfus did not answer her phone.
Jason pushed through the door, closing off the silvery sprinkle sounds, and found himself on an empty sidewalk. He listened tensely but did not hear gunshots, so that was the good news. In fact, he did not hear anything but the rush and splash of cars speeding past. He started walk-running in pursuit, trying to avoid the rain puddles, ignoring the pain of his ankle, which was not healed enough for running or even cautious jogging.
“Dreyfus, I’m going to ground you for the rest of your life.” He tried her again.
No reply.
No sign of her up ahead either.
He hop-skipped on, wishing he’d thought to bring dear old Grandad Kennedy’s shillelagh on this jaunt. At least he was carrying his Glock. That would make Sam happy. Although hopefully Sam would never hear about this.
His cell rang. “Where the hell are you?” he barked.
“Just getting into my car, honey,” Ruby said after a surprised instant. “Where would you like me to pick you up?”
Someday this would be funny.
Unless Dreyfus got hurt. Or worse.
“Um, why don’t you head on back to the ranch. I’ll find my own way back.”
“It’s no problem. I can wait for you.”
Jason, still clumping along as fast as he could, panted, “No, really. Thank you…but I’m in the…f-ouch…middle of something…I don’t know how long…I’ll be.”
Ruby said reluctantly, “If you’re sure? We’re still on for dinner?”