She lifted the empty glass in salute, and Wes headed out the door. He had somewhere to be, but the minute he stepped outside into the humid night air, his phone buzzed against his hip.
The ringing was shrill in the calm quiet of the evening, cutting through the gentle hum of the streetlights and the passing cars. His hope spiked. Maybe Rebecca had come to the same conclusion he had, but when he pulled the phone from his pocket, it showed unknown number.
He stepped away from the bar and hit the button to answer it. “Hello.”
“Is this Wesley Garrett?” said a clipped male voice.
“Yes.”
“This is Officer Mullins. I’m sorry to bother you so late, but we have a situation that we need your help with.”
“A situation?” Wes asked, confused. “I’m sorry. I don’t understand. What is this about?”
“Do you know a Steven Gregoire?”
Wes stilled, the words chasing out the last remnants of confusion and making his heart pound. “Yes, he’s a student of mine at an after-school program.”
“He’s in trouble. He’s asking for you,” the officer explained. “We need to send a car to your house so we can get you to him. The situation is serious.”
“Wait, what’s going on with him?” Wes asked, worry surging. “And I’m not at home.”
“Where are you? It’s very important that—”
“I’m out.”
“Address,” the cop said, all business.
“But what is this—”
“Address, Mr. Garrett. Please. Time is a factor here.”
Wes turned to find a number on the building and gave the bar’s address.
“Has he been arrested or something?” Wes asked.
“Not yet.”
Wes rubbed a hand over the back of his head. “Not yet? What does that mean?”
“The situation is in progress. We’re sending a car, and the officers will brief you with what we need from you. Steven is negotiating with us, and he won’t do anything until he can talk to you and his lawyer.”
“Negotiating?” Wes pinched the bridge of his nose, his mind racing. “His lawyer?”
“Mr. Garrett, your student is holed up in his home threatening to shoot himself. We’ve done everything we can, but he won’t budge until he talks to one of you,” the officer said grimly. “We need your help.”
Wes’s stomach plummeted. “Steven’s threatening suicide? Jesus Christ. Is he saying why?”
The cop cleared his throat. “Because we’re trying to take him in. Earlier tonight, he shot his father.”
The view of the building wavered in Wes’s vision, but he forced out a response. “I’ll be ready when you get here.”
The cop car rolled up a few minutes later with flashing lights. A short, broad female cop got out of a passenger side and greeted Wes only long enough to tell him her name was Officer Clement and to verify he was Wesley Garrett. She pulled open the back door. “Please, sir, we need to get you to the scene.”
“Of course.” Wes tucked his phone in his pocket and hustled into the car, but when he slid into the backseat, he found he wasn’t alone.
Rebecca was already there, face pale and eyes red and puffy from crying. “Wes.”
The car door slammed behind him, and he turned to her, confused. “Bec. What are you doing here?”