"If she's picking him up for questioning," Henry told me as I pulled back onto the road. "We have less than a half-hour to find him."
I nodded stiffly, my stomach lurching as I realized I had just tacitly agreed to murder even though I wasn't pissed-off with Juliet anymore.
I was back to just desperately wanting to find my best friend.
Of course, I didn't have much choice now…
"I don't have his address," I told him honestly, searching for any diversion I could cling to.
Henry just shrugged, his shoulders sagging as his eyes focused intently on the road ahead of us. "I remember it from the file."
"Right."
We drove in silence for the next eight-point-six miles. I couldn't take my eyes off the odometer the entire time, knowing each click was bringing me closer to something.
I wanted it to be finding Shawn, but I somehow suspected it was a life sentence for criminal conspiracy.
Either way, I knew I couldn't turn back now.
"Stop here," Henry told me suddenly. "Pull over."
I listened without even thinking about it, just out of instinct. I wasn't used to questioning Henry's commands.
I turned the motor off and looked over at him. His eyes had lost their grim determination, replaced instead by a kind of sorrowful dread. Somewhere inside him, though he would never admit it and I would never be stupid enough to point it out to him, he didn't want to get out of the car anymore than I did.
Killing Chapman in cold blood meant he was giving up.
Giving up meant his son was dead.
In that moment, I realized he wasn't willing to face that possibility anymore than I was.
He exhaled slowly, seemingly to steel himself before opening the door and stepping out. He leaned back in the window, the dark cloud passing over his impassive face once more.
"You can't stop me, Gus. Just go home. I don't want you involved."
I shook my head firmly, struggling to stop myself from throwing up as I followed him out of the car.
"I'm coming," I told him.
My time was quickly running out, but I had to believe I could still stop him.
I had to believe that when push came to shove, I wouldn't have to. Henry wouldn't go through with it.
Not the man who had trained his son to always do the right thing.
Not the man who bled blue and still kept his badge on him after being retired for over a decade.
Not the man who had been my Scout leader and who even now was telling me to leave before I got in as deep as him.
Not Henry Spencer.
We reached the door. Henry raised his hand, his jaw clenching a little tighter as it hovered in the air for a moment, on the verge of knocking but not quite able to go through with it.
"We don't have to do this," I told him quietly. "Juliet will be here soon. We can let her--"
"No."
He knocked, the sound tearing through my body like a knife wound.
He was committed now.
It was too late.
The door opened a few seconds later. The man who answered blinked at us, clearly confused by the two strangers on his doorstep.
"Can I help you?" he asked, opening it all the way.
For a moment, I couldn't breathe. I didn't even see the gun until it was in Henry's hand, pressed against the man's forehead.
"Where the hell is my son?"
