For a split second, I was relieved when I pulled up to Psych and saw that the front door was hanging open.

For that split-second, I actually allowed myself to think it was Shawn.

That second quickly passed, however; replaced by the now all too familiar sinking feeling in my gut that kept telling me something was very, very wrong.

Someone was in there…

I quickly scanned the floor of my car for some kind of weapon, but all I could find was a candy bar wrapper Shawn had dropped, thirty-three cents in loose change (which I assume Shawn also dropped, though I can't prove it) and a Central Coast Pharmaceuticals pencil.

Of the three, the pencil seemed like my best bet.

It also reminded me that after I kicked some intruder butt, I should probably call the office and tell them I wasn't coming in.

I clutched the pencil, brandishing it over my head like a knife as I stepped out of the car and charged into the Psych office, screaming at the top of my lungs, hoping that I could take the intruder by surprise just long enough to not get shot in the head.

Three steps in, I stopped dead in my tracks. Sitting there at my desk rifling through my drawers, was Henry.

He glanced up at me, not even a little bit frightened by my entrance. "For God's sake, Gus," he growled, slamming a drawer. "What the hell were you planning on doing with that pencil? My taxes?"

"No," I mumbled, quickly cramming it into my pocket. "Where have you been? I've been calling for hours. Shawn—"

"I know."

That's all he said.

"I know."

And yet, in those two words I could read everything. I didn't have to tell him Shawn was missing. I didn't have to tell him about the motorcycle. He already knew everything, and he was working on it.

He opened another drawer, ripping out all the files inside and tossing them on my desk.

"How?" I asked, walking around to his side of the desk.

He grunted, stopping his work long enough to glance up at me. "Think about it, Gus. What's the first thing a state cop does when he finds an abandoned vehicle on the side of the road?"

"Run the plates?" I guessed.

Henry nodded. "Bill Harmon is a friend of mine. He found Shawn's bike around five o'clock this morning. When he ran the plates and found out who it belonged to, he called me first. I told him not to call it in until I had a chance to look into it myself. When someone put an APB out on it, though, he didn't have a choice. He had to call it in."

"But why didn't you want the police to look into it?" I asked, perching on the edge of the desk.

His jaw clenched. "They can look into it," he snapped. "But he's my son. I'm not going to sit here and listen to Karen tell me to stay out of it and let her handle it. I'm not going to sit back and wait for them to tell me what happened to him. So, I turned off my phone and ignored her messages. If she can't find me, she can't get in my way while I figure it out."

I nodded, understanding perfectly. "So…what have you learned?" I asked.

He looked at me for a moment, his piercing eyes burrowing into my skull just like when I was a kid and he tried to pry information out of me.

Usually, it didn't work.

Usually…

Finally, he shook his head and stood up, leaving the files where they were. "Stay out of it, Gus."

I blinked in surprise, knowing there was no way he was serious. After twenty-seven years of friendship, he couldn't possibly expect me to sit on my hands.

For a moment, I was too stunned to say anything. He pushed past me, on his way out the door. He was almost gone when I finally found my voice.

"No."

It was all I could think of to say. He turned around slowly, his eyes narrowing at me. Usually, that look is enough to make my blood run cold, but this time I was too pissed off to be afraid of him.

"Gus--"

"No!" I snapped again, my anger at being told by the entire world to back off finding my best friend finally reaching its breaking point. "I didn't listen to the cops, and I'm not going to listen to you! Shawn's my best friend, and if you think I'm not--"

"Gus!" Henry cut in sharply, his voice low and dangerous now. "Listen to me. Just stay out of it."

"No!"

"You're not his father."

This was more than I was going to take from anyone, even Henry Spencer. "No, I'm not!" I agreed bitterly, shouting at him louder than I had ever dared to before. "But who the hell do you think keeps him alive all those times when he won't even talk to you?"

I didn't care that the words would be like a knife in his back.

I didn't care that I probably couldn't have inflicted more damage on the man if I lit him on fire.

For a long moment, Henry didn't say anything. I could see him inhaling sharply, fighting his urge to shout back at me.

For once, I wouldn't have blamed him.

"You haven't seen the bike yet, Gus." He said finally, his voice quiet now. "I went to the scene when Bill called me. It wasn't just abandoned. It was smashed to bits. Someone hit him with a damn car, Gus. On purpose. There weren't any skid marks…no signs of an accident at all. Someone tried to kill him…and they probably did."

I stepped back, shaking my head adamantly, my heart pounding.

If Henry thought he was dead, there wasn't any hope left.

"No!" I said firmly, still refusing to believe it.

Henry just nodded silently.

Only then did I realize why he wanted me to stay out of it, why he didn't want the cops to get involved.

He wasn't looking for his son. He was looking for his son's murderers…and when he found them, he was going to kill them.