She sat up slowly and took the pain reliever without complaint. He tucked her under his arm and rested his head on hers.
“All he wanted was a normal daughter,” Eve said softly. “Look what I did to him.” She stared at the tree remains despondently.
“He loves you still.” Beckett kissed the top of her head.
“Of course he loved me. He was a great father. I’m the broken part. How is he not walking through that door again? You’d think I’d be used to death, but I’m not. He just always seemed so solid.” She exhaled sadly.
“You opened some presents?” Beckett tucked the blanket around her shoulders. The apartment was cold.
She tossed the bottom half of her blanket over him after he shivered. “Dad turned down the heat when he was cooking. The oven heated up the place. Why did I not check the thermostat before assuming he went to the hospital? Maybe I would have put it together.”
Beckett pointed at the pajamas in a heap on the floor. “Those look comfortable.”
“Ryan ripped open the presents trying to get me to leave with him.”
She was still drunk. No way she would have told him that sober. Beckett closed his eyes as the need to punch the fucker went from his balls to his fingertips.
“Then he tells me I’m not getting special treatment from McHugh, or anyone else for that matter. The lines are being drawn, and I’m on the outside,” Eve explained with a sigh.
Beckett hugged her to him.
“I’m in rough shape right now.” She snuggled in closer.
“You had a lot to drink. It happens to everyone.” He tried to deescalate the anger boiling inside him.
“No. More than that,” she insisted. “Something’s not right. In my head.”
He reviewed how she’d been treated, first by him, forcing her to feel the pain of her father’s loss and fucking the fuck out of her. Then dumbass Morales had ripped into her presents and helped or forced her to trash this apartment. No one had treated this woman the way a grieving daughter should be treated. Just because Eve was different didn’t mean she didn’t deserve respect as Ted Hartt’s child.
He kissed her head again and laid her down on the couch. “Sleep it off, gorgeous. You’re safe now.”
Eve cried a little, just a gentle wash of tears before she closed her eyes, and Beckett began picking up. He gathered three trash bags of mess before he could right the tree. It was not so great at standing up straight anymore, but he rehung the ornaments that were still useable. The glass he swept up and would vacuum for the shards when she woke.
As he worked, he felt the weight of the loss of the man in his place, his daughter sleeping on the couch. Everything was so normal—remotes, lamps, newspapers. It was not nearly sad enough.
Once he had things in place, he whispered to her before he started the vacuum, because he knew it would wake her. She mumbled and rolled over against the racket, but soon enough the living room was clean. Beckett propped the pictures on a hutch, the frames too broken to fix. When he turned, she was looking at him, her eyes clearer. “Are you ready?” he asked.
“For what?”
“Christmas.” Beckett handed her the new pajamas. “Put these on.”
“I don’t want to. I want to leave.” She stood and rolled her eyes at the pain that her head must have harbored. “I think I’m going to hurl.”
“Go shower, put these on, and come back. I’ll get you some more water.” While she trudged into the bathroom, Beckett went to the kitchen and started work on the fridge. He tossed the expired food and spoiled dairy.
He took the trash out and spoke to a few tenants on the way back into the building. He let them know Dr. Hartt had passed on and that he would be sending Blake by to attend to any building needs soon. The tenants he spoke to remembered Blake as the handyman from back in the day.
When he came back in, Eve was sitting on the couch in the new pajamas, wrapped in the blanket with the slippers peeking out from under it. Her eyes were rimmed in red. She had cried in the shower.
Beckett closed the door and sat next to her. “Talk to me.”
“All that was in there was his soap and stuff. It just smells like him.” She cried again. He rubbed her back and treated her like a normal goddamn person.
When she finally stopped, he moved to the presents. “I think you should open these. He wanted you to have them. That big present was a mirror. It broke, though.”
“I don’t want to look at me anyway, so that works out.”
“Do you want to do it, or should I?” He held out a gift.
“Why are you doing this? Seriously, it’s torture.” Her hands blocked the present being handed to her.
“Because he was your dad. And you need to be his daughter for a few fucking minutes.” Beckett shrugged. Maybe he’d been off base.
Eve reached reluctantly for the gift. And with that they opened each remaining present. She commented on all of it. Whether it was her favorite perfume or a stuffed bear, she told Beckett stories about Dr. Ted Hartt. Some made her laugh, some made her cry.
“He told me he’d failed once,” she said, her eyes far away. “After David and Anna were lost. He couldn’t figure out how to cheer me up. Imagine that—this guy who had no one helping him raise a child thinking he’d failed. It was the other way around.” She looked at the pile of unwrapped affection.
“And what would he say now, if he heard you say that?” Beckett asked her softly.
She thought for a while before responding. “That I could be anything I wanted. That he believed I should have hope.”
Standing suddenly, she was done all at once. “I need to get out of here. Please.”
Beckett stood as well. She grabbed her music box, and he hit the lights, pocketed her gun, and almost locked the door with her keys.
But she stopped him. As an afterthought, she retraced her steps and checked the medical bag Beckett had set on the dining room table.
“Morales took something out of there before he left,” he told her. He watched her get angry before walking out the door.
She strode out of the building still wearing pajamas and slippers, so he unlocked the Challenger’s doors. They could get someone to bring home her bike. She got in the passenger side as Beckett sent a quick text to Blake explaining the situation at Dr. Hartt’s building.
“Thanks.”
She was so quiet he almost didn’t hear her.
As he backed up, he caught a glimpse of her sitting a little taller. Underneath it all, she was just a girl who wanted the normal. How easily he forgot.
“Do we need to visit Morales?” He prayed she would say yes.
“No, it’s fine.”
Clearly, Eve was pissed at Ryan, and Beckett felt a little bad for how great it made him feel.
19
Serviced
Sevan watched as Primo scratched at his neck. “I wouldn’t try tearing that out if I were you. It’ll kill you.” Sevan was eating edamame like a monster. He’d been on a health kick since he was pretty much the prisoner of his neck tracker too. In the New York City apartment Beckett had arranged for them, Shark and Primo were constantly practicing the fine art of pissing each other—and him—off. At least Shark could come and go as he pleased. He and Primo had only enough leeway to go somewhere not far beyond the lobby before their trackers were set to poison them. And, the place was wired with cameras and boom mics like they were on a reality show. They could order food and complain, but that was pretty much it.
Primo launched into another rant. “I’m the prince of a king! This treatment is despicable. I’ve never been handled like this in my whole life.”
Sevan could almost mouth Primo’s speech now. He also knew how to distract him. “Want to play cards?”
In an instant, Primo was all in like the addict he was. They played for “money.” Primo thought it was real, which was fine. Sevan had pretend amounts of money all over the world, even if he currently had only a humiliating trickle of allowance from
Beckett—a percentage of which he’d unwisely bet and lost to Primo earlier in the day.
“When can we get some girls in here?” Primo had taken to chewing gum.
“I’ll give you the same contact number that was given to me when I had a giant case of blue balls.” Sevan read the number off of his cell phone.
“So I call this now?” Primo started dialing.
“I’ve haven’t been willing to call it yet, because I know where it goes. But be my guest. I know how you like taking risks.” Sevan shuffled the cards.
Primo hovered his index finger over the send button. “Where does it go?”
“It calls Eve. And she’s the scariest chick I’ve ever met.” Sevan started dealing.
“Sounds like she knows her way around a dick. I’m calling.” Primo pressed the speaker button as the phone rang.
The female voice that answered sounded agitated. Sevan couldn’t make out her exact words, but he watched as Primo stood and started bossing her around.
“I need some bitches up in this joint. You can’t expect a hot-blooded man not to be serviced for this long.” Primo raised his weak chin a few inches. He turned to Sevan. “Watch this.”
“Primo, you sorry sack of shit. You can’t take care of your own balls? Do you even know how to wipe your ass? I swear to fuck I am in such the mood to kick your taint into your nostril. Motherfucker. Drive me there now, Beckett. Son of a bitch thinks he can order girls…” The line disconnected.
Sevan widened his eyes as Primo looked surprised. “This is what happens when girls are in charge,” he whined. “How can she make a decent sandwich with that attitude?”
Sevan picked up his cards. “You should tell her that when she gets here. She totally needs someone to put her in her place.”
Moments later, Shark let himself in the front door. “Which one of you stupid fuckers called Eve?”
Suddenly Primo didn’t seem all that excited to own up to it. Sevan set his cards down.
Shark pointed at the cameras. “Don’t make me look it up on the recording.”
“Well, I did,” Primo finally said. “But I’ve never been anywhere where I couldn’t get girls when I needed them. Surely Taylor is running a top-notch situation here.” Primo strutted a bit in a way that must have worked for him in the past.
“Insane son of a bitch. You’re lucky she can’t make it here right now.” Shark scanned the room and reached for a sturdy-looking golf putter that Sevan used to pass the copious amount of time he was alone. “Go stand there with your legs spread.”
The indignation changed Primo’s face, contorting it. He obviously believed if he protested enough, things would get better.
Shark waited, tossing the putter from one hand to the other. Then he glanced at his watch. “You’re up to three now. I’d get there quick. It starts multiplying per minute—and not in a good way.”
“Really? You want me to stand there with my legs spread?” Primo made a noise that started in his stomach. It was the soundtrack to entitlement. Sevan recognized it because he was great at imitating it.
“In ten seconds you’ll be up to six,” Shark reported. “Nine…eight…”
Primo hurried to the center of the room and spread his legs, covering his crotch.
“Move the hands. Four…three…”
Primo moved his hands slightly. Now it looked like he had a set of jazz hands around his groin.
Shark adjusted his stance as if he were actually swinging a club on a course with eighteen holes. His first swing was vicious. Primo fell over, grasping his testicles. Sevan grimaced with sympathy pain.
“Move your damn hands. I got two more.” Shark kicked Primo’s foot.
He pulled his hands away, shaking the whole time. The next two blows were delivered while he writhed on the floor.
Then Shark got low. “Are you listening? Can you hear me? In Taylor’s organization that is how genitals get service on demand. Feel free to request it anytime.”
Shark pointed the club at Sevan. “You’ll get the same as he does if you ever share her cell number again.” He tossed the club at Sevan, who scattered the cards in an effort to catch it.
“Brainless assholes. Of all the shit I have to do, babysitting you fools is my least favorite.” Shark slammed the door on his way out.
Sevan put the club down before going to the fridge and finding frozen peas. He tossed the bag to the floor next to Primo, who flinched. He guessed the card game was over.
“I’m going for a walk,” he told Primo as an afterthought. He couldn’t listen to the man cry anymore.
On the sidewalk, Sevan lit a cigarette. It was hell knowing that at any moment Taylor or his bitch could throw a switch and kill him. He’d been buying the food he and Primo didn’t order out at CVS because he was scared to test the boundaries of his neck bomb.
He stretched his neck, hating his invisible collar.
“You got a light?” He turned to face the voice behind him. She was pretty, so Sevan smiled.
“Allow me.” He lit her cigarette while smiling.
“You got Primo in there?” She didn’t look at him while she took her first deep inhale.
“In my pants? Yes. Everything in there is primo.” He chuckled at his own joke. The woman gave him a hard look.
Sevan swallowed and looked around. The street was busy, and he couldn’t pick out anything out of the ordinary.
“I need you to nod yes or no,” she said. “I know who you are, Sevan. Is he there or isn’t he?” She tapped her foot.
“Who’s asking?” Sevan took his own pull on the drug.
“Someone who cares.” She tossed her cig on the ground and pressed her high heel on top of it.
Sevan had so many dirty thoughts about her heels. Primo hadn’t been wrong about needing some girls.
“I never know who to trust anymore,” he told her. “You trustworthy, princess?” He continued to smoke. On his allowance, he had to take it down to the goddamn filter.
“If I were going to kill you, do you think you’d still be talking?” She smiled like he’d just said something nice to her.
He matched her smile. “He’s here, but neither of us can leave.” He gave her another glance.
“Why not?” She put her hand on his arm.
“I think that’s all I’ll say. If he’s getting rescued, I want in. And he can’t leave here or they’ll know. I got to go now, otherwise you’ll call attention to me.” Sevan went in for a kiss, which she allowed.
He moaned.
She moaned back.
With that she was gone. Sevan stood on the sidewalk trying to figure out what had just happened. Eve could have sent her here to test him. Maybe he’d just slit his own throat and get it over with. His hand shook as he took the last possible drag.
After an extremely rough start on Friday night (for Eve, at least) the weekend had been a good bit of healing, both physical and mental. Beckett took a page from his beach playbook and spoiled her. They’d watched stupid movies, she got to verbally assault Primo’s stupid ass on Saturday afternoon, and he’d slow danced with her in his living room. She talked more about her father, memories and disappointment. They’d popped by the local shooting range and let off some steam too. Eve was in a process now, and he wouldn’t try to snap her out of her grief quickly. Tending to the beast in her was his default, but tenderly finding the woman took more forethought.
Nevertheless, Monday had come, like it tends to do, and Beckett had two meetings. One Eve could attend, and the other she couldn’t. Spider was up first after a late-night text saying he had some useable info, and thankfully Eve had gone to the courthouse to meet with a few friends regarding the empty schoolhouse. They were approaching it carefully, because they didn’t want to stir up controversy just yet.
Beckett found Spider at Starbucks. He sat a table away.
“What do you got?” Beckett took a sip of steaming coffee while glancing at Spider’s screen.
“A few weeks before Dr. Hartt
, there was another person in there.” Spider clicked through some stills. “Our friend brought her into the same room, through the hallway. Unfortunately, we only get a profile. You recognize her?”
The lady with Nicholas was not someone Beckett had seen before, at least as far as he could tell from the still. He shook his head.
“This is the best shot,” Spider said. “And I’ve been messing with it to get the clarity up since I found it. I’ve also been crossing her description with reports of missing women since that time stamp.” He pointed at the screen. “So far nothing. I’ve branched out to international reposts, but still nothing.”
Beckett studied the picture. The woman was scared, he could tell by her body language. And as Spider clicked through the other stills, he could see she had every right to be. The next clear shot was Nicholas dragging a body-shaped form from the room. He was grinning like it was Christmas morning.
“Wait, back it up. Zoom in.” Becket waited while Spider complied. “Those look like scrubs to you?”
“Thought it was pajamas.” Spider hit a few more keys and got a bit more detail.
“No. That’s scrubs. And we still have no idea where this fucker’s home base is?” Beckett pointed at Nicholas with his pinkie after Spider zoomed out.
“Not yet. He was paid in cash at the New Jersey house. His car’s plates and make bring up nothing of worth. He’s smart. There’s a reason he was high up on Rodolfo’s totem pole.” Spider took a sip of his coffee as well.
“He’s young. Cocky even. Somewhere he made a mistake. I need to find that. Can you send me the pictures of Nicky there and the lady?” Beckett stood.
Spider nodded.
“She’s wearing scrubs. I want you to delve into the files on women who work at Poughkeepsie General. Get me a list of them all.” Beckett slipped his jacket on.
“You think she was from the hospital?” Spider looked interested.
Too interested, Beckett decided. “Do your best, asshole. Don’t ask questions. Deliver.”
Saving Poughkeepsie Page 23
