Hear No Evil (Brotherhood Trilogy Book 3)

by Jordan Ford

  I wasn’t going to park outside.

  There was no way I was going in.

  But then that guy with his slicked-back hair and cigarette walked out.

  I peered into the store, looking for Al, but the only person I could see was Caity.

  The thought of that creep being in the store with her riled me big time. I waited until he’d ambled at his slow-ass pace a whole block down Main Street before getting out of the car and going in to check on her.

  “You okay?” The door hasn’t even closed behind me.

  Her smile is tentative as she studies my stern expression.

  The bell tinkles and she finally responds. “Yeah, I’m good. I’m actually more worried about you. Where’ve you been?”

  I glance over my shoulder, scoping the shop door to make sure Mr. Cigarette isn’t coming back. “Who was that guy?”

  “I don’t know. Some weirdo looking for a small-town home for his lady love.”

  My eyebrows knit. “Seriously?”

  “That’s what he said.” She throws her hands up. “It felt off to me, but I do have to admit that everything is kind of off lately, and there’s a strong chance my imagination is on overdrive. He’s probably just a creepy-looking guy with the world’s best intentions.”

  I let out a breathy snicker. She has to be the most irresistible thing on the planet.

  Those eyes so bright and alert. Full, luscious lips.

  She’s like cotton candy at a county fair. So good. So right.

  And she has no idea.

  I love the sound of her voice. It’s not girly and sweet like Julienne’s. It’s got a sharp, matter-of-factness to it. There’s nothing flowery about Caity. She’s uncomplicated, unassuming. Bright. Beautiful.

  I swallow and look to my feet.

  Damn, I shouldn’t be here.

  But double damn, I can’t make myself leave either.

  Al’s truck isn’t around and there’s no scurrying of twins upstairs. I get the sense that Caity’s alone right now and I…I can’t leave her.

  Walking up to the counter, I lean my hands against it and look into her eyes.

  I shouldn’t do it.

  I won’t be able to resist temptation if she gives me one of her smiles and leans in for a kiss.

  She doesn’t. She stands back, looking at me, showing a little of the hurt I’ve inflicted. It’s like she can’t decide whether to kiss me or slap me.

  “I’m sorry for ignoring you,” I murmur. “I didn’t mean to, I just…”

  Her gaze dips to the counter and then back to me. “I have something really important to tell you. I wouldn’t have bothered you otherwise. I mean, I’m sorry for the whole kissing you thing. I didn’t realize you weren’t into it. I just wanted to make you feel better, not…” Her voice trails off.

  I reach for her hand before I can stop myself. She’s looking so dejected right now. I can’t let her think I don’t want her, even though I probably should.

  “Caity,” I whisper, rubbing my thumb across her knuckles.

  The bell rings behind me and I snatch my hand away, stepping back from the counter.

  Caitlin’s eyes round with surprise and then disappointment. “You guys are back early.”

  “Yeah, well…” Tia bustles through with one of the twins in her arms. She’s crying and smells like vomit.

  “What happened?” Caitlin moves around the counter.

  “Puke bomb!” The other little girl points at her sister. “Like everywhere. Uncle Kurt was—”

  “Gin-Gin,” Al warns, holding her shoulder and pulling her back so she can’t follow Tia and her sister up the stairs. “You stay with me, kiddo. Let Mommy look after Penny.”

  “Can I tell Caity about how gross it was?”

  I bite my lips together, trying not to laugh. Caity catches my eye and winks.

  That’s when Al notices me.

  He turns around, staring down at me like I’m a cockroach he wants to squish with his boot. “Weren’t you just here a few days ago? What’d you forget?”

  I clear my throat and step back, shoving my hands into my back pockets. “Nothing, sir. I was just…”

  “Helping me with my calculus assignment,” Caity jumps in. “I texted him this morning and asked him to come down. He’s going to check the final copy before I send it off.”

  Damn, she’s quick with the lies. They spill from her lips so easily. It’s like an art form.

  Her dad looks between us and grunts. “Off you go, then. Gina and I can run the store.”

  “Whoopee!” Gina does her happy dance. “Can I help the customers, Daddy?” She jumps around his feet. “Can I tell them Penny puked all over Uncle Kurt’s table?”

  “Gina,” Al groans. “You shouldn’t be this happy about your sister getting sick.”

  “Mommy said she’s going to be fine. I don’t need to worry, so I may as well enjoy telling the story.” Her eyes dance as she turns to me. “She even got a carrot chunk in his soup bowl. Classic!”

  Caity’s snicker catches my attention. I glance at her and she cocks her head towards the stairs.

  I brush my gaze over Mr. Powell before walking after his daughter. I can feel his eyes on me the whole time.

  Turning at the bottom of the steps, I give him an innocent smile before following his daughter to her room.

  I don’t think he bought it.

  Shit, if I was Caity’s father, I wouldn’t buy it either.

  #17:

  Nuns Don’t Lie

  Caitlin

  Riley’s in my room again.

  Last time he came in here, I accidentally opened up a big-ass can of worms.

  It led to discovery, torment and kissing.

  I wonder what will happen today.

  Holding my breath, I stand by the door as Riley brushes past me.

  Penny’s quiet snivels are coming from the bathroom.

  “It’s okay, sweetheart,” Tia murmurs. “I know it’s horrible. We’ll get you cleaned up and into bed.”

  Penny starts to cry again and I close the door on it.

  What I have to say cannot be interrupted by crying or throwing up.

  “So…” I step into the room, ready to launch into my Uncle Kurt story. But when Riley spins to face me, the expression on his face cuts me off.

  “It’s not that I don’t want you.” He runs a hand through his hair. “I just shouldn’t, you know? My life’s messed up right now. I’m supposed to be in hiding, not falling for an innocent chick whose life doesn’t deserve to be disrupted this way.”

  He’s falling for me?

  I can’t breathe.

  With a heavy sigh, he slumps onto my bed. “I need answers in order to move forward. I can’t be with you until I know the truth. And I have no right to drag you into this mess.”

  “What if I want to be dragged into it?” My words are punctuated by my hurried steps across the room. Crouching down in front of him, I rest my hands on his knees. “I want to help you.”

  “I know.” He brushes his fingers across my cheek.

  “I want to be with you.” I close my eyes and smile, loving the feel of him. “Please don’t push me away,” I whisper.

  “I don’t want to.” His voice is husky and deep. “I swear, I wish my life was easier, but this whole Ana thing and then—”

  “That’s not what’s eating you.” I hold his hand against my cheek. “It’s those photos. The mystery surrounding your parents. It’s that shack.”

  His eyes glass with tears.

  My lips part while my heart expands so fast I think it might burst.

  Cupping his face, I run my thumbs along his cheekbones. “What is it? What are you seeing?”

  His jaw trembles as he works it to the side then clenches it. “They’re just nightmares.”

  “Of what?”

  “Screaming. Gunshots. Fighting.” He pulls off his glasses and pinches the bridge of his nose. “I’m hiding under the bed. I can’t see anything. I’m just listen
ing. There’s this thud, and then someone yells my mom’s name.”

  His face bunches and he opens his eyes. The tears aren’t going to fall. He blinks to clear his vision, then slips his glasses back on with a sniff.

  “I don’t know what it all means. I’m haunted, but I…I wasn’t even there when Mom died.”

  “How do you know that?”

  He gently pulls my hands away from his face and sits back. It’s impossible to hide my disappointment. He notices, then takes my hand and kisses the inside of my wrist.

  With a heavy sigh, he rubs his thumb across my palm and keeps his eyes on my hand while he’s doing it.

  “Mom’s body was found next to my father’s in Bozeman, Montana. They were shot and left to die on the side of the road. All the articles I read confirm this. I was with a babysitter the night they were killed. I was waiting for them to get home, but the police came instead.”

  Wait. That’s not consistent with what he told me earlier. “I thought you couldn’t remember the night your parents died.”

  “I don’t. I mean, I do. The memories are fuzzy. Police talking to me. Waking up at St. Catherine’s.”

  “But you don’t remember being with the babysitter, or the police arriving to collect you.” I’m saying it like a statement, not a question.

  He goes still, his forehead wrinkling as he stares at his thumb on my hand.

  I stand tall and rest my hand on his shoulder. “You don’t remember because it didn’t happen that way.”

  He jerks to look at me. “That’s what they told me.”

  “Who?”

  “The nuns. They said…” His voice trails off.

  “What do you remember? Where were you when you found out about your parents?”

  Placing his hands on my hips, he looks up to the ceiling, his eyes darting back and forth as he drags up his past. “St Catherine’s. I was in bed and Sister Theresa held my hand and told me my parents had died. Then the police came to check on me, but…”

  His confusion is heart-crushing. Slipping off his beanie, I run my fingers through his hair. “So the police came after you woke up? Who took you to St. Catherine’s in the first place?”

  “She said I fell asleep in the car. When they dropped me off, one of the officers carried me in for her.” He frowns and touches the back of his head. His eyes are wide, like he’s remembering something new. “My head hurt. I felt like it was going to explode. The nuns…one of them told me that sleep would make it all better.”

  “But you have no memory of being with your babysitter or the police collecting you?”

  “I was traumatized. I blocked it from my mind.” His frown grows deeper as he shakes his head and whispers, “The black hole.”

  I’m not sure what he means by black hole but I plow ahead with my theory.

  “Maybe they were lying to you.”

  “What?” Riley sits back, his hands dropping off my hips. I hate the loss of his touch. “But they’re nuns. They can’t lie.”

  “Anyone can lie, Riley. Especially if they’re doing it for what they think are valid reasons.” I nibble the edge of my lip and brush my fingers through his beard. “Maybe you were dropped at St. Catherine’s before your parents were even found. Maybe the person who took you there was trying to protect you.”

  I think about the man covered in blood, escaping with an unconscious child.

  Licking my bottom lip, I steel my nerves and whisper the truth. “Riley, I spoke to Uncle Kurt about the whole haunted cabin thing.”

  His gaze slowly tracks to mine.

  “There’s something you should know.”

  #18:

  Gray Eyes

  Riley

  I can’t believe what she’s saying right now.

  Scraping my fingers through my hair, I squeeze my eyes shut and stutter, “So-so, apparently some hi-hikers, high on pot, saw this bloody guy carrying a child through the forest?”

  It’s so unbelievable I can barely process it.

  Because it is believable. Deep down I know it is.

  Caitlin’s sitting next to me now, rubbing slow circles on my back. “You said you had a headache. What if you were somehow hurt and this guy had to carry you to safety?”

  “What guy? Why was he covered in blood?”

  She wipes her mouth, her gaze drilled on the floor while she thinks. “You said you heard gunshots in your dream. He could have been wounded.”

  “Who?”

  Running a hand down her ponytail, she shrugs. “Your Uncle Rafe?”

  I can’t help a cynical scoff.

  “He’s the only one not accounted for in this whole scenario.”

  “Yeah, him and the killer.”

  Caitlin sighs. “Well, maybe figuring out this piece of the puzzle will unveil who the killer really is. You said yourself that Uncle Rafe was your favorite person. Was he the type of guy that would rescue you?”

  “Yeah,” I croak, feeling sick. Resting my elbow on my knee, I lean against my hand and grip my forehead.

  “Does Sister Theresa still work at St. Catherine’s?” Caity’s soft question freezes me. “I think you should speak with her.” Pulling the phone from her back pocket, she holds it out for me.

  “It’s okay,” I whisper. “I’ll use mine.”

  I yank it out and dial the number from memory. It was my home base for so many years.

  With a sniff, I stand and start pacing. The phone rings five times before it’s answered.

  “Hello. This is St. Catherine’s Home for Children.”

  “Hi, uh… Can I speak to Sister Theresa, please?”

  “Certainly. May I ask who’s calling?”

  I hesitate, suddenly aware of my Eton Prep runaway status. I glance at Caitlin, my mouth drying up like the salt flats.

  She jumps up and comes to stand beside me. Touching my elbow, she gives me an encouraging smile and I manage to mutter, “I-it’s…Ryan.”

  I’m transferred through and only have to wait one ring before Sister Theresa is in my ear. “Sister Theresa speaking. How may I help you, dear?”

  Warmed by the sound of such a familiar voice, I can’t help a smile. “Sister Tee. It’s me.”

  She’s quiet for a second, then suddenly gasps. “Ri—”

  “Don’t use my name. Just in case.”

  “Well,” she chuckles, “you’ve always been one for intrigue.” She’s forcing a light, sunny tone. I can tell.

  “I shouldn’t even be calling you, but I need…your help.”

  “Oh, sweet child. I’ve been praying for you endlessly. I’m guessing you can’t tell me anything.”

  “No. But I need you to tell me something.”

  There’s a long pause before she softly murmurs, “Go on.”

  “How did I end up with you? Who brought me there?”

  Her sigh is soft. I can picture her at her old wooden desk, closing her eyes and giving in without a fight. “I thought this day might come. The black hole in your memory. I feared it wouldn’t last forever.”

  “What happened?”

  Another sigh. This one sounds almost relieved though, like finally telling me the truth will be a weight off her shoulders.

  “Please forgive me for hiding it from you. I was only trying to protect you.”

  I clench my jaw, preparing myself for whatever she’s about to say.

  “You were dropped on our doorstep by a desperate man. To this day, I will never know who he was.”

  “Tall? Dark hair? Blond? What did he look like?”

  “Despair. Heartbreak. I know you want a physical description, but all I could see was the fear in his eyes. They were gray. Just like yours.”

  My forehead wrinkles as I stare at the back of Caitlin’s door.

  “He was struggling to breathe, and in obvious pain, but he refused to acknowledge it. All he cared about was me promising to keep you safe. You were asleep in his arms and he passed you to me, then handed me a letter. I tried to get him to stay but he disappeare
d into the darkness. I was set on calling the police, but then…”

  “Then what?”

  “I opened the letter,” she whispered.

  My throat is so thick it hurts to swallow. “What did it say?”

  “You’ll have to read it for yourself one day, but it spoke of how much he loved you and your mother. It said that your life was in danger and hiding you at St. Catherine’s was the only way to keep you safe.”

  Anger snaps through me, fleeting yet potent. “You told me the police dropped me off! You said…” I slump onto Caitlin’s bed. My ears are ringing.

  Caitlin scrambles over and rests her chin on my shoulder, trying to listen in.

  “I’m sorry for lying to you. You were such a curious child, even at the age of eight. You wanted every detail, and you were desperate to remember what you couldn’t. But I didn’t want to burden you with this mystery.”

  “So you burdened me with a life of unanswered questions instead?”

  She clears her throat. “The letter included instructions to call a lawyer in Seattle. When I phoned the next day, he was expecting my call. Everything had been set up for you. Whoever dropped you at our doorstep had ensured that your future would be the best it could be.”

  “But my parents? The police?”

  “When the story broke on the news that afternoon, there were questions. People were looking for you. The lawyer instructed me to call Officer Crawley and let him know that you had been delivered to St. Catherine’s the way your parents wanted you to be.”

  Officer Crawley. That name sounds familiar.

  “According to what the lawyer told me, he was a friend of your mother’s in Bozeman and would know what to do. He drove down to see you that day and after he left, your story just…vanished.”

  “Vanished?”

  “Yes, dear. I don’t know how he did it, but any news article about you simply wasn’t shared, and your parents murders were hardly spoken of.” She clears her throat and keeps talking. “It was all planned for you, down to the last detail. It’s like they knew they were living on borrowed time. They didn’t need justice. They just needed to keep you safe. The lawyer had all the paperwork ready to go. His instructions were very clear. All the documentation for your trust fund, instructions of which schools to send you to… signatures, authorizations, everything was prepared.”