by Terri Reid
“So, let’s make a list,” Niki said.
“A list?” Brooke asked.
“Yeah, we want to make sure we don’t overlook anything that we need to take care of,” Niki said. “Okay, work first.”
“But, Niki, I don’t have a job,” Brooke insisted. “So all I really need to worry about is my stuff in the apartment.”
“Is there anything on your work computer that hasn’t been copied to your laptop?” Niki asked.
Brooke shook her head. “No, and I always back up my files to an external drive at my house,” she said. “Just to be sure my files aren’t destroyed.”
“Does anyone else know about those files?” Niki asked.
Brooke bit her lower lip and shook her head. “No, because, I’m not supposed to do that,” she said.
“Good girl,” Niki said. “And who does your laptop belong to—you or the company?”
“Me. I never use the one they gave me,” she said.
“Do you know where it is?” Niki asked.
“Yeah, in my closet at home,” Brooke replied.
“So, you need to take that work computer and put it in your briefcase,” she advised. “Leave your personal one at my place.”
“Why?” Brooke asked.
“So when they surprise you at your house and grab your briefcase away from you, they think they have all of your information,” Niki said.
Brooke’s eyes widened. “Wow, you’re really sneaky,” she said.
“And you’re just figuring that out now?” Niki replied. “Now, take out your phone.”
Brooke complied, but looked confused. “Why? It’s my phone, not the company’s,” she said.
“Go into settings and then into privacy,” Niki instructed. “Then switch off location services.”
“Why?” Brooke asked, as she followed Niki’s instructions.
“Because people can find your phone and find you using those settings,” Niki said. “So, if you don’t want Reece to know where you are…”
“Oh,” Brooke said. “Right! That’s brilliant.”
“Do you have any of those apps that let you find friends or family members?” Niki asked.
Brooke shrugged. “I don’t know,” she said. “Reece always…” She paused. “Wow, this puts a whole new light on things doesn’t it.”
“Give me your phone,” Niki said and Brooke complied. A few minutes later the two finder apps had been deleted from Brooke’s phone. “Okay, girl, you’ve just gone black.”
“What?” Brooke asked, confused.
“You are now flying under the radar,” Niki explained. “It’s going to be a lot harder for Reece to locate you.”
“Good!” Brooke said. “Thank you, Niki. You’re the greatest.”
They put together a list of things Brooke needed to do before she went back to her apartment, the things she needed to pack up and send to Niki’s and the things that could go into storage.
Just when she put down the pen, there was a knock on the door. Niki walked over and let Art into her apartment. “Hey, get much sleep?” she teased.
“Oh yeah, lots,” he replied, following her over to Brooke. “How are you doing?”
“Much better,” Brooke said. “Niki and I just put together a list of things I need from my apartment and what can go into storage.”
Art nodded. “What I’d suggest is that Niki heads over to your apartment to gather the things you need now,” he said. “Tom, my brother and Sam are heading over there now to help her. We don’t want to draw too much attention to the move. So, let’s just get all the necessary stuff and let them lock up the other stuff.”
“Okay, I know Sam,” Niki said. “How will I know your brother?”
“He looks just like me,” Art said with a smile. “But I’m better looking.”
Then he turned to Brooke. “And we’re going to look at a house.”
Chapter Twenty-nine
“Why are we driving all the way across the city for housing?” Brooke asked as they got closer to the city limits on the west side of the city. “I don’t think I’ve ever even been here.”
“Actually, Oak Park isn’t too far from here,” Art explained. “It was a favorite spot for cops who needed to live in the city but wanted their houses as close to the suburbs as they could get.”
Looking out the window, Brooke saw a number of old, Victorian homes scattered between apartment buildings and newer, smaller, frame homes. “These are really nice,” she said.
“I know most of your work is downtown,” Art said.
Brooke sighed. “Oh, I forgot to tell you. I got fired today?”
“What?” he asked, turning to look at her. “You are one of the best lawyers in the city. What the hell are they thinking?”
His disbelief made her feel better. “Thanks,” she said. “I think it might have had something to do with Reece insisting on me leaving town and me replying that my caseload was too heavy and I couldn’t leave right now.”
“That sucks,” Art said.
Brooke nodded. “Yeah, it really does,” she agreed. “But it also helped me realize that even though I don’t really think Reece is a bad guy, I’m not too sure that he’s all good either.”
“Well, as long as you’ve got an open mind,” Art teased and Brooke chuckled.
Art slowed down and turned off Lake Ave onto a smaller, residential street lined with homes. He made several more turns and finally arrived in front of a huge, old Victorian with three stories, a black wrought iron fence surrounding the property, and an overgrowth of bushes and trees. The exterior looked like it could really use a paint job; the porch needed some repair work, and it had an overall look of a lost and abandoned house.
Art stared at it and rolled his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he said. “This is not what I expected at all. I can call the realtor and cancel.”
But Brooke was intrigued. “It looks so lonely,” she said, slipping out of the car and walking to the fence, “Like it needs someone to breathe life back into it.”
“I think it needs more than a breath of life,” Art replied, joining her at the gate. “I think it needs to be on life support, have CPR administered or just put out of its misery.”
She turned to him and shook her head. “This house needs a family,” she said.
Art turned and studied her for a moment. “Really? Well, okay,” he finally replied, “Why don’t we see if you are the family it needs.”
He opened the gate in front of her and said, “We can check out the yard first.”
She stepped forward into the yard and then stared at the house again. “Why am I nervous?” she asked him, her voice quiet.
“It’s been a rough couple of days,” he said, still wondering why Bruce had suggested the house. “Maybe that’s it.”
She nodded. “That makes sense,” she said. She looked up and down the street. “Are we meeting a realtor?”
Art nodded. “Yeah, she should be here any moment,” he said.
No sooner had the words left his mouth than a small, red sedan pulled up behind his car and a petite, middle-aged woman stepped out. She smiled at them, and then glanced nervously at the house. Walking over, her hand outstretched, she smiled tightly and greeted them. “Hello. I’m Judith Meadows,” she said. “And if this house doesn’t work for you, I have plenty in the area that are even better.”
That’s an odd sales tactic, Brooke thought, talking about other houses before even showing the first one.
“We’d like to see this one first,” Art said. “And then we’ll let you know about the others.”
Judith studied them for a moment. “So, are you a couple?” she asked. “Thinking of moving in together?”
Brooke looked over at Art, a look of moderate panic in her eyes. The less anyone knew about Brooke and her situation, the better. Slipping his arm around Brooke’s shoulders, Art nodded and said, “Well, we’re considering it. Right now we’re exploring our options.”
Reaching in her pocket,
the realtor handed Art the key to the lockbox. “Why don’t you two go on inside and start looking around,” she insisted. “I have to make a couple of calls. Then I’ll join you.”
“Okay, we’ll see you in there,” he said, guiding Brooke up the sidewalk towards the porch.
“Yeah, and if you don’t like it in there,” the realtor called, “You can just meet me out here, and we can look at some other properties.”
“Why do I get the impression that she really doesn’t like this house?” Brooke asked softly.
“Yeah, me too,” Art replied. “Well, let’s see what’s inside.”
Bending over, he unlocked the box, pulled the house key from inside of it, placed the house key into the lock on the door and twisted. The door opened easily, and they both stepped inside. The house was airy and bright. The walls were painted in a soft cream color, and the wood flooring looked original. There was natural woodwork around the doors and windows and on the staircase leading up to the second floor.
“This is nice,” Brooke said, stepping into the house. “I don’t know what her problem is.”
She turned to find Art examining the door and the deadbolt lock and smiled. “You check out security,” she said. “I’m going to look at the kitchen.”
With a smile on her face, she walked through the living room, down the short hallway and toward the kitchen in the back of the house. She didn’t even question why she knew where the kitchen was located. Many houses had the same layout. Stepping from the hall’s wooden floor onto the kitchen’s linoleum floor, Brooke was suddenly hit with a wave of terror. She felt like she couldn’t breathe and was paralyzed with fear. Grabbing onto the counter for support, she tried to call for help, but she couldn’t scream, couldn’t move. The bright kitchen became dark, and before her eyes a splattering of red exploded across the French doors that led to the deck. Tears flowed down her cheeks as she gasped for breath.
“Brooke!” Art was suddenly beside her, taking her into his arms and holding her. “Brooke, what’s wrong?”
She could feel the warmth of his body through the chill of fear, could hear the strength of his voice through her own shuddering gasps.
“I’m here, Brooke,” he said to her. “It’s okay. I won’t let anything hurt you.”
His assurances broke through the terror, and suddenly she was sobbing against him, her tears soaking the front of his shirt. He just held her, whispering soothing words into her ear. “It’s okay,” he said, fighting back the anger he felt at Blackwood. What the hell was he thinking? “We can go. We never have to come back to this house again.”
Her crying quieted, and she fumbled for a tissue in her purse. Finally, she stepped away from him, wiping her face, and shook her head. “No, we have to stay,” she stammered.
“I don’t understand,” he replied.
“This is where it happened,” she said. “This was my house. This is where I saw my father die.”
Chapter Thirty
“No.” Art said emphatically.
“No?” Brooke replied, feeling her strength returning. “What do you mean, no?”
“No, you’re not going to live here,” he said. “We’ll look at those other houses.”
He started to turn and walk away, but she placed her hand on his arm for just a moment to stop him. “I don’t want the other houses. I want this house.”
Turning, he put his arms on her shoulders and held her. “You didn’t see the terror in your eyes that I saw when I found you in here,” he said. “You didn’t see what this place did to you. You can’t stay here.”
“It’s the only place I can find out the truth,” she argued. “Isn’t that what we want? To learn the truth?”
No, dammit! Art wanted to shout. I want you to be safe. I want you to be protected. I want you to be taken away from all this danger. But she was right.
He walked away from her, pacing across the kitchen, running his hand through his hair in frustration. Finally, he faced her. “Brooke, listen, maybe you can get a place close by and visit here,” he suggested.
She took a deep breath and realized that once the shock wore off, the house actually felt like home. She smiled at him. He was in protect mode, and if it weren’t so frustrating, it would have been cute. “I bet you make a great big brother,” she replied softly and shook her head. “Art, you can’t protect me if I’m going to keep my promise to my dad. Niki’s right. I’m the only eyewitness. If I’m going to get my memory back, this is the only place that will help me.”
“You can’t stay here by yourself,” he decreed. “It really is too dangerous.”
She studied him for a moment, aware of the seriousness of the situation. Then she slowly looked around the room. Everything was feeling more and more familiar. She could almost hear her mother’s voice calling from the other room. It was so strange that Art would bring her to this house of all places. Wait! There’s no way this could have been a coincidence.
“Why did you bring me to this house?” she finally asked. “Did you know this was where Bruce was killed?”
“No,” he said. “I would never have brought you here if I had known that was his…”
He stopped himself and took a deep breath. “No, I didn’t know,” he continued.
“If that was his…” Brooke said, trying to finish Art’s sentence. “If that was his plan? Whose plan? Are you working with Reece? Are you trying to scare me away from finding out what happened to my father?”
“No. No, of course not,” Art said. “I’m on your side. I want to solve your father’s murder just as badly as you do?”
“Why, Art?” she asked, crossing the room and moving into his space. “Why do you want to solve my father’s murder?”
Feeling frustrated, tired and guilty, Art didn’t think before he spoke. “So he will leave me the hell alone!”
Brooke gasped and stared open-mouthed at Art. She started to question him when she heard a soft chuckle from across the room.
She turned slowly and her blood ran chill. The ghost of her father was leaning against the doorframe to the hallway, laughing at them.
“It’s not funny,” they both said simultaneously. In shock, they looked at each other. “You can see him?”
Bruce laughed even louder. “I’m so sorry,” he choked, but his continued laughter belied his words. “I didn’t realize that you hadn’t told each other that you’d seen me.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Brooke asked Art.
“Really?” Art replied. “Probably for the same reason you didn’t tell me. I didn’t want you to think I was nuts.”
“He sent you here?” she asked.
She turned to Bruce. “And you saved Jake’s life by telling him to drop,” she added.
Bruce stood up and walked a little closer. “Guilty on all counts,” he admitted. He looked at Brooke. “So, princess, do you think you could live here for a while? Or are the memories too painful?”
She shrugged. “That’s the problem,” she said. “There are no memories, except for that brief flash of horror in the kitchen. Reece and Mom took me to a psychologist and had her suppress my memories. I’ve been getting glimpses, feelings, but nothing solid. But I do think by staying here, the memories might come back.”
“And they might terrorize you,” Art said. “And send you over the edge.”
She turned to him. “I’m not going to go over the edge,” she assured him.
“You didn’t see your face a few minutes ago,” he replied. “You were paralyzed with fear. What if that happens, and there’s an emergency.”
“Like what?” she argued.
“Like someone finds out that you’re living here alone and decides to visit,” he replied.
“No one will find out,” she said, her words not coming out as forcefully as she would have liked. “I’ll be fine.”
“She doesn’t have to be alone,” Bruce said. “I’ll be here with her.”
Art turned on Bruce. “You’re great at turning o
ff lights, sliding boxes and whispering in the dark,” he said. “But how are you at hand-to-hand combat? Or handling a firearm? Could you protect her?”
Bruce was silent for a while and then shook his head. “No. No, I couldn’t,” he said. “But, O’Reilly, she’s not a child anymore.”
Chapter Thirty-one
“How many pairs of shoes does one human being need?” Tom O’Reilly asked as he packed another box full of the offending articles. “That’s the fifth box we’ve packed.”
“We need about as many shoes as you do video games for your X-box,” Niki replied, packing Brooke’s clothing into suitcases. It was after six o’clock, and they’d already made several trips down to the basement with Brooke’s belongings and only had a little more to go before her things were safely stowed away.
Tom looked over at her and shook his head. “Wait, video games, those are educational,” he replied.
Sam snorted. “Good one, O’Reilly.”
Niki was about the reply when the intercom beeped and she quickly answered it. “Brooke’s place.”
“Hey, it’s Rory,” the doorman said. “Judge Callahan just got into the elevator. I thought I’d give you a heads up.”
“Thanks, Rory,” Niki said. She hung up and turned to the men. “Now what?”
Tom grinned. “I think I have an idea,” he said. “Come on, lock me out of the apartment. And whatever you do, you two, don’t make any noise.”
A few minutes later, Tom was in the hallway pounding on the door. The elevator opened behind him, and he went into his act. “Come on, Callahan,” he yelled, pounding on the door. “I know you’re in there. Whether you like it or not, I need you to make a statement.”
“What the hell are you doing?” Reece Callahan shouted at Tom.
Flashing his badge quickly, Tom replied, “This is official Chicago Police Department business. So if you don’t mind…”
“I’m Judge Reece Callahan, and the door you are pounding on belongs to my daughter,” he said. “I demand you tell me what’s going on.”
