by Sophia Gray
She was about to leave, but a thought struck her. What if those idiots had missed something in the basement? Something obvious? It had, after all, been days since they’d first started looking, and their search hadn’t been casual by any standards. If they’d continued as they had, her whole basement had to have been completely gutted by now.
Either they were hopelessly incompetent or the stuff wasn’t there. And in the case of the former, she thought, she’d best go down and look over their work, maybe save them further trouble. The worst that could happen was that she came to the same conclusion as them—that there were no hiding spots left.
She hated to waste more time here, but part of her still craved distraction. And looking for drugs in her basement offered just that.
She made her way down the steps, feeling along the wall for the light switch. She flipped it on as soon as her hand brushed over it.
The sight of her storage room knocked the air out of her lungs, even though she’d done her best to prepare herself for what she was facing.
She’d been right. The whole place was gutted. Everything they could have pulled out had been pulled out. The drywall, the insulation, the plywood that separated the finished walls from the concrete foundation.
Wires hung everywhere in what was likely an intricate entanglement of code violations. There were even portions of the exposed foundation where it looked as if someone had used the mini jackhammer she’d seen earlier to gouge out chunks of solid concrete.
Had they really thought that whoever had stashed the drugs had somehow gotten through the finished wall to the concrete, penetrated into the cinderblock and hidden the drugs there, then perfectly restored everything so there was no sign of smashing through the wall in the first place?
But given the state of the room, she guessed they’d been getting desperate, and any theory, even as far-fetched as that, would have been believable.
So she was wrong. There was nowhere left to look.
Except the ceiling. She craned her neck up immediately to see if they’d even touched that part of the basement. She almost laughed to herself when she saw that the expanse of grimy white wallpaper was entirely untouched.
Of course, she thought bitterly. It had gone over their heads, literally. She scanned the room for a stepladder or anything that she could use to boost herself up. Luckily someone had brought a folding chair she could use.
She scanned along the ceiling, searching for any sign of irregularity. Her blood was pumping hard in her veins. Maybe she’d come up empty handed, too, but it was exciting to think she might actually find the stash and put an end to this whole nightmare. Or, put an end to the worst part of it, at least.
There were no lumps or obvious patches, but she did notice that the farthest edge of the wallpaper had begun to curl in at the corner. It might have been nothing, just a sure sign of the dilapidation that had almost consumed the place before she’d bought it.
Or it could have been hiding something crucial.
Bridgette moved the chair over the corner and climbed up so she could peel the paper back and see what was underneath. A hole in the ceiling should have produced some kind of wrinkle or shape, and she hadn’t seen one, but maybe it was hiding something else.
When she’d managed to pull the paper back a foot, what she saw underneath caused her heart to skip a beat. Tiles. The wallpaper had been covering ceiling tiles. The space between the tiles and the floor above would have been perfect for stashing drugs.
Propelled by her encouraging discovery, Bridgette moved to investigate the initial tile she’d uncovered. It looks just askew, she thought. Maybe….
She pushed on it, only to find an unnatural weight pressing down on it that made it difficult to budge it. After carefully tilting it back and forth for a few seconds, she managed to wiggle the tile forward, exposing a heavy plastic bag filled with a white powder that she knew immediately had to be cocaine.
Shit. She’d actually done it. It felt as if the stone that had been sitting in her stomach since Kyle had first shown up had dissolved.
He hadn’t been lying to her. Everything he’d said about Martin, about the reason behind the strange men hanging around, coming after her—it had all been true. That was an immense relief too, though it came with a flood of shame for having ever doubted him.
What did she do now? Bridgette stared up at the bag, hesitating. There had to be at least ten pounds of coke there, if not more. There was no way in hell she was chancing trying to get that out to her car. She didn’t even like the fact that it would have to stay in the bakery.
She’d have to go find Kyle and tell him right away. She could call him to come over…but she didn’t like hanging out here alone any longer than she had to. Besides, if he was still pissed at her, he probably wouldn’t even pick up.
It might be better to try to reconcile with him right away, too, she decided. There was no reason to let things fester overnight.
Now that she’d found the drugs, things seemed a lot less uncertain. And in retrospect, there were plenty of things she’d said to him that had come across a lot harsher than she’d meant them to be.
It would be good to drive over and apologize in person. So she shifted the drugs over so they were once again secured in the ceiling and replaced the tile. Just in case, she told herself.
As she was climbing down from the chair, she heard the bell from the front door jingle.
So Kyle had followed her, she thought, a wry smile forming on her lips. Well, it had worked out for the better. She headed up the stairs.
“Kyle,” she called, “I know what you’re going to say, but you’ve got to hear me out.”
She reached the top of the stairs. To her surprise, the front room was empty. Had she been imagining things?
“Kyle?” she called, her voice starting to quaver a little. She glanced to her left and right, but there was no one there.
She crept into the kitchen, scanning ahead of her for the slightest sign of movement.
But she didn’t look to her side in time. So she didn’t see the blow coming. She only felt the force of the impact before succumbing to the rising black curtain of unconsciousness.
Chapter 21
Falcon
Falcon continued to watch the front door of the house. He sat straddling his bike a ways down the street, farther than before, a cigarette between his lips. It was his third in the last hour.
Immediately after his argument with Bridgette, he’d been too pissed to do anything but kick around the house, stewing in his frustration. He was still reeling from finding out about Gabby, and between his anger at Bridgette and his inability to wrap his mind around the concept of fatherhood, he was a mess.
His original plan had been to let her go, to forget about her. If she didn’t want him in her life, fine. He didn’t need her anyway. He had a daughter to worry about now, and come hell or high water, he was going to figure out how to be a part of her life.
Bridgette wouldn’t like it at first. She would do everything she could to keep him away. But he could be persistent, and eventually he would find a way to be a father. Fuck, if he had to steal Gabby away a couple of times just so they could spend time together, he would. Bridgette wasn’t the only one who would have a say in this, and if she wouldn’t listen to him, he would have to take matters into his own hands.
But as time passed and his blood cooled a bit, he began to reconsider his rash ideas. If he pissed Bridgette off, there was no telling what route she’d go to keep her daughter safe, especially if she thought he was a threat to Gabby’s wellbeing. She might try to get a restraining order or get the courts involved, and that was the last thing he needed in his life.
Not to mention how bad it would be for Gabby to have them fighting over her, to have them hostile and always at each other’s’ throats. Falcon still remembered what it was like to be the kid in those situations. His parents had always had a rocky relationship, and being caught in the middle of their shouting matche
s had left a definite mark on him. He would never admit it to Bridgette, but whenever they’d argued over anything, even small things, his stomach curdled and twisted painfully. Nothing made him sicker than the feeling that he was falling back into the same miserable cycle he’d lived through as a kid.
He didn’t want that for Gabby. He didn’t want her growing up with that feeling in her gut. If that meant he’d have to back down a little and wait for Bridgette to let him into his daughter’s life, so be it.
He’d considered staying away from her. But as the seconds ticked by while he sat alone in the house, shuffling restlessly from room to room, trying to distract himself by turning his attention back to his problem with Martin, he found himself unable to think of anything but Bridgette and the rift of bitter words that hung between them. It was like an itch he couldn’t scratch; it pervaded his thoughts to the point of consuming them.
It had been maybe a half an hour before he decided that he couldn’t leave things the way they were. It wasn’t good for him and it wasn’t good for Bridgette. They had enough to worry about already. He could suck it up and be the bigger person here. He could apologize and tell her that he’d respect her wishes, even if that ended up being a temporary arrangement.
Christ, he hoped it wasn’t temporary. It hadn’t been a week and already he was addicted to her—the scent of her, the taste of her, the feel of her naked body beneath his hands. When she’d pulled away from him, the feeling of withdrawal had been physically painful.
Maybe it was his own damned fault for believing he could quit her cold again. Maybe he’d forgotten what hell it had been when he’d left her the first time. It was easier to lie to himself, to tell himself that he’d been strong enough to take it and that losing her hadn’t hurt that badly.
Easier until now. Now he faced that possibility again.
Falcon hadn’t waited long after that realization. He’d headed straight out to Bridgette’s friend’s house, hoping to catch her before Bridgette showed up to pick up Gabby. She wouldn’t like him turning up with their daughter around, but he wasn’t going to wait another goddamned second. He wasn’t going to give her time to decide that she was better off without him.
He’d been waiting out on the street for at least ten minutes, and he was beginning to suspect that he’d already missed her. And if that were the case, he was shit out of luck, since he had no idea where she lived. And he had a strong feeling she wouldn’t be taking his calls after their last little exchange.
Falcon took a final deep drag from the cigarette, allowing the concentrated smoke to linger and percolate at the back of his throat. He closed his eyes as the familiar soothing effect washed over him, calming his nerves a little and quieting the buzz of thoughts in his mind. He dropped the butt onto the ground beside him and stamped it beneath his heel.
So what the fuck was he supposed to do now? Knock on this woman’s door like a Jehovah’s Witness? Try to convince this woman that he needed to talk to Bridgette right away?
Well, he didn’t have many other options.
Falcon took a moment to straighten his leather kutte, as if that could somehow make him any more appealing to this suburban mom. He knew what he looked like: bad news. The wrong crowd. Like the kind of guy parents warned their kids about.
Falcon made his way down the sidewalk and up the path to the front door. Time to turn on the charm, he thought.
He rang the doorbell and waited.
After a few seconds of waiting, the door cracked open just a fragment. Bridgette’s friend peered out through the opening, a chain door lock hanging just below her chin. “Can I help you?” she demanded coldly.
Already off to a great start, Falcon thought to himself.
“Hi, sorry to bother you, ma’am, but I’m looking for Bridgette. I can’t seem to get ahold of her.”
“Who, Bridgette Lewis?”
Falcon fought the instinct to fire back a sarcastic remark. “Yes, ma’am, Bridgette Lewis. She mentioned you were a friend of hers, and that her daughter was staying here—”
“She gave you my address?” The suspicion in the woman’s voice was evident.
Shit. She was onto him. She probably thought he was a stalker. “I was out in the car when she dropped Gabby off,” he lied smoothly.
The woman let loose a derisive “humph.” “Were you now? Because I could have sworn I saw you circling off just down the block, spying on her. Get out of here before I call the police. And stop harassing that poor woman. She’s been through enough without having to deal with a creep like you.”
The door slammed shut in his face.
Falcon let loose a roar of frustration. The stupid bitch didn’t even know what she was talking about.
No. He had to keep calm. If he wanted to make things right with Bridgette, he couldn’t fuck up now just because he was having a little trouble tracking her down. He would just have to tell her the truth—or, enough of the truth, at least. And if that didn’t work…well, maybe he would have to go around knocking on doors. Or maybe he’d find a phonebook and try his luck there.
Falcon rang the doorbell again. He waited but there was no response.
Great, he thought. Well, he wasn’t about to turn around and forget about tracking her down. He started pressing the doorbell and releasing at regular intervals, hoping that Bridgette’s friend would eventually cave and come back to the door.
“Mom!” he heard a little girl call from inside.
“Mrs. Benjamin!” That was Gabby’s voice.
Gabby was still here? How was that possible?
“Mrs. Benjamin, there’s someone at the door!”
“Mom!”
“I’ve got it, girls!” Bridgette’s friend yelled. Falcon could hear the exasperation in her voice.
The door cracked open again, and Falcon found himself face to face once more with the portly woman, who now looked at him with unabashed disdain.
“I told you to scoot, buster. Now, I’m serious, I will call the cops on you, so you’d best get on out of here.”
“Did Bridgette call about picking up Gabby?”
The woman’s eyes narrowed. “What’s it to you?”
“Did she call or not?” Falcon snapped, his voice pitching louder than he’d intended.
Falcon watched with satisfaction as she recoiled back from him. Her angry confidence deflated a little, giving way to apprehension.
“She didn’t.”
Falcon’s gut tightened inexplicably. He didn’t like this. Something didn’t sit right with him. It had been too long since Bridgette had left. She should have come by already.
There were plenty of other explanations, he told himself. This didn’t mean anything.
Falcon decided that pushing for Bridgette’s address from this woman would probably be asking for too much. Besides, Bridgette would have to come by here at some point. He could just hang out in the area, keep an eye out for her vehicle. Maybe leave a few messages on her phone on the odd chance that she’d actually listen to them.
“If Bridgette comes by, tell her that Fal—that Kyle is looking for her, and she should give him a call.”
The woman continued to eye him warily. At least she hadn’t slammed the door again. “Sure.” Her tone wasn’t very reassuring.
“And tell her I said I was sorry,” Falcon added. Then he turned and stalked away before he could do anything stupid.
Something felt so wrong. He wanted to get his daughter out of that house and take her back to his place where she would be safe for sure. He had a gnawing feeling in his gut that things were about to take a turn for the worse, and he didn’t want to chance anything, especially not with his little girl.
He had to keep reminding himself as he walked away that she was probably safest with Bridgette’s friend. Martin wouldn’t be looking for a little girl. Bridgette had never taken her near the bakery and had only been out in public a handful of times with her since this whole mess started. That meant there was no reason for him to
potentially ruin everything with Bridgette by snatching Gabby up without her knowledge or permission. That would only piss off her pudgy soccer-mom friend and scare Gabby half to death.
Besides, he reasoned as he made his way back to his bike, this is just a feeling. Bridgette had been pretty pissed when she’d left. Maybe she’d gone for a drive to blow off steam. Maybe she had errands to run before picking up Gabby. There were plenty of possibilities. He was just on edge because of the way they’d left things.
When he reached his bike, he pulled his phone from his pocket and stared at the screen for a minute, trying to decide what to do. She wouldn’t pick up. And he’d never been good with leaving messages. He never could get the words out right, and they always ended up being a jumbled, incoherent mess. Or worse, he’d end up sounding antagonistic somehow, because that was what came easiest to him. He wasn’t good at contrite and apologetic.
