Zee chuckled to himself as Becca’s voice dwindled in her efforts to sway her father in letting her stay home. Looking around, Zee took in the furnishings and decorations of the neatly appointed front room. To his eyes, it looked like a space rarely used, almost as if it intended for ‘company’, not every day family living.
And entirely too fancy for the likes of him.
Turning the other way, he saw a large dining table holding a lone bowl and the scattered remains of some kind of cereal. Stepping into the room, he spied the kitchen beyond and made his way to the coffee pot.
Yep, Ol’ Reg has done damn well for himself. Leaning back against the cabinetry of the homey kitchen, Zee couldn’t help comparing Reggie’s life to the one he led. Just last week he’d been sleeping in his truck, filling the hole in his belly with any greasy fast food available and taking whore’s baths in roadside truck stops so as not to offend the general populace. And was part and parcel of his work in finding the ass-clowns who thought they could skip out on bail and hide until their troubles went away.
And in doing the comparison, Zee couldn’t help but feel a twinge of envy. Not that he’d ever planned on playing John Q. Fucking-Upright Citizen—with a nine to five job, a mortgage and all the other bills that went with it.
But a family?
Yeah. He could go for that in a big way. Having people in his life he loved and who wanted him around in return was one of his biggest dreams. Not that he’d ever admit to it out loud. Because to give voice to that sappy fantasy might make him actually do something to make it come true. And he couldn’t afford that yet.
Not until this other shit was done.
A horn honked outside and the trampling of feet resounded from the stairwell, Reggie’s voice almost shouting as he got his kids out the door. Zee waited, sipping his coffee and listening to the dwindling sounds.
“Sorry about that but mornings around here are kind of a three-ring circus,” Reg offered coming into the kitchen after snagging the cereal bowl on his way. “See you found the cups.”
Zee nodded and moved aside to give Reggie room to do up the breakfast dishes in the sink. “So when did you get into town?”
“Rolled in this morning. Came straight to your place.” Zee took another drink deciding to cut to the chase. “Need her address, man.”
“Veronica’s?” Reggie’d made short work of the few bowls and glasses, stacking them in the dishwasher before squeezing out the sponge and wiping down the countertops. “Thought you said you’d get it from Diane Polson.”
“Tried,” Zee replied on a grunt. “Called her and got shot down. Said she wanted to prepare Ronnie first, whatever the fuck that means.”
Reggie threw the sponge in the sink and wiped his hands with a paper towel, not looking Zee’s way for even a glance. This meant he had something to say he knew Zee wouldn’t like. There’d been more than a few moments like that when they were boys and Zee was happy to find he could still read his friend even after so many years apart. “You’ve been gone a long time, Zion. And you were the one who told Mrs. Polson to keep you out of the picture.”
Yeah, he had. And it had been a lousy decision, one in a long stream of ‘em but it’d been the only one he thought he could make at the time. “How is she? How’d she look?”
Reggie faced him and copied Zee’s pose of leaning against the countertop. “Considering she was freaked out about somebody breaking into her place, she looked about as good as can be expected, I guess. Not screaming or wild-eyed like some people would be. But having her guy with her might’ve helped.”
Zee straightened. “What guy?”
“Lemme get my notes.” Reggie went into the entryway and came back with a little black notebook, turning the pages quickly. “Rio Ironcloud. And before you ask, I did a little checking and found he’s ex-Ranger and recently employed by Black Ice, a security firm here in Grantham. No record, but also no permanent address.”
“What’s he to her?” Zee hadn’t followed up with Ronnie’s foster mother since she’d aged out of the system and gotten her own place, so he wasn’t sure why he was surprised to hear his little sister had a man in her life.
Reggie shrugged. “Neither one of them said. But since they were returning after one of the concerts the Uni holds, I’m think they’re at least dating. Although that situation might’ve changed since then.”
“Why?”
Running a hand over his head, Reggie sighed. “Because when I asked her about staying someplace else, she refused. That’s when Ironcloud announced he’d be sticking around to keep her safe. And I got the impression he wasn’t gonna be keeping vigil from the couch, if you know what I mean.”
Christ! An eleven year old knew what Reggie meant. “You think she’s sweet on this Ironcloud?”
Scratching the back of his neck, Reggie gave a half-hearted grin. “I don’t know as I’d call your sister sweet, Zee. I know that’s how you remember her, how you talk about her, but that’s not a word I’d use to describe the woman.”
Zee flexed his jaw and felt his eyes narrow. “What word would you use then, Reg?”
“I don’t know…formidable? A force to be reckoned with? Jesus, Zee. She’s little but strong. Keeps herself together. Controlled, you know?”
So they grew up and adopted the same careful attitude. Good to know.
“You got an address for me?” Zee managed his question in a civil tone, but Reggie wasn’t fooled as evidenced by the way he stuttered over the address, trying to give directions that didn’t make any sense.
But as soon as he’d taken it all down in his own little notebook, Zee left Reggie’s place—not only physically but mentally—as he prepared to finally meet the sister he hadn’t seen in more than twenty years. He’d kept up with her via infrequent calls to the foster mother and then following her adult activity online. But the girl was almost, if not more secretive than he was about her personal life. And while the last few years had her posting a helluva a lot of pictures as her photography business began to grow, there were too few snaps of her posted. And almost none at all of her by herself, except for the little icon of a portion of her face.
In other words, you won’t recognize her on sight, shithead. Zee’s thoughts were morose as he entered the address into his GPS and began to meander through the unfamiliar streets of Grantham. And even obeying all traffic laws, it didn’t take him long to locate her place. Although finding parking was a different story. It seemed like while the town had grown by leaps and bounds, the city council stalled in resolving the traffic issues within the older neighborhoods.
He finally found a spot two blocks away, across the street from a park where some locals were enjoying the early fall weather. Locking up the car, he took in a deep breath before letting it slowly out. In just a few minutes he’d be with his little sister.
The one he’d been forced to give away in order to keep her alive and safe.
The only family he had left.
The only person on the face of the Earth he treasured.
Hitching up his jeans, his boots thudded on the sidewalk almost in time to the beats of his heart. Would she remember him? Christ, she’d been so small, so damn little when he’d left her at the firehouse. Staring up at him with those big agate eyes, clutching Mr. Buttons tightly as she pleaded with him not to leave her.
It was the hardest thing he’d ever done either before or since. And shot him straight from an innocent and terrified ten-year-old to the beginnings of the cold and deliberate man he would grow to be.
Stepping off the curb, Zee turned his head to watch for cars and heard a scream that took him out and away from his musings of his past and straight into the all-systems-alert arena.
Where’d it come from?
Reaching behind him, he pulled his handgun from the waistband of his jeans and held it tucked against the back of his thigh, his eyes frantically scanning the streets as his senses sharpened. Had it just been a cat?
Another shriek, both loud
er and longer this time had him moving as fast as possible, the growls, snaps and yelps of some kind of dog adding to the chaotic mix. Using the other vehicles as shields, Zee slowed as he got a visual on what was happening halfway down the block.
But what he saw, he definitely didn’t like.
It was a shorter, older man and a much younger woman grappling on the sidewalk, him holding her from behind as he attempted to move her to a van with its sliding door open. But the woman wasn’t going for it—fighting the man tooth and nail as a fluffy, little dog did the same from the sidewalk.
The woman screeched again and got a good shot in with an elbow to the ribs.
“Let me go, asshole!” She might’ve been tiny but she was loud enough to wake the dead.
Zee went into a crouch, bringing his handgun up and cradled in his palms. “You heard the lady. Let her go.”
The couple both stilled at Zee’s bellow and even the small canine paused as three sets of eyes shot his way. “Get your hands off her and hit the ground, motherfucker.”
The man wildly looked from side to side, his fingers tightening on the woman’s arms as the sound of running footsteps came from behind the couple. “Let her go, dirt-bag,” was heard before another guy came on the scene, weapon drawn while barking orders. The larger man was ex-military, Zee could tell just from the dude’s air of calm, despite the messiness of his overlong, blonde locks. “Said let her go and kiss that sidewalk, shithead.”
“I got this,” Zee advised, taking a step closer to the couple who were still in statue mode, only their heads twisting as their eyes shot between the two men with guns.
“Guess again, buddy. She’s my responsibility.” Oh fuck. Someone else who wanted to play hero and was calling ‘dibs’. Just what Zee needed. “If you wanna play Good Samaritan, why don’t you call 911 for me as I take care of this?”
Was the blonde guy serious? Zee was first on the scene and had the situation well in hand before the muscle-bound surfer even made his play.
The woman jerked in a quick movement and fell to her knees, the bag she wore in a cross-body position, hitting the cement with an audible smack. Figuring the surf-cat could handle the older guy, Zee raced to the woman. “Are you okay?”
“Fine,” she panted her head down while the little dog danced around her slumped figure. “At least I think I am.”
Zee reached for his phone but before he’d even accessed the screen, he heard the wanna-be hero’s bellow as a shot rang out while the van’s engine revved and tires squealed when it raced away. Although Zee wasn’t entirely sure of the sequence since at the first sound of blondie’s weapon, he’d thrown himself over the tiny woman and her dog.
Raising only his eyes, Zee took in the view and shook his head in frustration.
Heroes were only viable when they got the job done.
And at that particular moment, there were no heroes to be found. Just a couple of former military men holding their dicks (and weapons) as the assailant fish-tailed down the street.
Chapter Twenty
I kept my head down and my mouth shut (mostly) as the previously unseen Lance drove me and Pookie to the police station. Which I will go on record as saying I was totally against.
But I was outvoted.
By both the blonde, very well-built Lance and the scarred, tall and wiry stranger.
The bastards.
One minute I was holding the Pookster’s leash, minding my own flipping business as I scrolled through the pictures on my camera as we walked from the park to my place when I was grabbed from behind. Okay, grabbed and kinda dragged by a guy not much taller than me, but who was a helluva lot stronger. With the kind of strength that left bruises.
And who freaked both me and my canine companion right the hell out. To the point little Miss PK took a thorough dislike of the ass-hat and his ankles, nipping and snarling as she not only ripped his pants, but left him bleeding and limping.
Yeah I hadn’t see his face, but I sure as shit would recognize his torn up ankles if push came to shove.
It was the only silver-lining I could come up with as Lance parked then escorted me and Rio’s dog (who I was carrying because the sweet, little girl was trembling in the aftermath of what she’d been through) into the law enforcement area of Grantham’s City Hall.
Making our way to the second floor, I took the time to peruse the pictures of ‘old’ Grantham and realized that my pictures, the series I was working on, was a so much better it wasn’t funny. And so my attitude—which was running in the lane marked ‘are you freakin’ kidding me’ veering into the ‘why the eff am I even here’—made my heels strike the floor a bit harder and at a faster pace than I normally walked.
That the stranger followed me was also cause for concern. I mean, I got the whole machismo ‘I need to save you’ vibe he was working. And truly, I was grateful for his help. But for the dude to go the extra step and actually follow me and Lance to the police station? That seemed a bit excessive.
As well as became an interference I didn’t want or need.
Lance placed me on a huge bench situated along one wall in the entryway of the cavernous space of the police department. A stalwart seat that had metal loops embedded in its legs. Fascinating metal eyelets which took up a lot of head-space as I tried to figure out their purpose as both my babysitter and the dude with the scar talked with the guy at the desk. Between my study of the bench and my efforts to calm Pookie, I was able to block most of their shit out.
All I knew was I’d been attacked and a shot was fired which hadn’t (thankfully) hit me or PK.
Therefore, all was good.
Yet Lance had complicated everything when he’d called Rio from the car. Telling the behemoth who shared my bed that, yeah, both me and his dog were okay. But telling Rio he needed to meet us at the police station.
And although the subject had never come up for discussion, I knew the new man in my life wouldn’t like my name or even Pookie’s coming up in a conversation where words like ‘attacked’, ‘grabbed’ or ‘shot fired’ were used.
He was sorta picky about shit like that.
I heard the sounds of conversation from the all-male confab at the desk, but tuned the sound out. Preferring instead to keep my nose stuck in the Pookmeister’s fur, stroking her in all the places I learned she loved, scratching and cuddling to calm both our asses down. That was until the strange, scarred guy replied to a question.
“James,” he stated firmly, and maybe because that’s my last name I sat up and took notice. But then he repeated himself. “My name is Zion Edward James. And her name is Veronica Millicent James.”
I swear my entire body went to stone as the man, the unknown dude with the wicked scar, the one who’d come outta nowhere and tried to save me from the creep who’d cowardly grabbed me from behind, stated my name.
My full and entire name, while staring at me as if he knew me.
The guy at the desk, whose nameplate read as ‘Sgt. Marguelies’ held up a hand before asking, “and who is she to you?”
The scarred guy’s eyes drifted to the sergeant, but couldn’t stay there. They came back to me as he answered in a clear and ringing voice, “she’s my baby sister.”
I glanced at Lance who was staring at the…at Zion as if he had two heads, which I was sure pretty much mirrored the look on my face as Rio burst through the double, frosted-glass doors bellowing my name.
And that’s when I lost it.
Lost all my fluttering disjointed thoughts and emotions as I slowly came to my feet, every cell in my being screaming for him, to touch him. As if I knew my compass, my home and safe harbor in the storm of what’d transpired came into view. I didn’t waste a moment, not one second as I launched me and the dog I held Rio’s way only to be met with his strong arms, his embrace as he whispered, “Vons.”
And at my shortened name, said in exactly the perfect tone of voice, at the exact moment I needed to hear it, was my undoing. Allowing all sorts of emotions to leak
out of my eyes and my mouth in the way of wet hitches.
Yet I wasn’t so far gone I could ignore the way the three men at the desk became glued to scene of my and Rio’s greeting. But for once, I couldn’t’ve cared less. I was right where I wanted and needed to be, accepting Rio’s rough, manly consolation with grateful relief.
So I soaked it in. Opened up and allowed all that was Rio to be absorbed by the truest version of the Vonnie that was me.
Reveled in it and stored it up.
Because I absolutely knew the next bit there in the GPD station was not gonna be pretty. It was only unfortunate I wasn’t able to warn Rio about my concerns in advance because I was sobbing at how he’d rushed to be with me, calling my name as if I was his sole reason for being.
I don’t know how long he and I spent touching and reassuring each other, but it seemed like it was pretty damned fast before we were separated, a Detective Bell taking me into one room as the others (that’d be Lance and the scar…erm, Zion) were taken into separate areas in order to spout our stories. I don’t know how the others did, or what they said.
All I knew was Pookie was foisted on Rio and that my interview lasted a long flipping time, the detective going over the same points again and again.
Did I get a good look at the guy who’d grabbed me? (No, because he’d remained behind me the entire time.)
Could I identify him in a line-up? (Seriously? After I’d already admitted to not seeing him?)
Was there any reason I could think of that would put a target on my back, causing both the break-in and the fuck-head to grab me? (No, since I didn’t like or even associate with most people even in the best of times, either in a good or bad way.)
What was my relationship with Desidario Ironcloud?
That was the question which found me stumbling, blinking, and swallowing deep. “What do you mean?”
“He has no permanent address and seems to have moved in with you after only knowing you a week. Is this the kind of relationships you engage in, Miss James?”
Fuck.
Really?
Vonnie: Book Two of Broken Girls Series Page 17
