“I bet it was Detective Sawyer or Detective Richardson,” I reply. “The cops are always leaking information to the press.”
“No, the cops won’t do that.”
“You know what?” I huff and throw up my hands. “It really doesn’t matter, Terrence. The press was going to find out, anyway.”
“Joslyn, it does matter. What are you talking about? They’ll go beyond the kidnapping, and they will dig up all kinds of crap about you and Harlan and put it out there. He’s a public figure in the Savannah government. Your lives will go from bad to worse in a split second if the reporters are not put in check. I’m telling you, we have to cut them off and get them out of our family’s business.”
“I’ve been thinking about that, actually. They’ve been camped out in front of Jackie’s house since yesterday. I don’t know who allowed them into the neighborhood, but I was thinking about getting their access revoked.”
“That’s a good idea,” he says. “And I’ll talk to Detective Sawyer when I see her again, make sure the cops aren’t running their mouths.”
After fifteen minutes of sitting in traffic, we start moving again. We go by a bad accident, where a black car has been crumpled beyond repair, and the truck it rear ended is on the side of the road, with only the back bar dented.
By the time, we get off of Augusta Road, Terrence’s phone starts ringing. He pulls it out of his shirt breast pocket and answers it.
“Yeah.” Terrence listens and then says, “Hey, Jackie. She’s here.”
I roll my eyes. How did she find me?
“Hold on a minute.” He hands me the phone.
“Hello,” I answer.
“Where are you?”
“I’m handling something real important right now,” I answer.
“What is something real important?” She sounds like she’s really irritated at me.
“Don’t worry about it. What do you want, Jackie?”
“Detective Sawyer wants to question you.”
My heart leaps in my chest. “Maybe later.”
“Joslyn, there is no later. You need to go to the police station now. I’ll meet you there.”
“No.”
“Are you kidding me? Have you completely lost your mind?”
“Does it sound like I’m kidding?”
“Joslyn, as of right now, you’re not under arrest, but if you continue to avoid the police, you will be.”
“I’ll talk to her when I get back.” I disconnect the call.
Jackie’s threat scares me half to death, but I’m not going to do as she says. And I’m even more fearful of what Terrence will say or do if he finds out about Detective Sawyer’s suspicions. I turn off his phone and drop it in my purse, out of his reach.
“Joslyn, that’s mine,” Terrence says.
“I know.”
“Give it back.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because you’ll turn it back on, and when Jackie calls back, you’ll answer it. I don’t want her to know what I’m doing, and I don’t want you telling her.”
“But what if we get a call from my parents about Harlan? What if the cops call about Dave? You don’t want to miss any of them.”
I didn’t think about that. I pull the phone out, turn it back on, put it on vibrate, and then drop it back in my purse. Terrence glances over at me like I’m crazy. Right now, I am.
Chapter Seventeen
Hunter and Jennifer Briggs live in a little house in the country, and to my disappointment, they have a lot of people visiting for the Fourth of July. Cars are parked on each side of the road and on the muddy driveway. I look at each one, hoping to find the silver car from yesterday. A Jeep and a hatchback are the only things that’s silver, not even close to being the same vehicle. My shoulders sink.
“How many people do you think is in the house?” Terrence asks as he pulls over to the side of the road.
“Probably not that many,” I respond. Only a hope, I know I’m wrong.
As soon as Terrence puts the car in park, I’m out. The smoky smell of barbeque hits me right away, and it gets stronger as I get closer to the house. The front porch is empty, except for a rooster perched on the back of a chair. It looks at me and Terrence, tilting its head, as we ascend the steps quietly. It’s not even scared. Noise from the inside of the house brings my attention to the screen door. I peek through it to the living room. People are standing around, talking and laughing, but the room isn’t overly crowded. One person blocks my view. His enormous backside is facing me. I open the screen, but Terrence grabs my arm before I can enter.
“What are you doing?” he whispers.
“Going inside,” I reply.
“The hell you are.”
I give him the look, one that warns him ‘hands off.’ He lets go, whispering his apology. I accept with a nod.
Terrence fails to understand that nothing will stop me from finding my son. Whatever it takes. There is no choice on my part. Terrence sees my determination, gives up with a heavy sigh, and follows me inside.
At first, no one notices us as we’re standing behind the big guy. I shift around him. The guy finally notices me when I accidently bump into his arm.
“Sorry,” I tell him.
“Whassup, Ma?” The guy is checking me out. I’m more embarrassed than flattered, and I move away from him quickly.
My attention turns to the room full of people. There is a sense of connection and family among everyone. They all smile. They laugh, talk over one another jokingly. Hugs are exchanged. All the while, I’m taking note of faces, really studying them to see if anyone looks like the two people from yesterday. None of the guys have dreadlocks. Some of them are older gentlemen, and there aren’t that many young ladies. I’m disappointed and on the verge of panicking. What if one of these girls is really the woman that took my son? She could be the one that’s laughing in the corner, or the one playing with the television remote. A girl just walked out the door. Was that her? Did she spot me and is trying to get away? I swallow and take a deep breath. There is no need to panic. No evidence that the girl and that guy would be here. Time to get on point.
Just as I’m about to get the attention of the closest person to me, Terrence pulls me by my arm again. I snatch away. I’m tired of him grabbing me, and once again I give him that look. He apologizes. I turn my back and tap on the guy’s shoulder in front of me. He’s a young man, possibly in his early twenties. He has a small frame, about the size of Davian.
With a sweet smile, he says, “Yes, ma’am.” His shockingly, deep voice alarms me that he’s only a teenager, not even fifteen.
“I’m looking for Mr. and Mrs. Briggs,” I remark in my most cordial voice.
“Mr. B is on the grill out back,” he says. “Mrs. B is in the kitchen.” The kid points behind me.
“Thank you.”
I walk into the kitchen, where it’s a lot less crowded, but there are three older women. One is at the stove. The other is washing dishes, and the last one is stirring some kind of mixture in a bowl. They are talking it up at the same time. The lady mixing the bowl is the first to see me. She stops and looks at me curiously.
“Who are you?” she asks.
The other two ladies turn to see who she’s talking to. The one at the stove puts the lid on the pot, and the lady at the sink turns off the faucet. My face is hot. I try to back out, but Terrence is standing in the way.
“You hear me talking to you?” The woman with the mixing bowl puts her hands on her hips.
“Yes, ma’am,” I say as I clear my throat. “I’m sorry to bother you ladies, but I’m looking for Mr. and Mrs. Briggs.”
The woman at the stove comes to the counter, standing next to the lady with the mixing bowl, and says, “I’m Mrs. Briggs. How can I help you?”
She reminds me of my mom a little bit. There is a strength, a booming proudness, but she gives off a warm softness, a motherly aura. No, I was wrong. This woman doesn’t remi
nd me of my mother. My mother is more of a loud mouth with hard edges.
“Can we speak in private?” I ask.
“Ah, no,” the woman at the sink chimes in. “We don’t know you.”
I look to Mrs. Briggs. She’s in silent agreement with the woman at the sink.
“Alright,” I reply. “Mrs. Briggs, I’m here to speak with you about my son.”
“What son?” she asks with sincere interest.
“My son’s name is Dave…Davian Montgomery.”
“Oh my goodness, Jen,” the woman at the sink says. “She was on television. Her son was kidnapped. I saw you yesterday on television.”
Mrs. Briggs rests her hands on the counter and lowers her head.
“Ma’am?” I lean over, trying to see if she’s okay.
“Get out of my house,” Mrs. Briggs calmly says.
I wasn’t expecting her to say that. Not willing to give up, I go to the opposite side of the island from where she stands, to make her look me right in the eyes. I’m desperate for her to hear me out. “Mrs. Briggs, my son was taken by two people, a black girl and a guy with dreadlocks. Gia knows who they are.”
“You need to leave.” She lifts her head, giving me a cold hard stare.
“All I want is for you to tell me their names.”
“What did I just say?” She straightens her stance and puts her hands on her hips.
“Mrs. Briggs, your daughter-”
“I don’t know who those people are that took your son, and if Gia knows, you better off talking to her. I got nothing to do with what she’s done to you. I told Detective Parker that yesterday, and I’m telling you the same thing today.”
“Mrs. Bri-”
“No, honey, we’re done. You need to go.”
A crowd is gathering behind Terrence. The noise from the living has completely stopped. Despite the fact that the mood in the house has changed, I’m not giving up.
“Your daughter ruined my life,” I say with determination. “She hired those people to take my son.”
“That’s not my problem. Now, you need to go, and I won’t be saying it again.”
“You heard what Mrs. B said.” The big guy that was at the front door is now coming into the kitchen. He walks like a giant that’s too big for his own skin, a mountain of a man if I ever saw one. He brings a threatening aura to the room, one that promises he will finish whatever has started. People are crowding the door, creating a wall of stunned and angered faces. Pressure is at its peak, and I want to run. But I won’t. I can’t.
“Joslyn, let’s go,” Terrence remarks as he reaches for me.
I look to Mrs. Briggs one more time, hoping against all hope, that she will give me what I want, but her expression tells me she isn’t interested in talking to me any longer.
“Joslyn!” Terrence says with annoyance.
I don’t move nor do I answer him. Mrs. Briggs and I are staring each other down. She’s not going to break. Actually, I’m the one crumbling to pieces.
“Get the fuck outta here!” the giant bellows, startling me.
With my hope completely dashed, I take hold of Terrence’s hand. I welcome his touch this time. We try to leave out of the kitchen, but the big guy doesn’t move out of our way. Terrence and I have to look up at this guy, and I feel as though he’s going to crush us where we stand.
He coldly states, “If I hear about you two coming back here again, bothering Mr. and Mrs. B, your fuckin’ dead bodies will be in the Savannah River when I’m done.”
“Stop it, Angel,” Mrs. Briggs scolds him. “Let them go.”
“We’re not coming back,” Terrence says to the big guy.
“Angel,” Mrs. Briggs calmly says. “I said let them go. The rest of ya’ll move out the way.”
He moves aside, very slowly. His eyes burn into me as Terrence and I exit the kitchen. As soon as we reach the porch, I freeze. The same news van that was parked in front of Jackie’s house this morning, the one with the man taking my picture from the passenger seat, has stopped and is blocking a lane in the road. Two more show up, pulling up behind him. Cameramen and reporters barrel towards us. Terrence and I take off for the car, both of us nearly slipping on the wet grass. We run right through the yelling reporters. They follow us, right on our heels, shouting question after question.
As soon as we’re in the car, Terrence makes a U-turn while trying to avoid the reporters. He blazes right by the news vans. I turn around to look out the back window. They are heading back to their vehicles, hoping to catch up with us. Terrence gets to the first road he sees on the right and guns it without braking. I hang on, still looking back to see if the news crews are catching up. Terrence is leaning forward, driving way too fast and passing other cars on the small two-way country road, sometimes skirting dangerously too close to the edge.
Minutes later, we’re back on Augusta Road, heading back to Savannah; no reporters in sight. Terrence eases up on the speed, and I can see the tension leave his body. But the anger is still there, brewing but suppressed. I’m not going to say a word to ignite his rage openly; not even going to apologize. Terrence will say something when he’s ready. Hopefully, he’ll be calm at that point.
Chapter Eighteen
“Why are we stopping?”
“Almost out of gas,” Terrence says coldly. “I’ll fill it up for you.”
“Thanks,” I reply. I reach for his hand before he gets out. “I’m sorry for getting you into that situation. Please, don’t be mad at me, Terrence.”
He lets go of a breath that shakes the tension lose from his shoulders. “I’m not mad, Joslyn. I’m just…I’m just surprised by what you did back there.”
“I’m desperate, okay. I cannot just sit back and do nothing. It’s been twenty-four hours since I’ve seen or spoken to my son, and it’s killing me. I want him back, and I’m convinced that Mrs. Briggs knows something.”
“I think you want her to know something. When the truth is, she doesn’t, and to be openly honest with you, I don’t believe Gia was involved, either.”
“You never met her,” I remark. “She is a bad person, Terrence. I mean, what kind of individual tries to kill an entire family? Hiring someone to take my son, to try and kill my husband, is not that much of a reach for her.”
“But that doesn’t mean her parents are involved, Joslyn. We shouldn’t have gone to her parents’ house. You have to let the police handle the search for Dave, and you need to focus on Harlan from this point on.”
He slides out of the truck and slams the door close. I made two mistakes today. I went to the Briggs’s family home, and I asked Terrence to come with me. Oddly enough, I probably wouldn’t have gotten out of there without Terrence’s help. I decide not to take him with me to see Joshua’s mother. Once he gets gas, we’ll go to the hospital, and from there, I’ll do everything I need to on my own. It’s probably a stupid idea, but I have no other choice.
Terrence fills up the gas tank within a few minutes, and we’re on our way again. He drives by a road that leads to the county prison. I want him to turn so badly. Gia Briggs is in there, but it’s the Fourth of July. The prison is closed. By tomorrow, if my son is not home, I will be paying her visit, and I will not leave until I speak to her in person.
Just as we get into the city limits of Savannah, Terrence’s phone starts buzzing in my purse. I’d forgotten it was in there. I take it out. Six missed calls from Jackie, and one is from Oliver, Terrence’s father. There’s also a girl name Allison that has called him four times, and she’s the last one.
“Allison?” I say to him.
“I’ve been waiting for her to call me,” he says.
I give him the phone, and he glances at it. He scrolls through the missed calls while trying to keep the car in the lane.
“Dad has called. I wonder if something’s up with Harlan.” Terrence calls him back. There’s no answer. “I’ll see him when we get to the hospital. Hopefully, everything is okay.”
“You wa
nt me to keep trying while you drive?”
“That’s a good idea, but I want my phone back afterwards.”
“I promise I won’t keep it from you this time,” I reply sheepishly.
Terrence hands me the phone, and I hit redial. Two times it goes to voicemail. I call Sarah and Jeremiah, also. Neither one of them answer their phones. There’s no way I’m calling Jackie, but I wonder if there’s something wrong with Harlan? She’s still at home and wouldn’t know anything about my husband’s condition. So, I’m not going to worry about calling her.
When we get to the hospital, I’m not surprised one bit to find reporters stalking the front entrance. So tired of those people. What good are they? I swear, they are worse than nosy neighbors. We park on the other side of the hospital, near the emergency room entrance, where there’re no reporters in sight.
Terrence gives me my car keys after parking, and we go into the hospital. I breathe a little easier, knowing we avoided the news crews once again. We walk the maze of hallways towards the intensive care unit. It feels like we’ve walked a mile before we reach it. Before we go through the double swinging doors, I grab Terrence by the shirt.
“Don’t tell Sarah or Oliver what happened.”
“Believe me,” he chuckles, “I won’t.”
We walk into the hallway and make the right at the end of the hallway. Outside of Harlan’s room are the very people I wasn’t expecting to find. Jackie is there. Detective Sawyer and Detective Richardson are with her. No Oliver. No Sarah or Jeremiah. My heart is beating in my throat. I want to run, but I know better. Why do I have a feeling that I’m about to be arrested?
Chapter Nineteen
My visit with the Briggs family got back to the police and Jackie, and now, we’re all standing in the big main lobby outside the ICU. Terrence is standing beside me, both of us looking like guilty criminals. Jackie has her arms crossed with a scowl on her face. Detective Sawyer isn’t too pleased, either. Detective Richardson is glaring at me. I try to act like he’s not even there.
Joslyn (Women of Privilege Book 3) Page 9
