by Dani Wyatt
“Yes. I will call you in an hour.” Her gaze softens and I know how tired she is. It’s not just sleep she needs, it’s peace.
I try to reassure her with a soft squeeze from my fingers. I hate that I have to do it, to keep reassuring her. I bring both her hands to my mouth, my eyes locked on hers and kiss the ring on her left hand. Marking my territory.
She pulls her hands from mine, quickly moving them and fists my t-shirt below my collar.
“Fix this. All of it. So we can start our life. Get Jordan back.” She glances at her belly. “All of it. You’re my hero and I’m depending on you.” She's my queen, and this is her command.
The sorrow in her voice cracks my heart into a hundred sharp pieces. I lean forward, set my lips on her forehead and hold them there. Not kissing, just holding, trying to take away all the worry and pain. I know I can’t, but I am damn well going to try.
“If it’s the last thing I do.”
Her breath exhales on little puffs as I settle a long, slow kiss on her lips. I let out a little moan and from behind me Bruce lets out a dramatic sigh like he's just caught mommy and daddy kissing.
“Do . . .” Bruce interrupts, “you guys want me to leave? Because it sure seems like y’all are stokin’ up something that is not exactly my kind of threesome.”
I smile and stand, grateful for his ability to infuse humor into almost any situation. Promise lets go of my shirt, leaving two wrinkled spots on my chest which I do my best to smooth out with the palms of my hands.
“No. We’re good. Feed her. Make her smile. And keep her here. Or, I’ll be stokin’ up something else which most definitely won’t be your cup-o-tea.” I eye him from under my brow and step toward the door. He counters playfully with hands up away from me in the universal sign of surrender.
“You don’t scare me.” His voice shakes in mock fear as he tip-toes in retreat, then doubles over in a snort. Bruce smacks his knee before straightening back up and putting on his best dead pan face. “Scratch that. You actually do scare me.”
As I leave them together, Promise's words come back to me.
Fix this. Get Jordan back.
Beckett
This shit hole is shut up tight. Every blind is closed, every curtain drawn.
But he’s in there. I can fucking smell him. Feel him.
Jeremy.
It’s a predatory sixth sense. Maybe I was born with it, or maybe I've developed it in my years of service, but I’ve got it nonetheless. His pathetic ass is hiding in there. Like a pussy.
In a way I'm looking forward to seeing him. I need to know what he knows, and I know he won't give it up willingly. And that means applying pressure. Something at which I excel.
It’s nearing six-thirty, but it’s July and the sun breaks through the clouds like it could still be mid-afternoon. I don’t give a shit. It’s broad daylight and I’m entering this house. Just what he won't expect. The element of surprise is part of the plan.
I know guys like Jeremy. They’re cowards. He’s a bully of the worst order. The kind that manipulates someone he views as weak, vulnerable. He uses his position of authority to cater to his own base needs. It’s a special brand of evil.
He may not have touched Promise, but he sure as shit imagined it. Even when she was too young to consent. And that is a character flaw that knows no quarter. I picked through all the information I could get my fingers on. The photos. The journals he wrote. All about her. My baby girl. From what I gather, his obsession wasn’t with kids. It was with Promise.
I'm watching from my observation spot inside the Suburban and I’ve got my game plan figured out. The shithead could call the cops, but the moment he sees who’s come calling, my guess is he’ll do whatever he can to placate me. In his position, more interaction with the law may not be in his best interests.
I step down onto the street. It’s a quiet neighborhood. He lives toward the end of a cul-de-sac so I don’t hear vehicles or kids playing, not even a dog barking. This is blue-collar town. Most of the houses are buttoned up tight. A few TV screens flicker behind closed blinds, nothing that worriesme.
My mind quiets and I let everything else fall away. This is a moment for calm focus. I’ve got questions. He better fucking have answers.
I stride up the driveway, easy as a politician on the campaign trail. My eyes register the two windows, just dim light streaming through the closed window coverings. There's a flower pot on the front porch, filled with weeds. The garden beds around the house are overgrown with bushes. Left to run wild. A few dandelions push through the faded mulch of the untended beds. The lawn is overgrown, with patches of yellow and brown grass like empty, stagnant ponds, all the way from the house to the street. Nobody's looking after this property. My guess is, Jeremy's got other things on his mind right now.
I stomp to the front door because I’m not hiding. I'm not playing this cool. I’m coming right through his fucking front door like I did when I came to claim Promise just a few months ago.
My hand grasps the metal handle and pulls the aluminum screen door open. I give the knob on the wooden front door a twist because hey, you never know. He’s as stupid as a box of used condoms so maybe he leaves it unlocked.
But nope.
I freeze, listening.
Low traffic noise drifts from the interstate a mile away. It’s that quiet here. My heart beats, slow and steady. I channel my training. Keeping the mission directive in mind. Tamping down the emotional part of me that still wants to introduce Jeremy's nose to his own asshole.
The deadbolt’s locked. The only thing between me and Jeremy is the paper thin, faded oak door. I remember it didn’t take all that much force to bust it down the last time, but who knows what kind of repair has been done since.
It’s a hurdle. That’s all. I take one more look over my shoulder, scanning the street, taking note of the neighbor’s windows. Looking for prying eyes between the blinds or a curtain pulled back. It’s dead silent, except for my own breathing and the chirping of a few birds. Jeremy’s light blue Corolla is parked at the curb in front of the house.
It’s possible he’s not here, that my spidey sense is off, but I fucking doubt it. My skin crawls, my mouth waters, and there is a low anxious energy that flows through me. It tells me he’s inside, curled in a ball. Probably laying in his own waste.
I’ve tried putting the pieces together. Jeremy must have been barely twenty during the interlude between Louis and Holly. What the hell was he doing getting his ass involved with that shit? He should have been out at the bar, or the strip club, since those establishments are clearly on his list of recreational activities.
I never cared much for that side of life. I spent a time or two inside a gentleman’s club but it didn’t do shit for me. Seems there was always something inside me that was waiting. I’ve jerked off far more than I’ve fucked in my life. That’s for sure. No other female ever did much for me. Until Promise. Now I’m tagged and bagged, and my cock is branded with her mark.
When I think of Promise dancing at that club, I feel like a dog with razor back, drooling and snarling. I hate that any man ever stroked off with her in mind. She’s mine. Even a glance in her direction from a dick swinging XY puts me on edge.
I take a long, slow breath, then let go of the door knob, one hand holding open the screen door.
I’m pressed back about three feet. I need to put my heel just to the right of the deadbolt to blast it through the wood with one sharp smack of my boot.
Focus.
Muscle memory. When we used to go house to house in Kunduz I kicked down a lot of doors. More than I can remember. It was always my foot the guys called on when a door didn’t open after a single knock. We didn’t wait around for guns to be aimed at our heads. One knock. Then we went in. Seems I had the knack for convincing a door to let us in.
In one fluid motion, my body takes over. I cock my torso back and focused force shoots like weighted arrows down from my chest. It travels through my core and
into the muscles of my right thigh.
I jerk back a few inches, shut down my breath, and like a tight bow string releasing my foot comes up and strikes with a boom.
The wood around the deadbolt splinters and the door frame explodes, leaving the door ajar a few inches. The metal bolt busts out the back of the door at a forty-five-degree angle, still holding onto the door frame by a few millimeters.
I wince, growl and slam one more time with a grunt. The door cracks open, bouncing against the wall behind and sending shards of wood flying through the air.
In three seconds I’m boots on the ground, swinging the door behind me, closing it as far as it will go into the shattered door frame.
“You have company,” I announce my arrival into the silence as my eyes adjust and take in the disaster of the living room.
A putrid smell hits my nose and I almost double over. White take-out containers dot every flat surface. Filthy blankets and pillows lay in heaps on the ragged and tattered sofa, rips fixed with duct tape. Empty beer bottles litter the room and fill half the coffee table, along with worn notebooks and file folders.
There is a dim shimmer of daylight flickering through a gap in the curtains from the kitchen to my left. A hallway leads down to what I assume are the bedrooms. He’s clearly been holed up in here for a while.
For a split second, I feel sorry for the fuck. I mean, what kind of life is this?
I shift to my left, listening. When I’m on point like this, I can hear ants marching. Just as my ears pick up the crunch of paper and the swish of fabric, someone takes a quick step. I lunge forward.
In a fraction of a second, I make out the outline of a shoulder, an arm and the metal grip of a desperate firearm held in a shaking hand.
“Get out!” Jeremy advances, screaming up from the back hall.
I’m on him in a single step. He waves a semi-automatic, but my grip crushes his, crunching the bones in his hand. He drops the gun with a squeal and crumples to his knees.
“Seriously?” I look down at the human waste at my feet.
My lips tighten against my teeth. I twist and squeeze his hand because I know how much that fucking hurts. I’m about one more pound of pressure away from hearing the pop of his finger joints dislocating.
“Owww. God, stop.” Jeremy’s voice shakes. I can tell that he's close to tears. His free hand comes up to grab my wrist, but I knock it away before I lean down to secure the 9mm Beretta that rests next to my left foot.
“You are a stupid son-of-a-bitch. You know that?”
“Fuck off.” He spits the words, then sniffs back a sob, his voice leaking desperation.
“Now, I’m going to fucking let go of you. I want you to get your ass up and sit down right there. You got it?” I point to the armchair next to the sofa. It is the only seat that is not covered in debris.
“I’m not doing anything. I’m calling the cops.” He digs around in the pocket of his sweatpants with his one free hand before he looks up at me. I notice the distinctive plugs of fake hair that line his forehead. It’s not funny, but I feel that unwelcome flood of pity wash over me again. Fucking pathetic. “You can’t keep just breaking in here.” His voice cracks as I squeeze his hand harder.
“You want to call? Okay, I’ll dial for you.” I reach into my jacket pocket, pull out my cell and tap the screen until Northrup’s number shows up. I hit speaker, then dial, giving Jeremy a quick smile. “I’m pretty sure Northrup might want to ask you a few questions too. Seems Holly dropped by. Left them with some interesting information about you.”
“I’m not talking to him. Hang up!”
Just as I start to hit the end call button, Northrup’s voice comes on.
“Hello?”
“Detective Northrup? Hey, it’s Beckett Fitzgerald. Sorry, I think I butt-dialed you. Sorry.”
“Okay.” He pauses. “Hey, one thing I forgot to tell you and your wife today. Holly Henderson didn’t put it in her statement, but she dropped another little nugget on me before she left the station. Could be complete BS. Not much we can do about it, but thought you should know.”
Northrup stops there. His penchant for these dramatic pauses rakes on my last nerve.
“And?” I don’t hide the irritation in my voice. I point once again at the chair, letting go of Rendell’s hand. I tip my head telling him to take a fucking seat. I swear if he doesn't then I'm going to rip his fucking throat out.
Jeremy gathers himself onto his knees, crawls the two feet to the chair and lifts himself in a slump onto the cushion. He sits there, sulking.
“And, she said at some point, Rendell offered her money to let him adopt Promise. He offered to buy her.”
“No shit.” I look at Jeremy who avoids my gaze, and looks down at the floor still cradling the hand I crushed in his lap.
“Seems his little obsession started very young. I’m not sure how these three tie together, but somewhere they do. I just haven’t figured it out yet.”
“Well, let me see if I can’t dig up some new information for you.”
“Stay out of it,” he’s quick to say. “You’re the only one that isn’t a person of interest in all this bullshit. Got it? Take care of your wife and keep your distance. We’ll figure it out. These folks go farther back than we thought.”
“They sure do.”
“Oh, and between you and me. I don’t think they are all that interested in Promise for the fire anymore. She’s still got to stay put, but I’ve been asking around the arson unit, and from the rumblings, they aren’t seriously tagging her for anything. Just thought you would want to know. I never thought it was her myself. Just didn’t add up.”
“Thanks. Okay, well, I’ve got someone waiting.”
“Okay.”
We sign off and I lift the coffee table from one end, cascading a pile of garbage at Jeremy’s feet. My boot kicks it sideways about a foot in front of him. I sink into the seat across from him. The distance between us is polite, but I can reach him without getting up if I need to.
I lift the 9mm up between us, admiring it with something like a smile. But this shit is anything but funny.
“Well.” I sniff. “Nice piece. This yours?”
“Yes, it’s mine. And I know how to shoot it.” He spits the words at me like a spoiled six year old.
“Good for you. So do I.” I jam the Beretta into the back of my jeans under my belt. The cool metal against my skin pokes me up straighter as I glare into Rendell’s pathetic face deciding what I’m going to do next.
“What do you want?” he snaps.
“I’ve got questions.” I clear my throat, lean my forearms on my knees and stare his bully ass down. “You've got answers.”
“I’m not—”
I cut him off with a shake of my head and my hand shoots forward to grab his t-shirt around the neck. I twist and pull him toward me.
“Don’t tell me what you are ‘not’ going to do. I’ll snap your fucking neck before you can shit your pants.”
I watch him swallow. His eyes drop and don’t come back up.
My hand stays on his shirt a few moments longer. I want him to understand just who’s in the bitch position here so we can speed this up.
“First question is easy. It’s yes or no. If I hear anything else come out of your mouth except a 'yes' or a 'no,' you will be trying not to swallow your own teeth. And that's going to make this conversation a lot harder. For you. Cap-eesh?”
Rendell dares to roll his eyes at me but I let it go. I inhale a ragged breath to calm my rage.
“Did you set the fire in the loft?”
I watch as he sits up a bit and shifts his shoulders. His lips tighten and I stare his bravado down with an icy glare. His chest sinks back and his shoulders fall a couple inches.
“No.”
But I know that the security footage was doctored. And he’s a fucking liar.
“I believe you.” I give him a tap on the forehead with my index finger. “Now, what do you know about Lo
uis and Holly and the night that she says he raped her? Remember, unlike your hair, you still have your own teeth and you may want to keep them.” I fill my chest with a breath and kick his socked foot with my boot. “I’ll fucking know if you’re lying. So save us both time and save yourself from early dentures.”
“I wasn’t there.”
“That’s not the answer to the question.” I tap two fingers, harder this time, on his forehead and lean forward until our noses are less than an inch apart. “I realize you are stupid, but the depth of that stupidity is something I am still assessing. Do you not understand the question or are you just being an ignorant dick?”
He pulls his head back and leans at an awkward angle in the chair just to pull a few more inches away from me.
“It was a long time ago. I don’t remember. I only remember she told me he raped her.”
My truth detector has flatlined.
“That’s bullshit. Try again.” I had zero patience when I got here; now I’m just pissed. I lick my bottom lip and consider where I’m going to punch him first. Face or throat.
“And he’s gay,” Jeremy snaps then sneers like he and I have just found some common ground.
For a big guy, my fist moves like a rattlesnake strike. It smashes into his mouth, wiping the smirk off his smug face, sending his head to the left and covering his teeth with a glaze of red.
The sound of the crunch of knuckle on teeth fills the few inches of space between us. immediately followed by a wounded puppy yelp from Rendell.
I feel better.
Deep cleansing breath.
I remain still and let him absorb that little lesson on how not to be a homophobic asshole.
“So, we’re off to a rough start.” I shake my head, chastising him. “Let’s start over. Try this. Tell me what Holly told you about that night. If she told you five different versions, I want all five.”
He tries to rustle up a man glare and I smile at the attempt which only annoys him further. His lips press together into a thin line as he’s remembering. He’s thinking too much, trying to decide what to tell me, so I figure he needs more incentive. All I want is the plain, raw truth.
