by Kristen Lamb
“Partner?”
“The dark sedan? Not exactly a partner. More of a local resource. Told him he was losing his touch, that you’d realized we were being followed.”
Sawyer stroked my hand, but I shifted away and nearly fell. “You didn’t have to leave alone,” he said. “I could have taken you somewhere else.”
“Why? So, you could chew off your other arm?”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“Oh, come on. When that maître de sat us in that booth you did everything except sit on the floor to keep as far away as possible then you snapped my head off every time I spoke.”
“Romi, I—”
“You know, it’s fine. I should be used to it.”
“Used to what?”
“You really want to know about Phil? Phil was a fake in everything. I never loved Phil. I loved a mirage. In almost four years of dating, he refused to hold my hand in public or walk close enough for anyone to suspect we might be together. But I was so damn grateful someone like him would be interested in me that I didn’t question.” Old psychic wounds pulsed in my chest with renewed heat.
“But Romi, we weren’t on a date.”
“No, we weren’t on a date, but I still know when I’m being used.”
“You aren’t making any sense.”
“Phil and I have one picture together, and he sat exactly like you did at the restaurant. In that one picture, it looked like Pohlson was my date, not my fiancé, and I was too stupid to realize I was being played.”
“But I’m not—”
“I refuse to be the fool, and I’m not going to be used as bait for you to bag Phil. Catch him your damn self.”
Sawyer winced as if slapped. “You don’t even know what you’re talking about.”
“Leave me alone,” I said and drew my knees to my chest.
“I can’t do that. You’re in danger and you’re lucky your antics didn’t get you killed.”
“That would suck. Then you’d have to find a new worm to wiggle on the hook—”
Sawyer grabbed me in one swift motion and his mouth came down on mine. I wanted to push him away, but couldn’t. He wrapped his strong arms around me, crushing me to his chest, kissing me hard and, to my surprise I was kissing him in return. His hands were in my hair then running down my back. The smell of him surrounded me, the rough feel of his stubble on my neck and ears made me dizzier than the wine. Gradually his kisses grew lighter and he moved away even though I tried to pull him back.
“I’m sorry,” he said in a choked voice and let me go.
“What was that?”
“A mistake. I apologize. It was unprofessional.” It was too late. He’d already turned back into Special Agent Ben Sawyer. He looped my bags over his arm then picked me up like I weighed nothing.
“What are you doing?”
“Taking you home, and there’s no way I’m letting you walk with your feet in that condition.” His voice was hard, cold, but I could feel his warmth and the smell of his want. I remained silent as he carried me back to his Suburban. All I could think about was the feel of his mouth on mine, how much I wanted to feel it again. But he was right. There were big stakes and fraternizing with me could cost him his job, or me my life. I’d try to keep my distance, though I had no idea how.
Chapter Eleven
Sawyer helped me up my front steps and unlocked the door as I leaned on him. His body was rigid and he hadn’t said a word since carrying me to his Suburban. Sawyer opened the door and held up his arm to block me from entering, but it was too late.
“This isn’t possible.” My home looked like it had been thrown in a blender. The anemic flicker from a toppled lamp was the only light in the room, but I could still see the couch cushions had been gutted, the cabinets thrown open, and everything I owned lay in broken piles. I forgot the pain in my feet and staggered inside. “Sawyer? It’s gone.” I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move. I pointed to the AC window unit where I’d stored my mother’s belongings. It was gutted and smashed, ripped right out of the wall. No sign of my box. Whoever had trashed my place found what they’d come for. Now I hated myself for hiding the truth of the contents from Sawyer, for not placing the box in his care. The only hope of finding what happened to my mom was now gone. All I had left was the one picture and the strange diagram on my cell phone.
Sawyer drew his weapon and pressed his finger to his lips. I waited in a dim corner while he cleared each room.
“No one’s here,” he finally said.
“Not like it would take a lot of time to trash all four hundred square feet.” I flipped on the kitchen light and all the pretty dishes and knick-knacks Kim brought me lay in a shattered heap in the floor. All my food, the contents from my refrigerator and pantry had been emptied onto the broken glass. I flitted from room to room hoping something could be saved, but everything had been destroyed. My bedroom was a mound of wrecked furniture and pillow stuffing, my futon and duvet fileted like my couch. The intruder even trashed my closet-sized bathroom, broke the mirrors and tore my tiny vanity cabinet off the wall and dumped it in my tub.
Sawyer came up to me. “We need to get you—”
I ignored him and rushed outside to where I’d parked my Honda. Sawyer dogged behind, gun drawn and shining a high beam over my shoulder. The doors sat ajar. Every panel was ripped out, tires all slashed, and the seats nothing but tattered remains. Now I had no home and no car and no way to prove who’d killed my mother.
“Let’s get you to a hotel,” he said, stroking my back.
“I need a change of clothes,” I said but had no idea if anything was wearable.
“We can buy you new ones. We need to call the police.”
“Why? And tell them they missed breaking something?” I fired back. “Who do you think did this?”
“I don’t know. You need to file a report.”
“Why? I’m nobody, just part of the riff-raff bringing down the property values. Cunningham’s bulldozing this place in less than a month for his wife’s new vineyard. Who’s going to care? No one.”
“What the hell’s going on out here?” My father’s voice boomed from above as his porch light flicked on. He shuffled down the steps and went to shout something but I attacked first.
“Daddy, just go,” I said, my voice trembling. “You win. I’m a failure. Happy now?” I ran my hands through my hair, wild with anger. Scared and violated, I’d hit my limit.
“Romi, I—”
“Save it, Daddy.” I raised a trembling palm in the air. “I’m done trying to make you be proud of me, and I am done trying to make you love me. I’m done.”
He stopped, acidic words trapped in his hanging mouth. It was the first time I’d seen the old man speechless.
I had nothing to lose. “For the record, Mama didn’t run off. She didn’t leave you. She didn’t leave us. She’s dead and I lost the only proof to find her killer. But figures I’d screw that up, too. Right?”
He wavered a bit on his feet.
“Now you can be happy. Oh, wait. Not quite yet.” My voice pitched. “Someone’s trying to kill me too, so you’ll have to delay the celebration until I’m pushing up daisies.”
The old man sank to the steps and blinked slowly, the weight of what I’d said sinking in. “What’re you talking about? Yer mom ain’t dead. She run off.”
“No, she didn’t. She was murdered, and up until tonight I had proof.”
I heard Nana yell from the doorway. “Don’t talk that way. Why would you make up such lies?”
“I dunno. I’m crazy that way. Crazy enough to come back to this place. Crazy enough to think we could be a family again. But the only one who ever loved me is dead.” I was furious, more at myself than anyone. There was no justice in this world. None. Not for people like us.
“Romi,” Nana said opening her arms and trying to calm me.
“Don’t touch me.” I hissed and pushed her away. “I’m getting the hell out of this damn town
. This time, for good,” I shouted and limped toward my steps.
Nana followed. “Why is there blood? Are you hurt? What’s going on?”
I ignored her and lumbered up my steps, realizing my freaking hand hurt like hell and I was covered in jagged bleeding scratches.
Nana gasped behind me. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. Who did this?” She hollered for my father, “Bud, you gotta come see this.”
I was so grateful I’d kept the money Ed gave me on my person. It would be enough to get me a bus ticket to Seattle and then I’d figure things out from there. I sifted through the smashed drawers in my tiny bedroom for clothes then gave up and sank to my knees, staring at the mess, short-circuited.
I felt a gentle hand on my shoulder. I thought it was Sawyer, but it was my father. Tears ran down the deep lines of his face. “Please don’t leave. Not again,” he said his voice barely above a whisper.
I started to fight, then let it go. I couldn’t carry all of this and the anger, too. I patted his hand.
“What did you mean earlier? That yer mom was…” He let out a long breath and wiped his face with the back of his sleeve.
“She’s dead, Daddy.” It sounded strange saying those words, this time certain they were true.
“You sure?”
“Sorry you had to find out like this. I can’t tell you more because I don’t know more, and at this point? Probably never will.”
“Someone’s hidin’ something,” he said and I heard the father I remembered from my youth, the one with strength and purpose.
“I’ll keep trying, but at this point…?” I flung a broken Scentsy warmer onto the pile. “Not looking too great.”
“But you never give up. That’s what’s special about you.”
I narrowed my eyes. “What have you done with my father?”
He made a face. “Yer mom always knew I was more bark than bite. And not that it’s worth much, but I always been proud of you. Figured you was ashamed of me. Hell, I am.” He stared off. “Ain’t even a real man anymore. Can’t even work.”
“No, Daddy. I wasn’t ashamed,” I lied but now the point was moot. We’d all done everything wrong and this was the first time we seemed to be doing something right. “Wanted you to be proud is all.”
My father hung limp in the doorway and I felt his sadness. I reached to hold him and he hugged me back, buried his face in my hair. His voice strained, he said, “Always knew your mama was too good for the likes of me, and you were too smart to be mine. You’ll find who hurt her. I know you will.” He stroked my hair and, tears in his voice, said, “Ain’t no one smarter than you, Romi Girl. If anyone can figure it out, you can.” It was the first time he’d called me that in almost twenty years and the first time he’d called me smart ever. I didn’t want to let go.
When he let loose, I expected to be sad, but my father’s face had changed. There was a peace I’d never seen in him. For the first time, I understood. I knew he was sad my mother was dead, but the agony of believing his beloved had run off without so much as a reason or a goodbye had been far worse. The vast emptiness of being thrown away like trash. I’d felt a small slice of that kind of suffering with Phil.
He composed himself, his eyes hardened. “This has Ferris written all over it.”
“Ferris?”
“I never believed yer mom run off. I get that I’m a cantankerous old ass. Won’t lie about that, but yer mom? She was a lady, not the kind that run off with other men.”
“What are you saying?”
The muscles in his neck tensed. “Cops never did nothin’. No real search. Just gulped down Ferris’s bullshit story, and now he runs this place like his own personal kingdom.”
“Then why did you call Meyerson to arrest me?”
He scrubbed his eyes, perplexed. “I didn’t. Least not that I recall.”
I thought about how strange he’d been acting this morning.
“Meyerson tried to arrest you? What the hell for?” he asked.
“For a fan and stepstool from your piles. Had a warrant and everything.”
He made a face. “Who issues a warrant for that shit?”
I smiled.
“I do watch Law & Order. ”
“So, you don’t remember,” I said.
“No. Sorry, Kiddo. All a blank. Probably those pills.” He rubbed his bloodshot eyes.
“Pills?”
“Yer sister means well. She insists I take the medicine for my back, but it don’t help. Pain’s worse as ever but my mind goes all crazy. I barely remember half of what I do and that dope makes me see things I know ain’t there.”
Now it made sense why he’d thrown the bottle of medicine out the door when I arrived, the ramblings about Shadow People.
“Do you remember taking anything?” I asked.
He rubbed his grizzled brows and his body sagged against the doorframe. “No. But sometimes Heather doses my sweet tea. Tries other ways, sneaky ways to get me to take that shit. While yer sister means well, I can tell you Ferris is a varmint, so stay close to that man of yours.”
Sawyer wasn’t ‘my man’ but now wasn’t the time to explain that.
“Daddy, can I ask you something?” The question had been burdening me for years, but more so since returning home. “What happened to Cotton? He was supposed to follow me to Fort Worth, but he never showed and no one would answer my calls. All my letters came back, marked Return to Sender .”
His eyes softened. “You’ve had enough for tonight. We’ll hunt that coon later.” He patted my arm then walked away.
Sawyer stood in the living room talking to my Nana. I could tell he was in full agent mode, and he scribbled notes as she spoke. She’d lit a cigarette and her hands shook so badly I was hoping she’d drop her smoke and light my home ablaze. Would have been an improvement. Her hair was wild and it was clear we’d woken her, a human Q-Tip in a pink fuzzy robe. “No, I didn’t hear a thing,” she said, twisting the ties of her robe with one hand, smoking with the other. “Damn neighbors moved away and left at least twenty cats and half are in heat, so we turned up the TV to drown out the sound of kitty porn.”
I noticed a hint of amusement on Sawyer’s face at my grandmother’s comment. “You didn’t see anyone?” he asked and made more notes.
She shook her head. “No. No one. Been inside since this evening. Heather was called in for some overtime, so she left a little after eight o’clock.”
“Right after we left,” Sawyer said, his eyes cutting briefly to me. “You’re certain about the time?” he asked and Nana nodded.
“You two left and JC pulled in a few minutes later. Was in his work truck. He talked to Heather and me for a few minutes, then said he had a key to Romi’s place.” She gestured toward me with the cigarette, a long line of ash falling unnoticed. “Was doing some repairs for you. Said his wife sent him.”
My mind reeled. JC gave me the necklace and purse. Why return only to trash the place he’d fixed up? Then I asked for Sawyer’s flashlight and shined it on what was left of the window unit. I almost cried with joy.
“What?” he asked.
“Sawyer,” I said, my voice trembling.
“What is it?”
I pointed to the mound of metal and plastic debris. “That’s not the same unit.”
As Sawyer ushered Daddy and Nana back inside, I used the flashlight to poke around in the grass outside their trailer. After a few moments, I spotted a round pink pill nestled in an anthill. I carefully removed the pill and tucked it in my skirt pocket. I recalled the ones Heather scooped up being large and white, so what was this?
As horrible as my night had been, I was happy it happened. The rift between my father and I was closing, and I hadn’t realized how much I’d wanted that until now. I limped toward the dark quiet Suburban and remembered Kim had remarked how hot the trailer was when she’d come by. I was betting she sent JC over the swap out the broken unit as a surprise, or at least an act of mercy. I whispered a prayer of gratitude. If
we could get back that old unit, the box could still be sealed inside since JC would have simply removed the entire AC and then installed the new one.
Sawyer said another goodbye and closed their front door, carrying something. He paused halfway down the steps and made an agitated call while I waited near the truck. When he joined me, he deposited a large shopping sack at my feet.
“What’s that?”
“Your grandmother packed you some clothes and a pair of shoes since all your things were ruined.”
“What now?”
“It’s a local crime. Home invasion. Call the police. They can dust for fingerprints. Gather any evidence.”
“But you can’t—”
“Meyerson didn’t do this.”
“How do you know—?”
“Had my guy, Ortiz, watching him. Meyerson was off duty. Playing pool at a bar downtown. Actually, he’s still there if you want to stop and say hi.” Sawyer was always so stone-faced it was strange whenever he smiled.
“I’m good, thanks.” I peeked under the filthy dressing. The bleeding wasn’t bad. From what I could tell, none of the stitches had snapped.
