by Eden Ashley
“Which one?”
“The one who’s mine.”
On cue, Remington walked into the living room with a little boy who appeared to be in much brighter spirits. His partner looked around. Waiting for the almost undetectable cue Solomon gave him, Remington set the child down. Hogan stood in the middle of the living room, suddenly unsure of what to do. He gazed up at Remington and then to each of his parents. Tina was dragging on her cigarette again, apparently too shaken to say anything. Brady knelt down. “Come here, little man.”
Hogan ran to his dad. Any sins his father had committed were instantly forgiven. To Solomon, it was possibly the saddest part of the job.
Back in the car, Remington had none of his usual questions and sat quietly, looking straight ahead. Solomon didn’t know which was worse, the pelting inquiries or the silence. Remington was still for so long that when he spoke, the sound of his voice surprised Solomon.
“I think you should take a closer look at Tina Little.”
“What are you talking about?”
“The girl had bruises on the left side of her face. They probably resulted from a forward blow delivered from a right-handed person. The bruise on Mrs. Little’s left cheek was likely due to retaliation, considering Daveigh’s temperament.”
Solomon caught on quickly. He nodded thoughtfully. “Brady is left-handed.” Starting to dismiss Remington’s hypothesis, something stopped him. Solomon thought back to all the instances when he had responded to 911 calls concerning the Little home, always giving Tina credence as the victim. “Hogan didn’t seem afraid of him.”
“He did not,” Remington agreed.
“I’ve been to their house nearly a dozen times and have never made that correlation. You were in there for thirty seconds.”
“You said to listen and observe,” Remington said simply.
Not hearing the slightest hint of sarcasm or arrogance, Solomon decided there might be hope for the new guy after all.
5
Davey crawled from beneath the bleachers and squinted into the morning light that shone through the gymnasium’s dusty windows. It was her custom to sleep there whenever things got really bad at home. Last night definitely qualified. As long as Hogan was safe, Davey would slip away and pretend she was alone in the world. Really, her little brother was probably the only part of her life that mattered. An alcoholic, abusive mother was nothing to brag about. Her relationship with Brady was distant at best. He was a good guy, had been sober for six years, and never raised a hand against Davey in anger. But Brady had never forgiven Tina for her multiple affairs, nor had he forgiven the child seeded from one of them. Davey wasn’t Brady’s biological daughter, and the poor guy couldn’t forget it. Davey couldn’t blame him.
Checking her watch, she hurried off to the locker room. To the left was a sizable storage closet, no longer in use because a leaky roof had rendered the floor to a terrible state of decay. Amongst other belongings, Davey stashed a sleeping bag there. The sturdy, airtight cabinets were an adequate shield between the damaging moisture and her belongings. She guessed the only reason they hadn’t been salvaged was because the floor was too weak to risk rolling heavy furniture out on the equally heavy equipment needed to move it. There were already two holes where an unsuspecting foot had plowed through compromised floorboards. Several more areas threatened to give at any moment. Davey knew those spots well enough to easily navigate danger. She was in and out of the closet without incident. Returning to the main locker room, she showered, brushed her teeth, and changed into fresh jeans and a simple, cotton v-neck. Then she sauntered off to class.
First block was a bore. Unable to sleep, she’d read all the information last night and knew the material front to back. When she was a kid, several school teachers had urged Davey’s parents to have her IQ tested. But Davey hated all the extra attention being the smart kid brought. Teachers doted on her while classmates shunned her. And from the eagerness plastered over all of the adult faces, little Davey had known the special test was bad news. Though she scored incredibly well, Davey was careful to answer enough questions incorrectly to skew the results.
She sat through the lecture on auto pilot, answering correctly when called upon but was otherwise silent. The bell rang, leaving only one more period before lunch. Ninety minutes before she would have to face the cheerleader again. Davey couldn’t afford another confrontation with Jessie. Principal Wardlaw was a jerk, but he had given her another chance to finish senior year. She wasn’t ready to throw it away. So when it was time for lunch, she grabbed a tray and tossed a burger on it while carefully keeping her gaze averted from the squad of cheerleaders and jocks who congregated nearby. But Lana waved, and Davey had no choice but to acknowledge the friendly gesture. As she nodded and offered a slight smile, a glowing twinkle caught her attention. Looking again, Davey instantly regretted it. It was Jessie. Her right hand was in a cast up to her elbow, decorated in rhinestone and glitter-bedazzled fiberglass. Those adornments probably generated enough sparkle to power a low wattage light bulb. Feeling a jolt of regret, Davey took her food and left the cafeteria.
The library was mostly empty at lunch time. Of course, “No Food or Drink” signs were posted everywhere, but after wrapping her lunch in a wad of paper towels, Davey stuffed it beneath her jacket and easily sneaked it in. The upstairs wasn’t staffed and librarians rarely wandered into second-story sections unless there was a task that specifically required them to do so. It was the information age. Fast and easy made the internet a more popular choice for research projects. Dusty periodicals, old journals, and bulky encyclopedias were rarely disturbed. Davey could eat in solitude with no fear of interruption.
The rest of the school day went by mercifully fast. On a Thursday with no big game the following night, cheerleaders wouldn’t have practice. Thursdays were also when Palmer attended tutoring until early evening and couldn’t take Davey home. She didn’t mind riding the bus so much. The driver was a cool guy. Overweight with fingers like sausages, he sweat way too much to be human, but was always nice to her. More importantly, he didn’t insist she remain on the bus until it reached her stop. Every afternoon that she chose to ride, the driver let her off at the old house with the rusty swing set.
Overcast with the slightest breeze, it was a perfect day to sit on the weathered front porch and finish homework. Then Davey would swing until nightfall beckoned her home. The history assignment was almost done before the sun shifted, casting a different shadow across her work. Davey looked up into a pair of mirrored sunglasses. It was the cop again. Officer Remington.
She poured all of the annoyance she felt into her tone. “Do you have some kind of problem?”
Remington stood very still. “None I know of.”
“Then why are you following me?” she said angrily.
He slipped the sunglasses from his face and folded them up. “I’m not following you, Miss Little.”
“Oh yeah?” She stood up, towering over him because her position on the porch steps gave her a significant height advantage. Davey stared the cop down in challenge. Maybe she had more than a slight problem with authority. Maybe not. “I’m here. You’re here. For the second time.”
He shoved both hands in his pockets and rounded his shoulders. The posture made him appear smaller. “I live here,” he replied softly.
“What?” Davey was certain she’d misheard him. “No one lives here. This house has been foreclosed for years.”
“I was told an old woman lived here. She took out a second mortgage but defaulted on the loan and died shortly thereafter. Yes, the house was in foreclosure, but I bought it from the bank recently.”
It felt like the wooden two-by-fours had come alive and were shifting beneath Davey’s feet. “That old woman was my grandmother.”
Remington’s steel grey eyes softened. “I’m sorry.”
“Whatever.” Davey bent down and began gathering her things. “You’ve been living here for what? A week?”
“A month,” he corrected.
Straightening, she zeroed in on the cop and narrowed her eyes. “So, for a month, you’ve been watching me. Were you in the house, peeping through a window? Are you some kind of pervert?” Her voice got louder and more heated with each question.
Remington calmly weathered the storm of indignation. “I only saw you yesterday. I work long hours.”
Slinging her backpack across her shoulders, Davey clutched the strap tightly while considering his explanation. He didn’t seem like the type of freak who got his jollies watching teenage girls. And he had approached her twice, making his presence known. Her anger cooled to a low simmer of suspicion. “I didn’t hear a car pull up. How did you get here?”
He shrugged. “My partner drops me off at the end of the driveway.”
“You can’t drive or something?”
“My license is suspended.”
Her frown deepened. She folded her arms.
Remington held up his hands. “It was a joke. Sorry. I’m pretty bad at jokes.”
“That’s because you’re not funny.”
“Sorry,” he repeated. “You don’t have to leave.”
Davey stomped down the stairs and pushed past him but stopped when she felt his hand brush against her hair. Davey spun around. “Why did you do that?”
“In case I never see you again.” Everything about his manner was so matter of fact; it somehow made the gesture non-creepy. “I don’t know how long I’ll be needed here.”
Davey started backing away. “Have a nice life.” She had nearly passed the swing set when she heard his voice say her name softly. Davey didn’t know why, but she stopped and looked back. Remington was on the porch, hands still shoved deep into his pockets.
“You’re safe here,” he said.
6
A party was the last place Daveigh wanted to be on a Thursday night, but her merchandise wasn’t going to move itself. Trey Stanton, a varsity shooting guard, was hosting a bash while his parents were away. Their jobs as corporate bigwigs were a cause for frequent out of town trips, and Trey took every advantage. Since Mr. and Mrs. Stanton would return by Friday afternoon, the party had to happen on a school night. The family’s three level condo with a rooftop pool and well-stocked liquor cabinet had been ground zero for many wild, unsupervised revelries. Trey’s place was also the perfect scene to score, in more ways than one.
Davey stood off in a corner, blending with the crowd visually but not socially. She was an observer, watching her peers while swearing to never become one of them. At the same time, she hated herself for having to pretend—even for a little while—to be one.
Every few minutes, a kid would walk by too closely. A gentle bump followed—the signal for Davey to open her hand. After money was discreetly placed in her palm, she’d press a small bag of pills into theirs. Sure, the party had plenty of other illegal activity going on, but narcs were a firm reality, and Davey had no desire to get busted for dealing. She had enough problems. One of them was in the same room with one hand and a jeweled cast wrapped around Kevin’s shoulders.
Jessie had crossed Davey’s path twice since she’d arrived at the party. Each time, the cheerleader made an obvious show of throwing herself all over Kevin as if she were his second skin. It bothered Davey, but not because she cared about Kevin. Looking into Jessie’s eyes during those two brief encounters revealed to Davey something the cheerleader would never say aloud—Jessie was afraid. And seeing her fear was a raw, searing look into a shattered reflection Davey wasn’t ready to face.
Maybe Davey had changed in more ways than she’d realized. Maybe the cheerleader could tell something awful had hurt the girl who had once been her closest friend. And maybe the apprehension in Jessie’s eyes stemmed from guilt—for abandoning Davey when her friendship was needed most and for not being there to save her. Davey knew she was damaged. She could at least admit that. She just couldn’t acknowledge how deep the scars ran.
Jessie couldn’t be blamed for turning away from the stranger with dead eyes and pink hair. Rather than face a ghost who threatened to drag her back to a past best forgotten, it was much better to cling to a guy who she was in love with. A guy who was really good-looking and equal in popularity. Davey understood that Jessie needed Kevin. The two had started dating right after Jessie joined the cheer squad. He had been the first real evidence of her new social status—a high hanging fruit available only to those living the sweet life.
Davey watched as Jessie kissed Kevin and ran her fingers through his hair. She slipped the other hand into his pants and yelled over the music. “Let’s get out of here,” she said.
Squeezing her ass, Kevin kissed Jessie back with enthusiasm but clutched his beer tighter. “The party is just getting started.”
His answer surprised Davey. Mortal enemy or not, Jessie possessed the sort of exotic beauty considered a knockout for any taste and she had just extended an open invitation into her panties. Boys counted themselves lucky to be noticed by her. Giving into a sort of morbid curiosity, Davey moved closer. She hadn’t confessed to Lana the real truth behind her refusal to tell Jessie about her relationship with Palmer. If Jessie stayed pissed at Davey, even if for all the wrong reasons, maybe it meant she still cared. Davey was at least on Jessie’s radar, and the cheerleader was forced to acknowledge that her ex-bestie still existed. Pathetic? Yeah. Davey thought so. But she couldn’t change it. She wasn’t ready to.
Careful to stay out of Jessie’s line of sight, Davey listened in on the dopey lovebird exchange. Jessie wasn’t handling the rejection well and started sulking. Kevin was frowning.
Pretty proficient at getting her way, Jessie’s pinup pout could weaken the knees of even the most resilient man. She and Davey were so different. If someone didn’t give Davey what she wanted, she never beat them over the head until they caved. Davey did what she wanted with or without approval. Sometimes that worked against her, but it also gave her a feeling of empowerment.
“I want to go now,” Jessie purred, rubbing the crotch of Kevin’s jeans, promising the world to him with an alluring gaze.
Kevin trembled a little. His eyelids dropped lustily. Setting the beer down, he placed both hands on Jessie’s tiny waist. “Let’s go see if we can find a room upstairs,” he said while nuzzling Jessie’s neck. “Will that work for you?”
Jessie glanced toward the stairs but hesitated. Then Kevin pulled her close and pressed his arousal against her. Smiling, Jessie bit his bottom lip teasingly. “Okay,” she agreed.
Davey’s stare followed them until a nudge brought her back to the moment. Completing the deal, Davey looked at the stairs again, but Kevin and Jessie had gone. In their place, someone else watched from the top of the stairs. Palmer. Damn it.
The way he watched her lately—Davey didn’t like what she saw. And then, the other day at the pool…Palmer had said he loved her. Well, he’d said he thought he might love her. To Davey, it sounded like he meant it. But she was in no position to feel something like that for anyone, especially someone who screwed another woman on a regular basis.
Turning away from Palmer, Davey scanned the crowd, and the sight of a familiar face made the hairs on the back of her neck stand completely erect. For a second, Davey was frozen as the steely gaze met hers. She quickly went downstairs, merging into the larger crowd as fast as her feet would carry her. The basement was huge, encompassing the entire bottom level—the perfect space for a full-scale rave. Neon lights, deafening music, and gyrating bodies were everywhere. Davey was frantic for a place to hide and was almost certain she had found it.
Moving with the music, she looked over her shoulder to be sure she hadn’t been followed. Someone pushed a plastic cup into her hands, and Davey took the shot, tossed it back and accepted another. Dancing unsteadily on his feet, the guy offered her a soggy grin, probably hoping to get a cute girl drunk in order to up his chances of getting laid.
With a spin, Davey glided away and dove deeper into the swirl of people.
Not a chance, she thought.
With at least fifty bodies between her and the basement door, she risked another glance back. Flashing, multi-colored lights succeeded in making everyone look alike. Had he followed her? It felt like he was out there watching from somewhere in the crowd.
Roughly shoulder-checked by a boy more than twice her size, Davey stumbled backward. She scowled but moved to get out of his way. It was as much her fault for not paying attention to where she was going. But the boy grabbed her arm and stopped her from passing. “Aren’t you selling tonight? I need to score.” He was Cooper Collins, the perfect balance of pretty boy and athlete. One day his face would sell a million magazines.
Davey snatched her arm away. “You’re late to the party. I’m all out.” It was a lie, but she couldn’t risk another deal…at least not until she was sure he wasn’t there.
Cooper grabbed her again, dragging her closer until her breasts were squashed against his chest. “Then maybe you could give me something else.”
“Let go of me,” she said through clenched teeth.
“No.” He pressed against her harder. His alcohol-saturated breath nearly made her gag. “How about I tell Marx his bitch is holding out on loyal customers?”
“Don’t.”
Cooper’s fingers dug into her arm with bruising force, leaving Davey no choice. She had to defend herself. Punching out with the heel of her free hand, she struck him in the nose. Rearing back in pain, he immediately let go and she struggled to keep her footing. Recovering, Cooper snarled and lunged to retaliate. Davey scrambled but wasn’t fast enough to escape his reach. And then suddenly she didn’t have to. A dark figure stepped into Cooper’s path, and seconds later, Cooper was on the ground bleeding and wearing a dazed look. He wouldn’t be getting up anytime soon.
Deeply shaken, Davey opened her mouth to thank her rescuer, but he had already gone. Swallowed up by the dancing mass of sweaty teenagers.
Davey wanted to be home at once. All she could think of was cuddling with Hogan while reading him a bedtime story before tucking him in. She ran outside, yanking a hoodie over her head to protect against the chill. Gulping in the misty fresh air, she calmed down enough to slow to a stroll and began what would be a long walk home. But there he was. It hadn’t been her imagination. Remington stood on the shadowy road, blocking Davey’s path.
