“You heard me,” she says, looking up at me. “This is none of your concern. You touched all my things.” Her eyes are red, her hair falling around her face. She looks almost like a different person.
I look around. “How is this not my concern? My girl…”
“Stop,” she says. “Whatever you think this is…” She stands up with the files against her chest. She seems smaller. Not like the woman I’ve come to know. Fragile and borderline wild. “It isn’t. I’m not your girlfriend, Jace.”
“Okay.” I nod. This is crazy. Who is this woman, and where the fuck is Dalton? “You’re right. You were hesitant when I said I wanted to take things farther. I should have known then.” How can she stand here and deny the chemistry between us? I’m not stupid. It’s so thick, you can almost reach out and touch it. But if she wants it this way, then so be it. I’m not the type of man to beg.
I sneer and shake my head. “You’re losing it, Dalton.” I head for the door, passing by the tied-up trash bag on my way out. Fuck her trash. I slam the door shut and take the stairs to the lobby.
She thinks she can treat me that way after I’ve been nothing but open with her? After I carried her to her fucking bed? She doesn’t know me. She doesn’t know how quickly I can shut this shit off.
I’m done.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Harlow
I look toward the door after him before casting my eyes down and looking at the files scattered. He touched these. He looked at these.
Does he know now? Would he have said?
I grip onto them, but some papers are hanging from the bottom and they slip out and crash to the floor.
I shake my head and collapse. Tears rush out, too, and I cry into my hands. When’s the last time I cried?
I don’t cry.
I’ve fucked everything up.
Everything.
I reach and start picking the papers up, one by one, frantically trying to put the puzzle pieces back in place as tears blur my vision. I grow angry. Angry at myself for falling for this guy when I knew from the start this was just a job. Pissed at Davy for making me take this case when he knew I didn’t want it. I become livid as I look over each puzzle piece, knowing I’ll never have the complete puzzle. I’ll never be able to solve this shit.
The man who took her is careful, so careful we haven’t seen a damn thing on him. No DNA, nothing that could lead us to Chloe.
I pick up a folder and throw it across the fucking room. Grabbing a pillow, I put my face in it and scream to the top of my lungs.
___________
Hours tick by, with four glasses of numb the pain. I’m not sure I’m in the now or floating above myself. When I was a kid, I had a hard time sleeping after Chloe was taken. Shit, I still don’t sleep. The doctor gave me sleeping meds, but sometimes they’d make me sleepwalk and I’d end up outside in my nightgown under the streetlamp, staring up at the light, as if it held all the answers I was looking for.
After all, the streetlamp saw everything that night. It watched me unlock the window, turn back to Chloe, and put my finger over my mouth as she giggled. Because that wasn’t like me. I wasn’t a bad kid, and we both knew it.
It was something new and exciting, so we thought it was funny. The trusty lamp that kept our street from being dark and scary witnessed as I slid the window up, took hold of the edge, and flung myself over. I hit the ground with a soft thump before turning around and slowly looking up over the windowpane back at Chloe. This made her laugh again with her blankets up to her chin.
“Let me go with you,” she asked.
“You know you can’t. I’ll be back before you know it.”
She huffed and fell back on her pillow. “I hate being a kid.”
I laughed, but then felt bad. “Maybe I should just stay then?”
“No.” She sat up. “Go. I’ll make sure Mom and Dad never know.”
She was so much younger than me, but somehow, in her own way, she was wiser about the world. My nose was always stuck in a book, and my hand always being pulled by her to get out and do something. Well, I got out and did something, and the soft glowing streetlamp had eyes on it all.
After shutting the window, I slipped away into the night. I met up with some friends and we took off to another neighborhood where someone was having a party. I felt out of place, not like myself.
I was offered alcohol and even a joint. I turned them down, even though the peer pressure was strong. Those people were supposed to be my friends. The one thing grown-ups don’t warn you about is when you get older, you move the fuck on from childhood friendships.
You don’t hang out with the same people throughout your life. Or at least I didn’t. Part of me knows why. After Chloe was abducted, I was locked in a cage.
That night at the party a boy from school tried to kiss me and go down my pants. I let him kiss me, but I didn’t let him go down my pants. I wasn’t that girl. I left after he got mad and told the other kids I was a tease. I was so angry at myself for even going, knowing I didn’t want to in the first place, but the anger I felt at the time was nothing.
Not even a tiny dust particle of a comparison to what I felt when I walked up to my home and saw the blue and red lights reflecting off the house.
Even then, as my parents ran to me and hugged me tightly, asking me where I was, where was Chloe, and how long had I been gone, did I see anything, and who unlocked the window, my eyes went to the streetlamp.
What did you see? I thought.
I swallow another sip of whiskey and twist the pill bottle in my hand. Sirens fly down the street outside of my apartment, the lamp in the corner doesn’t do much for seeing, and the files are still flung across the room. My mind races, and I’m not sure what thought is right at this point.
How have we not found this guy?
We’re the fucking FBI. We have everything you need to hunt down a person.
Is this man real?
Did Chloe ever exist?
Is this all in my head?
Am I really going crazy?
I reach up and look over some of the papers from the case. My eyes are not really focused, but I know what all of these say. There’s mug shot after mug shot of child molesters and child traffickers.
Did we cover that? Did we consider that she could be in a different country by now?
Of course, we did, Harlow.
Did we?
I don’t remember.
I reach up and grab my phone, quickly hitting Davy’s number.
“Dalton?” he answers, sounding groggy from sleep.
Shit, it’s late.
“Did we consider she could have been taken to another country? Did we look in Mexico?” I ask him.
“What?”
“Who is that?” I hear his wife say in the back.
“It’s Dalton,” he says. “Go back to sleep.”
“I’m sorry,” I say. “This is stupid. I know we did. We did everything.”
“Are you drunk?”
“No. No, just tired. I’m sorry I woke you.” I hang up and look down at my phone.
I can’t sleep. I just want to sleep without the nightmares, without the sick feeling of guilt and shame. I should have been there. I shouldn’t have left the window unlocked. I grip my phone in my hand before reaching back and throwing it at the wall. Plastic and glass shatter and I don’t feel any better.
______________
How did I get here? I look around at the neighborhood. Darkness stretches farther than light. There are streetlamps placed throughout, but their glow only reaches so far. It’s the darkness that wins. Inside of me.
All around. Dogs bark down the street, but no one stirs.
I look back at my car and feel the keys in my hand before I look up and realize I’m standing under the streetlamp.
The one.
I jerk back and look at the house. My parents don’t live there anymore. They moved after I went to college. Why didn’t we move sooner?
&nb
sp; I guess part of the reason was for Chloe. We wanted her to be able to find us if she ever escaped. But over time, even my parents gave up the search.
Why can’t I?
How did I get here?
I drove?
Where’s my phone?
Oh, I broke it.
I can’t drive like this.
My thoughts are jumbled. I’m confused. I need to get home. I look down at my clothes. I’m in the same thing I wore all day. I smell like liquor and I’ve taken sleeping pills. I scratch my head and slide down the side of my car door, placing my face in my hands.
______________
“Ma’am?” I feel someone shaking me. “Are you okay?”
Am I okay? Of course, I’m okay. I’m sleeping. Oh, I’m sleeping so well.
“Ma’am, should I call an ambulance?”
“An ambulance?” I say, blinking my eyes open. The bright sun slaps me in the face, and I hold my hand over my eyes. I squint, looking in front of me at the man in running clothes who’s leaning down. What the fuck?
Where am I?
I quickly look around, trying to gain some control here. How the hell did I get here? I put my hand down and touch the road.
The road? I look back and see that I’m leaning against my car.
Oh my God. Did I drive here last night?
Oh Jesus.
“Are you okay?” he asks me again.
I turn back to him. “Fine,” I grumble. “Can you give me a little space?”
Good grief, he’s all in my face. “Go back to your running. I was just napping,” I tell him as I take hold of the car and stand up. He gives me the strangest look, but it’s justified.
I’ve officially lost my shit.
I climb into my car and lean my head against the steering wheel.
I’m lost.
I’m so lost, it’s as though I’m floating out in the middle of the ocean with no land in sight.
And I have no clue what to do to save myself.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Jace
The night is young, the club is hopping like always, and my brother is downstairs with Harrison, while I’m up here surrounded by a bunch of chicks who make me feel nothing. It’s good to be home. I don’t need that woman in my life. I have enough shit going on inside my mind without Dalton consuming it, too.
I exhale my smoke and lean back on the couch, looking up at the all-black ceiling.
A silver cloud of carbon monoxide twirls, spinning and twisting into the darkness. I close my eyes, letting my mind lose focus. Music so loud fades as my thoughts float like a wandering balloon. No certain destination, just free flying, but like always, the wind picks up, sweeping it toward old memories.
Bullets fly pop, pop, popping past my ears, striking the clay walls, crumbling pieces to the floor. It’s dark, sunshine only coming in through the bullet holes. “Shit, shit, shit,” I say, my hands starting to shake as I look around me. “Rocket,” I call out, wiping sweat from my brow. “Fuck. We’re surrounded,” I say, swallowing dirt. Adams runs in ducking when a bullet flies past his head.
“Fuck that almost...” Whoosh.
“Adams!” I yell as he falls to the ground.
My eyes pop open and I sit up. “Fuck,” I say. I place my face in my hands, my eyes blurry and wide. I sniff and put my fingers in my eyes, rubbing them. Scratching the side of my face, I stretch my jaw, grab the dollar bill, and bend. I sniff the forgetting powder. Leaning back and holding my left nostril, I toss the bill down, stand up, and raise my hands.
“Who wants to fucking dance?” I ask. The girls follow me down and I hold on to one of them as we grind against one another on the dance floor. I see my brother looking at me from the bar. I feel Harrison’s eyes as well, but I don’t give a shit. They haven’t seen what I’ve seen; they haven’t lived through what I have.
I lost everything.
I lost every fucking thing.
________________
The night passes in a blur of light, drinks, drugs, and women. But after it’s all over, I’m alone.
Always alone.
The radio blasts in the private bar above the club. Thirty Seconds To Mars sings “Stay,” and it hits me so hard, I find myself wiping tears from my face.
I’m so fucking confused.
I have no idea why I made it out and they didn’t. I have no clue why I get to sit here, and none of them get to take another breath.
I’ve got this fucking hole in my chest. It’s deep, endless even. I pick up my phone, finding her number. I want her to talk to me. I want to talk to her.
I know I said I can shut it off, but I need to talk to someone. Bryce is with Harrison. He deserves to be happy, but I’m so unhappy, I’m envious of my brother.
I hit her number without thinking. My black heart gives my soul the middle finger when it goes straight to voicemail.
It goes to voicemail.
I throw my phone against the wall and grab my smokes from the table. Lighting one, I look down at the phone that’s now no good to anyone.
Just like me.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Harlow
This time of year is usually a little tough for me. I bend over, trying to catch my breath as the leaves tumble. The cool breeze wraps itself around my body, cooling the sweat I’ve accumulated while running.
I walk over to the bench in the park and take a seat as I stare out. After ripping my earbuds from my ears and letting them hang around my neck, I stop the music blasting from my phone and look up.
People run by with dogs on leashes and babies in strollers. Rusty leaves fall from trees of bright yellow and paper bag brown. Summer faded out quicker than I thought it would.
Kids walk around dressed like princesses and their favorite character of the year. Buckets filled with candy are held by little fingers. Trick-or-treating isn’t done in the dark anymore, and that’s a good thing.
It’s All Hallows’ Eve. All looks well from where I sit, but the world is a fucked-up place. There are monsters dressed like dads. There are creeps who were once little boys.
Sons, fathers, brothers.
Now they stand in the shadows and hunt. Two little girls run across the park, hand in hand, smiling. One’s dressed like a cat, the other a dog. It’s a funny thing to see. My heart does a nosedive, splashing into a dark pond of memories.
“I bet I’ll get more candy than you,” she says, smiling up at me with one tooth missing.
“How about we put the candy in a pile and share?” I ask her.
She looks ahead, clearly thinking hard about this one. She’s wearing a black dress with glitter on the lace and a tall witch’s hat. Her nose is green, and her socks are orange and black striped.
She shrugs. “Okay. Deal.”
I nod and we walk hand in hand through the neighborhood. Kids our age and some a little older run from house to house. Pumpkins are lit up down driveways, and orange lights hang from porches. Someone has a fog machine and fake graves in their yard, while another has an enormous Charlie Brown blowup in theirs.
After about the tenth house, we head back to ours, laughing with chocolate covering our mouths. Mama will be mad. She wanted to check the candy first, but Chloe can talk me into anything.
“Hey,” we hear. I turn my head toward the voice.
A man stands in the shadows, but steps into the road. Still, I can only see the outline of his face from the streetlight behind him.
“You girls get a lot of candy?” he asks.
Chloe chimes in excitedly, “We sure did!” But I don’t have a good feeling about this man, and I realize we’re mostly alone, save for the people far ahead of us.
“Come on, Chloe,” I say, gripping her hand tighter.
“Aw, what’s your hurry?” he asks, stepping toward us and my eyes go down to his pants. His private part hangs out, and Chloe sucks in a sharp breath.
“Look, Low, his thing is out!” She points.
“Harlow!” I h
ear from down the street. It’s our mom.
“Run,” I say to Chloe.
My phone rings in my hand, making me jump. I look down at the screen.
It’s Jace.
We haven’t spoken since he walked out of my apartment the night I drove to my old neighborhood.
That was more than several weeks ago. I got a new phone obviously, but I’ve avoided going to Hudson’s, and this isn’t the first time Jace has called.
I’m losing my mind here.
I’ve lost my mind.
After I called Davy drunk, he told me to take some time off. The case with Bryce is cold right now. No one is talking, and there’s no fucking proof. Davy put eyes on him and let me hang back so I could get my shit together.
My shit’s not together, but I’m good at pretending.
Regardless, I’m thankful he’s let me take some time. I needed to step away, get my head right before I go back in.
I can’t be with this guy.
That’s not part of the rules.
I have to take down his brother. It’s my job. That’s what I chose to do. Take down the bad guy and move on to the next.
Taking a break from Grant’s case, I did get to work on others I care more about. I found two missing kids over the past few weeks. One was a baby stolen from his parents and then left behind a dumpster a few miles away.
I’m still fixated on Chloe’s case, going through her files over and over. The night she vanished, the days following. I end up passed out on the couch with a half-empty bottle of liquor and thick files with papers that lead to nowhere, just like Jace saw.
I’m kicking myself for being so careless with him. Letting him walk in and finding that.
Therapy has been doubled up. Davy has insisted on that, and I haven’t argued. I know I need help. I’m fucked in the head.
Obsessive.
Destructive and I push people away, because the one person I loved more than anything was stolen from me.
And it’s my fault.
Give Me Redemption (Give Me Series Book 4) Page 13
