With my phone in hand, I ran upstairs and down the hall to where I knew Rick's office was. I knocked on the closed door until he threw it open in a frantic haste.
“What's wrong, lass?” he asked, looking around me into the long hallway. “Are ye all right?”
“We can't just sit here,” I told him, my voice trembling under the weight of my fear. “There has to be something we can do.”
He leaned against the doorframe, looking about as defeated as I felt. He was ragged and exhausted, as he replied with a sigh, “It's the nature of the job, Rosie. I dinnae like it either, but he knows what he's doin'.”
“But this isn't the job,” I argued. “He's not going out there with a freakin' S.W.A.T. team. He's apprehending a murderer by himself, completely unarmed! How the hell are we gonna just sit here and do nothing?”
Rick nodded, seeming to consider my point, then said, “Ye're right. This is different. But neither of us have the skill or knowhow to be of any use to him. If we had gone with him, we'd only get in his way.”
“But we could be sitting in the car right now, ready to call the cops or—”
“And what if Finley saw us there? What if he did somethin' to us? Are ye prepared to handle that? Because I'm sure as hell not.”
Laying a hand over my eyes, I deflated with a shuddered breath. “God, you're right. I don't know what the hell is wrong with me. I can't think straight. I'm so fucking scared and worried, and I hate that I let him—”
“I understand,” he interrupted gently. I dropped my hand to see the acknowledging glint in his warm eyes. He offered a weak smile and released a slow, deep breath, before saying, “If it makes ye feel any better, this isnae the first time he's gone after the bad guy, and he's always come back in the past.”
“And if he doesn't this time?”
Rick pulled his lips between his teeth and adjusted his glasses as he took a deep breath. In the grand scheme of things, I barely knew this man. I had only known him for less than a week and therefore couldn't pretend to know every one of his quirks and nuances. But from the time I had spent with him and Alec together, I knew for certain that they meant a great deal to each other, and I also knew I had hit on something Rick preferred to not think about.
It took a moment for him to clear his throat and meet my gaze with his. Then, he said in a gruff, weak voice, “Then, he knew what he was gettin' into.”
“I can’t accept that,” I muttered, wishing I had never said anything.
He nodded solemnly, then said, “Neither can I. But I don’t have a choice, and neither do you.”
***
“I told you, I'm fine,” I lied to my ex-husband, sitting back in the den with the TV on.
“Rosie, nobody going through what you're dealing with right now could be fine,” Tom empathized. “You're not alone in the house, right?”
“No. Rick is upstairs, working.”
He grunted an approving sound and said, “Good.”
The room flickered with light as a commercial played, something too jubilant and exciting to be about garbage bags. I forced my mind to focus on the dancing housewife, to keep my thoughts from wandering toward Alec and what might have been going on. I hated that he hadn't texted, even more that he hadn't called, but I wouldn't call or text him, no matter how badly I wanted to hear his voice and know that he was okay.
“How is TJ?” I asked, swallowing away at my worries. “Is he okay?”
“He's fine,” Tom replied, “but he'd be a lot better if his mom was home.”
I forced a sarcastic chuckle. “Oh, right. Like he misses me.”
Tom sighed into the phone, and I listened to muffled footsteps and the squeak of noisy hinges, before he said in a hushed voice, “He's terrified he's never going to see you again.”
My heart was stricken with an awful ache, as I replied, “Tell him I'm going to be fine. Alec wouldn't even let me go with him tonight because he wanted to make sure I was safe. I'll be home in a few days.”
“But you wanted to go with him, didn’t you?”
I hung my head and nodded to the TV. “Yeah, I did.”
“Well, I'm fucking glad he had the sense to make sure you didn't,” Tom grunted, and I smiled at the lingering affection he would always have for me. “You better come home, Rosie. We both need you here. Okay? Don't forget about us while you're getting your revenge over there.”
He chuckled, a feeble attempt to lighten the mood, but I knew that, in a big way, he meant what he'd said. Still, I made sure I laughed, hugging an arm tightly around my middle, and promised I'd be back before he knew it.
Then, I lied and told him I was tired, and he let me go. I knew I wouldn't be getting any sleep, and with the phone lying next to me on the couch, I stared ahead at a rerun of Friends. Monica had just stuffed her head inside a turkey, and yet, I couldn’t find it in me to laugh. Instead, I listened to their accents and longed for home. I missed my house and my bed. Even my job sounded appealing at the moment, despite what a tyrant my boss could be. But going home also meant going back to normal, and what would normal look like now, after Gracie’s death? How would I go forward without my sister?
With a miserable sigh, I laid my head back against the couch cushions. I was foolish to believe that life would ever be normal again. There was now a Grace-sized hole in the world, and nothing would ever fill it. That emptiness would remain until the day I died and saw her again, and right now, that didn’t seem so very far away. For a moment, I found I couldn’t wait. I almost allowed hope to take over, wishing my life would soon have reason to end, so she and I could be together again. But I rapidly shook my head, silently scolding myself for even thinking that way.
I had TJ to live for. I had my life. And then, I allowed the slightest little flicker of hope to shine in the darkness, wishing that maybe I could have Alec, too. If we made it that far.
***
I opened my eyes only to close them again from the harsh, bright TV light. I had fallen asleep. For how long, I couldn’t be sure, but a pitch black had blanketed the outside world and not a sound was heard within the house.
Sitting up and grinding the heels of my palms against my eyes, I slowly peeled my lids open and looked around the room. Disoriented, I tried to recall the moment I had fallen asleep, only to come up empty. I had been so exhausted, I must've passed out, and I considered the dreamless slumber a consolation prize.
Had Alec come home?
The room still looked the same as before. My shoes laid haphazardly beside the couch, exactly the way they had landed when I'd kicked them off. My phone was laying on the cushion beside my hand. The TV was playing the same channel of old sitcom reruns. It was clear that nobody else had been in here, or at least they hadn't disturbed anything during their momentary visit. I checked my phone to see if he had left any messages, only to find that he hadn't.
“Holy crap, it's already nine o'clock,” I muttered to no one.
Alec had left the house around seven. He'd been gone for almost two hours, and something in that amount of time seemed unsettling. It was too long. There was no reason why he hadn't gotten in touch with me at all, unless something was horribly wrong, and with that in mind, I pulled his number up to call him instead.
But before I had the chance, my phone began to ring. Gasping with a jolt of my heart, I dropped it onto my lap and allowed a split second to catch my breath, before peering at the number. It wasn't Alec, I realized with a sickening punch to my gut, but it was the Fort Crow Police Station, and in a hurry, I picked it up.
“Hello?” I answered in a breathless rush.
“Ah, yes, is this … Rosalynn Allan?”
The strange voice on the other line had me grabbing my shoes and quickly pulling them on, as I said, “Yes, this is she. Who is this?”
“Right, hello, miss. This is Constable Stirling Sharp from the Fort Crow Police Station. I've been given strict instructions from Inspector Brodie to call ye. He said ye were still in the country.”
/> I ran through the house to the foyer, as I replied, “You've heard from Brodie? He's okay?”
“Aye, he just came in with Inspector Finley. I dunno if ye were made aware, but the death of yer sister, Grace, was determined to be a homicide. Brodie has made the arrest and they're in questionin' now.”
Relief washed over me with an abrupt, whispered sob, as I grabbed onto the newel post at the bottom of the stairs and bowed my head. Instant tears began to stream down my face as I grinned like a fool.
“Oh, my God. Oh, oh, my God. I … I-I'm sorry. I'm just s-so happy,” I blubbered into the phone, swiping at my face through an unnecessary bout of embarrassment.
“No need to apologize, lass. I can only imagine what ye're feelin'. Do ye think ye can come down to the office? We'd like to take yer statement.”
Swallowing and struggling to pull my composure together, I nodded frantically. “Y-yes, of course. I'll just see if, um, if I can get a ride from my friend.”
“Oh, someone can come pick ye up, lass. Where're ye stayin'?”
I opened my mouth to speak, before hesitating. Brodie hadn’t wanted anybody at the office to know I was staying with him. He didn't want anybody knowing we had been working together, period. Even with an arrest made, I still shouldn’t spill any details he didn't want known, so I cleared my throat and said, “Um, I'm sure it's fine. I'll just get my friend and we'll come down in a little while.”
“Wonderful. We'll see ye soon,” Constable Sharp replied in a jovial tone, then hung up.
Standing there at the bottom of the stairs, I allowed a few more tears to fall, as the relief of knowing Alec was fine warmed my heart. Then, with a deep breath, I ran up the stairs to give Rick the happy news and prepare myself to face my sister's killer.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
ALEC
Two hours earlier …
It wasn't lost on me, the symbolism of the place Finley had chosen to get our drink, as I stared at the hanging sign for The Lazy Crow, swaying over the speakeasy door. The large window through which Grace Allan once spotted James Eddington was illuminated with faerie lights and filled with the jolly faces of men and women alike. It was so unfair, to think that Grace had once been in there, having a good time and not realizing her hours on earth were severely numbered. I wished she had gone home with James. I wished she had made that one exception, and then, maybe she'd still be alive today.
But would I have ever met Rosie, then?
I pursed my lips and shook my head at the thought. It wasn't right of me to think that way. Grace's demise wasn't worth the days I'd known her sister. I just wished I could talk my heart into believing that, too.
Climbing out of the car, I surveyed the street and quickly determined that Finley wasn't here yet. But October had brought a slew of happy tourists, who slogged their way over the cobblestones in a drunken stupor. I stood by the car, watching them all closely, as I waited for Finley to finally make his appearance.
As I waited, a cluster of women approached me with unlit cigarettes hanging from painted lips and one asked, in a distinct American dialect, if I had a light.
“Sorry, no,” I replied, shaking my head apologetically, as I kept a watchful eye on the street.
One brazen lass took her pointed fingernails and slowly traced a line over my lapel and down the buttons of my coat. “Well, maybe ya have somethin' else I can have,” she drawled, looking up at me through hooded lids and spidery lashes.
“Cannae say I have what ye're lookin' for, miss,” I said, growing increasingly impatient with both her attempts to seduce me and Finley's tardiness.
“Oh, come on, baby. Don't y'all love Americans?” she asked, giggling and dropping her hand to the waistband of my jeans. Her group of friends simultaneously laughed and groaned at her drunken promiscuity.
“Aye,” I said, brushing her fingers away. “And I dinnae think my girlfriend would approve.”
Then, I walked away to stand further down the street, silently berating myself for calling Rosie mine, while wishing it were true, when finally, I spotted Finley.
His back was leaning against a dark grey car I didn't recognize. It could've been his wife's, I considered, and I decided to focus instead on his demeanor. His eyes darted this way and that, as his shaking hands fidgeted over his stomach. His toes tapped against the street, his chest heaved laboriously, and his brow shone with sweat despite the chill in the air.
Everything about him could only be described as guilty, and he knew I had him.
I made my approach, and he saw me. His jaw locked and his eyes focused intently on my pursuit, as he stepped away from the car. His hands dropped to his sides and curled into tight fists, as I came to stand before him.
“Brodie.”
“Finley.”
The uncomfortable silence dropped heavily on us, spotlighted by a nearby streetlamp. We sized each other up, burning holes through the retinas of the opponent. I had hoped he'd come easily. I had wished there wouldn't be a fight. But I was also prepared for violence, and judging from his hostile stance, that was exactly where this was going.
“So, should we get that dram?” I asked, standing tall and using the inches I had on him to my advantage.
He pursed his lips and glanced around me toward the bright and vibrant Lazy Crow. “Maybe we should talk first,” he replied, and gestured toward the car behind us. “Unless the alcohol would make it easier for ye.”
“Make what easier?” I narrowed my eyes at the statement.
Finley sighed exhaustedly and wiped the back of his hand over his glistening brow. “Come on, Brodie. I didnae wanna do this—”
“So, why did ye?”
He cocked his head. “Why did I, what?”
“Christ, Finley,” I muttered, shaking my head. “I know what ye did, man, all right? I've put it all together. Ye dinnae have to lie anymore. Just come clean and--”
“What the fuck are ye goin' on about?” He cocked his head curiously and took a step toward me. “Wait, are ye seriously trynae pin this on me?”
“It all points to—”
“You, Brodie,” he shouted, thrusting a finger at my chest. “It all points to you.”
Defensive anger ruffled the hairs at the back of my neck as I furrowed my brow and sneered at the man standing beneath my nose. “Ye think I—”
“Killed the American,” he finished, nodding. “Aye. That's exactly what I think.”
I shook my head, disgusted and bewildered. “Ye're even more fucked up than I thought ye were.”
“Ah, right,” he snickered. “But keep in mind, man, I'm not the one fuckin' the girl's sis—oof!”
The wind was knocked from his lungs the moment his back was slammed against the car. He grappled at my forearm, laying over his throat, as I sneered menacingly into his face.
“Ye've been followin' me, Finley?”
“Brodie …”
“Answer the fuckin' question!”
“I cannae breathe, man,” he wheezed, clawing at my coat.
“Ah, just like Grace, right?”
Finley groaned pitifully, pulling desperately. “Fuck, man, I didnae kill her! Get the hell off me!”
“Oh, but ye think I did?”
“I dinnae ken!” he shouted, as the tears began to stream from his eyes. “I didnae think so, until I realized ye knew about the deleted files. Then, I saw her stayin' at yer house. Why the fuck is she stayin' at yer house?”
“Why the fuck were you stayin' at the Whisperin' Crow?” I fired back.
His eyes widened, giving away another piece of his guilt. “What?”
“Ye were at the inn Grace was stayin' at, at the verra same time. Why the fuck was that?”
He looked beyond me and shook his head slowly, his attempts to pull me away wavering. “Oh, Christ …”
“Ye didnae think I had that information, did ye?” I snickered triumphantly, and he shook his head again.
“I told ye, we were doin' some construction on our house th
ose weeks. I was there with my wife and the girls.”
My lips parted in a quiet exhale. He had mentioned that to me, and I had forgotten. But could that really prove his innocence? It didn't take away from the fact that he and Grace had been neighbors for a time, and even though his wife could have been a deterrent, it might not have been enough to stop him altogether.
“I'll admit, I did see her,” he said, and I loosened my hold on his neck a bit, to allow him to speak his confession. “We never spoke, but we passed in the hall a time or two. But Christ, Brodie, ye know me. I didnae kill her.”
“Ah, but ye think I did.”
“Ye don’t think what ye're doin' looks at all suspicious? The woman is at yer house!”
I didn't want to admit it but explaining the situation I'd put myself in was difficult. I'd done it to protect her, and I would do it again, but I never expected I'd be questioned about it. Now, I looked away from his scrutinizing glare to glance into the car, gazing through to the backseat, when something caught my eye.
“Unlock the car,” I said in a cold monotone.
“What?”
“Unlock the fuckin' car.”
“Brodie, please. I willnae say a thing—”
“Finley, unlock the fuckin' car right now!”
He wrestled to dip his hand into his pocket with shaking fingers. I watched him carefully, making sure he didn't pull out a knife, as he retrieved the keys. Then, he pushed a button, and the car sounded as the doors were unlocked.
A Circle of Crows Page 22
