Finding Home with You

by Claire Raye

  We chat and eat lunch while the inn clears out and becomes nearly vacant, but despite its emptiness I know Kelsey needs to get back to work and I need to pick up Ryan’s car keys from Finn.

  Not wanting show up empty-handed, I order Finn his favorite sandwich and a slice of chocolate cake. While I’m waiting for his food, I change the sheets on one of the guest room beds and run the vacuum over the carpet, trying to give Kelsey a break. In the off-season she does most of the cleaning.

  When the food is ready, I grab the bag, give Kelsey a peck on the cheek and tell her I’ll be back tomorrow morning to help clean guest rooms.

  It’s a solid fifteen-minute walk from the inn to the police station on a good day, but today it takes me about twenty.

  The wind whips across my face and I pull my scarf tighter and tuck my chin into my coat as I curse Ryan’s name for dropping the keys off with Finn. Had he just told the delivery driver to leave the damn keys I wouldn’t be walking in the freezing cold with my feet numb and my boots coated with snow.

  When I finally reach the police station my face burns and I swear my eyelashes are frozen.

  “Jesus, Erin,” Finn’s gruff voice calls out and my eyes have trouble adjusting to the change in lighting; the snow blinding and the light in the station dim. “Did you walk here?”

  “I did because I thought some fresh air would be nice, but I guess I forgot that Massachusetts is like the arctic fucking tundra in the winter.”

  I thrust the bag with Finn’s lunch in it at him and flop down in the chair across from his desk.

  I hear the crinkle of the bag and the squeak of the Styrofoam container as he opens it. My palms are pressed against my eyes as I try to thaw out from the trek through the snow.

  “Hey, thanks, Erin. I haven’t eaten lunch yet and I’m starving,” Finn says, and begins eating.

  “No problem. Thanks for being here to get the keys to Ryan’s car.”

  Finn reaches into a drawer and grabs the keys; handing them to me he says with a mouthful of food, “You’re not walking back in this cold. I’ll drive you back.”

  “I’m not going to argue with you about this one,” I say and Finn looks up, his eyes wide and his expression shocked. I laugh and add, “It’s really fucking cold out.”

  “Well, fuck me, I think I need to write this down.” He looks at his watch and grabs a pen and jots a note down on his desk calendar, muttering, “The day Erin didn’t argue with me.”

  “Oh fuck off, Finn,” I say and we both laugh a bit before the room falls silent for moment. “Hey,” I ask breaking the silence. “Did Ryan mention anything to you when he contacted you about the car keys?”

  “Nope. Why?”

  “Someone slashed his tires and he won’t talk to me about it. I think there was probably more than just the tires too, because he rushed us out of Boston and up to see his parents without any notice.”

  Finn shrugs his shoulders and takes another bite of his sandwich. “Could be anything, Erin. He’s a cop in Boston. I’m sure he has enemies.” His aloofness bothers me because now I feel like he’s hiding something from me too.

  “You know why I’m worried,” I say, but we both know I’m not asking a question. “If you’re hiding something from me, Finn, I’m going to be pissed.”

  He nods his head, and adds, “I don’t know anything, Erin and I’d like to keep it that way. Now don’t take that the wrong way, you know I’m here if you need help, but the more I know, the more likely it is that I’ll have to report it.”

  This time it’s me who nods in response. Finn knows what made me leave Atlanta all those years ago but we don’t discuss it.

  Ever.

  Because if we do, we’d have to admit to each other that we both know what happened in that secluded shipping yard. Neither one of us has ever said it out loud, like speaking about it will make it more real.

  It’s the reason I will never feel safe. It’s the reason Finn shares my bed and it’s the reason why I wanted to keep Ryan out of this mess.

  Finn finishes up his lunch and we climb into his SUV. We haven’t really spoken to each other since my mentioning of Ryan’s tire slashing and my unspoken fears, but when he drops me off he says, “Call me if you want me to spend the night.”

  “Thanks. I will.”

  I let myself in and toss Ryan’s car keys into the bowl beside the front door before pulling off my boots. I’m still freezing so I run a hot bath and strip off my clothes. Sliding down into the warm water I feel my body temperature finally start to return to normal.

  I soak for bit before draining the tub and pulling on a pair of leggings and a sweatshirt. I have to go to the market and now that I have the keys to the truck, I set about doing that. After being up in Maine for the weekend I have no food in my house at all.

  Slipping my feet back into my boots, I don’t bother tying them as I grab a dry coat from the closet. I step out the front door and then that’s when I hear someone call my name.

  I look around, but I don’t see anyone. My fingers are on the handle of the car when I feel someone’s hand grip my upper arm.

  “Erin,” he says, his voice low and quiet, but there’s a harshness to it that only I would know.

  “No!” I scream in his face, as I try to pull the handle of the car door, but it’s locked. I fumble with the keys, trying to unlock it, but dropping them.

  “Erin, don’t do this,” he says calmly, but his grip on my arm is anything but calm. I swore if this ever happened to me I’d be prepared. I’d have my gun in my purse, I’d use the techniques I learned in self-defense, but now, in reality, I just stand there.

  “Seriously Erin, I’m not going to hurt you. Fuck, you know that,” he hisses. “I could’ve sent someone to kill you years ago if I wanted. I let you live your life because you did it quietly, but now you’ve gone and found yourself a boyfriend and detective at that.”

  By now Anthony has me turned me around, his hands gripping my upper arms tightly, with my purse pinned against my side. Even if I wanted to get to my phone or the keys I couldn’t.

  “Tell your boyfriend to back the fuck off or it’ll be a hell of a lot worse than getting grazed by a bullet.” He motions at my house as if he thinks Ryan is inside, like he’d just sit back and let Anthony accost me.

  “Fuck you,” I spit in his face. “You have no idea what you’re doing, Anthony. You’re getting sloppy and you know it.”

  There’s no way any detective back in the day would’ve been able to track any of my dad’s dealings the way Ryan and his team have done with Anthony. He’s gotten greedy and messy, and it’s only a matter of time before he does something stupid.

  “Don’t make me take care of this myself, Erin,” he says, but his threat is thinly veiled and I know he wouldn’t be here right now if he didn’t feel threatened.

  “You do whatever you have to do,” I say calmly. “And I’ll do what I have to do. Don’t forget, Anthony, I know much more than you think.”

  This sets him off and he lets go of my arm, his hand moving to my face, squeezing my cheeks between his fingers.

  “You’ll be sorry, Erin,” he murmurs and I can feel his hot breath against my face. “You just fucked with the wrong guy. For once in your fucking life, just do as you’re told.”

  His hand drops from my face just as a black sedan pulls up in front of my house. With the force of his body weight, he shoves me against Ryan’s truck and glances at the waiting car, but he doesn’t pull back from me. His weight is pinning me against the truck and I wonder if he can sense my fear, my anger and my hatred for him.

  Yet in this strange moment of mixed emotions and sweaty palms and weak knees, teeth clenched and fisted hands, I think of my father.

  I try to commit everything about the car to memory, but like everything that goes along with this lifestyle; the car is as invisible as the driver inside it. No make or model listed, an out of state license plate that will be tossed be
fore they even reach the highway, and dark tinted windows.

  It’s meant to be like he was never even here.

  I know he has a gun hidden somewhere on him, and so does the person driving the car. All it would take was a second for them to make me disappear too.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Ryan

  “So where are we at?” the captain asks as he walks into the situation room and closes the door. He shoots me a look and I know exactly what it is he’s referring to.

  Glancing at Joe, who I’ve only briefly filled in since I got in this morning, I turn back to the captain and start. “The prison snitch was a bust,” I explain. “The little shit either knows nothing, which I don’t believe, or is legit too scared to talk.”

  “That would be a first,” the captain mumbles.

  “I know. I’m thinking it’s the truth though,” I continue. “He used to run with Fitzgerald’s crew, so even though he’s been locked up for the last couple of years, I don’t buy that he doesn’t know something.”

  “So, what now?”

  “Well,” I start, letting out a deep breath. “I thought I’d pay Fitzgerald another visit,” I say. “Maybe try laying it on a bit harder now he knows I’m seeing his daughter.”

  The captain watches me for a few minutes, an unreadable look on his face. “And you’re sure this isn’t going to interfere with how you handle this case?” he eventually asks.

  “No,” I say immediately, refusing to look away.

  “It could actually work to our advantage,” Joe offers, surprising us both. “I mean, Ryan’s connection might rattle Fitzgerald and Macklin, make them wonder exactly how much he does know,” he continues, shrugging. “How much Erin might have confessed to him.”

  I nod, even though in reality, that has been fuck all so far.

  The captain pauses, taking a sip of his coffee as he looks at each of us in turn. “And exactly how much do you know?” he eventually asks, as though he’s read my mind but somehow thinks I’m the one who’s now too scared to talk.

  I shift in my seat, stalling as I take a long sip of my coffee.

  “Summers,” he continues. “You know this was part of the deal with you staying on the case,” he adds.

  “I know,” I say, nodding. “I just don’t want to betray her trust, alright? She’s important to me.”

  The captain nods. “Which is all the more reason that you share as much information as you can,” he says. “We want this Macklin fucker caught, don’t we?”

  “We do,” I acknowledge.

  “Alright, so what else did you find out?”

  I take a deep breath, hoping to fuck that Erin can at least understand why I have to do this, that everything I’m doing is to keep her safe. “He, her father, was based out of Atlanta,” I start. “Had a front antique business of all things that kept him frequenting Boston on a fairly regular basis. Macklin was…still is, his right-hand man,” I continue. “Erin was never part of the scene though, left it permanently when she was around eighteen, I think. That’s when she moved to Rockport.”

  “And she doesn’t know anything?” the captain asks, his eyes locked on mine. “Any of the specifics of these deals of her father’s? Who they were with, what they really involved?”

  I shake my head. “She says she doesn’t. I mean she saw stuff, but only things like people coming over, hushed conversations and shit.” Even as I say these words, I know they’re not entirely true. While it might be true, it’s all Erin told me, but I know there’s more that she isn’t saying. Shit, it’s likely much worse stuff that she knows about, has maybe even seen, that she’s still keeping to herself.

  “Think she’d be willing to go through our books, see if she can identify anyone?” he asks, bringing me back to the present.

  I run a hand through my hair, wondering exactly how that conversation would go down, knowing I’d have to explain to her how I’d told the captain about that conversation of ours on the way up to my parents. The conversation that was supposed to have been just a conversation between us as a couple, not a police interview.

  “I could try asking,” I say, shrugging.

  The captain nods. “Do that,” he says. “Alright, anything else?”

  I shuffle the folder in my hands, knowing in the interests of full disclosure, I have to show him the photos I received too. I’m pretty sure he’s not going to take this new piece of info very well and I really fucking hope this isn’t the final straw that gets me taken off this case.

  “Ryan?”

  “Fuck,” I breathe out as I pull the photo and the note out and slide them across the table.

  I watch as the captain flicks through them, turning both of them over to examine them in detail. “Anything else?” he asks, not looking up.

  I nod, even though he isn’t looking at me. “Yeah, my tires were slashed,” I explain. “Here at the precinct.”

  “Okay,” he says, tapping the photo and the note against the table before handing them back to me. “Let’s review our security footage and see if we can’t find out who did that. In the meantime, get your ass down to Cedar Junction and lean on that shithead, Fitzgerald. I want him to start talking.”

  “I’m not off the case?” I ask, stunned.

  “No,” he replies. “Not yet. But this is serious, Ryan,” he continues. “I want you to be vigilant about your security at all times.” I nod quickly, standing as though to leave before he has a chance to change his mind about all this.

  “And find this fucking Macklin character,” he adds as I walk out of the room.

  Two hours later and I’m pulling into the parking lot of Cedar Junction prison, still in shock about the captain’s reaction to the photo these shitheads left for me. I’d fully expected to be removed from the case, the massive conflict of interest I have being with Erin now only compounded by the picture, the notes and their implicated threat.

  But fuck it, I’ll take it, whatever his reasons are for letting me stay involved.

  As I’m getting out of the car, I quickly check my phone, knowing I’ll have to surrender it soon. Opening up the security app that’s linked to Erin’s system, I see the delivery service dropping my car off, the unanswered door when they try to leave the keys. A part of me wonders where the hell Erin is as there’s nothing before that to show her leaving her place.

  Just as I’m contemplating calling her, the second video loads, this time showing her leaving the house. I smile as she stops in her tracks, surprised that my car has been delivered sooner than expected. I can practically see the eye roll when she discovers the note telling her the keys are at the station with Finn.

  It’s still strange to me knowing she’s so lax about security given the family she has. As if living with a new identity in some small seaside town is somehow going to protect her.

  Erin disappears from view, stomping off down the sidewalk toward town just as I reach the prison entrance, so I slide my phone into my pocket and head inside.

  After I’ve passed through the usual security checks, I’m shown into a room with a two-way mirror, a table and four chairs. The table has steel loops on it, the kind they often cuff the prisoners to, to stop them from doing something stupid.

  Last time I’d been here, Fitzgerald hadn’t been given the honor. A part of me hopes he isn’t this time either, so that when I rile him up enough that he tries to go at me, I have an excuse to punch him in the jaw and hand him his ass.

  “We’re waiting on the lawyer,” a guard says, popping his head in the room.

  “What?” I ask, confused. This didn’t happen last time.

  The guard shrugs as though he has no idea. “Should be about twenty minutes,” he adds before closing me in the room alone.

  “Fucking hell,” I murmur, standing up as I start to pace the room. What the hell is he playing at, bringing his lawyer in. Either he’s been told not to speak to anyone without them present or he’s deliberately being a pric
k by making me wait. Despite the fact I know him having his lawyer here is about the smartest thing he could do, another part of me can’t help but wonder if he isn’t also choosing to mess with me a little.

  Payback for what happened in the warehouse.

  Payback for being with Erin, maybe.

  “Detective,” a slimy voice says.

  I turn and have to stifle a laugh as the walking cliché enters the room, his overpowering cologne wafting in behind him. He’s dressed impeccably in a tailored suit, his wingtip shoes polished, but everything about his accent and his demeanor screams Southie. No amount of money can change the fact that he’s just as dirty and crooked as his client.

  “Lawyer,” I counter, walking over to the table.

  He rests his brief case on the table, making a show of opening it and fiddling with some documents inside. “I’ll remind you again,” he says, eyes sliding to mine. “That my client is not to be spoken to, interviewed or in any way questioned without me being present.”

  I roll my eyes, pulling out the chair and sitting down. I kick my legs out in front of me, crossing them at the ankles as I rest my hands on my stomach in a total display of I couldn’t give a fuck what you think.

  “What your client does or does not chose to do is up to him,” I say, offering a smarmy smile. “If he wants to talk, then I’m happy to let him. Perhaps the fault is in your poor instruction to your client?”

  The lawyer scrapes back his chair, the metal legs screeching on the cement floor as he shoots me a look that screams bloody murder. I watch impassively as he slams his brief case shut and moves it to the floor, both of us sitting in silence now.

  Eventually the door behind him re-opens and Fitzgerald is ushered in, dressed in the same standard prison uniform he was wearing last time I saw him. His hands are cuffed, but they’re released as he’s shown to his chair, the asshole even sharing a joke with the guard as he slips the metal cuffs from his wrists.

  I flick my eyes to guard’s badge, make a mental note of his name so I can rip him a new one when I’m done in here, before turning back to Fitzgerald.