Finding Home with You

by Claire Raye

  Now that I know about the connection, it’s impossible not to see the likeness between him and Erin. Although his hair is now dark, undeniably dyed since last time I saw him, despite his months in prison, the facial similarities are unbelievable.

  “Detective Summers,” he says, pulling his chair in as he folds his hands in front of him on the table, absently playing with the steel loop as though to remind me he isn’t chained to it like most prisoners are. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

  I sit up now, pulling my chair in closer as I stare back at the man I literally want to murder with my bare hands. “Where is Anthony Macklin?” I ask.

  Fitzgerald starts laughing as his lawyer says, “My client knows nothing about this man nor his whereabouts.”

  “Oh, cut the shit,” I half shout, my eyes still on Fitzgerald. “I know he runs your crew, Fitzgerald. That he’s the one keeping shit afloat while you’re stuck in here.”

  “Detective,” Fitzgerald says, practically purring. “You seem tense, is everything alright?”

  “Do you even understand what’s happening here?” I ask, ignoring his comment. “You’re going down, Fitzgerald. The case is watertight, the list of charges and evidence to back them as long as my dick. There’s no getting out of this. Not unless you have something you can give us in return.”

  Fitzgerald chuckles, rolling his eyes as though this is all just a game to him. “Me, turn?” he says in mock surprise. “Please, give me a little more credit.”

  “Where is he?” I repeat, my words hard as I lean closer.

  Fitzgerald shrugs. “I have no idea who you’re talking about.”

  Pissed, I stand, yanking the photo from my pocket as I slam in down on the table in front of him. I watch as Fitzgerald stares at the image, his eyes flicking between himself, Erin and Anthony. His face is impassive, the master manipulator refusing to show any emotion as he registers what I’ve just shown him.

  “What is this?” the lawyer asks, indignantly. “Where did you find this?”

  Now it’s me smiling, flicking my eyes quickly to the slimy lawyer before returning them to Fitzgerald. He’s still staring at the picture, seemingly unable to take his eyes off of Erin.

  “It was dropped in the warehouse,” I say, drawing my words out because I know this will only piss him off even more. “The night we took down the gun exchange Anthony was running. Guess he’s getting sloppy, huh?” I add, pulling the picture away and slipping it into my pocket.

  Fitzgerald’s eyes follow the movement; his face now a mask of barely restrained anger as he finally meets my stare. I offer him a smile, sliding my hands into my pockets as I continue to stand above him.

  “And it looks like his sloppiness has just pinned you to the whole fucking thing now, doesn’t it?”

  By the time I walk out of the prison, my mood has lifted considerably. While Fitzgerald might not have told me where I can find Macklin, I know he’s rattled. Enough that his lawyer shut down any further conversation so that he could confer with his client about exactly what he did and didn’t know.

  What I did know was that both of them were pissed. Pissed that there was now irrefutable evidence that tied Macklin to Fitzgerald and therefore Fitzgerald to what happened back in the warehouse that night.

  I also knew that Fitzgerald was aware that Erin and I were together and that he was scared shitless about what that might mean I now knew.

  I’m not sure how long their little convo about all of these new developments was going to take, but I was willing to stick around for a little longer on the off chance that Fitzgerald decided to stop being a fucking asshole and start talking.

  Knowing Anthony fucked up like this, that he didn’t just ID himself as the guy running the whole gun thing, but that he’d also tied it to Fitzgerald, was bound to piss the guy off. Retaliation in some form was all but guaranteed to happen, because loyalty was respected above all else when it came to the mob.

  It was always something that struck me as slightly messed up. That these mob guys demanded loyalty and respect but were more than willing to fuck their wives over at every opportunity. A part of me wondered if that’s what Macklin had done to Erin all those years ago and that her unwillingness to stay silent or complicit in his disrespect toward her hadn’t also contributed to her wanting to leave.

  “Fuck,” I murmur, knowing I’m really going to struggle not to strangle this motherfucker when I finally find him.

  I pull out my phone to check the time, wondering how much longer it’s going to be before Fitzgerald decides to talk. When the screen lights up though, it’s with another notification of movement at Erin’s door. Opening the app again, I watch as she returns in Finn’s car, the two of them chatting briefly before she heads inside.

  A second notification shows her leaving again, the keys to my car in her hands now, as though she’s about to drive somewhere.

  Despite the snow surrounding me, a cold sweat instantly breaks out all over my skin.

  But it’s not the driving in snowy conditions that freaks me out; it’s the person who’s waiting for her as she walks obliviously over to my car.

  I feel my body tense, my heart pounding in my chest as she turns to face him, as though in response to him calling out to her. The terror on her face nearly undoes me, the fear palpable even through my phone screen. The second I see Erin’s face, I don’t give a shit about Fitzgerald and what he might finally decide to tell me about Macklin.

  Not when the shithead is standing in front of Erin, his hands on her body as he all but pins her against my car.

  “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” I say, killing the app and pulling up her number. I hit the call button, the phone ringing and ringing until it eventually goes to voicemail. Cursing, I immediately hang up and redial, only to hear the same recorded message.

  “Jesus fucking Christ,” I shout, running toward my car, my hands shaking so badly that I drop the keys. Bending to grab them, I scroll through my contacts until I find the one I need. Jamming the keys into the lock, I yank open the door as the phone is answered.

  “Ryan, what can I do for you?”

  “He’s fucking got her, Finn,” I scream into phone. “Fucking Macklin, he’s got her. He’s at her house, get the fuck over there.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Erin

  He so close to my face that I can see the beads of sweat that have formed on his upper lip. He’s nervous and his hand trembles as he steps away from me and reaches behind him. His hand slipping beneath his jacket as he grabs for the gun he has tucked into the waistband of his jeans.

  My heart is hammering against my chest, the sound filling my ears and blocking out everything around me.

  He’s going to kill me and I’m doing nothing to stop it.

  I can feel the vomit rise up in my throat, burning and hot, but I stand firm, my eyes locked on Anthony’s.

  Stepping away again, he tips his gun toward me, but not at me and lets out a low smarmy chuckle. Our eyes are locked on each other, neither one of us willing to concede to the fact that we’re both scared shitless. He won’t take me down. I won’t let him ruin the quiet life I’ve created for myself.

  “Remember what I said, Erin,” he says, his voice low, but shaky as he backs his way down my driveway, never taking his eyes off of me. “Your boyfriend needs to watch himself. I think we both know I can make him disappear,” he adds, opening the car door and slipping inside just as quietly as he arrived.

  I watch him drive out of view before I finally feel myself breathe again. Sucking in a long hard breath, and then on the exhale I vomit spectacularly on the driveway. My eyes watering and my throat burning as I attempt to pull myself back together.

  I’m stronger than this and I know it. He won’t fuck with me; he won’t fuck with Ryan, because I’m about to make this all go away.

  My fear has now turned to rage, and as I come down from my adrenaline rush, my whole body is shaking and my teeth are cl
enched so tightly that my head begins to throb, I grab my phone from my purse.

  Starting the SUV and backing out of the driveway, I pull up the number to the prison. The one person who can stop this whole fucking mess is my father.

  In a few quick minutes I’ve scheduled a visit with him for tomorrow afternoon, and I toss my phone onto the passenger seat.

  I feel like I haven’t had a moment to gather my thoughts or settle myself down. My heart is still racing and my palms so sweaty that they slip along the steering wheel as I guide the car onto the ramp that meets the highway.

  Even though I’m heading to Boston right now, I know I need to call Ryan and let him know what’s happened. But I’m so angry that I don’t think I could form a coherent thought.

  The SUV slides slightly as I enter the highway, but it doesn’t stop me from hitting the accelerator a little harder, nearly pressing the pedal to the floor. The faster I get to Boston, the quicker I can fill Ryan in on what’s happened and the safer I will feel.

  The highway has been plowed and while it’s free of snow, it’s still slick, and the cars that dot the road are driving slower than normal. I weave around a few slow ones and the road opens up. Keeping my speed steady, but fully aware of the icy conditions I move along several miles under the speed limit, but still in the left lane, until I come to another patch of slow moving vehicles.

  I press the brake, but the SUV doesn’t slow and for a moment I think I may be sliding. Pushing down harder with my foot on the brake so it’s practically touching the floor, yet the car continues to move forward. It’s then that I realize the car isn’t going to stop and it isn’t the icy road that’s causing it.

  The taillights of the car in front of me begin to move impossibly closer as I scream out Anthony’s name. He’s fucked with Ryan’s SUV, and I should never have been so stupid to not think he wouldn’t have.

  Trying to avoid the car in front of me, I cut the wheel to the left and the SUV careens onto the shoulder striking the median with such force that it launches the car in the opposite direction.

  Disoriented and hazy, I see headlights coming straight for me and then a blast shatters the windows and explodes the airbags.

  Everything is moving in slow motion, I have absolutely no control as my car slides off the road and down into a ditch. Finally coming to rest, my body aches as the car fills with icy cold air. I can’t hold on much longer, my eyes are heavy as I feel around on the passenger seat for my phone, but before I find it everything goes black.

  “She’s coming to,” a muffled voice says and it sounds like it’s coming from above me. I hear the sound of sirens and a low beeping sound as a blood pressure cuff constricts on my arm.

  “Erin, Erin, can you hear me?” the voice asks. I nod my head. “You were in a car accident. You’re in the ambulance now and we’re taking you to the hospital. Is there anyone we can call?”

  I nod again and mutter Ryan’s name hoping they’ve found my cell phone, but before I can give them any more information I lose consciousness again.

  When I wake again, I’m in the hospital, my head throbbing and my arm in a cast. There’s no one around and I suddenly feel scared and alone, wishing at this moment for anyone to come through the door and explain to me what’s just happened.

  I have a vague recollection of the car accident, but it was obviously far more serious than I remember. I try to sit up, but a jolt of pain shoots through the side of my body and I clutch my ribs.

  “Fuck,” I mumble just as a perky young nurse walks into the room.

  “Painful, huh?” she says, flipping through the chart at the end of the bed. “I’ll get you something for that.” And she walks out without saying anything else.

  A few seconds later she returns with a small foil packet and pitcher of water, and slides a tray over the bed. Pouring a cup of water, she opens the pain killers and hands them to me.

  “Sorry, it’s just extra strength acetaminophen. Can’t give you much else,” she says shrugging her shoulders as she adjusts the bed so I’m now sitting up.

  I take the pills and drink the rest of the water feeling it coat my dry, sore throat.

  “What the hell happened?” I ask her, lifting my casted arm as if she doesn’t realize it’s there.

  “You had a car accident,” she responds casually. “Broke your arm and you have a concussion, but other than that you’re all good.” She mills about the room turning on the lights, opening the curtains, and updating my chart.

  I look around the room, taking everything in, but it certainly doesn’t look like the ER, and I realize not only do I not remember exactly what happened; I have no idea where I’m at.

  “Where am I? Gloucester?” I ask, waiting for her to get annoyed with my confusion.

  “No,” she says, stopping what she’s doing. “You’re at Mass General. What would make you think you’re in Gloucester?”

  “I don’t know.” I shrug my shoulders trying to piece together everything that happened. I remember getting onto the highway, but I don’t recall how far I traveled before the brakes on the SUV went out. “I wasn’t sure where I was on the highway when the accident happened.”

  “Must have been closer to Boston,” she says, now taking a seat in a chair that’s positioned in the corner of the room. “The paramedics tried to reach the emergency contact you gave them, but he didn’t pick up, so they brought you into the ER but they sent you up here once they figured out you’re pregnant.”

  Her words come out so quickly and casually that I nearly miss the last part.

  I’m pregnant.

  I don’t say anything, her words hanging heavy in the air as I try to process them. The room feels warm and I tug at the neck of the hospital gown trying to ease the sudden feeling of dizziness that overtakes me.

  “You didn’t know,” she says and I can’t tell if it’s a question or comment almost shaming herself for telling me the way she did.

  I shake my head and swallow hard as I feel tears form in my eyes and before either of us can say anything else, I’m crying. Not just crying, sobbing. I’m completely overwhelmed by this news, and it’s definitely something I didn’t see coming.

  “I’m so sorry,” the nurse says, sitting down next to me on the bed. “I just assumed you knew and since you were unconscious when they brought you in…” she trails off as she hands me a box of tissues.

  “Is the baby okay?” I sputter out through ragged breaths, suddenly wishing Ryan were here with me.

  “Oh, yes, absolutely. That little nugget in there is just fine, but you’re gonna have to stick around for another day so we can monitor you and the baby,” she says, this time perking up a bit. “You’re about twelve weeks along. Do you want to see your ultrasound pictures?” she asks and I nod because answering her right now wouldn’t even sound like words.

  She walks to the end of the bed, and pulls the ultrasound photos from my chart. Just as I begin to calm down, swiping at my eyes and nose with a tissue, she hands me a strip of pictures.

  If I thought I was calming down, I was wrong, I’m back to sobbing again as I pull the pictures through my fingers seeing the little black circle in each one.

  “That’s your baby,” she says, pointing at one of the pictures. “Like a tiny little bean. Sorry you weren’t awake when they did the ultrasound, but they had to sedate you in order to reset your wrist.” And then she pours me another glass of water and sets it down on the tray.

  I’m still staring at the pictures of the baby, when she asks if I need anything else. I shake my head and she gives me one last smile before turning her attention back to my chart.

  “It looks like they’re still trying to reach your emergency contact. Ryan Summers?” she asks, her eyebrows raised. “I’d hate to speculate since look where it got me last time.” She’s smiling as I’m still sobbing into my ultrasound photos.

  “Yes, he’s the baby’s father,” I tell her through sniffles and this tim
e with a smile. “And if you get me my cell phone I’ll see if I can reach him.”

  She begins to rummage through a plastic bag that’s hanging in the closet near the door.

  “Ah ha!” she calls out and quickly appears next to the bed. “Found it, but it looks like the battery’s dead. We should have a charger at the nurses’ station. Be back in a sec.”

  A few minutes later she reappears in the room with a charger in hand, plugging it in next to the bed, she sets it down on the tray.

  “When I picked up the charger, they told me they were able to get in touch with your baby daddy and he’s on his way here,” she laughs a little and her cheekiness reminds me that something positive has come out of this shitty situation. “I’d guess he’ll be here in the next ten minutes or so. The roads are a mess though. Started snowing again.”

  “Thank you,” I finally tell her and she gives me a comforting pat on the arm, but I’m not sure what more to say. I’m overwhelmed by everything right now.

  Without the accident I wouldn’t have known I was pregnant, but that doesn’t mean I forgive Anthony for threatening Ryan and me, or that I’ve forgotten that he clearly tampered with Ryan’s car in an attempt to silence him.

  This accident could’ve killed me. I could’ve lost the baby, and if Anthony thought I was pissed before, he’s seen nothing yet.

  And I haven’t even told Ryan what’s happened.

  “Get some rest,” the nurse says, dimming the lights. “You’ve had a stressful day.” She flashes me a kind smile and leaves the room.

  Exhausted and aching, I take a few sips of water and put the bed back down as I close my eyes, falling asleep immediately.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Ryan

  “Fuck!” I yell, throwing my cell on the passenger seat as my latest call to Erin once again goes straight to voicemail. “Where the hell are you?” I ask the empty car as I reverse out of the parking lot.