Staying For Good (A Most Likely To Novel Book 2)

by Catherine Bybee

  “You weren’t there. Dad looked at me and told me he was the reason you couldn’t go to Zoe’s house to play when you were in grade school.”

  “What the hell is Sheryl thinking, bringing him back in the house?” Wyatt asked.

  Luke glanced at the bedroom door and thought of Zoe sleeping off the effect of the news. “He better not hurt her.”

  Jo stood before the open drapes, staring out at the lights of the Vegas strip. “He already has.”

  Jo held Zoe’s hair back as she gripped the edges of the toilet and regretted the last three drinks from the previous night. “Fuck me.” She emptied her already empty stomach once again.

  “You’re not my type.”

  “I’m too old for this.”

  “You’re not even thirty.”

  Zoe’s clammy skin made her feel a hundred.

  “What the hell was I thinking?”

  Jo patted her on the back and spoke in soothing tones. “You have your reasons.”

  Zoe had ignored the stares the night before, but at ten in the morning, with her pores reeking of alcohol, she couldn’t deny the truth. “Miss Gina called you, didn’t she?”

  “Deputy Emery.”

  Zoe sat her butt on the marble floor and accepted Jo’s cold washcloth. “This wasn’t supposed to happen, Jo.”

  Jo pulled up the vanity bench and rested her hands on her knees. “I don’t get it. My contact told me he was slated for the next six years if he kept his nose clean.”

  Zoe had followed the news enough to know the prison system was overcrowded and they were releasing inmates left and right.

  “Hey?” Mel stepped into the bathroom with a chilled bottle of water.

  Zoe took it but didn’t bother drinking it. She placed it to her forehead and closed her eyes.

  “I can almost get the fact he managed to get out of jail. But my mom . . . what the hell?”

  Mel took the edge of the small seat Jo sat on. “Aren’t they divorced?”

  It turned Zoe’s stomach to think about it. “She said yes, but who knows.”

  “I can check the county records, find out.”

  Zoe blinked Jo’s way with a little nod. Much as she hated asking her friend to do that, she wanted to know the facts so she could deal with them. Her mother’s lies tended to affect everyone around her. “Has anyone spoken with Miss Gina?”

  “I did. She said Zanya called her to ask when we were coming back.”

  “I’ve got to get her out of there. And Blaze . . . that’s no way to grow up.” Much as Zoe wanted to let her sister get on with her life and make her own decisions, she couldn’t sit back and watch her childhood repeat with her nephew.

  “One day at a time, Zoe.”

  Mel, the forever optimist, asked, “Could he have changed? Maybe he’s—”

  Both Jo and Zoe stared at Mel until her words died off.

  Zoe took a chance, opened the water, and took a tiny sip. “Where are the guys?”

  “Packing their stuff. Luke is changing his flight and booking yours for later.”

  She looked around the bathroom in search of a clock. “Isn’t it close to checkout?”

  “Don’t worry about it. We arranged a later checkout for you.”

  “We’ll get back and gather as many details as we can before you get there.”

  Zoe’s stomach started to protest the intrusion of water. She leaned forward. “We were having such a good time.”

  “I had a great time, Zoe. I’m not letting your deadbeat dad ruin this whole weekend for us.”

  Zoe attempted to smile even as her stomach rejected what she’d put in it.

  The girls tucked her back in bed, and when she woke, Luke sat beside her. She curled next to him and let him stroke her head.

  News traveled fast in small towns.

  Jo stripped out of her civilian clothes the second she stepped in the door of her home and slipped into her uniform. Her sidearm was a welcome relief on her hip. Something she planned on keeping within arm’s reach until Ziggy Brown left town on his own or was back behind bars.

  She’d read her father’s reports on the man.

  He was a piece of human dirt who had little respect for his own life, let alone those of his wife and children. Even though Zoe was coming back to town to sort out some of the pieces of this broken puzzle, Jo couldn’t help but hope that her friend would go back to Texas so whatever was going to play out did so without her being there.

  She stepped into the station after six.

  It was Sunday, and normally Glynis had the calls forwarded to either Deputy Emery or Jo after five. The town wasn’t Mayberry, but the crime rate didn’t warrant a twenty-four/seven staff unless there was someone in the holding tank. Most of the time they shipped out their temporary incarcerated guests to Waterville, where they had a much bigger force. While Jo’s jurisdiction covered a lot of miles, the population wasn’t that dense. Her town felt suddenly smaller with Ziggy Brown out of jail.

  Glynis straightened in her chair when Jo walked in.

  “What are you still doing here?”

  “I knew you’d be by.”

  Jo kept her cool, looked around the empty station. “Anything I need to know about?”

  She shook her head. “Nothing you haven’t been told. Been a little quiet ever since . . . well . . .”

  Jo didn’t let Glynis stumble over her words. “I appreciate your attention. Go home. I have it from here.”

  Glynis stood, pulled her purse from behind the desk. “How is Zoe?”

  “Upset. But she’s tough.”

  “I have no doubt. Good night, Jo.”

  “Good night, Glynis.”

  Jo sat down at the radio and dialed in to Emery. “I’m back. What’s your twenty?”

  “Enjoying a little downtime on a back country road, Sheriff. Wouldn’t mind a break.”

  She read between those lines. Before leaving the station, she’d packed up all the files she had on Ziggy Brown and planned on learning everything she could about the man she never thought would step foot in River Bend again.

  Chapter Sixteen

  It was late when Zoe and Luke drove into town. The later flight, coupled with a flight delay, meant they weren’t going to confront anyone that evening.

  Not that she knew what she was going to say.

  The thought of coming face-to-face with her father had her hyperventilating and scratching her skin like a crack addict in need of a fix.

  She hadn’t seen the man since her mother had originally dragged them to the penitentiary after he was sent away. It didn’t take long for Ziggy to move from the medium state lockup to a maximum state penitentiary. When that happened, they shipped him closer to Portland and too far for her mom to swing the gas and time to drive up.

  Or so Zoe thought.

  Luke and Zoe were about a half hour outside of River Bend when some of the questions swimming in her head started to come out. “Do you think she ever divorced him?”

  Luke drove his dad’s truck, which they had left at the long-term airport parking while they were in Vegas.

  “She never remarried.”

  “I don’t think she ever dated either. I always thought it was because she was afraid of men. But now I wonder.”

  “I never knew your dad.”

  “He’s mean. And yet so few people saw that about him until right before he was arrested the last time. I remember him telling my mom about all the women who wanted him . . . how he could be with anyone, and she needed to remember that.” The memories of him in the trailer growing up had filtered in and out of her thoughts all day. “I was just about to go into junior high . . . Zane was in third grade, and Zanya was in what, first grade?” She asked the question to herself, searching for the data she knew was in her head. “He’d lost his job at the plant outside Waterville.”

  “The one that builds RVs?”

  “Yeah. He worked there for about a year. I remember thinking how great it was that we had enough money t
o turn on the heat in the winter.”

  “Jesus.”

  “Money was tight. As aware as I was about how tight it was, I was also aware that most of the kids at school had no idea that heat cost money.”

  “My dad would bitch about leaving a window open and tell me I wasn’t born in a barn,” Luke said.

  “This was different. He’d come in the house, tell us he wasn’t made of money, and turn it off. Didn’t matter if it was twenty degrees and snowing. He’d drink himself into a sweat while we huddled under a pile of blankets. My mom would turn on the heat when he left the house, just enough to pull the chill out of the air, and turn it back off before he came home. I’d pin up an extra blanket over the window to try and keep the cold out of our room. Most the time it didn’t work, but sometimes it did. One night he came home and knew the heater had been on. He forced all of us to sit outside so we ‘knew what cold was.’ It was raining. The next week we were all sent to school with the flu. Mom wasn’t about to take time off of work when we were ill.” Zoe had all but forgotten that memory. It was probably best buried. Then again, Zanya and Blaze lived in that house . . . even Zane, although Zoe was certain he had a few options that her little sister didn’t. The thought of Ziggy forcing Blaze into the cold made her angry.

  “Once your dad was in prison, did your mom turn on the heat?”

  “Not at first. I think she was afraid he’d walk in the door. While he sent us out in the cold, he wasn’t opposed to hitting her to make her understand.” How she hated the word understand.

  You don’t understand, I’m doing this for your own good.

  You’ll understand when you’re a parent.

  If I don’t discipline you now, you won’t understand the rules.

  And all that was when he was on his good behavior. If he’d been drinking, or just didn’t care, he’d come in yelling, throwing stuff . . . swinging his fists.

  “I know he battered your mom around . . . did he . . . ?”

  Zoe noticed Luke gripping the steering wheel. “All the time,” she said without shame. It wasn’t her fault the man was abusive. “He was smart about it. Made sure the marks he left weren’t visible in normal clothes. I always thought he wouldn’t get away with it if we lived in a warmer state.” Once again, she felt herself drifting into her own thoughts and memories. “He always had a line . . . why we were sick . . . why we were bruised. Slipped and fell. Rope on the swing broke. Ice on the drive . . . I don’t think anyone ever noticed that our drive was gravel.” She leaned her head back and kept talking. She hadn’t thought about all of this or wanted to talk about it for years.

  “Right before he held up that mini-mart, he’d started showing his true self. He stopped being polite to people in town. He’d keep us home from school to avoid anyone knowing there was a problem. In sixth grade, I’d missed about three weeks of school before the winter break. The counselor, Miss Jennings, came to the house right before Christmas break to check on me. I remember her black slacks and polished shoes . . . not sure why the shoes mattered, but I remembered them. She stood in my living room. Dad wasn’t there, he’d told me to stay home and watch Zanya, and he went out to ‘find money.’” She huffed out a laugh, understanding what that meant now. “Miss Jennings stood with polished shoes on our worn carpet. She asked me why I wasn’t at school. I was scared to answer. I don’t think I did.”

  “What happened?”

  “I met Jo’s dad, formally. I knew of him, of course. But he came over the next day to check on us. I found out later that Ziggy had made a scene in town and the teachers were talking.” It helped to know that people were aware and finally willing to step in. “I had just started to stop by Miss Gina’s on the way to school . . . she never said anything, but I think she had something to do with Miss Jennings coming over that day.”

  Zoe looked over to see Luke’s carefully controlled jaw, his tense hands on the wheel. “You probably don’t want to hear this.”

  Luke pulled in what seemed like a painful breath and reached over to grasp her hand. “I hate that you went through all that . . . but I absolutely want to hear it. When we were kids and you said your dad was an asshole and in jail, I knew on some level that meant he’d hurt all of you. I heard a few things over the years, but I didn’t really know much of anything.”

  Zoe squeezed his hand back. “I told Mel and Jo years ago how bad it was. I made them swear to not say a thing to anyone.”

  “Even me?”

  She nodded. “It wasn’t until I was in my twenties that I wasn’t embarrassed about my dad . . . my childhood. In a way, I still am.”

  “You can’t help who you’re born to.”

  “I know that.”

  Luke pulled off the main road leading out of town and toward his house. “Unless you object, I’d like you to stay with me tonight. I can take you to Miss Gina’s—”

  “No. I’d much rather . . .” She kissed the back of his hand. “You make me feel safe, Luke.”

  He gripped her hard. “I won’t let him hurt you, Zoe.”

  “It isn’t me I’m worried about.”

  It was pouring down rain the next morning. Zoe drank her coffee black and stared out Luke’s kitchen window. Tiny drops fell off the gutters and onto the back deck. The small pools of water would give the birds plenty of places to bathe once the rain stopped. She wondered if Luke had birds that showed up on his back step. She leaned over the sink to take a better look at his outdoor space. He didn’t have a bird feeder.

  A back porch needed a bird feeder.

  The floor squeaked behind her, taking her attention away from theoretical birds.

  Luke slid his arms around her waist and leaned his head into hers.

  “You smell nice,” she told him. Fresh from the shower and clean-shaven.

  “So do you.”

  He stood holding her, both of them looking out the back window.

  “I’ve never been in your backyard.”

  “You can go out there now . . . might get a little wet.”

  She chuckled and hugged his arms around her.

  “How are you feeling this morning?” he asked.

  She hadn’t slept well, tossing and turning with memories and stress. Somewhere around four, she turned her pillow around for the hundredth time, found a cool spot, and drifted off.

  “I’m sorry if I kept you up all night.”

  “I slept.”

  “Liar. But thanks for trying to make me feel better.”

  He kissed the top of her head before backing away. “Is that coffee I smell?”

  “It is.”

  Luke removed a clean coffee cup from his cupboard and filled it.

  “I tried to find cinnamon to brew with it. No luck.”

  “You’re lucky you found coffee. I don’t always bother until I’m at the shop.”

  She found her smile. “I noticed it’s a little lacking in here.”

  He turned, leaned against the counter, and took a sip with a grin. “Consider it an empty canvas. Feel free to paint it up.”

  “But it’s your kitchen.”

  “And?”

  She glanced around. “Rearranging your kitchen . . . I don’t know. That’s a big step.”

  “It’s a kitchen.” Luke looked at her over his cup.

  “Have you forgotten who you’re talking to?”

  “It’s a kitchen. I could give two shits about where things are.”

  She pretended shock.

  “Now if you wanted to talk about a drawer in my bedroom . . . we might have a problem.”

  She put a hand in the air. “Wait . . . I can move everything around in here, but no panties with your boxers?”

  He was trying hard not to smile, but he wasn’t fooling her. “We would have to negotiate that.”

  “And what kind of negotiations are we talking here?”

  He held his cup with both hands and kept it close to his face. “For starters, if you have panties here, I have boxers at your place.”

&
nbsp; “In Texas?”

  “Do you have a home somewhere else?”

  He’d lowered his cup, and his smile made his eyes crinkle. This was the second time he’d alluded to taking their relationship to a new level. What if it didn’t work out? What if it did? She felt like she’d had one of her best friends reenter her life, and she didn’t want that going away.

  “Tell me what you’re scared of so I can shatter it.” Luke’s words shook her out of her head.

  “A shotgun isn’t going to destroy my fears.”

  Concern replaced the humor in his eyes. “I don’t think I said anything about weapons.”

  She studied her pedicure, wondering how her thoughts turned so violent. “I live in Texas . . . everyone has guns.”

  She heard his coffee cup touch the counter and looked up when he placed both hands on her arms. “When you’re ready to tell me what your fears are . . . I’m here.”

  At that exact moment, there were so many fears she couldn’t name one for him to wage war on.

  Zoe leaned into his chest and rested her head on his shoulder. His arms wrapped around her and held her tight.

  “I’ll make space in my panty drawer if you make space in yours.”

  He chuckled, held her tighter . . . a long while later, he said, “I don’t have a panty drawer.”

  Jo had gone home an hour after the lights in the Brown home had turned off. Her alarm woke her by five. By six, she had another stack of paperwork to study, a fresh gallon of coffee . . . and yes, a pastry that she wouldn’t call a donut, but came painfully close, was at her side.

  Ziggy Brown was put away during her father’s reign as sheriff. On the previous evening, she’d looked through her father’s reports . . . documentation of unproven and proven domestic abuse in the Brown home. He’d filed official reports from business owners who wanted to file a report but didn’t want to press charges. These reports did nothing but add to Ziggy’s lousy character reference when he went to trial.

  He’d held up a mini-mart in Waterville at gunpoint. He’d beaten the clerk, stolen what money was in the register, and fled with a case of beer. The car he’d used to drive away was seen on a surveillance camera across the street from the mini-mart. Because he wore a ski mask and gloves, the clerk wasn’t able to positively identify him in a lineup. The case was won when the clerk’s DNA was found in bloodstains on the steering wheel of Ziggy’s old Chevy.