Razed

by Shiloh Walker

  “Ani doesn’t have a norm.” Zach wanted to shrug it off, but he couldn’t. “Don’t worry about it.”

  “So there is something up.”

  With a thin smile, Zach suggested, “Here’s an idea. I’ll tell you after you tell me why you had to take off from work.” Zach threw it out there, fishing more than anything else. He didn’t expect to see that tiny flicker of his brother’s lashes, didn’t expect to see any sort of reaction at all. But he did. Curious, he braced his elbows on his desk and narrowed his gaze on Travis’s face. “So what kind of problems are you having on the job, Trav?”

  The phone rang. Zach ignored it.

  “Who says I am?” Travis shrugged, his voice easy. He looked at Zach without blinking. His voice was exactly on key and his motions, his mannerisms, everything was exactly as it should be.

  But everything wasn’t as it should be and Zach couldn’t figure out just how he knew it. He just did. He wracked his brain, tried to figure out what sort of problem Travis could be having, but he didn’t know jack shit about what his brother did. Zane was smart. Both Zach and Seb had fumbled their way through school, even managed to pull Bs throughout honors classes in high school and Zach had held his own in college.

  The twins had coasted by doing the absolute bare minimum. They’d aced any test put in front of them, but then they’d gone back to doing what they did best—causing trouble.

  Come college, Trey had settled down.

  Travis had gotten wilder.

  Nobody would know it to look at him, but behind those cool, calculating eyes, that devilish grin hid the mind of a genius. Travis could have gone on to do anything. If he’d wanted to, the man probably could have gone into crazy shit like rocket science or whatever put people on the moon.

  But for some reason, he’d decided to do spreadsheets and shit.

  Zach didn’t quite get that, but whatever made the kid happy.

  The problem was . . . Travis wasn’t happy. He also held his cards too close to his chest and out of all of his brothers, Zach knew the least about Travis. He suspected even Trey didn’t know as much as he’d like to.

  How could he figure out where to poke and prod for a reaction when he hardly knew the man anymore?

  Tired of trying to think it through, he dropped his pen and leaned forward, pinning Travis with a dark look. “What’s going on?”

  Travis lifted a brow. “Who says anything is?”

  Zach pushed out from behind his desk, worked through all the plausible scenarios in his head. He could ask, and get shot down again. He could ignore it, and that wasn’t much of any option, really. He could snoop, but that might not do any good at all.

  There was always the good old-fashioned method of trying to pick a fight, but that had never really worked with Travis. He’d talk when he wanted to talk.

  He might be able to wheedle something out of him, but that was his only option.

  “Look, Travis,” he said, keeping his voice nice and level.

  There was a knock at the door before he could go any further.

  For another few seconds, he studied Travis, and then he raised his voice loud enough to be heard through the closed door.

  “Come on in.”

  Anais come in, eyes wide, her mouth tight.

  Slowly, Zach rose to his feet.

  “Zach, there’s this guy on the phone.” She shifted from one foot to the other, licking her lips nervously before she continued. “He’s asking about our employees—called looking for somebody named Katherine and I told him we didn’t have anybody here named Katherine. He asked for a Katie Lord. I was going to hang up, but then he started asking what the employees looked like. He’s kind of weird and I told him to go creep on somebody else, but then he started describing Keelie. I mean, like exactly. Even her eyes.”

  He sensed more than heard Travis’s interest. Keeping his body between his employee and his brother, he kept her focus on him while Travis sat up and looked back at them. “Did he leave a number?”

  “He hasn’t hung up,” she said softly, shaking her head. “He kinda insists on talking to somebody.”

  “Okay. I’ll take it in here.”

  Travis waited until Anais had left and then he studied Zach. “Should I leave?”

  “Why? It’s not like you’ll say jack shit. You don’t even tell us what’s going on in your life.” Aggravated, Zach grabbed the phone and leaned back, ignoring his brother to focus on the phone call. “Hello?”

  “Hello, Mr. Barnes, I assume?”

  “You got that right. How can I help you?”

  “I just need a few moments of your time. I’m trying to locate the daughter of a client—she’s been missing for a long time and my client is desperate to see her again.”

  He noticed two things about the caller immediately. One, that smooth, polished voice was just a little too smooth and polished—Zach had learned a long time ago never to trust anybody who put that much work into sounding honest and open. Two, he was trying too hard to drum up sympathy, right out of the gate.

  Using your voice could be an art form, something Zach knew well, and this guy definitely knew how to use his. It already had Zach on edge, but he didn’t let it show. After all, he was an actor—he might be out of practice, but he damn well knew how to fake a lack of interest . . . or just the right amount of curiosity.

  “Yeah? Who are you trying to find?”

  “Her name is Katherine Vissing, although she might not be going by that name.” The man on the other end of the line paused.

  Zach just grunted. “Seems to me if she’s not using that name, maybe she doesn’t want to be found.”

  “It’s rather complicated, Mr. Barnes.” That charm just continued to seep from him. “Can I beg a few minutes of your time?”

  “Sure. Why the hell not? Can’t say I can help much—my employee just gave me the name you’d called about. I know a couple of Katherines, but Vissing? That’s not familiar. By the way, I didn’t catch your name.” He kept his voice nice and easy and unlike his caller, he knew there was nothing in his voice that he didn’t want there.

  “It’s Gleason. Phil Gleason.”

  Zach grabbed his pen, scrawled it down on the notepad he used for his sketches and notes. He drew a big block around it so he didn’t overlook it.

  A shadow fell across him and he looked up, saw Travis studying the notepad before shifting his attention the phone. Zach wondered why but a quick glance gave him the answer. The caller ID. It had flashed up when he’d taken the call.

  “Okay, Mr. Gleason.” Zach jotted down the number, underlined the area code. Did he know that one? He didn’t think so. “Just why do you think I might know this woman you’re looking for?”

  “I’ve been looking for her a long time. My sources have led me to think she’s in the area, that you might have—might still be—employing her.” Gleason’s voice was carefully neutral now. Too careful.

  Zach’s eyes narrowed. “Why don’t you just cut to the chase, Mr. Gleason?”

  “Katherine is twenty-seven. She might have lied about her age. The name on her identification won’t be Katherine. She’s five feet nine inches tall and the last time she was seen, she was a hundred and thirty pounds. That might fluctuate some—she’s prone to depression and when she doesn’t eat, she loses some weight. She’s got a very fair complexion and her natural hair color is dark blonde, but it’s very likely she’s changed it. She does have rather unique eyes—one brown eye and one blue.”

  Zach’s hand tightened on the pencil.

  Keelie.

  Son of a bitch.

  Those first few years she’d come here, part of him had wondered if she was running from somebody. Just something about the way she’d acted, almost like she was looking over her shoulder—waiting for something.

  He’d known, really.

  But it didn’t matter.

  Keelie was practically family. That mattered.

  “I couldn’t say if I’ve seen her or not, Mr
. Gleason,” he said, the lie coming easily. Whatever the bastard wanted her for, it wasn’t a happy mother/daughter reunion. The few times anybody asked about her family, Keelie would get a tight, cold look in her eyes and while Zach might not be super insightful, he knew that look.

  He saw it on his wife’s face every time her mother was mentioned.

  “What do you mean you can’t say if you’ve seen her or not?” For the first time, an edge crept into Gleason’s voice, slicing through that nice, slow drawl.

  Zach smirked and settled back in his chair, propping his boots up on the edge of the desk. “Well, I mean just that. I’ve had this place open for several years now. I’ve had a couple of female employees, and hundreds of female clients. I can’t recall the number of women who’ve applied for jobs. In short, you’re not giving me enough information. Tall woman, brown hair, needs SPF 2000 when she goes outside. That could be one of a thousand women I’ve seen just this year alone.”

  “You did hear me describe her eyes, didn’t you?”

  “I did, yes. But again, there’s nothing standing out.” Zach grimaced and shoved a hand through his hair. “Look, I can talk to my employees and if this rings a bell, I’ll have them give you a call.”

  “Perhaps you can give me their names and I can handle the calls myself.”

  “Not happening.” Zach stood up, braced one hand on the desk.

  From the corner of his eye, he saw Travis slip a piece of paper on the desk. In neat print, it read:

  Private investigator. From Lexington, KY.

  Zach shot Travis a narrow look. Travis flipped his phone over and Zach saw the search results. Travis had just googled the man’s name and number. Gleason was the only hit.

  “Look, Mr. Barnes. I don’t think you understand my position—”

  “I don’t care about your position,” Zach said, cutting him off. “I care about the privacy of my employees, and the privacy of those who come in and out of my shop. I’m not passing names off without so much as a by-your-leave. Now I think this conversation is over.”

  Without waiting another second, he hung up the phone.

  Travis studied him.

  Zach ignored him and headed to his file cabinet. It was stuffed too full, crammed with information he should have gotten rid of years ago. It also needed to be replaced and he had plans of parting with it right about the time the world ended, or when the cabinet fell apart. He got attached to things. Like the file cabinet and its crazy designs that he’d do when he got bored or frustrated or distracted.

  The bottom file bore a series of lotus blossoms, the kind he’d thought about inking onto Abby’s skin, more than once. Then he’d actually gotten to do it—temporary ink—but ink was ink and he’d had his hands all over her soft, naked flesh.

  Crouching down, he made himself think about things not related to lotus blossoms and Abby naked. The files wedged in at the back were for his employees—not that Keelie was technically just an employee anymore, but as he lacked organizational skills, he knew the information he’d gotten when he hired her would still be in there.

  He grabbed the fat folder and had to pry it out. The manila file ripped and he swore, gripping the pages together so they didn’t go flying as everything came free.

  “You know, you really need to find some way to get some organization going.”

  He shot Travis a dark look. “You need to find a way to keep your trap shut on how I run my business.” Rising, he used his boot to shut the file before heading back to his desk.

  He had to flip through quite a few useless files before he found the one he needed. And it wasn’t a surprise that he encountered applications from people who no longer worked there. The first couple of years, turnover had been pretty high.

  Keelie’s application was down near the bottom.

  He plucked it up and started to read.

  Nothing popped out, not at first. Her last address had been in Texas.

  There were a few references, all from Texas.

  It wasn’t until he flipped it over and skimmed the info at the bottom that something stood out.

  The name she’d put down to call in case of an emergency.

  Running his tongue across his teeth, Zach studied it thoughtfully.

  “Paul Jenkins,” he murmured.

  “What’s that?”

  Zach held it out to his brother. “I don’t know. The name she used for an emergency contact. Has the same area code. I’m probably reaching here. It’s not like Lexington is a small city, right?”

  Travis looked up at him.

  “Absolutely you could be reaching.” But Travis continued to stare at him and the pressure of that gaze didn’t relent.

  There was a knock at the door. He looked up. Anais gave him a half-hearted smile. “You look grouchy. Sorry, boss, but your next appointment is here.”

  * * *

  After Zach slid out of the office, Travis helped himself to a cup of the shittiest coffee he’d had in a long time. He’d had some really shitty coffee, too.

  Then he settled back behind Zach’s desk.

  The computer seemed to struggle its way back into life and Travis sighed, pinched the bridge of his nose. If he had time, he’d see what he could do about that, but first . . .

  He did a quick search on the name Zach had just given him.

  Huh. Mr. Paul Jenkins was an attorney. Interesting area of practice.

  He eyed the piece-of-shit computer and hunkered down, fingers flying over the keys as he started to dig deeper.

  It wasn’t really a violation of privacy, not the way he saw it.

  Since it looked like trouble was already nosing around, Travis figured the best thing to do was be ready for it.

  Forewarned, forearmed, all that jazz.

  * * *

  A crying jag left a woman feeling exhausted and tired and ready to just curl into a ball. A week of sleep might undo some of the damage. The physical damage, never the emotional. Nothing could undo the guilt, or the anger.

  A hand smoothed up her spine, settled over the curve of her neck and the fingers started to press against muscles gone tight.

  Keelie closed her eyes.

  “Are you okay?” Zane asked, his lips moving against her temple.

  Such a question. One she had no idea of how to answer. Instead of trying, she shifted on his lap and pressed her face into his neck. The smell of him surrounded her. His arms were warm and strong, his body a firm, hard presence beneath her. Keelie didn’t feel like she was going to fly off into nothingness—she couldn’t. Because he was there, holding her.

  Smoothing her hand up, she toyed with the collar of his shirt.

  Sniffling, she tried to blank her mind, but too many memories continued to rage inside.

  “I tried to tell.”

  The words popped out of her before she’d realized she needed to say them.

  Zane rubbed his cheek against her hair.

  “I went to her mom, told her what I’d seen.” She blew out a shuddering sigh and fisted her hand in the material of his shirt. “This was more than a month later and Toria hadn’t been to school in over two weeks. I’d heard they were moving. I went over there, told her mom that I’d seen what happened, said I’d go to court. Her mother just shook her head and said it was too late. Toria couldn’t fight anymore.”

  Zane was quiet, saying nothing.

  “I didn’t understand, but then her mother took me to Toria’s room. She . . .” Keelie swallowed, tears burning her eyes as the memory backhanded her. “She was on the bed. Staring outside. It was like the world had ceased to exist. Her mother was homeschooling her for the moment. Toria did enough to skate by and nothing else. I said her name and she looked at me like I wasn’t even there. Her father had sold her out. The friends she’d had at school had gone and turned into either statues or they laughed when she went by. I told her mother I’d tell the sheriff, but it was too late.”

  “You tried. You were a kid, too. Your mother was cutting in,
trying to keep you from doing the right thing.”

  “It doesn’t matter.” Keelie surged upright and paced away, staring out the windows. A headache pulsed at the base of her head. “She said she’d take care of it. I didn’t know what she meant, but I was afraid, and Price was there and I . . . I let myself believe she’d do the right thing.”

  “She was your mother—that’s what she should have done.” Zane’s voice was a slap and she flinched at the sound of it.

  Now, striding to stand before her, he watched her with burning eyes. “You’d had somebody drug you hours earlier.”

  Her eyes came to his.

  “Didn’t you?”

  “I . . .” She stopped, blew out a breath. “I don’t know. Not for sure. But probably. She saved me. And then I wasn’t there to help to her.”

  “You tried.” His voice was so full of compassion, it almost broke her. Even as it infuriated her.

  Blood roared in her ears as he continued to speak. “She was raped—that’s on the sons-of-bitches responsible. You tried to help her. Both of you had done enough to save each other, and yourselves. The adults around you should have been there to protect you, to make sure none of that happened—and they should have stood by the both of you. They didn’t. They are the ones who failed. Not the fifteen-year-old girl who’d been slipped a couple of roofies and ended up sick enough to pass out.”

  Keelie flushed from the shame.

  “If I hadn’t wanted to go to the party—”

  “Stop,” Zane said, his voice a growl. “If those bastards had been able to act like decent people, none of this would have happened.”

  She averted her face.

  “Does it help?” he demanded, his voice sharp. “Blaming yourself? Does it make him any less capable of doing what he did? Did it fix him? Fix her? Fix anything?”

  “Fix anything?” Keelie’s laugh was so jagged it hurt her to hear it. It was brittle and broken and when she opened her eyes to stare at him, she had a hard time seeing him past the misery. How did you fix somebody like Price? How did she fix what had been done to Toria?

  He must have seen some of the questions whirling in her mind because he came to her, caught her head between his hands. Pressing his brow to hers, Zane whispered, “You can’t. And you weren’t to blame. Maybe things would have been different if you’d spoken to the sheriff, and maybe not. But her parents should have pushed to prosecute. You tried to speak for her and her mother decided to take her away. That was her choice. Not yours.” He brushed his lips across hers, a gentle kiss. “And you didn’t make it happen by going to the party. That’s on them, not you. Not on her. It’s on them.”