by Dani Wyatt
“And?” I clip out, not hiding my annoyance.
“And, well, the case is open. And Promise is still a person of interest. I’m sorry. I don’t have details, but just stay put, okay? If she up and takes off, it’s not going to help things.”
Promise hops down off the counter and leans back with her arms crossed. Her eyes meet mine, eyebrows up, then she flings her hands in the air. I give her a “sit-your-ass-down” look, because my head is about to fucking explode.
“And?” What is this dipshit getting at? Some underpaid detective's conspiracy theories? There’s no use talking about Promise and the fire, because I’m going to lawyer her up hard. He’s clearly not going to give me anything more anyway, so what was the point mentioning it? “You started this conversation by saying, ‘First off,’ so that implies there is something else, Detective.”
It’s starting to rain. The streaks of sunlight that danced through the windows earlier have been replaced with gray. The rain makes a soft putter as it hits the windows and the metal roof above.
“It’s her mother. They found her and her boyfriend in a hotel off Highland Avenue last night . . .” He hesitates, but I already know I’m not going to like what’s coming.
Highland Avenue is where you do not want to be—unless you're there to score dope, get shot or help a whore make her dope money.
My eyes are on Promise and my heart tears its way out of my chest, because the way he's speaking is familiar in a way I wish I didn’t recognize.
“Her mom is at City Hospital . . . in intensive care. They were, ah, shooting speedballs. It’s a problem when you go to a new city.” I can almost hear the shrug in his voice, the shake of the head, the raised eyebrows. “Sometimes, you don’t know what you’re getting. Seems whatever is on the street right now is potent and . . .” I hear him drag in a long breath. He doesn’t like what he’s telling me. I don’t fucking like it either.
“Fuck,” I mutter under my breath, breaking my eyes away from Promise. I bring one hand to my mouth, squeezing my lips then rubbing my chin with a shake of my head.
“Her boyfriend is nowhere to be found, of course. Someone called 911. Wouldn't give their name. That's not uncommon. They ah . . . they found her with the needle in her arm . . . she wasn't breathing.”
Promise stomps away in a huff, then spins on her heel.
“What is he saying?!” she shouts from her position about ten angry steps away. Her face is turning three shades of red.
“Okay. So, anything else? I have to go.”
“One more thing,” Northrup says then clams up.
“What? Jesus, what?” I’m running out of rope and Promise looks like a volcano ready to spew lava all over the damn loft if I don’t calm her ass down. Northrup has a flair for the dramatic and I'm sure a lot of people appreciate it, but I am not a fan.
“We got a full statement from her–Mrs. Henderson–after you saw her in the parking lot yesterday. She gave us some interesting information about Mr. Spicer. Not sure how valid it is, but you might be interested in hearing it. You need to come down here though; I can't give it over the phone. How about first thing tomorrow morning? By then we might have corroborated some of the details. We’ll see. Mrs. Henderson . . . she's fond of a bit of embellishment, it would seem.”
Promise is stalking me like a tiger, pacing the same five steps back and forth between the kitchen and the little makeshift living room in the center of the loft. Burning a hole through the floor, and through my head. Even though she looks furious, I can’t help but eye her ass in those jeans as she turns for another trip back five steps in the opposite direction.
I suck. I really do not have an off switch.
I finish up with Northrup, click my phone off and look at the little hellcat that is about to tear my face off with her eyes alone.
There are some things I really wish I hadn't found out.
“Come on, babe. We’re going to see your mom.”
Beckett
I’m so proud of my girl.
She walked down that hallway in the hospital with her head held high, her shoulders back. Nobody would have known that she gripped my hand like a vise.
There wasn’t much talk. The doctor came in, said they’d done what they could and it was just a matter of seeing how much fight Holly had left.
As far as Holly goes, it’s sink or swim time. She’s got a fifty-fifty shot of waking up and the same odds of getting out of this without having to wear a diaper and be fed through a tube for the rest of her life. And that sucks. Karma’s a bitch.
It was eerie as fuck looking at her mom in that bed with tubes in her nose, mouth and both arms. I could see Promise’s face in hers. I turned cold, thinking if I ever lost Promise it would be the end of me. I would have no interest in seeing another day.
Just the passing thought of her hurt or gone turned my blood to ice. When the doctor finished, I stood by my girl as she stared at the woman in the bed. Neither of us said a thing for at least ten minutes. Then Promise turned to me, a resigned little half smile curving her lips.
“Let’s go,” she’d said, and that was it.
At that moment I realized something about love. I knew immediately in some way, shape or form that I loved Promise that day I walked in and saw her with my father.
It only took a few moments with her that day before the colors changed, my priorities changed and when I thought about things, I thought of them in terms of what was best for her. What action or inaction I would take that would put her needs first. Her happiness first.
Sure, love is a feeling. You just know. It sneaks up your leg and grabs you by the balls and you just know it’s a feeling that’s been dormant until that moment.
But it’s more. It’s the sacrifice you would gladly make for another person.
And as we walked out of the hospital room, it was so clear, that a parent’s love for their child isn’t that far from what you feel when you meet the one. It’s just more. You add the lust, the romantic aspect, but at its very core, it is the same. A primal, instinctual need to protect them and guide them. To keep them safe at the risk of your own life. An abiding need to give them your best, to put your needs aside for theirs.
So, looking at that woman in the bed, I knew she didn’t understand love. Whether it was never given to her, or whether, somewhere deep inside, she’d lost the capacity for it. I’m not sure. But I knew it was my job to make sure Promise understood love from now on.
We stopped at Bello’s for a bite to eat after the hospital, but Promise picked at her food and looked distracted. When she gave me a surprise and stretched her foot under the table, crawled her toes up the inside of my thigh, well, I got the check paid and we finished off the night in style.
Seems no matter what the disease, the cure includes us naked and some part of my body between her legs. That shit is fine with me.
I thought I was the uncivilized animal always ready to hump her like a street dog until she couldn’t walk. But after we got back last night from the hospital, she jumped my ass and I gladly threw some napalm on that fire. Even with everything going on, she’s been showing me her horny face more often than usual . . .
I spent two hours dousing those flames, and now that I’m done and waiting for her to come back from the bathroom, my phone buzzes with a text from an odd looking number. As I start to read it, my blood turns cold.
Hi, you guys! I’m fine. We’re having fun. Louis told me he let you know Disney got canceled. There was some bad stomach virus going around at the hotel. Noro or something? Ick. He wanted me to meet his family. Okay, I hope Fiji is fun! I hope you have enough sunblock for my sister!
Holy fuck.
Before I can even fucking process that information, the phone buzzes again. This time there's a picture of a smiling Jordan standing outside a white stucco house, Louis standing behind him with a dead stare at the camera.
My neck twitches and I crack it, thinking about how I’m going to open up this little dialog
with Promise.
“What was that?” She comes out from the bathroom with wide eyes and a determined walk.
“Okay, do not freak out.” I raise my eyes and lean back against the long table where I do my drawing and writing.
That's all I get out before she sidles up next to me, sees the picture and promptly freaks the fuck out.
“What does it mean?!” she's screaming at me, trying to make sense of it all. “Call him! Call Jordan! I need to speak to him, Beck!”
I try to calm her down while I return the call but already the number isn't functioning. And that's some shady shit. Could just be temporary, but I don't think so. I forward the messages over to Jax anyway so he can research anything he can, and try to deal with my hysterical wife.
Fuck, I love that fucking word . . . wife. It’s my new favorite word.
Promise bawls and screams and throws pillows at me because we can’t just get on a plane and go pick him up.
She doesn’t even have a passport, so even if that were the proper action, she wouldn’t be able to leave the country. Not to mention the police had told her to stay put. She's popping a cork with the bed linens, not because she's pissed at me, but because she needs the release, and I’m good with it.
This shit that's going on, she needs to take it out on someone. And I'm right here.
Pisses me the fuck off that Louis is a pussy and won’t just call. Man up. But, by now, he knows that we know that there is some hinky shit going on and whatever his plan may be, we are still blind to it.
Still, seeing Jordan on some level provided me some relief. He looked good. Calm. Happy.
It takes me two hours to get Promise to calm down.
Promise is laying tangled in the sheets softly snoring away. She flings an arm across the bed as she tosses and turns while I sit at my laptop piecing together some of the email intel my boys have sent my way.
I glance at my phone. It’s 5:26 am and I may have closed my eyes for an hour after I’d filled my girl with two rounds of what she needed. But sleep is not on the priority list right now.
First thing when she wakes up, we are headed to the precinct to meet with Northrup and see what verbal bullshit her mother spewed out which might be useful. Truth is, I’m not in a state of mind to believe anything that comes from that woman’s mouth. I won’t call her a lady. I'm sorry, but that is not a term she’s earned.
My phone buzzes. I’ve got the ring tone turned off but Brendan’s smiling face pops up on the screen. I grab it and beat a hasty retreat into the bathroom, because it’s the only damn door in the loft that I can close behind me without going out in the stairway.
I press the phone to my ear. “Bro.”
“Hey. You up?” Brendan asks.
“I’m not down. So yeah, I guess I’m up.”
“Good, ‘cause I’ve got something. Unfortunately not about the picture or the phone number. That’s still dead.” He clears his throat before he continues. “I took a chance, found a number and was able to get Louis’s sister on the phone. Now I was just going to verify that I had a working number, but it turns out she was willing to chat about her brother, so I didn't waste the opportunity.”
“No shit.” I’m not detecting joy in his voice, so I'm waiting for whatever comes next. I dump myself into the big upholstered burgundy chair next to the sink and brace myself.
“Okay. So, his sister’s name is Rehema and she came to America about eight years after Louis, but she ended up in Canada for reasons that aren’t all that important right now. Only, she’s never seen Louis since she came. He’s not had any contact with his family since he was eleven years old.”
Family? “I thought he didn’t have a family,” I say, confused as hell. “He said he was an orphan, having lived on the streets until he came here.”
“Well, he most certainly has family. Only, he doesn’t.”
I’m in no mood for riddles. “Just spit it out, man. Don’t take the fucking scenic route.”
“Okay, here’s the Cliff Notes. She shut me down when I started prying into family stuff, but at first she gave up something I think might be useful. Louis, a.k.a. Bakari Raz, was cast out of the family for what she calls, ‘unforgiveable shame.’ Now, when I tried to dig into that steaming pile of shit she shut it down, but she did say that they do, in fact, have family still alive and well in Cairo. And get this, the family includes their ninety-four-year-old father—the same father who apparently tossed Louis out on the streets when he was eleven years old. Now, whatever unforgivable sin he committed, disowning a little kid? That’s some crazy, fucked-up-shit, man. Imagine the scars that would leave behind.”
“Fuck.” My head spins. So maybe he's going to family and not just running for cover? Could be good news. But without more details, who knows? Could be bad. “Anything else?”
“Not much. I guess the dad isn’t doing too hot. The sister said she was just there a couple of weeks ago. But we’ve got an address. Family still lives where Louis was born, so if we need to drop in, I’m ready when you are.”
Part of me wants to grab my passport and leave a note for Promise telling her I went out for milk. But I know better and without any family to speak of for either of us, we really are all the other has. Now’s not the time to go rogue on her. There's enough of that shit going around already.
I give myself the same advice I gave her.
Slow down. Plan. It’s about the strategy and there are still far too many unknowns.
“Alright, let me process. If we need to get on a plane, I’ll probably take you up on your offer. But let me think it through. I mean, the fact is, Louis has been squeaky fucking clean since he got here. The picture and message from Jordan looked legit. He looks safe, at least for the moment. Whatever happened with Louis’s family, fuck knows what that might be, but I’m going on my own personal experience with him, and I’ve never picked up on anything hinky. Fuck, dude, if I've read him this wrong . . .” I shake my head.
I’m going to beat myself up over my mistake every fucking day for the rest of my life.
“Maybe he wasn’t playing you. Maybe he really is stand up and there’s some other explanation. But it’s still fucked up he didn’t keep you guys in the loop.” I hear him sigh on the other end of the phone. “I don’t know, man. I wish the mission was clear. We’re good at following orders, but I can’t pinpoint the way out of this one. Besides just getting on a plane and doing what we do best. And like I said, ready when you are.”
We wrap it up with a few more details and I hang my head down, resting my forearms on my knees, thinking of every detail of Louis at the wedding. Everything he’d said, trying to find a clue.
I get to my feet, stretching tall, trying to figure out the day.
Shit, not just the day, the rest of our lives. I’m officially out of the service, and with Louis gone rogue, the job I expected to start with his security company is a non-event. My book deal will tide us over for a while, but even with all the other shit going o I have to figure out our future. Financially and otherwise. Promise is my wife. My responsibility.
Fuck, we should probably get the hell out of this loft too. It’s got Louis’s name on it and I don’t trust anything with that branding right now.
I look around the marble bathroom and see the navy blue robe I wrapped Promise in that day after the attack. The day I made love to her for the first time. The day I realized something lived inside of me I’d never known before.
As far as money, we’re okay for now. I can get us a new place. A fucking house if that’s what she wants. Not long after she moved in here for good, we played a game every night over dinner. We each got five questions. Anything and everything we wanted to know about each other.
I asked her what her dream house would be. She didn't know it, but I planned on giving it to her no matter what she said. I smile as I think back, that sweet little girl who never counted on any place to call home . . . she described in such vivid detail the world she would have if she cou
ld. I burned her words into my memory that night and I will give it to her someday. Her every wish. Every fantasy.
I’m a saver, never had much need for the things other people spend their money on, the meaningless shit. So my bank account is flush with unspent earnings, but that's all it is—earnings. It's no trust fund. And the weight of the decades in front of us is definitely on my mind.
I shift back and forth, stretching the tense muscles in my back. My neck tingles and I have to let out the twitches that are impossible to ignore. I had thrown on just my jeans when I got out of bed to sit at the computer and strategize.
Stepping out of the bathroom, I see the tangled disaster that is Promise, laying across the white sheets. I raise my eyes to the windows. Metal frames with about forty panes each, tiny crisscrossed wires running through the glass, making a thousand diamond shapes. The sun peeks up from the horizon, breaking through the clouds, throwing a hint of light through the two vacant industrial buildings across the street.
The rain from yesterday is gone and the morning sun casts its light upon Promise like she’s an angel sent to ease all my personal aches. I'm going to have a battle with her today. When she finds out where I'm headed after we meet up with Northrup, that little hellcat is going to fight me.
I grit my teeth until my jaw muscles hurt, then slump back down at the long table where my laptop sits open and shoot an email to the one other person I know cares about my girl. And fuck knows I’m going to need him in my corner, today and every day.
No matter what happens, I’ll take care of her. I’ll get Jordan back even if it means giving up my life. That’s what love is. That’s what her mother never realized.
Her loss.
Promise
“Beck?”
I reach my hand across the bed but I know he won’t be there. Not because I think he’s left, but because I don’t think he really sleeps.