Just a little more. Another inch to the right was all I needed. The street vendor was distracted with another customer, so this was my chance. As if hearing the voice in my head, the man complied and shifted his body to reach for a magazine on the top rack. I walked over, slid my fingers into his pocket and removed the wallet I had been eyeing for the past five minutes. I turned on my heel and was set to bolt when a hand caught my wrist. My heart had been racing before, but now it felt like it was going to skip right out of my frail chest. Instinct told me to squirm, to do whatever I needed to free myself from his grasp. Because I couldn’t get caught. I would be put back into the system. Spend some time in juvie and then be shipped to a foster care placement. I knew some foster parents treated their kids right, that some kids were even adopted by them if they behaved themselves. But that hadn’t been my experience. I couldn’t go back there.
“Everything okay?”
I heard the edge to his voice. That accusatory tone. I didn’t have to look up to know that a blue was in my presence. My victim released my wrist.
Don’t run. Don’t run. It will only make the police chase you.
And cart your ass off to another foster family.
Maybe this family wouldn’t have a son who thought it was within his right to try to rape you. Maybe they had a daughter instead. A daughter who would like to go to the park and kick the soccer ball around with you, maybe grab an ice cream cone afterward.
You’re dreaming. That won’t happen. You’ll end up with a family that only cares about the checks they receive for taking care of your sorry ass. And then you’ll be fending off another son, maybe an uncle or the foster father himself. And maybe this time you won’t get the chance to knee the son of a bitch in the balls, and the unthinkable will happen.
Don’t run, Nessa.
“Everything’s fine, officer. I just dropped my wallet and this young lady here was kind enough to help an old man out by bending down and grabbing it for me.”
I didn’t want to make eye contact with the policeman, but something told me that if I was going to get out of this, then that was exactly what I needed to do. The officer looked me up and down, no doubt taking notice of my raggedy, brittle hair. The nightmare continued as he scanned my filthy clothes and the holes in my sneakers. The back of my dirty neck grew warm and I was close to breaking out into a sweat.
Don’t run.
“Okay, then. You both have a good day.”
I swallowed and forced myself to nod. I stood frozen on the sidewalk with my victim’s leather wallet still in my hand. I didn’t take a breath until the officer walked away and turned the corner. “Can I have that back now?” the man asked.
I looked up and encountered a warm smile. Not anger, or disgust for being pickpocketed and in the presence of something so vile. It had been days since my last shower. Maybe the word shower was stretching it. It was more like a sponge bath with some paper towels and pink industrialized soap from the church bathroom. I had taken care of the important parts, but since puberty had set in…well, I was going to have to be more creative and find a place I could scrub up. In a few years, it wouldn’t matter. I would be of legal age, and the system wouldn’t give a shit anymore. But until then, I had to be careful and not alert anyone that I was underage.
“Why didn’t you tell on me?” I asked, handing over the wallet.
“Because I don’t think you need any more trouble,” he said with a smile. He slipped his wallet into the inside pocket of his coat. Probably so I wouldn’t be tempted to rob him again. “What’s your name?”
Why does he want to know that? What’s his motive?
Don’t tell him.
But I ignored that voice in my head. The one that was screaming at me not to trust him, to run, to fight, fight, fight! “Nessa,” I said.
“Are you hungry?” he asked.
I was starving. It was my unrelenting hunger, those damn stomach pains that had driven me to steal in the first place. I put the remaining scraps of pride I had left aside and nodded. He gestured to a McDonald’s across the street. “I could use a Big Mac, though my doctors would disagree. What do you say?” I looked at the golden arches above the restaurant’s door and my stomach growled. I nodded again and then we were in the restaurant and I was devouring food like some crazed animal. I ate three burgers, a sleeve of fries and was working on a large shake. When I came up for air, I found him staring at me. “Nessa, how old are you?”
“Fourteen.” I took a sip of my shake and wiped my mouth with a napkin.
“Have you ever been to school?”
“I made it through the eighth grade.”
“So, you know how to read and write?”
“Yeah, and I can do some math, but I’m sure I’m out of practice.” I crammed some more fries into my mouth.
He took a sip of his soda. “Have you ever taken standardized tests before?” he asked.
“Like the ones with the bubbles? A,B,C,D and all of the above? Those types of tests?” I asked.
He nodded.
“Yeah, they’re mandated by the state. At least that was what the teachers told us.”
“And how did you do on those tests?”
“I can’t remember my actual score, but I do remember my guidance counselor calling me to her office and telling me that I would now be taking some advanced classes because of how I performed on those tests. I guess I did okay.”
His brows rose.
“Why do you ask?”
“Nessa, I’m a teacher at Montgomery Prep School. It’s on the Main Line, not too far from here. Ever hear of it?” For whatever reason, I felt embarrassed, though I knew I shouldn’t have. I shook my head and stared at the three empty burger wrappers. “Well, every year around this time, students who want to come to our school take an entrance exam. The two students who receive the top scores earn free tuition and room and board. I was wondering if you would be up for the challenge? You know, to take the test and see what happens?”
“Well, I know what would happen if I was by some miracle granted a scholarship into a snooty private school.”
“You have a crystal ball hidden beneath all those clothes?” he asked, matching my sarcastic tone perfectly.
“They would find out. Everyone would know I was a fake, that I don’t belong there.” Frustrated, I grabbed my shake again and slurped it until I drained it dry. Who was this guy? What did he really want? “Why are you trying to help me? What’s in it for you? I don’t do those things, you know. Some girls I know…do…but I won’t, I’ll never…”
His eyes narrowed and that sarcastic glint in his eyes faded completely. “I’m helping you because I want to…and because everyone deserves a chance.”
I stared at him. He had to be in his forties, maybe fifties. He had that Indiana Jones professor look going on. I would bet that if he took off his coat right now I would discover a tweed sports coat with suede elbow patches beneath. “What’s your name?” I asked.
“Dylan O’Neil.”
“So, Dylan, do you have any kids? A wife?”
He placed the last few bites of his Big Mac on the table in front of him and sat back in his seat. “My wife and daughter were killed two years ago by a drunk driver.”
“Oh…I’m sorry.” My meal suddenly felt like a lead weight in the pit of my stomach. We sat there staring at each other and then I asked, “So when’s this test?”
I was rewarded with a smile, one that filled me with…hope. The one thing I told myself that I never wanted to feel, in fear of being let down for the hundredth time.
“This coming Saturday. Just bring a pencil,” he said, reaching for his burger again.
I laughed. “I may need to borrow one. I did just try to pick your pocket.”
Chapter Eighteen
Griffin
“How much does she owe you?” The man looks up at me, gestures at the running meter with a nod, and goes back to whatever he was doing on his phone. I withdraw three twenties and hand the
m over. “I’ll take it from here.”
“Sure, man. Whatever. Don’t want to ride around in this shit anyway.”
The amount and rate in which the snow is blanketing every conceivable surface is starting to concern me. Five minutes. That is all I will give her. And then she is leaving with me whether she wants to or not.
The taxi driver puts the car in drive and hightails it out of there. I see Clare’s head snap up and turn to what she thinks is going to be her ride to God knows where. “Hey!” she screams, running after her cab. “What the fu..”
But the second she sees me, she comes to a dead stop. We stand there, frozen, staring at one another. It has only been ten hours since she left me this morning, but it feels like years. My arms shake not from the cold, but from my need to hold her. I rein myself in and watch her come to realization first. Jamming her hands in her coat pockets, she walks over to me.
“Once was definitely enough.” My focus drifts from her eyes to her tearstained cheeks. “Losing someone you love…you shouldn’t have to do it twice.”
“You remember?” I ask.
She wipes her nose with her coat sleeve and nods. “I lost him again, Griffin,” she chokes out. “Dylan…he’s dead.”
Even though the man she loves is dead and buried, it still hurts to see her mourn him, to know how deeply she cares for someone who isn’t me. I know it is selfish to feel this way. But I can’t help it or dismiss the pain that radiates off her in waves.
She is still in love with this man…this ghost.
I harden my heart and put all my focus on her safety. “Clare, I know you don’t want to leave him right now, but we need to keep moving. My truck can handle a lot, but this snowstorm is massive. We need to find a place to stay for the night.”
“Why did you come here, Griffin? It isn’t safe. I may not have all my memories back, but from what I know so far…well, you should get far away from me.”
“Not going to happen.”
“But you said…that last night was a mis…”
“The way I acted this morning...that was the mistake.” I’m not going to say any more than that and reveal exactly how I feel, what last night really meant to me. That when I was inside her, as I held her afterward, she was mine. “Clare, I promised you that I would keep you safe and that is what I plan to do. We’re finishing this.”
Her response is a wince and sharp intake of breath. But I can’t waste any more time deciphering if she is pissed, hurt, frustrated, or a little bit of each. “Fine, let’s go.” She stalks past me and heads toward my truck. I follow, and she climbs in before I can get the passenger door open.
Definitely pissed.
Once we are both inside, I blast the heat and put on my seatbelt.
“And you don’t have to worry about the money. I just remembered that I have enough to cover the expenses that have accrued so far and what may come down the pike. I’ll pay you back, every last cent, when we finish this.”
“I don’t want your money.”
“I don’t care want you want. The second I have access to my account, I’m withdrawing enough to cover the food I ate, the clothes, the tampons, the money I stole from your wallet, everything.”
It takes everything I have not to lash out at her and tell her that she is being ridiculous. I don’t want her to pay me back. I like taking care of her. I like that it was me she screamed for when in the throes of a nightmare. It was me she turned to, cried on.
Fearing a pissing match, I keep my mouth shut and head for the highway.
About fifteen minutes into the drive, while she is staring out the passenger’s side window, I hear her say, “Nessa.”
“What?”
She doesn’t look at me, which drives me crazy. I want to see those blue eyes of hers, those eyes that widened when I slid into her, stretched her. Eyes that clenched shut as she came around me and screamed my name. “That’s my name. Nessa O’Neil.”
Nessa.
Although I like the name I gave her, Nessa suits her. It is strong and beautiful, just like the woman who stole my truck, hopped on a train and roamed the streets of Philadelphia for the majority of the afternoon.
• • •
“Someone was in your house.”
“What?” I hiss into the phone. I look over at Clare, but she is still sound asleep, her face pressed against the passenger door side window. I told her that her seat reclined. I even offered her my shoulder to sleep on, but she refused. She is still angry about this morning and I can’t really blame her. But I’m angry, too. At her. At myself. At her dead boyfriend.
“I stopped by your cabin to make sure that the fire in the fireplace was out, lights and stove were off. We had left in such a hurry and to be honest, your head was all over the place when I picked your ass up,” Trent said.
My head is still spinning. I’m barely keeping my shit together.
“I have an extra key to the cabin, so I went in. But I knew someone had been there. Nothing seemed to be out of place, but I just knew. It must be that gut of yours rubbing off on me or some shit.” I shift my phone to my other ear. “And then I went out back and that’s when I saw a fresh pair of footprints in the snow,” Trent said. “The snow’s coming down hard up here, so whoever was there…well, I must have just missed him.”
My home is no longer safe for her. I won’t be able to keep my promise if I bring her back to the cabin. “Listen, we’re stopping off at a motel for the night. I can barely see…”
“Wait, we? She’s with you?”
“Yeah, I’ll tell you more tomorrow. Right now I need to get her to a motel. The visibility is shit and I hate to admit it, but I’m running on fumes myself.”
“That’s a good idea. It’s worse up here if you can believe it.”
I’m not surprised. I listened to KYW News Radio on my way into the city and heard that Quarry Hill was going to be hit hard, with close to two feet of snow, maybe more. “Trent, would you mind if I…”
“Bring her to my house tomorrow. It’s safer here. The cabin is too remote. You’ll be a sitting duck out there.”
I know he’s right. But taking her to the center of town where her kidnappers may be hiding in plain sight makes me nervous. I also don’t want to involve Trent any more than I already have. “Trent, I don’t think…”
“No. You’re coming here. Where we both can protect her and figure out the next course of action.”
I’m being selfish. But Clare needs the protection. Something I can’t provide at the cabin. Someone was in my home. Most likely searching for her. But they won’t find any trace of her. I am now grateful that I threw a tantrum and ransacked my home in search of anything that belonged to Clare and stowed it all away in the duffel bag that is sitting on the back seat of my truck.
It is possible that the intruder was searching the area for her, every conceivable house and hiding spot. Maybe mine was just one of many stops, and he hadn’t homed in on mine in particular. But I can’t take the chance. “Okay. Plan on us arriving this time tomorrow night. I don’t want to risk driving into town in broad daylight and shining a spotlight on us.”
Trent agrees and ends the call just as I happen to stumble across a motel that looks halfway decent and doesn’t charge by the hour. I peer over at the woman who has completely turned my life upside down. Less than twenty-four hours ago she begged me to take her, writhed beneath me as I buried myself inside her, and now we are back to being strangers…strangers who will be spending the night together in a motel…alone.
Chapter Nineteen
Chief Brady Sullivan
“What can I get you, Chief? Have a new beer on tap. It’s called Satan’s Sin.”
I look up at Pete Hess and he smiles. At sixty-nine years old, Pete is old enough to be my father…and old enough to remember the rumors that floated around this town before I left to go live with my Uncle Tony. I saw the pity in Pete’s eyes when I returned after my decade-long absence. I saw it in all their eyes. And heard the
whispers.
He’s been through so much.
He’s lost everyone. Even his quiet little sister Bree.
“Sounds good, Pete. I’ll take a pint.”
“You got it, Chief.”
Pete leaves to retrieve my beer, giving me the opportunity to scope out the place. Despite the storm, the place is packed and the regulars are already a few beers in and yelling at the television. A major boxing match is due to air in a few hours, so I guess they’re pre-gaming with some opening fights. I have no interest in watching two guys kick the shit out of each other. That’s not why I came tonight.
And then my reason strolls through the door.
I catch Pete’s attention and gesture to the door, holding up two fingers. Pete gives me a nod and pours a second beer. “Hey, Trent.”
Trent smiles and takes a seat on the bar stool next to me. I slap him on the back just as Pete arrives with our beers. “Thanks, man,” Trent says, raising his glass.
“It was my turn. You bought the last round, remember?”
Trent chuckles and takes a swig. I follow his lead and almost gag. Satan’s Sin is bitter and tastes like shit. How I crave a tumbler of scotch. The expensive kind. The kind you appreciate just before you have your dick sucked. The thought of Raylyn and the blowjobs I am missing saddens me. But things are about to change. Bree will make me forget all of them.
After all these years of searching, Mace finally found her. I have seen the pictures, the closeups, the candids Mace took of her as she left the gym, or walked to work, as she hugged her roommate goodbye before she left for Japan. Her hair. Her eyes. They were an exact match. Skin tone, even the smattering of freckles across her petite nose…perfect. But what I don’t know, what Mace wasn’t able to secure, is a recording of her voice. It makes me hard wondering what sounds I will rip from her throat. I need to hear her cries, whimpers, and screams again.
The last girl Mace brought to me was a fraud, an imposter. She didn’t squirm or fight me. She didn’t beg. She just lay there lifeless, her spirit dead.
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