by Freya Barker
“He’s definitely a bit of an oddball,” Ron agrees, as he moves toward the window behind me. “Maybe he’s taken a shine to you? It’s possible.” He seems to be mumbling more to himself than to me, I turn to find him looking outside through the blinds. “Maybe he’s a little obsessed, got carried away when you rejected him.”
There’s something about his words that me make sit up in my chair.
“Ron, what are you talking about?”
“He even looks menacing,” he continues, as if he never heard me, his eyes focused outside. “Wouldn’t be a stretch to imagine him shooting at you, jealous when he sees you coming home with your bodyguard.”
Okay, now I’m really uneasy. Something’s definitely wrong.
I slowly get up out of my chair, keeping my eyes on him as I sidestep to the edge of my desk, hoping to get to the other side of it for a bit of a barrier.
“He could’ve killed Rupert too,” he continues to mumble, and I manage to slip around my desk undetected.
Or so I thought until he suddenly swings around.
“Where are you going?”
“I just need to…”
I draw a blank. The only thing on my mind is getting away from him. I can’t even begin to process what he’s saying; I just know it’s not good.
He takes one step toward me and I panic, swinging around throwing myself at the door, only to find he must’ve locked it when I told him to close it.
All I hear is the thundering of my heart and blood rushing through my veins as my shaking hand slips off the lock. Before I can firm my grip on the small tab, my head is snapped back and an arm wrapped around my neck is cutting off my air.
I dig my nails into the forearm pressing on my throat and kick out my legs, struggling against his hold. I need to make noise. There are people right outside this door, but everyone knows when the door is closed not to disturb. I try to scream but only a pathetic rasp comes out.
He pulls me away from the door and I kick out again, this time hitting something—a chair—toppling it over. My vision starts to blur as I feel my strength wane.
The last thing I hear is a loud crash.
Dimas
I had the morning to catch up on things. Amazing how quickly you feel out of the loop after only a few days away from the office.
Yanis asked me to meet with the developer of the new mall they’re building northwest of the city. I had a hard time concentrating on the drawings the project coordinator showed me. With what I hope is a general idea of what they’re looking at in terms of a security setup, I walk out of the construction trailer with a copy of the plans and a thick book of specs under my arm.
Back in my truck, I give my brother a quick rundown of the scope of this project.
“This is not a job we’ll be able to do on our own. It’s big. The construction schedule is pretty tight and we don’t have a lot of time to put together a proposal.”
“I’ll give Brandon Electrical a call. Get them on board,” he suggests.
“Probably a good idea. Do you need the package they handed me now, or can it wait ’til tomorrow? I’d hoped to run by Willa’s place before I go to pick her up.”
“Did you grab the keys and code I left on your desk?”
“Yeah, I did. So, do you need me to swing by the plans?”
“No, don’t need them now.”
“Okay. Then I’ll see you tomorrow.”
It takes me fifteen minutes to get to her place and I pull into her driveway, noting the new motion lights Yanis installed. I also spot a camera at the corner of the garage, aimed at the driveway. As I walk up to the front door, I see a second one installed in the soffit over the front steps. Knowing how thorough my brother is, I’m sure he has at least one on the back of the house as well.
I slide the key in the lock, open the door, and quickly punch in the code on the new number pad on the wall in the entryway.
The windows have clearly been replaced and there’d been a hole in the wall, where one bullet lodged, I can’t even find. They did a good job.
Before I lock everything and pick Willa up, I want to check the contents of the fridge. There’s nothing worse than coming home to spoiling food in the fridge. I don’t want there to be any negative reminders for Willa or Britt.
I’m just opening the fridge door when I hear the front door open and a voice call out, “Willa?”
I have my gun in hand when a disheveled-looking woman walks into the living room, with a large tote bag tossed over her shoulder.
“Who are you?” she asks, and before I can answer her eyes dart around the room. “Where’s my sister? Where’s Brittany?”
I immediately tuck my gun in my pocket; I don’t think she even noticed it in my hand. Shit. This is Willa’s sister.
“My name is Dimas Mazur. I’m Willa’s boyfriend.”
I start moving toward her but she takes a step back, so I stop.
“My sister doesn’t have a boyfriend.”
“She didn’t, but now she does.”
Just then my phone vibrates in my pocket and I fish it out, keeping an eye on her while glancing at my screen.
Willa: You picking me up?
Me: I’ll be tied up a bit longer. I’ll pick up Britt first. You hang tight there. Everything good?
Willa: Yeah, fine. Xo
“That’s your sister,” I tell the woman. “Here, have a look.”
I hold out my phone and take a few steps toward her. She squints to read the messages on the screen. I notice the dark circles under her eyes and strain on her face.
“She’s been worried about you. You weren’t answering your phone.”
She looks down to the floor at her feet.
“My phone is broken,” she mumbles.
“Britt’s been waiting for your call as well.”
That has her eyes come up. “You’re picking up my daughter?”
“Yeah. She’s a great girl.” I try smiling at her, but she still looks a little freaked.
“Where are they? Willa’s SUV is in the driveway. When will they be home?”
“I’m about to go pick them up. Why—”
I was about to invite her to come along when my phone rings. It’s Brad.
“Can I call you right—”
“Shit, brother,” I can tell from his voice something’s not right. “It’s Willa, you need to get your ass over here.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Dimas
“Stay in the truck,” I order Connie.
Shots fired. That’s what Brad told me when I started running for the door. She’d heard enough of my side of the conversation to know something happened to her sister, and shy of using brute force on her—not to mention wasting valuable time—I couldn’t get her to stay behind.
On the way to the shelter I called the office and got Radar, who would send Bree to pick up Britt from the Humane Society. The little girl had been the only other thought I had aside from getting to Willa.
I made it to the shelter in less than five minutes and two police cruisers are pulling in right behind me. Slamming the truck in park, I launch myself out, and hit the ground at a dead run for the door.
The lobby is empty but in the hallway to the offices a small crowd is standing outside Willa’s office. I blindly shove bodies aside to get through and vaguely notice the splintered doorpost. My attention is focused on the body of a man lying on the floor, a sizable hole in his forehead.
“Where’s Willa?” I ask the older black guy, talking on a cell phone. He looks somewhat familiar. He covers the phone with his hand.
“Office across the hall.”
I make note of the gun on the corner of Willa’s desk, and the badge clipped to the guy’s waistband, before I turn and walk out.
The door is closed but I barge in without knocking to find Shep and Brad hovering over Willa’s prone body on the small couch. She’s covered in blood. I must’ve made a sound when Shep swings around.
“Not hers, bro
ther,” he quickly clarifies. “She’s okay.”
“Dimas?” Her voice is rough as she struggles to sit up.
Brad steps out of the way as I move forward and sit by her side.
“Stay put,” I order gruffly, my hands and eyes scanning her body for holes.
“I’m fine,” she assures me, her whole body shaking.
I carefully lift her to my lap, my own body doing its own share of trembling. I take a moment just to feel her breathing against me before I focus my eyes on Shep.
“What the fuck happened?”
He opens his mouth to answer when I hear a commotion in the hallway.
“Willa!”
Fucking Connie.
“Hold on, Dimi.”
Shep grabs me from behind, pinning my arms against my body.
“This fucker stood by and put her in danger,” I grind out between clenched teeth, straining against Shep’s hold as my brother steps in front of me, blocking my view of that FBI bastard.
“Check it, Dimas,” he orders, his face inches from mine. “If you don’t, I’ll have Shep lock you down in Rosie’s office.”
We’re in the parking lot of the shelter, where paramedics are checking Willa out in the back of the ambulance. Connie is with her. At least a dozen officers, FBI agents, and crime scene techs are milling about, while the PASS crew, the chief of police, and fucking Dave Williams are watching Shep and Yanis hold me back.
“For what it’s worth,” the bastard says over my brother’s shoulder. “I kept as close an eye on her as I could. Warned her as soon as I realized she was a little too curious.”
“You fucking shot at her.”
“I shot at him,” he corrects me.
“You could’ve killed her,” I persist.
“Not a chance in hell,” he returns calmly. “I can shoot the testicles off a field mouse at a hundred and fifty yards. Wouldn’t have pulled the trigger if she wasn’t already limp in his arms. I had a clear shot.”
All that anger, fueled by the adrenaline still surging through my blood, slowly drains. Shep’s hold loosens and I try to shake out the tension in my muscles as Williams continues his explanation—unfazed by my outburst.
From what I gather, he’s been undercover living both on the street and in the shelter these past two months, since Arthur Hicks’ body was discovered. The FBI investigation in the fight ring extends back further than that, but the man’s death had been confirmation veterans—preferably homeless ones—were a group of particular interest.
It makes sense in a way; men who have seen action but have trouble adjusting in mainstream society would make for easy targets. Unfortunately, those destitute enough to do anything for a buck. What makes me sick are not the guys to step into the cage, but the men behind it, orchestrating and capitalizing on the suffering of others.
Especially those who are supposed to be supporting them. Like Dr. Brantley Parker, and the dead man in Willa’s office, Ron Midwood, a goddamn social worker.
Carefully attuned to any movement from the back of the ambulance, I notice Willa’s sister climbing down.
“Fill me in later,” I whisper at Yanis before moving toward the back of the rig, just as Willa appears in the opening.
The two women are as different as night and day. Willa dark, her coloring and stature much like her father, whereas Connie is much lighter and shorter like their mom. They’re both quite curvy, but with her height, Willa carries it better. Or maybe I’m biased. Quite likely.
I’m just in time to lift her down the last step and am tempted to simply carry her to my truck and take her straight home.
Too many fucking thoughts and emotions chaotically tumble around my head, and I desperately need a moment to find my bearings.
Willa first.
“You okay?” I bend down so my eyes can catch hers.
“I’m good,” she croaks, still hoarse.
“She should be fine,” the medic, sticking his head outside assures me before turning to Willa. “Not too much talking until your throat has had a chance to heal.”
“Good. Then I’m taking you home.”
“What about Britt?”
“No talking,” I admonish her. “Bree went to pick her up and they should be at home already.”
I look over at Connie, who looks like she needs some medical attention herself: big eyes, pale face, and nervously biting her lip. She must think she landed from the fat into the fire. I can’t help but feel for her.
With one arm tucking Willa to my side, I gently put the other around Connie’s hunched shoulders.
“Come on, both of you. Let’s find some peace and quiet at home.”
As I’m walking them to my truck, I hear my name called.
“We need to ask Ms. Smith some questions,” Williams calls out.
I spear him with a scathing look before yelling back, “Too fucking bad. She’s not allowed to speak—medical orders.”
Willa
I can’t stop looking at Connie, who’s sitting beside me, there’s something different about her.
Things were so chaotic at the shelter, the fact she showed up out of the blue kind of blended with all the other mad stuff going on.
Dave Williams, who I thought was a homeless veteran, turns out to be an undercover FBI agent. Ron Midwood, who I worked with and thought was a trusted colleague, ends up being a criminal. Add to that being choked near unconsciousness, then covered in blood and God knows what else, and my sister’s sudden appearance was barely a blip on my radar.
Now, though, I am curious. Of course, with Britt talking a mile a minute as she tells her mom about every single animal at the shelter, I don’t have a chance to ask. It’ll have to wait until Britt is in bed.
I glance out the kitchen doors at Dimas, out on the back deck talking with Bree and Radar, who showed up about ten minutes after we got home. I’m sure Dimas will share whatever is being talked about later when there are no little ears around.
“Mom, where’s Dad?”
My head swings around. Connie looks like a deer caught in the headlights at Britt’s question.
“Home, I’m sure,” she finally says, but is not very convincing.
Britt catches it too and seems to check her mother over closely.
“And where did you get those clothes?” my clever niece asks, looking at the unconventional clothes my sister is wearing. A pair of ill-fitting jeans, plain white tennis shoes, and what looks like a man’s dress shirt. Very unusual for my sister to be found in anything but feminine, well-tailored clothes, and she never, ever wears flats. All her shoes have at least a two-inch heel to add to her short stature.
“These? I’ve had them forever,” Connie lies, and she knows we know it.
Britt opens her mouth, I assume to call her mother out on it, but the sound of the sliding door opening stops her. Dimas walks inside with Bree and Radar following behind.
“Connie, Radar is going to go with you to pick up your things at your sister’s place and anything else you might need.”
“Oh, that’s okay, I can…” Her voice trails off and her eyes lock on mine, desolation swimming in the tears gathering.
I grab hold of her hand and squeeze it.
“Go with him. We’ll talk after,” I tell her softly, my voice still no more than a rasp. Reluctantly she gets to her feet, a watery smile for her daughter before she turns to Radar.
“Lead the way.”
I watch as he almost grabs her elbow but thinks better of it at the last minute, instead gesturing for her to go ahead.
“Ladies first.”
“Yo, Britt,” Bree pipes up when they disappear out the front door. “While they do that, why don’t you and I run out to pick up some dinner? You can help me choose.”
I’m sure my niece knows she’s being manipulated, but she still gets up and follows Bree out of the house, leaving Dimas and me alone.
“What’s going on?” I want to know, looking at him questioningly.
“Shhh
. You’re not supposed to talk,” he says, sitting down in the spot my sister just vacated and pulling me close. His lips brush mine lightly. “I love you.”
My hands lift to his face and this time I kiss him. Then I mouth the same message back to him.
“Good, because you may get pissed at me. I asked Radar to find your sister. A few days ago, he discovered your sister had been treated in the ER at the hospital in Delta for a couple of broken ribs. She said she’d fallen down the stairs.”
Realization comes hard and fast.
“Bullshit. They live in a one-level ranch, they don’t even have a basement, just a crawlspace.”
“Stop talking,” Dimas orders, pressing his fingers to my lips. “Radar found that out too. He’s going to talk to your sister to find out if she’s in any danger.” He shakes his head when he sees me gear up to object. “There are reasons why it may be easier for her to talk to someone who doesn’t know her. Surely you know that.”
I hate that he’s right. Connie and I may not be close, but she’s still my sister and I’d do anything for her.
Like drop-kick that son of a bitch, Jim, if he dares show his face.
“Whatever you’re thinking right now better not be about me,” Dimas warns, squinting his eyes at me. “I have a feeling my nuts wouldn’t survive.”
“Your nuts are safe,” I snap, and he immediately presses his fingers on my lips, but I bat them away.
“Easy, tiger,” he teases. “No bodily harm until we have some information on what went down and assess the kind of risk Jim represents. Radar will try to find out what he can from your sister, but until we get a bead on that situation, everyone is staying here.”
“Where?”
“Radar is picking up the twin mattress from your spare room for your sister to sleep on. We can fit her in with Britt. I have a feeling those two have some talking to do anyway.”
He’s not lying. There’s a whole lot going on between mother and daughter, has been since Britt started developing a will of her own. Add to that a broken marriage—at least I fucking hope so—I can see my niece giving Connie a hard time. That’s where I hopefully can make a difference.