by Mia Storm
Instead of answering, the two cops closest to me hem me in. “Trotte Gunnison? AKA Trotte Michael Tanner?”
Nobody’s called me that in six years and hearing it now freezes my blood.
“What’s this about?”
The biggest of the two cops, who outweighs me by at least thirty pounds, gets up in my face. “We need you to come with us to the station.”
“Why?”
The older guy in plain clothes on the stairs behind the two uniforms speaks up for the first time. “Because we have some questions to ask you about the murder of Michael Henry Tanner.” He steps up onto the landing and the uniform in my face backs off. “He was your father, correct?”
There’s suddenly no air. I can’t answer.
“I have a warrant to search this property,” he says, pulling a folded paper from the breast pocket of his white button-down. He flicks his wrist and opens it in front of me. “Sergeant Garcia will be happy to escort you to the department, if you’d like to wait there.”
“He’s dead,” I say, processing what he said.
The last time I saw him was almost three years ago, right in this apartment, after he tracked me down. We did our best to kill each other, and when I woke up, he was gone and Kate had hauled me into my bedroom and had me mostly cleaned up and bandaged.
“Dead,” the plain clothes guy confirms.
“How do you know?” I ask, but I know he’s right. I’ve known it for a long time.
He quirks his head at me, assessing, and in that gaze, I see it. They think I did it. “Because we found his body strapped into the passenger seat of his ’99 Chevy pickup at the bottom of Lake Travis two weeks ago.”
I close my eyes and rub them. So, just about the time Grim and I were beating the living shit out of each other in Zurich, my old man was fucking with my life one last time.
“Can’t say I’m sorry the cocksucker’s dead,” I say, “but I didn’t kill him.”
The guy steps closer and his uniforms back off. “You’re not under arrest, son, but I do have some questions for you. Anything you want to tell us about how your father died?”
“No fucking clue,” I lie.
“Why don’t you take a ride with Sergeant Garcia,” he says. “We can talk in more detail at the station after I’ve had a quick look around.”
The uniform on my right grabs my arm and he and the other start herding me down the stairs as the older guy steps into my apartment.
And I hope three years is long enough that whatever he finds in there is useless.
Chapter 32
Shiloh
At first, no one answers when I knock on the downstairs window. I want more than anything to go back up to Tro’s, but I can only get him into more trouble if they find me there. I knock again, harder, and the window slides open a minute later.
“Shiloh!” Kate says. I’ve clearly surprised her again.
“Tro’s in trouble,” I say, crawling through the window into what is obviously her bedroom.
She looks toward the hallway. “What’s going on?”
“The cops are upstairs. He sent me down the fire escape so they wouldn’t catch me in his bedroom.”
“Damn.” She takes a deep breath and rubs her eyes, then looks at me. “Did you hear what they wanted?”
“I got out of there as fast as I could. If they’re arresting him because of me…” I trail off as my face crumples and tears threaten. “I just never thought...but Billie…if she found out I came here, she might have done this.”
Kate starts shaking her head as I talk. “They were here a week ago. I don’t think it’s because of you.”
That information does nothing to settle my churning stomach. “Then why?”
“Stay here,” she says, turning for the hall.
I don’t. I drop my bag on the bed and follow her into a small living room. She goes to the door and opens it, and I hear voices and the sound of feet on stairs.
I move to her side just as Tro is being escorted across Kate’s landing flanked by two burly cops. He catches my eye and I’m surprised to see he doesn’t look afraid.
Which makes me feel better.
But then he nudges his chin at me and shakes his head, his eyes flashing over his shoulder as more feet thud on the stairs from his apartment.
They vanish around the corner of the landing and head down the next flight just as a heavyset older guy in a white button-up shirt emerges from the stairs to Tro’s apartment.
I back into Kate’s apartment and go to the living room window, watching the front entrance below.
The hinges creak as Kate closes the door all but a crack. “What’s going on?” I hear her ask.
“I’m sorry to bother you, but my name is Detective Stills,” a deep voice says. “May I ask you a few questions?”
She nods.
“What is your name?” he asks.
“Kate McGown,” she answers.
“This is your apartment?”
She nods.
“How long have you lived here, Miss McGown?”
“All my life.”
He pauses and I hear a rustle of paper. “I know this was a while back, but in or around late November of 2012, we believe your upstairs neighbor’s father might have shown up here. Do you remember hearing anything unusual? Maybe a fight? Raised voices or sounds of a scuffle?”
She thinks for a second, then shakes her head. “Not that I can think of.”
“As I said, it was a while ago,” he says. “How well do you know Trotte Gunnison?”
“He’s not here much because of his job, but we’ve been friends since he moved in four years ago.”
“Does anyone else live here with you?”
Instinctively, I duck into the corner, even though the door’s mostly closed.
“My grandmother passed away a few months ago,” she answers. “She was the only one.”
“Thank you for your time, Miss McGown,” he says, just as Tro and the officers spill through the door onto the sidewalk a story below. “If you think of anything at all, give us a call,” the cop adds after a second.
“Okay,” she answers and I hear the door click closed.
One of the cops grabs Tro’s arm once they’re outside, like he thinks Tro might try to run or something. Tro shakes him off and walks ahead of them toward the waiting cruiser. He lowers himself into the backseat, then looks up at the window I’m standing in and waves.
I spin on Kate as the cruiser pulls away from the curb. Her face is in her hand and a business card is pinched between her index and middle fingers. “What’s going on?” I ask around my heart, which is now firmly lodged in my throat.
“Nothing,” she says, pulling herself together. “There’s been a mistake.”
“But they were asking about Tro’s father.”
Her face scrunches into a grimace. “It’s a mistake.”
Kate must be right. This has nothing to do with me, and whatever they’re taking Tro in for is a mistake.
“He’ll be right back,” I tell myself as the cruiser disappears around the corner at the end of the street. And I pray I’m not wrong.
Chapter 33
Tro
“There appears to be a very large residuum of blood in the cracks of your wooden floor, Trotte,” the older cop, who it turns out is a homicide detective, says to me. “A large enough area that it might indicate someone lost a fatal amount of blood there.
“And I’ve already told you some of it probably belongs to my old man,” I remind him. “I’ve told you the whole fucking story. He found me here, we beat the shit out of each other, he hit me over the head, knocked me out, and when I woke up, he was gone. End of story.”
“How many times does he have to say the same thing?” my court appointed lawyer asks. When I told them this morning that I thought maybe I should have a lawyer before I said anything, I got the he-must-be-guilty look, but I figured better safe than sorry. I can afford anyone I want, but I like this guy. He’s
only a little older than me, but he’s sharp. And hungry. If he gets me out of here with no charges, he makes a name for himself.
“Start from the beginning,” the detective says, like he thinks he’s going to hear something different now than the last three hundred times I’ve told him the story.
I take a deep breath and start again. “My dad’s favorite drunken pastime was beating the living shit out of me. My first memory is of him standing over me with a strap. Went on all my life. One day I finally decided to fight back. He didn’t like that. Nearly put me in the hospital.”
The detective looks down at his notes. “August 2009,” he confirms. “You were seventeen.”
I nod. “His girlfriend found me bloody on the floor and patched me up. I was pissed, so I made a move on her, mostly to get back at my douche dad, I guess. I didn’t expect anything to happen, but she kissed me back, one thing lead to another.” I shrug. “Left town before the sun came up.”
“He knew what you did?”
“Wendy called me, told me he’d figured it out. Guess he beat her up pretty good too. She said he’d sworn to hunt me down and kill me.” I shift in my seat. “I saw this guy who looked sort of like a slightly older me at the gas station I’d hitchhiked to. Craig Gunnison. Stole his wallet and went as far as I could on his cash—across two state lines. Used his ID for a while until I could get a fake one made. Got a job washing dishes at a two-bit roadside diner in Shreveport, where I met Grim. We started the band, and I figured I was pretty safe because we were playing lowlife Louisiana bars for cash and free booze. But then we started getting noticed, playing bigger venues. I guess my dad saw my picture somewhere. Tracked me here, tried to make good on his threat, and you know the rest. I have no fucking clue what happened to him after he left my apartment.”
“You’re contending that you were unconscious when he left?” he asks.
I nod. “He’d grabbed my electric guitar from the stand near the couch and swung it at my head,” I say, poking absently at my crooked nose. “He managed to get the amp cord around my neck. That’s the last thing I remember.”
The stupid thing? I could have taken him out way before it got that far, but I had money by then. Figured I could make the whole thing go away quietly with a wad of cash. I kept trying to talk him down, but didn’t realize just how fucking crazy the old man had gotten. Alcohol had eaten his brain by then and he was basically a rabid dog. Nothing more. He wasn’t interested in my bribe.
“If he was so intent on killing you, why wouldn’t he have brought a weapon? A knife or a gun?” the detective asks.
He did. I managed to kick the hunting knife out of his hand. But telling this cop that truth that will only complicate things.
“You’d have to ask him,” I answer.
The cop’s mouth presses into a line as he looks over his notes. “What happened to that guitar, Trotte? The one you say your dad hit you with?”
I shake my head. “The place was trashed. I tossed all the broken shit, including the guitar.”
“Huh…that’s interesting because we found the neck and several other pieces of a guitar in the truck with your father’s remains.”
Acid rises in my throat, but I swallow it and try not to show anything I’m feeling. They only use shit like that against you. “Maybe he took it with him for some reason.”
The detective’s gaze hardens. “He was in the passenger seat, Mr. Gunnison.”
“Maybe whoever was driving came up and got him.” I shrug. “I have no fucking clue.”
“Unless you have another line of questioning, I’m going to have to insist that this interview is over,” my lawyer says. “My client has acted on good faith and been forthcoming with information. His story hasn’t deviated or been in any way inconsistent with the evidence you’ve shared. If you have more, please enlighten us and make the arrest. Otherwise, you have no grounds to hold my client.”
The detective gives my lawyer an annoyed look, then stands. “This is an ongoing investigation. We’ll be processing evidence from the apartment for the next few weeks.” He shifts his stern gaze to me. “You don’t have any more trips planned, I trust?”
I shake my head. “Taking a few weeks off.”
“Good.” He closes his file and pulls open the door. “The blood evidence collected from your apartment was enough to get an injunction to seal it until we’re able to complete processing of the crime scene, which could take another twenty-four hours. You’ll have to find somewhere else to stay in the meantime. But you’re free to go.”
Chapter 34
Shiloh
I’m curled into the corner of Kate’s couch. The TV’s on, but neither of us are watching it. It’s nearly eight. Tro’s been gone for ten hours. Kate’s called the police station and they don’t have any information.
“That’s a good thing,” she said after her first call at two. “It means they haven’t charged him.
She’s not saying that anymore.
I’m so jacked up that the knock on the door sends me through the roof. Kate leaps off the other end of the couch and yanks the door open. The first thing I feel is paralyzing relief. But on its heels, I can’t deny the stab of jealousy when she launches herself into Tro’s arms.
“Oh my God!” she breathes.
Tro’s gaze is a little wild as it darts over her shoulder and finds me. When he sees me, he closes his eyes and breathes a huge sigh. She lets him go and he comes into the room. “Hey,” he says with an unsure squint and tip of his head. “Wasn’t sure you’d still be here.”
I’m finally able to move and I pull myself up from the cushions. “I sort of don’t have anywhere else to go.”
He nods as he moves slowly toward me. He stops just in front of me, waiting. I can’t stand being this close and not touching him, but I force my hands to stay at my sides.
He lifts a hand, strokes a finger along the line of my jaw. “I’ve never been so fucking glad you’re an orphan.”
I smile as he pulls me to his chest.
Kate backs toward the kitchen. “I’m going to pull something together for dinner.”
When she’s gone, Tro cups my face in his hands and kisses me. His kiss is slow and soft and makes my heart ache.
“What happened?” I ask when he draws away.
“They think I killed my old man,” he says, “but they don’t have enough to charge me. They’ve sealed off my apartment for a few days, looking for something they can nail me on, no doubt.”
“But you didn’t do it,” Kate says from the kitchen door.
He looks at her and shrugs. “You think that really matters? They’ve got a body. They have to pin it on somebody, so why not go big and convict a rock star?”
Kate just looks at him a long minute before saying, “You didn’t do it,” again and turning back to the kitchen.
She boils some spaghetti and we all just pick at it.
“Did I tell you I walked into the garage last week and found the new downstairs neighbor taking naked pictures on your bike?” Kate says when no one talks.
Tro makes a disgusted face. “That fat, bald guy? Jesus.”
She shakes her head. “His hot eighteen-year-old daughter.”
“Ah,” Tro says, then winks at me. “That’s different.”
The conversation’s lighter for the rest of dinner, and when we all decide we’re done picking, we clean up.
“I’ve put Shiloh’s stuff in Grandma’s room,” Kate announces, dumping spaghetti down the disposal. “You guys are staying here tonight.”
“Thanks, Kate,” Tro says. “I need to sneak up the fire escape and grab some clothes and whatever.”
“They won’t let you in?” I ask.
“I doubt anyone’s up there right now. I’d have to wait until tomorrow and” —he plucks at his T-shirt—“I’m pretty sure I stink.”
I step into him and nestle my face into his chest. He smells like sweat and sex. “I’m just going to take off anything you put on, so don�
�t bother,” I whisper.
He groans low in his chest. “Yes, please.”
I stretch up on my tiptoes and he leans down to kiss me. “We’re calling Freddie tomorrow. I want to get your manager nailed down so you can start sorting out your contract.”
“Way to kill the mood,” I grumble, shoving him away.
Tro and I curl together on one end of the couch, and Kate puts in a movie and sits on Tro’s other side. When it’s over, Tro takes my hand and leads me to another bedroom at the end of the hallway.
“I’m going to take a shower before we hit the sack,” he says.
“Why?” I whisper, pulling him close. “You’re just going to get sweaty again.”
A cocky smile tugs at his mouth. “I’ve unleashed your inner nymphomaniac.”
I tug his T-shirt off and start on the button of his jeans. Because he has. Despite everything that’s happened today, or maybe because of it, all I can think about this second is how Tro felt inside me.
He lifts my shirt as he backs me toward the bed and slips my shorts over my hips. By the time my back hits the bed, we’re both naked.
“I don’t have protection,” he says, his lips brushing mine as he hovers over me.
I tug my bag over from the corner of the bed and riffle through it, coming out with one of the condoms Lilah slipped into it just as I was leaving. “My best friend always has my back.”
He smiles as I tear it open. Once it’s in place, he takes his time with me, teasing me to the peak of sanity before dropping me over the edge. I bite my lips, trying to stay quiet, but if these walls are anything like Lilah’s, I know what Kate’s hearing.
I wrap myself around Tro and hold on, because there’s not a minute with him that’s not a wild ride.
Chapter 35
Tro
They let me back into my apartment the next day and tell me not to leave town. When I look around, I realize a lot of my shit is missing, bagged and tagged for evidence, no doubt. I try to send Lucky back to Lilah’s place, but she refuses to go until we know what’s happening.