by Amarie Avant
“The collar wasn't anything special, Siobhan. Just a standard Petco brand. Trust me, beautiful. We did our best.”
“Who is we?” I stress. As Al Green sings, Love’ll make you do wrong…
“We or they.” He shrugs. “Are you angry with me?”
“Lincoln, who is they?”
“A few friends up at the base.”
“I thought you didn't have friends,” I snap. We’d made vacation friends on our cruise last Christmas, and Lincoln has introduced me to his associates and given me a grand tour of Zager Corporation headquarters in London. Of course, he has friends, I’m just feeling old emotions.
He grabs the remote and turns the music off. He then pulls out his cell phone. Instantly, I feel guilty. I'm acting like the bitch who went into the Los Angeles precinct to chew off Ortiz’s head. The damn detective spent more time salivating and devouring more donuts in a week than he did working the dynamics of Hosea’s case during the entire investigation.
“Lincoln. I'm…”
He holds up a hand as the phone rings.
“Fitzpatrick, Zager here. I need you to speak with Siobhan Lowe and let her know that there was no viable evidence on the dog tag. Tell her about the surveillance cameras in her home too.”
“All right.”
“Siobhan, listen up.” Lincoln regards me.
“Ms. Lowe, as Lincoln stated, my guys were unable to determine any DNA evidence from the collar besides that of a canine.”
“And the surveillance video,” I mumble, too impatient to wait.
“The instant we attempted to tap into whatever system had hacked your security provider, the entire system crashed. My apologies, Ms. Lowe, but whoever is or was stalking you had a knack for hacking.”
“Thank you, Fitzpatrick,” I murmur.
Lincoln presses the end call button. “Siobhan, you are my first and only priority. I've said that countless times, I cannot fathom what you've endured but I've strived to be there for you throughout the process.”
Guilt sweeps over me. “I know, I know.”
“You are my life.” He pauses, apprehensively. “I don’t love you because I do spontaneous shit for you or buy you those diamonds and trinkets. Love is faithfulness, loyalty, trust.”
Anxiously, I toy with the chandelier diamond in my ear. Tears spring forth in my eyes, clouding my gaze.
“Siobhan, I fucking hate it when you cry.” He wraps his arms around me.
“I do trust you and I’m loyal. And I know we are both faithful to each other.” I try to speak as tears flow down my cheeks.
Then he sighs. “All right, love, with that being said, I have to tell you…”
“No, I apologize. It's me acting like a damn psycho.” I burrow my head against his chest.
“I have something to tell you.”
I glance up at him. His dark gaze locks onto mine. “After this Christmas is over and all of your events have completed. I'll tell you then.”
I smile wiping the tears away. “I'll be preparing for New Year’s, and that’s another hoopla all in itself. So maybe any notions on your mind that you might want to divulge… Anything that you’d like to do or say, now is perfect, Lincoln.” I stall, recalling the hushed call he had with my father after Thanksgiving dinner. Mom had cornered me in the kitchen a few seconds later. That woman has the world’s largest mouth. Even if she is saying nothing at all, she’s telling it all!
He smiles and shrugs. “Not that I can think of.”
“Anything you'll tell me now…” I dawdle. There's been talk of a ring. What cut of diamond do I prefer? Apart from the loss of a childhood best friend and being watched, Lincoln has been my everything. I would marry him in a heartbeat. But why do I feel something nagging deep down in my gut? Something so detrimental that the chance of an engagement ring won’t cover?
Chapter Twenty-Eight
The Stalker
(Los Angeles)
“Are you going to let me go?” Hosea asks through parched lips. He’s traded in the attic of some old bitch’s mansion for the basement of my tiny home in Los Angeles. The look in Hosea's eyes when we returned to Los Angeles after I got back from San Antonio last August was heartbreaking. Hosea's pupils almost popped. He'd been in this cage for a year prior to Siobhan’s move to Willow Bluff and we had followed. Now here he is once more.
This is home to me, and the only thing I own after serving my country for almost ten years. He has to learn that it is now home to him too.
I step to the bars that keep Hosea in his kennel and crouch down. “Hosea, buddy, you are delirious again. We’ve been home for going on fifteen months now.”
I recollect that Hosea is still angry about how we had come to fully connect after sending Siobhan the Christmas card last year. Letting Siobhan go should’ve helped our relationship, at least I assumed so. I had completed the ritual of castration on Hosea Murrell shortly after returning. We are one in the same now. I haven’t felt the urge to stalk anyone since, so here is where Hosea would have to stay as my closest confidant.
“Just kill me,” Hosea says, his head leans against the stone wall.
“Why?” My face is blanketed with confusion.
“I hate you!” Hosea growls. He tries his best to clank the chain about his arm against the floor but his hazel eyes only dull with weakness.
“C’mon, buddy, hate is such a harsh word.” I stand up, shaking my head. I turn away from my friend’s kennel, deciding that Hosea needs time alone. “Look, I’m on shift in thirty minutes. When I return, we will talk out our feelings. Yes, we will rehash why you’re angry with me. You’ve undergone such a traumatic experience due to the castration, but as I told you during the procedure, it was just a means to bring us closer together. Hosea, you have truly become my best friend.”
“Best friend?” the other man seems to cry.
I rub a hand at the back of my neck. Besides Glenny, who had betrayed me, Hosea is my only other life-long connection. As far as I’m concerned, we are the best of friends. I reminisce back on my obsession with Siobhan, and how I spent so much time fixated on her to the point of forcing Hosea to speak about their time together until Hosea was blue in the face. At some point, Hosea saved me. He did what that cunt of a therapist was unable to do.
I smile. “I must work now. Later, we will use I-messages. Before she died, my therapist taught me that.”
“Just kill me, you fucking sociopath! Siobhan thinks I’m dead. Everybody thinks I’m dead.” Hosea begins to cry. His frail shoulders shaking as he wails.
Picking the rough, scabbed skin against my thumb, I tune out my friend. I have to keep from becoming angry. My tone becomes measured, almost delicate. “Please do not mention her name, Hosea. We’ve already discussed the fact that her name is no longer allowed under our roof.”
“Sio-bhan is gone. She is alive and living her life.”
My knuckles stretch tight as I grab the bars, shouting the words. “She has abandoned us!”
A haggard chuckle comes from the cage. “Siobhan is living her life, as she should.”
“What about Lincoln?” My head cocks to the side. “Huh?”
“Ha, what has that man done besides restoring her reason to live? Saving her from you?” Sunken eyes glance up to meet my gaze.
Hosea is my best friend. Hosea is my best friend… I silently remind myself while backing away from the cage. I ascend the basement stairs. Arguing with Hosea will just force my hand, and I don’t have it in me to kill my friend. My mind needs to be clear in order to fulfill Grant’s latest requests.
On the first level of the house, I issue a deep breath. I peel the skin along my thumb, until blood begins to drip onto the floor. I rub my thumb against the side of my pant leg.
Why had Hosea mentioned Siobhan? Hosea knew the rules. I returned home with various Christmas cards last year, the day after completing Hosea’s surgery. That day, Siobhan Lowe should’ve been dead to us both. Didn’t Hosea understand that I set her free du
e to our blossoming friendship?
I have ultimate power, and I chose to release Siobhan Lowe in order to strengthen the relationship I have with Hosea. The two of us have the same love for her, and together, we have to let her go!
Hosea and I have a new life to start. And here we are, over a year later, Hosea still confined to the kennel because he hasn’t wiped Siobhan from his mind.
I’ve worked hard to take care of us. Hosea eats daily, like clockwork.
Another long stream of breath filters through my lungs. Don’t focus on Hosea being spoiled, Jeff, just keep your mind on Siobhan. Figure this out, so you and your best friend can move the fuck along!
I consider Siobhan’s past mistakes while latching the hook to the basement door. She allowed that fucktard Zager to enter her life. I forgave her because in the beginning I had forgiven Glenny for a multitude of iniquities.
I snatch up the key ring, and picked up the black-standard tennis shoes I wear with my paramedic outfit.
Hosea and I have started our lives together. How much longer would Hosea bring up Siobhan Lowe?
I open the front door of my house and the bright sunlight streams into the tiny, cluttered living room. I have much contemplating to do. I still love Siobhan. Hell, I loved Glendora until Siobhan entered my life. Siobhan’s happiness means the world to me and to my best friend, and so she’s been pardoned.
But Lincoln Zager? Clearly Hosea resents me for my decision not to murder Zager. Yes, Hosea is angry with me for allowing the fucker to live!
Well, I hadn’t put much consideration into Zager while determining to let Siobhan go. That was a big mistake.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Siobhan
We flew into LAX a little over a week before the holiday and checked into the Ritz-Carlton. Théo Tremblay’s event perfectly titled “The Madness of Love” was in full effect. I had visited with my team of twenty at On Demand headquarters, bringing by a caffeine and sugar rush of Starbucks lattes and assorted Danishes for all of them.
Then Tamara played the chauffeur as we dropped by a local artistry on Venice Beach. To add the elements of obsessive love to Théo’s event, Tamara found a body painter who will be refining art during the party. In addition, there’ll be a handful of selected models who are already painted as servers. This will in turn appeal to the painter’s large social media audience.
“Damn, Tamara, you have been a dream come true,” I mention, sliding into the passenger seat of her Honda Sport.
She smiles brightly.
“Pretty please, can we make one more stop on the way back to the office?” I ask, though the last stop is going to be a very expensive lunch as a thank you to her.
“Where to?” She shrugs.
Thirty minutes later, we end up at The Watch Boutique on Rodeo Drive. Tamara places the car in park, and rubs her palms together. “I knew my palms were itching for a reason. Lacing one of those baby’s on my wrist is the same thing as having cold hard cash.”
I chuckle. “Girl, we aren’t here for you.”
I pull my satchel on, which has a gold, shiny box inside with her name on it.
“I’m purchasing a last-minute Christmas gift for Lincoln.”
“Dang, y’all buying expensive jewelry for each other like married folks.”
We step inside of the store and designer watches are displayed in sections.
“Rolex?” Tamara points and whispers.
“Yeah, if the team doesn’t want any Christmas bonuses.” I chuckle. I stop at the OMEGA display and look at the Seamaster models. An attendant walks over and offer his services.
“Oh, girl, look at that one.” Tamara points. “It is obvious Lincoln loves him some chocolate!”
“Ah, this is the ‘Chocolate Planet Ocean,’ a watch like no other.” The worker begins his sales pitch. “The eighteen carat Sedna case couples perfectly to the delicious chocolate brown ceramic bezel and dial.” The attendant removes the watch from the display case. “It’s made from leather, but has features to offer a comfortable and sporty mix.”
“Sporty is a must.” I glance at the hefty price tag.
“This Planet Ocean model is one of OMEGA’s most sought models. It’s also certified as a Master Chronometer, the highest standard of excellence within the Swiss watchmaking industry.”
“Some of the stuff you said went straight over my head,” I tell him. Tamara agrees. “But I’ll take it.”
On our way back toward the office, I say, “Tamara, I just remembered, I actually have just one more stop to make.”
“Big boss,” she stresses the syllables, “I am hungray, and it’s just about noon. If you’d like me to stop one more place, I’m stopping by the first Popeye’s we see afterward and pick me up a two piece.”
“One for me, one for you?”
She rolls her eyes, and begins to laugh. “As much driving as I’ve been doing, Siobhan, I will eat my chicken, smacking, licking fried crumbs and oil off my fingertips in front of you with no problem.”
“Humph, so it’s like that?” I shake my head. “Just one more stop. I promise it will only last but a moment. It’s actually just something I forgot to pick up at the hotel.”
“Okay,” she grumbles. When we get to the hotel, I tell her to pull into valet. “Should I wait in the car, so they don’t charge?”
“Hand the keys to valet, Tamara, damn.” I get out of the car and shut the door.
Instead of heading toward the elevators, I start toward the French restaurant adjacent from the lobby.
“Now do you want a two-piece spicy fried chicken or…” I wave my hand toward the restaurant and Tamara starts laughing so hard she ends up crying.
“Aww,” she says, wiping tears from her eyes.
“Tam, why are you crying?” I ask.
“Because, it’s been so long since we’ve had lunch together. You honestly don’t know how hard these past two years and a half have been for me since … since… what happened to you and Hosea. And then I feel awful for even mentioning that because no amount of deescalating issues at work can even come close to what you’ve been through.”
I give her a hug. “Honey, I completely understand. I pretty much handed you the keys to the throne. Now wipe that gorgeous face. We are too cute to be up in here crying.”
She chortles, deftly rubbing tears with the back of her hand so as not to ruin her mascara.
Arm looped into mine, we step inside. The room is all lush cream and tan with pillars of stacked wine separating various sections. Shimmery lilac candles from the chandeliers add a smidge of color to a posh environment.
I mention the reservation I made to the host.
“Right on time, Miss Lowe.” She smiles and her hips sway as she ushers us to a square table near the pianist.
Tamara moans as she sinks down into the ultra-thick cushioned chair, and I request the wine menu.
I joke, “You helped me go crazy with that expensive watch, we are going to have to share a plate, and sip your wine.”
“Yessss, hon-tey, and sip my wine…” Tamara chuckles. “Dang, you made me drive. All I really can do is sip my wine.”
A French baguette is placed before us with two tiny holders for butter and marmalade.
“Why does the butter look so yellow and grainy?” Tamara whispers.
I shake my head. “Just taste it.”
We order lunch and enjoy friendly banter.
“Are there any leads on Hosea’s case?” Tamara asks.
I shake my head “no.” “It’s been trying, but I am coming to the realization that it will take nothing short of a miracle from God to know what happened to him.”
She sighs. “Hosea really loved him some you. Why can’t all the no good, players and pimps disappear instead of bad things happening to good people? And why…”
I glance toward the entryway of the restaurant. Across the way, seated in the lobby is a man in jeans. A green hoodie covers his head and much of his face. The number 12 in gold is s
played across his broad chest. To top that, he also wears a Dodger’s cap, which further obstructs my view of him. He has shades over his eyes, crumpled jeans and black sneakers.
His clothing looks familiar. Not an ounce of his face is visible from my angle, but I’ve met him somewhere. San Antonio? No, couldn’t have been San Antonio.
Here in Los Angeles?
Why does it feel as if I’ve seen him more than once? There’s an eerie level of awareness that makes me wonder if I’ve gone crazy with some sort of selective amnesia. I wrack my mind and wrack my mind. Sammy’s bloodied, tattered body flashes before my eyes—
“Big boss…. Hello… Siobhan.” Tamara waves a hand in my face.
I take a sip of wine. “Tams, as long as that chef is taking with just a lunch menu, I… I could really use that chicken wing.”
She laughs. My gaze tracks back toward the lobby. He is still sitting there.
“I’m gonna go make a call,” I murmur, arising from the table.
“But your cell phone is sitting right here on the table,” she says, face a haze of bewilderment, as is mine as I walk to the lobby.
A stampede of Asian tourists blocks my path. The man takes his sunglasses off. Though his cap is so low I can just feel his gaze on mine. He starts to arise. Instead of walking toward me he does an about-face and heads toward the door.
“Excuse me!” I shout.
The couple taking a picture in front of a water fountain move aside. I glance at the seat. There’s a cell phone in his spot. He’s yards away from the sliding glass door. I rush to the cell phone just as a woman is about to sit down. She almost sits on my hand, and her nose wrinkles.
“Sorry, forgot my phone.” I jiggle it.
She smiles. “Oh my, please excuse me. I didn’t see it.”
With the phone in my hand, I move as swiftly as I can toward the door. I slam straight into Lincoln.
“Siobhan, what’s wrong?” he asks.
“Nnn-nothing, I’m…” My eyes search the valet area and beyond. I start to move hastily but Lincoln catches my stride.