by Tessa Bailey
Could she get on a train? No way to get off in between stops. She’d be trapped. But if she wanted to follow her stepfather, she didn’t have a choice. She took a deep breath and thought of Connor. Thought of his warmth beneath her cheek in bed last night. His even breathing against her ear.
He would look for her. She knew he would. Hopefully by the time he found her, she’d be one step closer to freedom.
“You have to calm down, man.”
Connor’s hands curled into fists, but he didn’t know what their preferred target would be. Bowen’s face or his own fracturing skull. Knocking himself out would bring oblivion, but he’d only wake up more frantic to find Erin than he was right now. Which might finally push him over the edge into madness. Two days. She’d been gone two days and he hadn’t slept. Sera had practically force-fed him a piece of toast this morning, and it sat in his stomach like a lead weight.
At first, he’d eschewed anyone else’s help. He hadn’t wanted or needed anyone slowing him down. If he didn’t stop, if he went everywhere he knew she liked to go, the mall, Denny’s…he would find her, right? Once she saw him and realized he wouldn’t stop looking, she would come home. She’d told him she had money. Lots of it. Did she have access to it? How? Would she use it to leave Chicago? Once these questions had begun to penetrate the intense panic, he’d enlisted Polly’s help. She was currently holed up in her apartment using information provided by Derek to locate Erin’s stepfather. Now that he’d made a slight attempt to think clearly, he realized two possible outcomes were in play. Either Erin had taken off for parts unknown, hoping to get clear of her stepfather, or she’d gone after him. He didn’t want either to be true. One took her away from him and the other put her in danger. All he could do was wait for a lead and follow it.
Waiting wasn’t easy, especially in the apartment they shared. Bowen had attempted to pour himself some orange juice from the refrigerator and he’d nearly taken the guy’s arm off, ordering him not to touch it. Erin’s smell lingered in the air, everywhere he went. Every room he walked through. If he lay down in bed, he knew it would be more discernable, so he refused to go in there or it would wreck him. Goddammit, they’d made so much progress and in one split second, it had all been snatched away. Stolen. He missed her touch, the way her mouth parted simply from running her hands up his chest. He fucking needed her, and her abusive, asshole stepfather had taken her away.
Whenever he needed a fresh dose of anger, which was never really necessary, he thought back to the smile on that fucker’s face. He thought of Erin’s nightmarish expression. The need to destroy something ate at him constantly, sitting on his shoulder and whispering in his ear. He couldn’t go much longer like this. Needed to see her soon. Be near her. Now.
“Calm down?” He repeated Bowen’s words back as a question. “The way you calmed down when that rival gang tried to abduct Sera with baseball bats back in Brooklyn?”
Bowen’s pupils dilated, hands clenching on the kitchen table. “Point made.”
A knock on the door. Full of restless energy, Connor stood and gave a cursory glance through the peephole before throwing the door open. Derek walked in with a stack of files. He quirked an eyebrow at Connor when all he received was a glare in place of a welcome. “Watch yourself, Bannon. It’s not my fault she ran.” He tossed the files on the table. “If she doesn’t want to be found, she won’t be. It’s why I hired her.”
“Really not helping,” said Bowen.
Polly caught the door before it closed, breezing in with her open laptop in hand. “Greetings, menfolk.”
They all grunted.
“Charming.” She set her laptop down on the kitchen counter and hopped up beside it. “I have some mildly disturbing news, although not sure it’ll come as a shock to all of us.”
“What is it?” Connor asked, then held his breath. Come on, give him something.
“I know why Stepdaddy Dickhead, aka Luther O’Dea, was at the courthouse yesterday.” She sent Connor an uneasy look. “He was petitioning for a conservatorship. A mental health one, specifically.”
A conservatorship. Giving him control over Erin’s money. Her decisions. Connor ground his molars together, wishing he’d given in and gone after the bastard when he had the chance, even though deep down her knew nothing could have prevented him from chasing Erin.
“As it turns out, Erin is filthy stinking rich and Stepdaddy D wants control over the cash flow.” She glanced around the room, holding up what looked like a bank statement. “Was everyone aware of this but me? I could have hit her up for some grocery money.”
“I knew,” Connor muttered. It was obvious from the captain’s expression that his squad member’s financial status had been the one thing of which he hadn’t been aware. Connor reached for the files he’d brought. “I don’t give a shit if she’s a billionaire, but no one is going to take what belongs to her.”
“Well,” Polly hedged. “That’s where it gets sticky.”
Bowen stood. “Jesus, sometimes I wish I hadn’t quit smoking.”
Connor crossed his arms. “Sticky how?”
Polly spun the laptop in their direction. “The petition Stepdaddy D turned in yesterday had Erin’s signature on it.”
“She never would have signed something like that,” Derek said. “I could barely get her to sign a W-9.”
“If I had to guess, based on the type of petition—”
“He could claim she signed it and doesn’t have the capacity to remember,” Connor finished for Polly, holding the bridge of his nose. His stomach was churning so hard, he was going to be sick. “How the fuck did the guy find her? She’s smart. Knows how to avoid being found. She wouldn’t have used credit cards. She doesn’t have a cell phone to track. How?”
No one had an immediate answer, so each of the men flipped open a file while Polly continued to punch away on her laptop. The file Connor had picked detailed her two stints in Dade. It didn’t contain any information he didn’t already know…until the end.
Total consecutive days spent in solitary confinement: seventy-two.
Bile rose in his throat. Dammit to hell. No wonder. No wonder she had a fear of being trapped. She’d been treated like an animal so often in her life, her bravery, the way she faced a world that had betrayed her, amazed him. He thought of her smile that morning in the courthouse, the tears in her eyes when he’d withheld his body from her, and he felt himself crack. It might as well have been a visible, jagged line down the center of his chest.
“Whoa.” Polly shook her head at the laptop screen. “He’s a psychiatrist? That’s kind of ironic, no?”
“I’ve said it before.” Bowen flipped a page. “Not helping.”
“Wait. A psychiatrist?” Connor leaned back in his chair, remembering the other night. The first night he’d made love to Erin. I’m on the shot. “Would that give him access to medical records? If Erin had a physical when she reached Chicago, if she was prescribed medication, the information would have been recorded somewhere. If he searched hard enough, he’d find it.”
Polly heaved a breath. “The search wouldn’t have been that hard if he had any type of skill.”
Derek pulled his cell phone from his pocket. “You’re wrong, Polly. Those medical records are sealed. He would have had to do a lot of digging, maybe call in a favor or two. I don’t leave loose ends like this.”
“Will he have this address?” Connor demanded to know. “Is this address on her medical forms?”
“No.” Derek shook his head. “We rented this place after she underwent the physical.”
Bowen shoved a hand through his hair, looking thoughtful. “My half sister’s boyfriend…he’s a cop. When he was shot last year, he had to see a shrink afterward for weeks. Mandatory-like. Is there any way this guy has access to police records or a database somehow that way?”
“Like maybe he works with cops?” Polly’s fingers flew over the keyboard. Her eyebrows shot up a second later. “Holy shit. He’s the mental h
ealth counselor for Miami PD.”
“Jesus Christ,” Connor gritted out and began to pace. “If he’s in contact with cops looking to skip out on mandatory counseling, it wouldn’t be a stretch for him to call in a favor. Get information. If that’s the case, he would find her anywhere she went.”
“Well.” Polly tucked her short black hair behind her ears. “Now that I have his real name and social security number, I can find out where he’s…” She punched a few keys. “Bingo. I have his potential location.”
Before she’d even finished rattling it off, Connor was halfway out the door.
Chapter Nineteen
Her stepfather had finally come home.
Erin forced her breathing to stay even as she heard keys jingle outside the house’s front door. She was crouched on top of a washing machine. Had been for what felt like hours. The laundry room included a back door leading to the garden, so she’d been semi-comfortable waiting there, bright sunshine turning to dusk and finally darkness. The only other door led into his kitchen, but he couldn’t trap her from both sides. She had an out if she needed it. Please don’t let me need it.
For almost four days, she’d been following Luther. From the courthouse, he’d gone back to a Motel 6 near O’Hare. She couldn’t get to him there, though. The fear of being cornered in a room with only one escape was too intense. So intense she’d had to work through a panic attack behind the adjacent 7-Eleven with her head tucked between her knees. The lack of sleep and fuel hadn’t helped, but her hunger and exhaustion had paled in the face of not having Connor.
Early the next morning, Luther had left the motel on a bus. By that time, she’d been sitting in the front seat of a Buick she’d hot-wired in anticipation of following him. He’d met a realtor at this house. The realtor had left almost immediately, but her stepfather had stayed inside for almost twenty-four hours. Had he bought the house? Rented it? It was almost completely unfurnished, apart from a few odds and ends the previous tenant had likely left behind.
So she’d waited…hoping to what? She didn’t know exactly. Scare him into leaving her alone? Appealing to a man who had an irrational hatred of her because of something that happened when she was a child? On top of the long shot that he would even listen to her, since when was she capable of convincing anyone of anything? She didn’t exactly have a reputation for being coolheaded and reasonable, especially when it came to this man.
No, she was far more comfortable in the darkness, holding a metal skillet in her hand, as she was at that moment, although she wished it were a book of matches instead. She inhaled and relished the scent of the kerosene she’d splashed strategically around the house’s inside perimeter. Yeah, matches would be a bad idea.
Located in Park Ridge, not too far from the airport, the house had an almost identical layout to his home in Florida. Setting foot inside it hadn’t been easy. Memories had threatened to breach her walls, but she breathed through them.
The weight of the skillet was reassuring. Over the course of the night, it felt like the only thing keeping her from floating up and hitting the ceiling. With each passing hour, she felt less and less real. After nearly four days without exchanging a single word with another person, namely Connor, she was beginning to feel insubstantial. The way she’d felt in solitary. A twist on the age-old question about the tree falling in the woods. If no one was around to communicate with her, did she really exist? She was slipping. Slipping back into that cave without light, and it scared her. She’d never needed anyone before, but she needed Connor now. Needed to be held and made to feel real.
What am I doing here?
That question was the only thing helping. In the past, she’d never once second-guessed her impulses. If she wanted to whack her stepfather upside the head with a blunt object, burn down his house and cackle at the moon afterward, she did it. For so long, she’d existed without a regard for consequences. So what if she ended up in prison? She’d just get herself out. So what if she got another charge on her record? Harvard wasn’t exactly an option at this point anyway. Yet as she sat in the darkness, she found herself anxious. Wondering if there had been any new developments on the Maxwell Stark case. Had the squad solved it without her? The very fact that she didn’t want to be in her stepfather’s house lying in wait, that it felt wrong, told her something inside her had changed for the better. She couldn’t identify it or name it. Right now, it was only a feeling. But she held on tight to it because it made her feel human when in reality, she was someone else’s monster hiding in the darkness.
Ice formed in her veins when her stepfather’s heavy tread moved down the hallway. She didn’t have a plan. Didn’t know what she would do when faced with the man who’d spawned so many nightmares. Her modus operandi had been to avoid him. He wouldn’t expect her to show up. The smile on his face outside the courthouse had been smug. Secure. He thought she would run.
Not this time. If she ran, he would follow. He continued to prove that over and over. Now that the money was being released to her, he’d be twice as tenacious. It would never end. She would never again sleep as soundly as she had in Connor’s bed. His specter would hang over the bed like a ghost, no matter what she did. It would smother her. Knowing him, he would find out her weakness for Connor and use him against her. My Connor.
Her blood went from cold to boiling. Maybe she could kill him.
With that possibility lingering in her head, she slowly eased off the washing machine, dropping onto the balls of her feet without a single tinkle from the bells. A light went on in the kitchen and she pressed her back against the wall beside the partially open door. Too many potential weapons in the kitchen. If she charged him, he would have time to pick one up. No, she would wait until he got close enough to the door and make her move.
What am I doing here?
Erin shook her head hard to clear the doubt. This was what she’d dreamed of. Confronting the face behind the whirlwind of fire. The man who’d made her helpless. Made her beg. She shouldn’t be considering slipping out the back door and returning to safety. To a man. That was weak. Beneath her.
The thoughts distracted her a second too long. She wasn’t prepared when the laundry room door opened and her stepfather walked inside. All she could do was act. The skillet rose on its own and uppercut Luther in the jaw. She couldn’t deny the satisfaction his shout of pain gave her as he stumbled back, hit the opposite wall, and crashed to the floor.
Her teeth bared themselves. “Ding dong, motherfucker. Someone just got their bell rung.”
He clutched his jaw, scrambling back against the wall. “You…” The pain of talking caused him to flinch. “You’re here?”
Fear. There was still fear at being this close to him, but she forced it into hiding. “Didn’t expect me, did you?” She twirled the skillet in her hand. “That’s the thing about crazy people. You can’t predict what the fuck they’re going to do.”
His head moved on a swivel, searching around him. Probably for something to use as a weapon or to block her should she swing the skillet again. Too bad towels were the only things in reaching distance. She saw the exact moment he smelled the kerosene, barely suppressed fear sparking and fading in his eyes. “What do you want, you lunatic bitch?”
Erin clucked her tongue. “That’s no way to talk to someone holding a weapon.” She ran her finger around the metal edge. “Someone with violent tendencies. Someone who you’re trying to screw out of a boatload of money.”
“She owes me that money,” her stepfather sneered. “If not for fucking around behind my back, fucking with my life, then at least for saddling me with her illegitimate brat.”
Can’t hurt me. Words can’t hurt me. “It’s too bad you see it that way. I don’t even want the money, but I’d rather send it gift-wrapped to the government than let you have it.”
“What are you going to do to stop me? Kill me?” There it was. The almost glowing evil that always transformed him. Made him appear to be a wax sculpture, frozen in hat
red. Here she stood with the upper hand and his expression said, you can’t win. It was almost enough to make her believe it. Maybe he can’t be killed, she’d told Connor.
His confidence made her waver. What am I doing here? She tightened her grip around the skillet and battled back. “Yeah, maybe I am.” She took a step closer, felt her anger rising. “Don’t act so damn surprised. You don’t treat a human being the way you treated me and expect them to forget.”
Luther eyed the skillet. “Always blaming everyone else. Me, the system. We all have choices in life. We each choose our own path.”
“No. No.” The sound in her head started quietly, a beating of wings, but it might as well have been a symphony tuning up. It meant she was losing control, and that heightened the terror of being this close to her tormentor. “I didn’t f-fail. I have a job now, I’m—”
His harsh laugh cut her off. “How long do you think that will last? Look at you. You broke into my house to assault me. How long do you think it’ll take before they realize you’re just a broken toy?”
“No.” The wings beat louder. LOUDER. She heard a sound in the distance and realized she’d dropped the skillet. Her stepfather shot forward the retrieve it, jolting her into motion. They both grabbed on to the handle at the same time, resulting in a tug of war. Her survival instincts roared to the surface. Luther might be an evil man, but he hadn’t been in prison. He spent his days in an air-conditioned office, sipping Starbucks. She’d fought for her life behind bars. When you’d done it once, you never fought halfway again. Full throttle became your only setting.