No Going Back (Sawyer Brooks)

by T. R. Ragan

  PSYCHO: For what it’s worth, that someone you loved and trusted did that to you is seriously fucked up. Your father was a piece of shit and doesn’t deserve another thought. At least Otto Radley spent some time locked in a cell before he took the fast train to hell.

  LILY: Maybe the best revenge will be having another happy, healthy baby and living your best life.

  Harper knew that Lily was right. Without The Crew she might not have realized that she was taking her family for granted. Maybe there was hope, and she could somehow find a way to move on from her troubled past. But first, she had one more enemy to deal with.

  MALICE: What about guilt?

  PSYCHO: What about it? Would you rather have let those guys go on with their lives without retribution? If society and the law had taken care of them in the first place, we never would have had to do the things we did. Fuck guilt. We’re all just trying to make things right within ourselves.

  LILY: Agree. How guilty would you feel if Otto Radley had found another victim that night?

  So true, Harper thought.

  PSYCHO: Before we shut down, Malice, you should know that only days ago your sister Aria was parked outside my apartment building. I confronted her and gave her a warning. She asked me point blank if I was involved with the Black Wigs.

  Harper was stunned. A heavy feeling settled in her stomach. What was Aria thinking?

  MALICE: I had no idea. Thanks for the heads-up. I’ll take care of it.

  PSYCHO: If you don’t, your sisters might end up on Cleo’s list.

  A shiver crawled down Harper’s spine.

  MALICE: Our work here is done. If anyone hears from Cleo, please sign in to let me know.

  PSYCHO: Will do. Take care.

  LILY: Thank you both. Goodbye for now.

  The screen darkened. Harper wiped her eyes and signed off. It was over.

  Almost.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  The address for Ian Farley took Sawyer and Lexi to a one-story blue house with white trim on Thirty-Fourth Street. It was a prime location for a CSUS student. The university was five minutes away by car and fifteen by bicycle. There were plenty of restaurants, gyms, and coffee shops.

  Sawyer and Lexi walked to the front door. Lexi rang the doorbell, and right away, footfalls sounded from inside. The kid who answered the door wore sweatpants and a T-shirt. His hair was short on the sides and longer on top.

  “I am Sawyer Brooks and this is Lexi Holmes. We’re with the Sacramento Independent, and we have a few questions for Ian Farley. Is he home?”

  Before the young man could answer, there was a commotion in the other room, and another boy with a crew cut and a nose ring walked up from behind the guy who had answered the door. “Ian isn’t here.”

  Sawyer tilted her head. “Listen, we just have a few questions for him, and then we’ll leave.”

  One of the boys started to shut the door, but Lexi lodged her foot between the door and the frame. “If he doesn’t talk to us,” she said in a firm voice, “we’re going to call the police and tell them we have reason to believe that Ian Farley helped Brad Vicente drug his victims.”

  “That’s bullshit,” the boy with the nose ring said.

  Lexi angled her head. “Not according to the people we talked to at the Blue Fox.”

  So much for the promise she made to their server today, Sawyer thought.

  But it worked.

  A third young man approached. “I’ll take care of this.”

  The other boys walked off. “I’m Ian.” He stepped outside and shut the door behind them.

  “Do you have ID?” Lexi asked.

  His hands visibly shook as he pulled his wallet from his back pocket and showed them his license. “What do you need to know?”

  “When was the last time you saw Brad Vicente?”

  He looked at his sneakers. “I don’t remember.”

  “You really might want to figure it out,” Lexi told him, “because when the police pick you up and take you to the station, they’ll sit you in a little room without windows and leave you there alone for hours with nothing to eat or drink until you do remember.”

  “Okay. Okay. It was two or three days before I heard on the news that he was arrested. He brought a date to the restaurant. She was about five foot nine with her three-inch heels. She was hot—I mean nice looking. Perfect body. Long blonde hair, but I think it was a wig.”

  “Why do you think that?” Sawyer asked.

  “Because my mom had cancer and she wore wigs. This woman’s hair didn’t match the cap you have to put over your real hair before you put on the wig.”

  “Did you talk to the woman?” Lexi asked.

  He shrugged. “She might have had a question about the wine.”

  “Did you put something in her wine?”

  “No,” he said.

  Sawyer could tell he was lying. The kid was in trouble. Big trouble. “Were you friends with Brad Vicente?”

  His gaze was fixated on his feet again. But this time his shoulders began to shake. Ian Farley was crying.

  “Did you ever go to his house?” Sawyer asked.

  He didn’t look up, but he nodded just the same.

  Sawyer had a million questions ready to go. “Was the blonde woman you met at the Blue Fox at Brad’s house?”

  Another nod.

  “Was she wearing a wig?”

  “No, but the other women were.”

  “How many other women?”

  “At least three. Maybe four.”

  “Describe the wigs they were wearing.”

  “Short black hair.”

  “How short?”

  He gestured just below his ear. “They also wore masks that covered their eyes and part of their noses.”

  “Anything else?”

  “The one who had been at the Blue Fox put the blade of a knife to my throat and threatened to kill me.”

  “I wonder why?” Lexi asked, her sarcasm clear.

  “Do you know why she wanted to kill you?” Sawyer asked.

  “No,” he cried. “I only went to the house because Brad invited me to come over and play video games.”

  “Tell me about the other women,” Sawyer said firmly.

  “One of them wore a tank top. She had scars everywhere . . . on her neck, arms, and chest.”

  Christina Farro’s image flashed through Sawyer’s head. When Sawyer had met Christina, she hadn’t been able to look away from all the scars. Christina had told her she didn’t bother trying to hide her “mutilations,” as she called them, because they were a part of her. She’d also claimed she didn’t care what had happened to Otto Radley after his release. Something about the way she’d said it hadn’t rung true to Sawyer, which begged the question: Was she a part of the Black Wigs?

  “How did you get away?”

  He shook his head. “It’s all a blur. I don’t remember. I’ve told you everything I know.”

  Ian Farley turned around and disappeared through the door without another word spoken, slamming it shut behind him.

  Lexi looked at Sawyer. “There’s no way he doesn’t remember how he got away.”

  “Obviously.”

  “What are you thinking?” Lexi asked.

  “One of the women he described, the one with scars all over her arms, could be Christina Farro.”

  “The woman held captive by Otto Radley,” Lexi said under her breath.

  Sawyer nodded. “What if she is part of the Black Wigs?”

  Lexi took hold of Sawyer’s arm and nudged her down the path and to the car. “It makes sense, doesn’t it? If anyone would want revenge on a person, it would be her. The things that man did to her are unspeakable. And now he’s missing.”

  Sawyer agreed. After she climbed in and put on her seatbelt, she looked back at the house being rented by Ian and his friends.

  Lexi started the engine. “What are we going to do about Ian Farley?”

  “I’m going to talk to Palmer.”

 
; After they had been on the road for a couple of minutes and the trees swept by in a blur, Sawyer looked over at Lexi. “You were brilliant back there. I didn’t think there was any way we were going to get to talk to Ian.” Sawyer shook her head. “And you called me the brave one?”

  Lexi grunted. “They’re just little boys. Nothing brave about that.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  After Lexi dropped her off at her car, Sawyer drove straight to Palmer’s house. Greeted at the door by his wife, Debbie, she asked Sawyer to wait in the parlor. Although the term was outdated, the large room where she now stood was exactly how she would have envisioned a parlor to look. The walls were painted canary yellow, and the thick curtains were lined in green velvet. A gold-gilded-frame picture hanging over the hearth was of a man from the eighteenth century. He wore a red velvet jacket and looked off to the side as if to make sure the artist captured his best profile.

  Thanks to her parents’ obsession with antiques, she recognized the Empire sofa, Chippendale upholstered armchairs, and Queen Anne table. Before she could examine the room further, Palmer entered using a cane.

  Sawyer beamed. “I had no idea you were up and about. I thought Debbie might be straightening your bedsheets before she led me to your room.”

  “Second day on my feet,” he stated proudly.

  Sawyer stayed by his side as he made his way over to the Empire sofa and took a seat.

  He patted the seat next to him, and she sat down. It made her happy to see color in his face. “I never would have pegged you for a fancy parlor man.”

  He chuckled. “It’s an old, historic house, and we’re doing our part to preserve history.”

  She could hear people talking in the other room. “You have visitors. Debbie should have told me. I could have come back another time.”

  His eyes sparkled. “My son is here.”

  “And your granddaughter?” Sawyer asked, happy for Palmer. He had mentioned his son before, said they’d had a falling-out of sorts. For that reason he hadn’t seen his granddaughter in years.

  “And my granddaughter,” he said. “They’ll be staying for a few weeks, so there was no need to send you off. How are things at the office?”

  Sawyer smiled. “It’s not the same without you.”

  He angled his head. “How are you and Lexi getting along?”

  “I think I’m beginning to actually like her.”

  Palmer’s laughter turned to a cough. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, and once he collected himself, he said, “You two have more in common than you know.”

  Sawyer said nothing.

  “So what’s on your mind?”

  “The Black Wigs. And now we have two more homicides that I believe are the work of a copycat, but the investigators have different ideas.” Not wanting to keep Palmer away from his son for too long, she told him everything that was going on, ending with her and Lexi’s lunch at the Blue Fox and all about their chat with Ian Farley, the server who quit soon after Brad Vicente was arrested.

  When Sawyer was finished, she recognized the expression on Palmer’s face immediately. They both knew what she needed to do.

  “You know what I’m going to say.”

  She drew in a breath. “I need to talk to Perez.”

  “Yes.”

  “The man can hardly stand the sight of me.”

  “He’ll come around. You’re bullheaded and stubborn. And so is he. You’ll be fine. You always are.”

  “And if he doesn’t come around? What then?”

  “Just do what you always do, Sawyer. Be you. Do you. Believe in yourself. Your instincts haven’t failed you yet.”

  She smiled. “This is why I need you at the office.”

  “To pump you up and remind you to trust yourself?”

  “Exactly.”

  His face grew suddenly somber. “Now it’s my turn.”

  “For what?”

  “To tell you what’s going on with me.”

  Her heart pounded. Was he sicker than she thought?

  “I’ve had a lot of time to think lately, and I realized that I’ve never taken the time to tell you how much you mean to me.” He lifted a hand to stop her from protesting. “Not just because you saved my life—”

  “I didn’t—”

  “You did. But that’s not what I’m getting at. I’m sure you know that I saw something inside you the very first time we met. Something special. Something that told me, ‘That girl means business and she’s going places.’”

  Sawyer smiled, her insides filling with warmth. Maybe she liked receiving praise more than she’d thought.

  “When we first met in class and I told you that the baggage you were carrying within would weigh you down and stop you from becoming a decent reporter, I knew then what I know now. You’ve got the determination and perseverance that it takes to be a good crime reporter. You’ve also got what many reporters don’t. You have a big heart.” He sat up taller as if trying to get comfortable. “I don’t think you have any idea how much you mean to me. I think of you as a daughter.”

  And this was exactly why she’d come to see him. Deep down, she’d realized it the second he walked into the overdecorated parlor. He’d always been her mentor, but he’d quickly become so much more. Other than Harper and Aria, he was the only person in the world she trusted wholeheartedly.

  Sawyer reached for his hand and gave it a squeeze, but worry settled over her when she noticed a change in his expression. He had more to say. “What is it? You’re getting better, right?”

  “My doctor assured me I’m going to be just fine.”

  Her shoulders relaxed.

  “But I’ve decided to retire.”

  Her heart dropped to her stomach.

  “I want to read and spend time in the garden with Debbie. Maybe even take a trip to Paris.”

  “Wow,” Sawyer said, pulling her hand away and using it to push loose strands of hair out of her face. “I’m going to miss you.”

  “I’ll be right here. Stop by anytime.”

  “You know I will.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  Aria had just finished sending a text to Sawyer when Corey Moran walked through the door to the shelter. Weird timing, considering the text she’d just sent her sister included a picture of Corey she had taken through the window of the coffee shop yesterday when she saw him walking across the street toward the café.

  Her insides did somersaults.

  Their visit at the coffee shop had been cut super short when he’d gotten a call and had to rush off. She’d told him she would be working all week at the shelter if he wanted to stop by and visit Duke. That was the name she had given the dog he’d found on the street and brought in the day they met.

  She had no idea whether he would come. But here he was, looking better than ever in light-washed jeans and the same chunky boots he’d worn the first time they met. He also had a newly shaved jaw, which made him look younger. The only thing different about him was the man bun. It looked good on him.

  “Is Duke around?” he asked.

  “Duke? Oh, yeah, Duke.” She laughed. Just the sight of him had her completely discombobulated.

  He laughed too.

  “So how much time do you have?” she asked.

  “As much time as you need.”

  Okay, then. “I’ll walk Chompers and let you take Duke.”

  “Sounds good. Just tell me what to do.”

  She grabbed a leash and took Corey to Duke’s cage. While he worked on rounding up Duke, Aria went to get Chompers, an old dog and the shelter’s longest resident. The poor dog was a slow walker, but Chompers loved being outdoors.

  The moment they stepped outside, Aria drew in a breath. It was a beautiful day. She kept sneaking glances at Corey. And her day kept getting better by the minute.

  “You love what you do, don’t you?” he asked.

  “I do. I love being with animals, and I love this place.” Aria looked around, admiring the v
iew. “Whenever I walk the trails, I feel like I’m in another world.”

  Aria unlatched the gate leading to the trails. She was glad he had come since they hadn’t had time to get to know one another at the coffee shop. They walked quietly, Corey working hard to keep Duke from running too far ahead while Aria tried to nudge Chompers onward.

  “I’m glad I came,” he said when the path widened and they were able to walk side by side.

  “Me too.”

  “Sorry about running off so quickly yesterday.”

  “No worries. So what do you do?” she asked. “Don’t answer that if you don’t want to. I’m being nosy.”

  “I’m fine with nosy. I am a graphic designer. I specialize in layout design and editorial illustration. I work with local clients mostly, but I do have a few clients across the country.”

  “Cool.” Feeling a bit tongue-tied and awkward, she kept her head down as she walked.

  “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine. I’m just not good at this.”

  “At what? Talking?”

  She laughed. “Exactly. For the past sixteen years I’ve lived alone. Well, not exactly alone. I have Mr. Baguette, a cockatiel.” She smiled, hoping she didn’t sound too pathetic. “I also have two sisters and a brother-in-law and a niece and nephew, but overall, besides work, I really don’t get out much.”

  He smiled, nodded.

  “I used to work part time as a barista, and you can’t really work in a place like that without talking to people. I’ve also been helping my younger sister a lot lately, so I guess I’m getting better at this talking thing.”

  “What does your sister do?”

  “She’s a crime reporter for the Sacramento Independent. Right now, she’s working on the Black Wigs story.”

  “And you’re helping her with that?”

  “Yes. I mostly help her with research. Every once in a while, I will go with her to conduct an interview. For instance, the other day we met with Nancy Lay. She used to be a cook at the Children’s Home of Sacramento, a place for troubled kids that was burned to the ground.” Aria looked at him. “You’re frowning.”