Show Me How (It's Kind Of Personal Book 2) (4 page)

I will never forgive myself for what I’ve done. Brandon told me to stay calm, and I couldn’t even do that. I’m embarrassed that my parents’ lifestyle caused this. Though they’re responsible for their actions, I could have done something, told someone about the illegal drug activity coming in and out of my house.

But I didn’t. Because I’m selfish. I didn’t want to risk separation from Brandon, so I kept my mouth shut. I’ve kept the secret that my parents haven’t lived at home for the past five months. I don’t know where they are. They just left. Left me with no money and a house that the bank will repossess in thirty-four days.

I’ve managed to scrape by with the minimums for water and electricity. All of the money I’ve saved up from bussing tables is down to four hundred and seventeen dollars.

They also left me with their debt, apparently. And their debt walked into my house tonight looking for payment. Their debt shot Steve. Their debt will be looking for payback. ‘Cause it’s not dead. No. Scott Smith didn’t die tonight. But he’s angry, and he’ll seek revenge.

So I have to leave. Staying would risk more damage to the Parker family. If Brandon knew the things I kept from him, the lies I told to keep my secrets safe, and the danger surrounding me, he would be so mad that I didn’t trust him. I’d rather risk his anger than his or his family’s lives, so I’m leaving. Not sure where I’ll go, but I know I just need to be gone.

“Okay. Here’s your stuff.” The nurse returns, going over the medications and wound care instructions.

“Thanks.” I grab everything and walk out of my room.

I turn the corner and jump back out of the way. Elizabeth and Travis are in the waiting room. He’s sleeping on two chairs, and she’s pacing back and forth. I wait until her back is to me and speed walk to the staircase. As soon as the steel door slams, I lean on it and catch my breath.

I have no car, no money, and no phone. The only option available is to walk. Luckily, I arrive back at my house just as the sun is coming up. Police tape surrounds my yard. I dart to the side and follow along it until I reach the back door. Worried someone will catch me, I run to my room and grab my backpack to shove some essentials in it. Any money I’ve saved is hidden in my dresser drawer, so I grab the sock filled with bills and a picture of Brandon and me before I zip up the pack. I start to slide my arms through the straps, careful not to rub against the injured one. At the last minute, I reach under my bed and pull out a shoebox filled with memories. I open it and dump the contents into the backpack.

As I’m about to exit the back door, I make a quick trip to the kitchen and grab a piece of paper and pen out of the junk drawer. It’s a good thing I’m in a rush; otherwise, I would be here all day writing this note to Brandon. When I’m done, I fold it in half and scribble his name on the outside.

I duck and weave through the backyards until I reach the Parker’s house. Hiding behind a bush, I wait for a few minutes to see if there’s any movement inside. Confident that nobody is home, I tiptoe to the porch and slip the note through the mail slot . . . then, I run.

Present Day

Brandon

“Fuck!” I slam my laptop shut and lean down, banging my head on my desk.
Where in the hell is she?
The lead I thought I had turned out to be a dead end. The same lead I’ve been working on for years, the reason I moved from Chicago to Wisconsin.

Twelve years. It’s been twelve years since the night my dad was shot. Since I last talked to Mary. Her scared voice still gives me nightmares. I had never been more terrified in my life than when I heard those shots ring out over the phone. I wish I hadn’t been gone that night, but my high school baseball team was playing a championship game a state away. It’s not like I ever thought something like that would happen.

Failure echoes in my head because I can’t do this anymore. My parents have called in every favor, and I’ve done everything I can to find her. She went to the hospital that night but checked herself out right away. She escaped before even giving her statement. And since then, she’s been a ghost. Even as a cop, my resources and connections haven’t been able to locate her. Dread fills my gut when I pick up the phone.

“Son.”

“Hey, Dad.”

“Good to hear from you. What’s up?”

I take a deep breath before I ask the one thing I swore I never would. “I need a favor.”

“Anything.”

“I want to come back to Chicago.”

Silence fills the line, and I know what he’s thinking. I’ve given up.

“You’re done up there?” he asks cautiously.

“Yeah.” I swallow around the lump in my throat. “I need to accept the fact that she’s gone.” I lower my voice. “I can’t keep living like this. I’m thirty years old, Dad. I’ve been a cop for too long to know the outcome of a twelve-year-old missing person case.” He does, too. He still looks into things every once in a while, just not obsessively like I do.

He clears his throat after a brief moment. “Whatever you want. I’ll make some calls and get back to you.”

“Thanks.”

“Brandon?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re not giving up.” I may be a grown man but having the support of my dad means the world to me.

Barely able to get the word out, I croak out, “Sure,” before pressing end on my cell.

It definitely feels like giving up. But I don’t know what else I can do. Twelve years is a long time to look for someone. Even though the guy who shot my dad, Scott Smith, is in jail, he has a powerful reach. He’s been adamant that he doesn’t know where she is. I refuse to believe she would leave me like that, so I don’t believe him.

I told myself that I’d never stop looking until I found an answer, but at this point, I have to be done. I’ve lived a life with only one purpose since that dreaded night. To find my Mary. But there comes a point when you have to lay your cards down and fold.

We were best friends. No, it was more than that. And we both knew it, even though we never talked about it. Damn, how I wish she had known how I really felt about her. I knew she had a shitty life. I was knocked cold when I found out what she was actually living with. Who her parents really were. How she pulled the wool over my eyes is beyond me.

And I miss her. Selfishly, I want to find her for my own benefit. She always made everything so easy. I just fucking want her. The last time I saw her was as a teenager. I knew I wanted her then, but now? Now I know my life isn’t complete without her. Any woman who’s tried a relationship with me has failed miserably. Mostly because I won’t let them in. They’re not her . . . nobody can ever be her.

Sighing, I scrub my hands down my face and push to my feet. I get to my bedroom and grab the one framed picture I have of us. Mary was on my back, and we had just won a three-legged race. Her tall, slender body wrapped around mine, clinging to me. I liked that, her arms surrounding me. I fucking miss that. Her dark brown hair flows from the breeze, and those piercing green eyes that always hid more than she ever let on shine.

I contemplate putting the picture away but decide against it and set it on the dresser again. I want to remember her. To see her beautiful face every day.

* * *

“You’re leaving, man? What the fuck?” My partner, Juan Martinez, punches me in the shoulder. We’ve been friends since high school and both ended up at the same law enforcement center somehow.

“I told you that I applied. Didn’t think I’d be accepted this fast. And definitely didn’t think I’d pass, but I did. So yeah, I’m leaving.”

“Fuck, man.
Detective Parker.
You deserve it.” He sits across from me at his desk and raises his hand. “It’s been a good run.”

“It has.” I reach up, and we give each other a fist bump. “But all good things must come to an end. It’s time for me to go back home.”

“You found her?” His voice is hopeful. He knows who I’m looking for. Since we went to the same school, he knows the story.

“Nah. Another dead end.” I try to blow it off like my heart isn’t tearing.

“Shit,” he whistles.

“Yeah.”

We work in companionable silence for a while until it’s time to go home. At the end of my day, I go to my empty apartment. Always empty, always lonely. Since I only have a couple of weeks left before I move back to Chicago, I start packing. It’s time to move on. I think.

Chapter 4

Mary

“Disgusting.” I cringe as I use a plastic fork to scrape off the used condom that’s stuck to the mirror.

“Mary?”

I peek my head out the door and smile at the only person in the world who knows where I am. My savior, Betty, walks down the cracked sidewalk, shaking her head as she leans down to pick up an empty pack of cigarettes.

Betty offered me a job and a home when I was at my lowest twelve years ago. She knows all the details of my past, and she supports my decision to stay hidden.

“What’s up?” I ask.

She’s a little . . . okay,
a lot
overweight, and her gray hair is always up in a bun. With her age, she should be a mother figure, but she’s really my only friend.

“Here.” She waddles closer and sticks some money in my hand, which I immediately shove back.

“I’m not taking it. It’s not part of our deal.”

“Quit your yapping. I know by now that you won’t take it. It’s for you to pick me up that book everyone’s been talking about for so long.”

I raise my eyebrows because, clearly, this sixty-year-old woman could not want to read that. Just no. And gross.

She huffs and taps her foot. “You know? The one with the handcuffs?”

Oh, God.
“Yeah. Okay. I’ll grab it. Anything else?”

“No. Unless you want to get a copy for yourself.”

No need to tell her that I already have a copy and have read the series four times. So, I just take the money and tuck it in my shoe.

“I’ll grab it on my way to the salon tomorrow.” Whenever I need to run to the store for anything, I do it as early as possible on Sunday mornings. Most people are either still sleeping or at church. It’s the best time to slip in and out of a store unnoticed. Of course, I hide my hair under a baseball hat and wear sunglasses, too. I remain hidden for several reasons. Some of it is fear of Scott Smith’s revenge, some just partly habit, and most a need to do everything in my power to keep the family who loved me safe. And safe means I need to be invisible.

Even though I’m still in Chicago, this is where I feel safest. And if Scott were to ever find me, this is the city where he would be most well-known. Me, too. Because if he does find me, he’ll kill me. At least this way, being in my hometown, it should be easy to identify my body.

I contemplated going to another state. But then I realized that my life was not a movie. I couldn’t just hitchhike two thousand miles to the other side of the United States, find a job in a diner, and remain anonymous. This was my best option. My only option, really . . . so I took it.

“Okay, dear. Thank you.”

“Sure.”

Since Betty doesn’t actually
pay
me, I’ve picked up some other cleaning jobs. The pay is shitty, but I had to have something so I can eat. The salon, bar, and tattoo shop all pay me in cash and let me work either before or after business hours. All three of the buildings are on the same block, so every Sunday I clean them all.

I don’t spend a lot, other than for food and the essential clothes and shoes. The only thing I splurged on, ever, was my Kindle. It’s the only time I can forget about my shitty life. I get absorbed in a story, lost in the words, and for those couple of hours, I can pretend. Running clears my head, but reading makes me forget.

Brandon’s face always pops into my head when I read. Dark brown, almost black hair. I wonder if he still has it too long or if it’s clipped short to his head. I’m sure his blue eyes have gotten more seductive with age and experience. He was so handsome at eighteen; I can only imagine what he looks like now.

I finish changing the sheets and cautiously walk to the laundry room off the office in the main building. This motel is cheap and seedy. It’s on the outskirts of town and a lot of truckers come here. Literally.

The buzzer from the washer makes me jump. I move the sheets to the dryer and slam the door shut. Then walk back to the next room that needs cleaning to do it all over again.

* * *

The garbage bag in my hand reeks, and I hurry out the back door of the tattoo shop to toss it in the dumpster, cursing whoever decided to have tuna for lunch yesterday. Tuna is gross enough as it is, let alone sitting in a garbage can overnight.

I’m about to grab another bag, but a girl crouching in the alley, who looks to be in her early twenties with blonde hair, catches my eye. Her body is shaking, and it’s not hard to tell that she’s crying. Before I walk over to her, I look at my surroundings. I’m hesitant to approach her, but knowing that I’ve been there before, alone and scared, I have to help her. There’s no way I can walk away.

“Hey, are you all right?” I ask.

“Umm, yeah.” She stands and winces, looking around the alley. “Where are we?”

“Almost outside the city.”

“Oh. Shit.” Her shoes scrape along the concrete, and she wraps her arms around herself. “Do you have a phone I could use?”

“Believe it or not, I don’t. But if you want to come back with me to my place, I’ll let you use that one.” I was let in the building to clean and don’t have a key to get back inside. The garbage is the last thing I need to do on my way out. I try to offer kindness, knowing she could use it. She looks so out of place in her cute outfit and purple flats—a sharp contrast from the dirty ground and broken brick wall.

“No offense, but I don’t know you.” She rubs her fingers at her temples. “I’m sorry, that sounded rude. I had the worst day of my life, and I’m all fucked up.”

“Hey.” I soften my voice and put a hand on her shoulder. “I’ve been there, honey. I promise I just want to give you a hand. When I was at my worst, someone did that for me, and it saved my life.”

When she hesitates, I roll my eyes. “Listen, I want to help you out. You’re obviously not from this neighborhood; you’re sweating, have make-up running down your face, and you look scared as hell. If you don’t want to come with me, fine. But I need to get back so if you’re coming with me, you better do it now.”