Disappointment is the first thing I feel when the man keeps his hands high on Roxanne’s back for their entire dance. His unusual gallantry stays with me long after I’ve bundled Roxanne back into my car and recommenced our trip. It played in my mind when I stopped for gas and lingered well into the three hours it took us to arrive at my cousin’s last known address. It only clears when the reason for the sparkle in his eyes finally dawns on me.
“Who did he think you were?”
Roxanne’s smiles compete with the low-hanging sun. “His daughter.”
She adds a giggle to her grin when my lip furls. The man would have been well into his seventies, and I’m being kind considering most homeless people age quicker than their sheltered counterparts.
“His head is a little muddled,” Roxanne explains when I pull into the driveway of a standard house in the middle of the burbs. “He still thinks he’s serving in Vietnam.”
“You learned all that by looking in his eyes?”
She shakes her head. “It was a little more complicated than that.” When I wave my hand through the air, encouraging her to reveal the secrets I see in her eyes, she says, “He had a squadron tattoo on his hand. The research I did for the one I saw at Joop revealed it was from a combat unit that was deployed to Vietnam in the early seventies. His boots, although holey, were from his infantry days, and although it was badly faded, the photograph he keeps safe in his bootstrap had the faintest red coloring on the edges. It could have been a dress, but I took a chance on it being the color of his daughter’s hair.” She twists to face me like it’s an everyday occurrence for a two-hundred-thousand-dollar car to be parked in the driveway of a house worth half the price. “How did you know he mistook me for someone?”
Untrusting of my mouth not to make the mistake it did earlier, I hit her with a frisky wink before exiting a car that will be sold for parts by the end of the week. If you think Smith secured our ride the legitimate way, you still have a lot to learn about my operation.
“Whose house is this?” Roxanne asks after joining me on the footpath. The confusion in her tone is understandable. Not only does she comprehend the reason for my silence, Demi is blood-related. You wouldn’t know it from how rundown and derelict her house is.
This property has been in the Petrettis’ vault of arsenal for the past two decades. I’ve never seen it this derelict. The gutters are paint peeled and hanging on by a single screw, several roof shingles need replacing, and the outside looks like it hasn’t been touched with a paintbrush or a lawnmower in years.
“Stay behind me.”
Although peeved I didn’t answer her question, Roxanne does as instructed. The removal of my gun already has her on edge, much less the faintest creep of a shadow across the front living room window.
“Demi…” We walk up the cracked, overgrown footpath slowly. The shadow was larger than Demi’s svelte frame, but that doesn’t necessarily mean it isn’t her. We’re not on good terms. The fact I let her boyfriend be put away for life means we haven’t spoken in over a year. “Ox sent me.”
I feel Roxanne’s curiosity rising. The hand she’s gripping the waistband of my trouser with is very indicating, let alone the increase in her breaths. Although only a handful of people call Maddox ‘Ox,’ I’m confident Roxanne has heard of him before.
Our cautious approach sends my nerves into a tailspin. I’m not used to taking things slow. Just like I fuck, I approach danger with the same fierceness—hard and fast. I can’t do that this time around. I put up an impressive capital to keep Roxanne safe, so you sure as hell can guarantee I won’t put her life on the line for anything.
When my knock on Demi’s door goes unanswered, I scoop down to gather the pistol strapped to my ankle. Some may say I’m a fool to hand Roxanne a loaded weapon—things have been tense between us today—but I’d rather have her weaponed-up and ready to fire than be a sitting duck.
Roxanne peers at me with wide apprehensive eyes when I say, “There’s no safety. Just aim and fire.”
She looks as if she wants to drop my gun like it’s a hot potato when I place it in her palm. Then she swallows, puts on her game face, and raises her gun like I forced her to do to her mother.
Her kick-ass fighter stance crumbles when I kick open Demi’s door with my boot. It isn’t my unexpected show of strength that has her knees knocking. It’s the horrendous smell vaping out of Demi’s house. If she thought her daddy stunk up my compound while building the courage to blow his brains out, she had no idea. This place fucking reeks.
“Stay behind me,” I instruct again when Roxanne’s morbid curiosity gets the best of her. She isn’t moving for the window we saw the shadow creep across. She’s heading for the bedroom responsible for the smell.
Although pissed at her inability to do as she’s told, her mix-up saves me from making a fatal mistake. The shadow didn’t belong to Demi. It was from the big black beast standing over her beaten body, protecting her with fangs bared and a vicious growl. It’s her Doberman—Max.
Twenty-Four
Roxanne
Demi’s one blue eye not hidden by a smattering of bruises across her face peeks up at me when I place down a mug of coffee in front of her. Even with the fireplace of my grandparents’ ranch over stacked with wood, she’s still shuddering like she’s in the middle of Antarctica. Her jitters are understandable. I’m still hyped up with adrenaline, and all I did was view the man she gunned down in self-defense from a distance.
I can imagine what she’s been through the past three days. It’s clear from the extent of her bruises that she fought with everything she had before she resorted to the gun her boyfriend made her hide under her pillow. It was horrendous holding a gun to someone’s head. I couldn’t imagine firing it while they’re squashed on top of you. Just the thought of crawling out from beneath a dead body sends shivers rolling through me. They have Dimitri watching me even closer than he has the past three hours.
He’s been endeavoring to find out what happened to Demi without being insensitive, but with her shock too high for her cousin to break through, Dimitri has been left to handle his inquiries alone. Considering those investigations are taking place here, at my family’s ranch of all places, exposes who his lead suspect is. If your relationship with your son is disgruntled enough he doubts your participation in the captivity of your only grandchild, why would he think a niece would fare a better chance, especially one who seems out of the loop on all things Cartel.
“Are you sure you don’t want anything to eat?” Demi would have to be hungry. From what I picked up between keeping Estelle up to date on our unexpected guests and making sure Dimitri’s crew has everything they need, it appears as if she shot her intruder three days ago. If she’s been as closed off the past three days as she has the past three hours, not all the grumbles I’ve heard seep from her mouth have been whimpers. Some may be from her hungry tummy. “I can whip up a batch of mean pancakes. Ask Dimi, he ate them and survived.”
My heart flutters in my chest when the briefest smile creeps out from behind locks of dark hair. It’s only faint, but her smile reminds me that the world does spin.
“If you change your mind, my kitchen is open twenty-four-seven.”
Before she can thank me for an offer she shouldn’t class as friendly, a much more dangerous situation than my horrific cooking skills confronts us. A fleet of five police cruisers is blazing down the driveway. Their brutal speed kicks up as much dust as my feet when I race toward Dimitri to tell him the quickest and safest exit.
