Page 31 of The Fixer

With her nod, I snuck through the door. Waited for her to squeeze in beside me before I moved. The apartment had been ransacked. The kitchen table was on its side, the couch on its back, the loveseat upside down. Dishes had been pulled from the cupboards and were broken and scattered across the room. I locked eyes with Eliza. Pointed at her chest, then at the floor, then mouthed the word, “Stay.”

There was barely an inch of clear space on the floor, and I pieced my way through the room, gun moving with my line of sight, ready to shoot anything that moved.

Into the bedroom I went, and I found the same thing. The closet door was open, the room itself empty. Every item of clothing, every shoe and purse, had been pulled from inside and strewn across the bed. The lamps were knocked over, the drawers in the dressers removed. The books on the small bookcase in the corner had been torn to shreds, the pages crumpled into balls and left on the floor.

The bathroom, the last room in her tiny apartment, looked the same: no living beings, no sense in the destruction. I rushed back to Eliza’s side, tucking my gun into the holster at my back. The white face, the wide eyes, the tremble of her entire body, they called to me. Begged me to take her, to hold her, to keep her safe.

“Eliza,” I murmured against the skin of her face as she fell into my arms. “Shh, it’ll be okay.”

Her body shook with silent sobs, as if my earlier command was still heavy on her mind. I lifted her, swept her up into my arms. Carried her over to the kitchen counter, stepping on broken dishes as I went. With my foot, I maneuvered one of the stools off the floor, righting it without ever letting her go. Only when she was settled did I loosen my grip. But the girl, she wouldn’t let go.

* * *

“What will you do?” Santini asked after Billy Rinaldi, a cop with ties to the D’Angelo Syndicate, finally left Eliza’s apartment with his crew.

My gaze traveled across the mess all over the floor until it met with the girl hugging her knees on the couch. Her eyes were trained on the floor where I’d swept up her father’s ashes and returned them to the urn. I moved to her side, drawn there by some unseen force that tugged at me every time I saw her in distress. I touched her, though I didn’t want to. I placed a hand upon her back, my fingers tangling in her red waves.

“Eliza,” I coaxed, smoothing my hand along her spine. It wasn’t until I reached her neck that she blinked, turning her eyes to me. Her arms loosened, her body tipped, and somehow, before I knew what was happening, she was leaning against my chest. One hand fell to my thigh, and I scooped it up.

“Can you call Brooke?” I asked, fingers weaving between hers, tethering her to me even though I wanted to push her away.

“I don’t want to bother her,” she mumbled, almost to herself. “She deserves this.”

“She deserves what?” Santini barked, and Eliza jumped.

Instead of looking at him, she raised those pretty eyes to mine. “She and Eric are in the Bahamas. They won’t be home until the end of the week.”

She looked away then. Righted herself, ducking her chin as she caught Santini’s harsh glare. Her hand pulled from mine. My fingers snagged in the tangles of her hair, but she didn’t react to the strands that were yanked from her scalp as she sat up, moving away from me.

“I have a key,” she said, smoothing her skirt down her thighs. “I can stay there. They won’t mind.”

Eliza rose from the couch, stepping over broken dishes and the legs of her smashed kitchen chairs to skirt around Santini, heading toward her room.

“Eliza.” I grabbed her hand and she spun to face me, her chin raised. “You can’t stay there on your own. It’s not safe.”

“They have a doorman.”

“So do you.” My voice was harsh as I flung my hands at the broken front door. “See what good that did you?”

“I don’t have a choice.” It was just a whisper, and it quivered like an aftershock. “I have nowhere else to go. I can’t… I can’t go to my dad’s.”

No.

No, she couldn’t be left alone.

Those suspicions I harbored flared inside of me. The aftershock hit me, something in my gut shaking as the walls began to fall.

“No,” I told her, dragging her to me, my hands cradling her stiff back. Her skin was chilled, and as I closed my eyes, I could picture too easily the dead bodies I’d seen. I wouldn’t let her become one of those memories that haunted me. I wouldn’t let Eliza fall prey to the darkness that plagued me.

“No,” I told her again, my voice quieter, soothing, the way I’d learned to talk to the broken. “You’ll come home with me.”

Santini huffed and gave me a look. A look I knew, questioning, narrowed eyes and a raised brow. I shook my head. Gathered Eliza tighter in my arms.

“You’ll stay with me.”

8

Eliza