Page 76 of The Woman with the Handcuffs

“Yeah, that’s the problem. There’s usually forty-seven mugs in the sink, overflowing trash cans, and questionable smells coming from the fridge.”

To that, Zeno shrugged as he made his way to his desk chair. “Let’s have that phone.”

Gav wandered around Zeno’s apartment, apparently mystified by the cleanliness, making me think he wasn’t exactly exaggerating about the mess he was accustomed to seeing.

When he reached to get mugs down after he made a pot of coffee and I saw Zeno’s enormous mug collection, yeah, I had my confirmation.

“Anything?” Gav asked as he set down a mug by his brother’s hand.

“Nugget was right. Her old man isn’t one for texting or calling. But I’ve got a deleted note I uncovered that might give you… something.”

“What is it?”Gav asked.

“An address. To some little house in Jersey.”

“And? Got anything else on that?”

“Working,” Zeno said, typing, then clicking around for a few minutes. “Huh. Yeah. I got something.”

“What is it? A rehab, maybe?”

“What? No. No, it’s a house. A house her dad bought, in cash, three years ago.”

“What? No. No, that’s not possible,” I said, jumping out of my chair so fast that it teetered before Gav reached out to right it. “He didn’t have a house. He’s never had a house. Not since my mom died. And even if he did have a house, he had no reason to keep it from me. None of this makes sense. You’re wrong.”

“Hey,” Gav said, reaching to take the cup from my hand, then set it down. He grabbed each of my upper arms, fingers squeezing. “Look. I know all this shit with your dad has been a real mindfuck. But anything we can find to go on is a good thing. Otherwise, we’re stuck. Maybe it’s nothing. Maybe Zeno is wrong. But maybe it’s something that might point us in a direction, right?”

I took a few deep breaths, trying to tamp down my growing panic about the mounting evidence that my father wasn’t who he claimed to be, wasn’t who I’d always believed he was.

Because the father I knew didn’t work for the mob. He didn’t have any potential debts or illnesses he didn’t share with me. He damn sure didn’t own a house for years without telling me. A house where we could have spent holidays or seen each other more. A house right over in Jersey. Just an hour or two away.

Clearly, I was still viewing my father through the lens of a little girl who hero-worshipped her only surviving relative.

But real people were just that… real. With secrets and problems and baggage that they didn’t want to share with everyone.

I mean, I certainly wasn’t always completely honest with him. I kept fears and anxiety and dissatisfaction and even whole relationships from him.

Did it hurt to realize that my father had this whole life outside of me? Yeah. But I guess that was something I should have considered a long time ago.

“Okay,” I said, sucking in another deep breath.

“Okay?”

“Yep,” I agreed. “You’re right. Anything to go on is good. We can at least… go there. See if there is any other information to find.”

“Exactly. Can we have that address?” he called to his brother. “And I’m gonna borrow a lock pick set.”

He said it so casually. As if it was a completely normal thing to borrow. Like an umbrella or charger.

“You know how to pick locks?”

“I had a backup plan in case you ever tightened those cuffs on me.”

My belly fluttered at the look he shot me then, but Zeno’s voice cut into the moment.

“So, your dad’s bank account. What passwords are we trying? We’re gonna max out at three, so make them good guesses.”

He got in on my second guess to reveal a healthy, even sizable, savings. And that was after buying a house outright a few years back.