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Her lips tighten. “Ozzy won’t bother us anymore.”
My chest squeezes, and I’m not sure I can inhale.
I know the answer, but I have to be sure. “Why not?”
It’s quiet.
She’s quiet.
The tears coating her cheeks now are like a release, and when she speaks, it’s calm resolution. “I shot him. He’s dead.”
“Oh, God.” It’s a soft whisper, and I’m so afraid.
I’m afraid of her being taken to jail. I’m afraid of Ollie being taken away, even though I promised to take care of him. Can she give him to me? Is that allowed? I don’t know what happens now, and I don’t have anyone to ask.
Actually, I do. This time when I send the text, it’s for my friend.
Chapter 28
Spencer
“Well, that sure is a nice suit.” The mean old bastard sits across a glass partition from me, and I search his hazel eyes, exactly like mine, for anything I might recognize.
I find nothing.
“Yes.” My answer is short, clipped. “It is.”
His shaggy, dark brows lower. His hair is long and cut in an old mullet style, and his gray beard grows into a point. He reminds me of one of those guys who used to fly drug planes between Houston and South America.
Only he’s in an orange jumpsuit.
“I guess that means you’re a rich man.” He slides a pack of Parliament cigarettes out of his pocket. “So what do you want from me?”
He actually snarls, but I don’t flinch. I’ve never loved this biological contributor to my creation, and I’m not afraid of him now.
“Last time I saw you, the police were taking me to the hospital.”
He rocks back in the chair. “What? You want an apology?”
I almost laugh at the suggestion. “My forgiveness is not available. No, I’m here out of morbid curiosity.”
He holds out a hand. “What do you want to know?”
My eyes flicker to the beige Formica counter then to him again. “Were you the same with every woman or was it just with my mother?”
The vulnerability inherent in my question makes me cringe. I hate that I fucking need to know the answer. The on
ly gift this animal gave me was a deep and abiding mistrust of myself.
“I met your mother when I was twenty years old.” He lights up, but the glass keeps it on his side. “They let me out of the army after I helped liberate Kuwait, and I went home to find this pretty little lady with a big heart. She wanted to help me. She loved me to the end.”
“An end you helped her find. She died as a result of the injuries you caused.”
His eyes narrow, and my body instinctively reacts to the flash of anger in them. That flash was a prelude to one of us being slapped across the room.
My throat heats, and I’d love to shove these barriers out of the way and let him try it.
“I guess you boss people around now. Is that right, boy?” He lunges forward, speaking in a low hiss. “You don’t boss me.”
