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“And if you find out she is?” He moves away from the edge of the building and starts to walk back toward where I’m standing. Once he’s standing in front of me, I allow my lip to tip up.
“I’ll do what I need to do.” There is nothing nice about the smile I give him. This isn’t a happy smile. This is menacing and evil.
“And that is?” he probes.
“Use her to take him down.”
“And her?”
“What about her? I’m not a fucking animal. No women. No children.”
The motto I have always lived by.
20
Skye
After Tobias’s attitude, I don’t bother to go into the office today. I didn’t go in yesterday, either. Hell, I might just take off the whole week. A large smile spreads across my face at the thought of the way he must be fuming over my absence.
Or maybe he didn’t even notice? I sure as hell hoped he did. Because that man can go fuck himself.
He’s like a goddamn light switch, and I have no clue who turned him off. One minute, he was shining bright, and then bam, darkness.
What did I say to him to set him off? I try to scour my brain, but I’ve got nothing.
So instead of subjecting myself to the abuse again, I opt to say screw it and not go in.
There is no need to deal with his PMS. There are more important things in my life than a moody criminal.
For example, I still haven’t figured out if I’m being overdramatic about the whole Dad thing.
The picture I took of the bill is now printed up and sitting on my desk in front of me. No matter how many times I look at it, I still have no clue what I’m looking at.
A sequence of numbers is all that’s on this paper. At first glance, it looks like a billing sheet for insurance.
Unfortunately, my father isn’t the neatest man because not only was the piece of paper crumpled, but it also had a giant coffee stain on it and a tear down the side, which means my picture sucks.
What do these numbers mean? And as for the text, only a piece of a word on the heading is clear.
St. and then there is another letter, it looks like half the letter J.
St. Joseph Hospital maybe? Or it could be St. Joseph Church?
Hell, this could be for the St. Joseph fundraiser held for the police force every year. Sure, my father is retired, but that doesn’t mean he’s not still involved.
I’m going to have to ask him, but that’s not really an option.
I risk him freezing me out completely if he realizes I snuck into his house, lifted this sheet from the garbage, and, worse, made copies of his old files.
Yep, no. There will be no asking him anything.
I’ll just have to use my own deductive reasoning skills to come up with a plausible means to extract the information from him or someone else.
Maybe I can call all the St. Josephs in the area and see if they can steer me in the right direction.
I’m about to pick up my office phone and call when my cell starts to vibrate on the desk.
It’s Tobias.
I think about answering the phone but decide if I do, he’ll probably summon me to his office. Not something I want to do right now.
No. I shake my head. I’m busy. Finding out what my dad is hiding is more important.
I hit the button. Decline.
Then get back to the matter at hand and dial the number I find for St Joseph’s. I picked the hospital first. If that’s a dead end, I’ll call the church. I’m sure I can find a nice old lady who likes to gossip who might be willing to help me.
“St Joseph’s Hospital, how may I help you?” the operator on the line answers.
“I was wondering who I can speak to about a letter I received?” I try to keep it vague in an attempt to mentally come up with a plausible reason I have for wanting this information when she asks.
I got nothing.
If my dad was there and this is a medical bill, it would be a huge HIPAA violation for her to tell me.
“I’ll need more information than that.” The lady practically scoffs. Something tells me if I could teleport to the hospital and see her, she would be rolling her eyes in disdain.
“All I have is a list of numbers? Will that help? It might be reference codes?”
“It sounds like a billing code.”
“Oh, good. That means you can tell me what reference code 67zf means?”
“I’m sorry, I think you misunderstood. That’s not something I can help you with.”
“Is there someone I can speak to in billing then?”
“I’ll transfer you over,” she mutters.
The next thing I know, I’m being sent to the mailbox of the billing department. The good news is that I might have narrowed it down to a bill, but for what? He did say he was going for his annual checkup. Maybe they did blood earlier? That happens, right?
