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“Believe you? It’s been weeks since we walked in on that perverted slob jacking off behind his desk. Did Frankie vanish off the face of the earth? How is it possible for someone to disappear the way he has?”
I get up from my desk since anger won’t allow me to sit still. “Are you sure he’s alive?”
“He’s been spotted by various contacts as recently as three days ago. I have eyes in all his usual locations. The minute he shows his face, we’ll be on him. Trust me.”
Again, with thetrust mebullshit. Famous last words. “The minute, and I mean the very minute, he shows up, you tell me. I’m not letting him get away with this.” Whatever this happens to be. I still have no proof of wrongdoing. Only a hunch brought forth by a very convenient set of circumstances.
“No one thinks you will. No doubt he’s watching his back. He can’t hide forever.”
No, but he’s done a pretty damn good job of it so far. What could have happened to change his mind and shift his loyalties? I won’t admit to Prince how much sleep I’ve lost over this. I don’t even want to admit it to myself. If a man as highly respected as my grandfather could be double-crossed by someone he trusted, what chance do I have?
No, there had to be more to it. I refuse to believe Frankie didn’t act without a backer—namely, Alvarez. He can lie all he wants about how that bullet ended up lodged in my grandfather’s body, but I won’t believe it until I see proof. Since I doubt such proof exists, something tells me I’m not going to have my mind changed anytime soon.
He could’ve run out of guilt and the certainty that I’d come calling. Anyone with half a brain would do the same thing. But the fact that he moved out the night of the wedding—unannounced beforehand, ready to go—tells me there was planning involved. He was ready to run. The money Grandfather paid him could easily afford a new place. The only question is, why did he allow that shot to be fired without protecting his boss?
And who’s protecting him now?
I turn toward Prince, but it’s the person walking past the open door to the study who catches my attention. If I didn’t know better, I would think she was sneaking past me. “Alicia. What are you doing?”
She pauses, then doubles back. Her cheeks are flushed, and she won’t meet my gaze. “I’m going to school. I have class in twenty minutes.” She checks the time and frowns. “Eighteen minutes.”
Prince’s curious stare isn’t lost on me, but I make a point of ignoring him. “All right. Is Paolo waiting for you?”
“Where else would he be?” Her voice is tight, as is her half-hearted laughter. “I really better go.”
“Go on, then. Don’t let me keep you.” The word scurry comes to mind as I watch her rush off, her head low, both hands gripping the strap of her backpack tight enough to make her knuckles stand out bone white.
“How’s that going?” I ignore Prince’s question in favor of going to the doorway and following my wife’s progress. I’m just in time to watch her duck out the front door, and if I didn’t know better, I would think she stole something and doesn’t want me to know it. But that’s absurd. There’s nothing for her to steal, for one thing. I’ve given her access to very little.
Prince is still watching me, and I have to grit my teeth against a demand for him to mind his own business. “Isn’t there something else you should be doing right now?” I mutter.
“You could just tell me to mind my own business.”
“Go and mind your own fucking business. Find Frankie. That’s all that matters right now.”
“Whatever you say, boss.” I hate the way he says it, the humor in his voice that I know is meant to conceal irritation. Some other time, when I have the mental bandwidth to manage it, the two of us will have a discussion about respect and boundaries and such.
At the moment, I’m more interested in what the hell is going on inside Alicia’s head. She’s been so strange lately, at least the past few days. When I look back to pinpoint when it all began, that’s the best approximation I can come up with.
It’s nothing obvious, nothing glaring. There haven’t been any temper tantrums. No arguments, no stubbornness.
And that’s the problem, I realize as I pour coffee in the kitchen. It’s bright and sunny in here, almost glaringly so. I almost resent the sunshine since it’s in such contrast with my mood.
I’ve told myself countless times the past few days to be grateful she’s calmed down some. I have more than enough on my plate without a nagging, resentful wife fucking things up. I should be grateful, just as I’m grateful for the coffee, which helps cut through some of the worst of my head fog.
It also brings my concerns into focus. That little performance just now is more than enough reason to suspect her. She acts like this meek little lamb when I know she’s anything but. It’s as if she’s compensating for something, wanting to stay out of my way in hopes I don’t notice whatever she’s trying to hide. Is that paranoia? It could be, but I would rather know for sure than dismiss something that might turn out to be a problem. If anything, I tell myself as I carry my coffee upstairs, this is a good habit to get into. I can’t allow myself to dismiss my instincts, not if I’m going to lead this family in any meaningful way. Sometimes, instinct is all we have.
I wonder what Grandfather’s instincts told him about Frankie.
Her room is neat as a pin. I appreciate that about her. Not much disgusts me worse than an undisciplined slob. I do a cursory search of the rest of the dresser before turning away from it and going to the bed. There’s nothing hidden underneath, so I begin searching between the mattress and the box spring beneath it.
“What’s this? Looking for contraband? Or are you so obsessed with her that you can’t help but go through her stuff when she’s gone?” Prince barely ducks in time to avoid getting hit with a shoe that ends up in the hallway.
“Mind your own fucking business for once.” I stand and take care with straightening the bed, so it won’t look like I was going through it.
“I’m just saying, you’ve fallen far if you’ve resorted to tearing her room apart.”
“I could shoot you where you stand.”
