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Nothing could ever drive or scare me away this time. I will face anything with you, Mick.
Lost, guilty, bursting with despair, I’d made love to her again and again. Each time more impassioned than the time before. I wanted to bury myself in her and stay there forever.
Hours later, Dee fell asleep draped over me. Her hair across my chest, her honey-colored skin soft and glistening; my golden angel. I tried to stay awake, but my body betrayed me. And then my mind. Malcolm’s note, the memories—both manifested into another nightmare. I came out swinging. Broke Dee’s lamp. It scared the hell out of me that my fists could have connected with her. No further warning required. I had to leave. I was too fucked up. The situation with Malcolm was too fucked up. I couldn’t involve her. I couldn’t stay.
I walked away from the woman who brings me so much joy, who gives me so much love.
Christ. Seeing her today, still bearing that sad confusion in her eyes burned through my chest. I could feel her pain radiating through me along with my own.
I’d been so stupid…so naïve to think the deal I’d made with Malcolm would be the end of it. Instead, he’s like a vampire, sniffing out blood and coming back for more.
If there’s one thing Malcolm preys on, it’s weakness. My weakness. If he believes Dee matters to me, he will use her as a tool and a weapon. Knowing what he’s capable of, I have to convince him that Dee means nothing to me. That my motivation is payback. It’s ruthless, callous, it’s what Malcolm understands.
Gasping for air, I stop and hug the punching bag until I can get hold of my breaths. As long as Malcolm thinks Dee isn’t important to me, she’ll be safe. Protecting her…protecting the people I love…that comes first. I pick up my phone and call Stiles.
“I need you to find someone.”
“A missing person?”
“You could say that.” I drag a towel over my face and neck.
“Whatcha got?”
“Her last known whereabouts are over three years old and even with that they’re sketchy.”
“What’s the name?”
I might care about going to Hell for breaking Victor’s trust if I weren’t already there. “Elizabeth Joyce Franklin is her legal name. But she goes by Joyce. Though she could have aliases.”
“Who is she?”
“Dwayde’s biological mother. I think she might have information relevant to the custody case.”
“What do you know about her?”
“She’d be twenty-eight now. Originally from Kentucky. Might have a Southern accent. Dwayde said they moved around a lot before coming to Chicago. She seemed to settle here the longest. She’s an addict. From what Dwayde has described, she sold her body for money and drugs. The last place they were living at before Dwayde ran away from her was an apartment building near a tunnel. That’s all I have.”
“Not much. Got a description or any pictures?”
“Nothing current. Sending what I have.” I pull up the photos on my phone that I’d saved from an earlier search.
“She was a kid,” he says moments later.
“Fifteen. Into competitive horseback riding,” I say, explaining the pictures from a local newspaper featuring the smiling girl with her ribbons and trophies. “At least she was before her horse died and she quit. She had Dwayde less than a year later. No listed father on the birth certificate. Her parents say they don’t know who he is. But it’s hard to know if that’s the truth.”
“What happened to her? Why did she leave Kentucky with Dwayde?”
“That’s what I need to find out.”
“So, what’s the plan?”
“To locate her. But I don’t want her tipped off about any info on Dwayde, my family, or the case.” That’s my one concession. “Just tell me where she is.”
“If she’s alive. If she can be found. If she’s in any shape to give information. Those are bigifs,” he echoes Victor’s and Dee’s warnings. “Are you sure you want to do this?”
I don’t hesitate. “I’m sure.”
ChapterFourteen
