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He might be holding evidence that implicates the father of my child.
I flip on the light before slowly walking down the creaking stairs. The room smells like stale coffee and fast food. Then I understand why once I catch sight of the stack of empty bags and wrappers in the wastebasket next to his overflowing desk. I am about to open the window over the old filing cabinets, when the sight of what's mounted behind his desk turns the blood in my veins arctic.
“Oh, my God.” At first, all I can do is stare, open-mouthed, breathless. I've never seen anything like this outside of a movie or on TV. The corkboard is covered in pictures and printouts. Some have sticky notes attached to them, covered in his illegible scrawl. It's like he's been building a map of all the possible individuals involved in Mom's death.
There are pictures of Callum he must have gotten from old surveillance—he appears to be ten or even fifteen years younger in some of them. Pictures of the house taken from the street, photos of his cars. The outsides of some of his businesses. I recognize the club and the restaurant where we ate with Jack Moroni.
My stomach turns when I spot a photo of Tatum. What does he think she has to do with anything? Why would he involve her in this? How much of it has to do with Mom now, and how much does it have to do with me? Where is the line in all of this?
He wouldn’t give me an answer even if I asked. This is not the work of a man with a grip on reality. Tears well in my eyes when I think of him down here, all alone, obsessing for hours, without a lead or end in sight. Trying to connect the dots when there is no connecting them. I can feel his frustration in the air. The energy of the room is heavy and desolate. How lonely all of this must make him feel.
The sudden buzzing in my dress pocket makes me jolt, and my strangled cry rings loudly in the small space. I expect it to be Callum, who right now is just below Dad on the list of people I don’t trust myself to speak to right now. Trying to pretend I'm not shaken up after seeing all of this. He’d know something was wrong immediately.
Thankfully, it’s neither of them. The caller ID instead reads: Police Station. Well, that’s not any better. With my heart in my throat, I whisper, “Hello?”
“Is this Bianca?”
I recognize his voice, deep and full of concern. Shit. “Ken? What's wrong? Did something happen to Dad?”
“Not yet,” he mutters, almost whispering. “Although something's going to happen if you don't get down here right away.”
“I don't understand,” I ask. I'm already on my way up the stairs, turning out the light and making sure to lock the door. He can't know I found that, not until I know how to feel about it.
“Someone needs to come and get him and take him home before he gets himself arrested.”
“Wait, he’s there? At the station.”
“Yeah, and if he keeps up his shit, he'll end up in a cell. I’m doing my best. No one wants to hurt him, but he needs to leave.”
“I'm on my way.” I grab my purse and hurry out the door, barely taking time to lock up. “Please, try to keep him calm until I get there.”
“I'll do my best,” he grunts. “However, I can't make any promises.”
CALLUM
The light inside me seems to dwindle without my little bird beside me. The anticipation of seeing her after a long day of work gets ripped out from underneath me by one single text. The bloodthirsty asshole I am pushes to the forefront of my mind.
What is she doing now? Why doesn’t she want to come back here tonight, and how am I supposed to accept that without wanting an explanation? I understand that she’s worried about her father. She is constantly worried about him, but she needs to be careful, or she’ll never be able to stop worrying about him. He's always going to give her a reason to be concerned. I’m reminded all over again about the dynamic of their relationship. She’s his parent, even when he should act as her father.
No matter how much I grind my teeth and fight to force away the suspicions and questions, there’s no holding them back. The dam has burst.
Fear grips my heart in its meaty fist. Is he telling her everything he knows? The thought that even with all my promises and vows of honesty, she’s going to think I’m still keeping things from her. Damn it. I should have gotten out in front of this. Once again, it will look like I am trying to keep things from her for my own gain.
