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I give his hand a shake before waving him forward to follow me to the master bedroom in the hallway of the kitchen. “My mother had a thing for Greek names. I have twin older brothers named Ares and Apollo.” She wanted to name me Athena, originally, but my father vetoed it.
“Wow, this is huge,” Raniero changes the subject as we enter the master bedroom.
“It’s 350 square feet of living space complete with two walk-in closets and an on-suite bathroom. In fact,” I start walking toward the bathroom, “the owners installed a beautiful soaking tub a few years ago with built-in jets. Your wife will love coming home after a long day and relaxing in her own personal spa.”
I feel Raniero’s presence in the bathroom before I turn around and see him. I direct his gaze toward the massive bathtub kept immaculately clean by the current owners. “And, as you can see, the shower is a good size as well.” The master bathroom would sell anyone on this home. It comes with dual vanities, plenty of under-counter storage space, and a closed-off water closet that houses the toilet. “I believe the owners renovated the bathroom bit by bit over the last decade, but as you can see, they took very good care of the space.”
Raniero touches everything, even the monogrammed towels hanging by the shower. His eyes appraise the value of each addition made by the owners and he nods in appreciation of their taste. “This is heaven. Who would ever want to leave?”
Once again I keep Sharon Ray’s dirty laundry to myself. “They’re looking to upgrade,” I tell him swiftly.
He leads me back into the bedroom and makes a beeline for the closet. I’ve seen inside of it half a dozen times. The space is bigger than the bathroom in my last apartment and it’s lined with pristine white shelves and blonde wood railings. There is more invested in the clothes in Sharon’s closet than anyone has ever invested in me.
“What’s this?” Raniero asks from inside the closet.
I suspect he means the square cut-out in the back corner. If you push the cut-out up, you’ll be given access to the attic. I’m just about to tell him that when I enter the closet and see him pointing a gun at me.
“Don’t scream, Calliope,” he says immediately. Gone is the genial tone he spoke in when he first arrived. In its place is a menacing inflection that brokers no room for arguing.
“I don’t have any money,” I tell him as I hold my hands up by the sides of my head. My heart feels like it’s about to pound out of my chest.
Raniero takes a step forward and I do the opposite. “Don’t move,” he instructs. Then he steps toward me again and reaches out to drag his hand across my cheek. “You’re a beautiful girl, Calliope. I’m surprised you don’t bring protection to open houses.”
There is a stun gun in my car and pepper spray on my keychain. Unfortunately, my keys are on the kitchen counter and my car is in the driveway; neither are close enough for me to use them. “The owners are going to be home soon.” I can’t take my eyes off the gun at his hip pointed at my stomach.
“Really? I thought Sharon was in Bermuda on vacation while you sold her house.” How does he know her name? I mean, I’m sure it’s public record, but no one looks up the owner of the house they’re potentially interested in. “And if I remember correctly, Christopher doesn’t even live here anymore. He was kicked out, wasn’t he?”
I tear my eyes away from the gun long enough to meet Raniero’s gaze. “How do you know all this?”
He shrugs his shoulders, leaving a wrinkle in the black shirt he’s wearing. “When you’re friends with the homeowners, you know a lot of things the general public doesn’t.”
Oh, god. He’s one of their neighbors, maybe even the husband of the woman that got caught cheating by Sharon. “Listen, I’m just doing my job,” I explain, “I don’t know anything about the owners’ personal lives or—”
“Save it,” Raniero cuts me off as he lets his hand fall from my face. “I don’t care about Sharon or Christopher anymore than I care about the thirty-two fucking people who toured the house earlier today. The only thing I care about is you.”
My palms are sweaty and I swear the dampness between my breasts comes from fear. “Wh-what do you want?” I ask, determined to give him whatever it is he requests.
Raniero grabs my wrist and turns me around. With my back facing him, I nearly piss myself when I feel the tip of the gun press into my spine. “I want you to walk out to my car and get inside without screaming or making a fuss. If I think you’re trying to get someone’s attention or if I catch you yelling for help, I’ll bury a bullet into your back and make sure that you never walk again.”
I stand there frozen in fear until he shoves the gun forward, forcing me to take a step.
“Do you understand me, Calliope Jackson?” He knows who I am. My name is on the sign outside, but I don’t think it’s a coincidence.
“What do you want from me?” I ask again as I take one tentative step after another.
He’s on me like a second skin. The hand that grabbed my wrist and twisted me around now rests on my hip. “Revenge.”
3
RANIERO
It’s taken me three months to get everything in place, starting with finding out the most vulnerable member of Grant Jackson’s family.
It turns out he had a wife a couple of decades ago, but she left him and their family to get away from his abuse. I read the reports and it turns out Grant was one of the 40% of officers that engage in domestic violence. When his wife fled the home, he tried to force her to court to demand her return or some child support, but she fell off the map. One day she was running for her life, the next day she disappeared into thin air as though she never existed.
Grant has a pair of twin boys, 29, that left Manhattan, Kansas for The Big Apple. They went to the real Manhattan and make their living in finance. Ares is married with three kids and Apollo has one on the way. I could have gone after the two of them, but I make it a priority not to hurt children.
I settled for his daughter, a 25-year-old that he has no contact with. According to the sealed police records, she had one hell of a crime spree in her youth. She vandalized buildings, stayed out past curfew, ran with a few gangs, stuck up a gas station, and more. I guess because her daddy was the Chief of Police, he got a lot of those charges dismissed or downgraded so that her name wouldn’t be splashed across the papers.
