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“You think she knows where he is? Her half-brother?” Jimmy asks quietly, and I shake my head once more. Of course, he hadn't been watching Heather and me. I'd made him wait by the car so I could catch her alone. “Did she remind you of something, Boss?”
I tried to avoid answering his question. “I told Heather I wanted her to do jobs. "I never said exactly what," I mumble as a recent memory passes behind my eyelids when I blink. How much time had passed? One hour? Jimmy raises an inquisitive brow. "But the first thing she said was, 'You want me to kill people?' and I have to admit... it caught me off guard. Why would that be the first thing that comes to mind?”
“She reminded you of Madeline, didn’t she?" Jimmy inquires, and I curtly nod. I turn to look out the window and notice the streetlamps illuminating pools on the sidewalk. I let the silence stretch as I gather my thoughts before speaking.
“Even if she doesn’t know where Frankie is now,” I start, tearing my eyes away to look at Jimmy who listens intently, his concentration knitting his brows and jutting out his chin. “Heather must’ve known, deep in her gut, that Frankie’s someone to stay away from. We know from the court records that his mother abandoned him once it came out that her husband had an affair child.”
“Frankie was a narcissistic, power-hungry asshole even as a toddler?" Jimmy asks, perplexed, and I roll my eyes with a grimace. “What? Come on, Jack — you know I suck at this stuff.”
“They had no relationship until Heather’s mother died,” I say. I like that Jimmy has a rock where his brain should be; it makes it easy to bounce theories off him. “He killed my sister because she was about to end her relationship with him for using her to get in with me. Strangling and stabbing someone to death is not something you do on the spur of the moment. Frankie undoubtedly gave off 'serial-killer vibes,' which manifest in childhood”
“That’s true, I guess. It’s not like shooting someone, even accidentally.” Jimmy replies gravely.
“I suppose,” I wave my hand. “We only know so much, and the rest is pure speculation. The debt is merely an entry point. I don't care about the money or making it equal. I just want Frankie, and Heather will find him for me. I just need to figure out how to get her to do it on her own.” As I say this, a different thought came to me.Heather knows she’s better off without Frankie. What if she doesn’t contact him even if she knows where he is?She knows nothing good will come of it.
Even if she doesn’t contact him, we’ll find a way to get him to hear that she’s working for me. He’ll show up eventually. “She will help us find him, she will.”
“And how does all of this connect back to Frankie murdering Madeline four years ago?” I grind my teeth; that’s another one of Jimmy’s qualities. He asks way too many questions. But that's a good thing because he wants to understand rather than hide his confusion like others do to save face.
“Frankie killed Madeline because she found out he was using her to get on my good side,” I reply with a nod, but I’m not surprised. Jimmy’s all skull and snot up there. “If we’re going to find Frankie, Heather’s our best shot. Whether she’s complicit or not.”
And I'll have some fun with her along the way. Excitement blooms in my chest at the thought, driving away the last vestiges of my nightmare. Ignoring the logistical enigma of Heather Lewis, I close my eyes to remember the view of her tits when I’d hung over her shoulder — the warmth of her abdomen in my palm and the feel of her ass against my cock.
Oh, yeah. She and I are gonna have a lot of fun together.
CHAPTERFIVE
Heather
“Ugh... I hope this works,” I cast a doubtful glance at the concoction I'd found a recipe for on the internet. My resolve is strengthened by the headache that threatens to push my eyeballs out of their sockets, and I raise the glass to my mouth. I shudder and shake my head viciously as I drain the content in one gulp, covering my mouth to avoid gagging.
“Oh, God, that’s awful.”
I jerk my head back and gulp a few times to settle my stomach. I set the glass on the counter while holding my breath and opened my eyes. Damn, that was disgusting! I sniffle and tug at my blouse, rubbing my arms free of the goosebumps that have covered my skin. I wipe my eyes and mouth with a tissue from a nearby box.
I take deep, calming breaths while gripping the edge of the counter. When my headache immediately begins to fade, my system is shocked. I grimace as I lick my lips heavily and check my watch.
“I’ll have to do my makeup in the car at school,” dismay thickens my voice as I straighten, throwing my shoulders back.
I grab my keys from my purse as I walk towards the stairs. My stomach churns, but there's nothing I can do about it right now. At the very least, the hangover cure was somewhat effective. And fast. I have to bookmark that thing.
As I climb the stairs, my cheeks burn and memories flood my jumbled mind. A concerned woman shaking my shoulder as I awoke in front of my father's grave, covered in wine that'd spilled out overnight. My skin crawls as I recall the sticky sensation I had to wash away in the shower.
I'm glad the groundskeeper arrived so early, or I'd be in big trouble. I walk out of my house and walk to the curb, my hand rubbing through my damp hair. I grimace as I climb into the driver's seat and look out the passenger window. I need my bed.
I buckle up and pull off the curb. The trees along the sidewalk sway in the breeze, their leaves still uncolored. As I drive to school, I absentmindedly caress the steering wheel and gnaw my bottom lip.
The trip is a quick scoot down the highway, and I exit feeling much better than when I started. That crap hangover cure actually works! I drive through the quiet, upscale neighborhood — my school rises above the two and three-story houses that line the streets, and I use my blinker to turn down the long drive.
I just hope I don't get called out for looking like a slob, I mutter, an embarrassed flush running down my cheeks. I'm such a moron, getting drunk and walking all the way to my father's grave to yell at him. He's gone, and he can't hear me. And even if he were still alive, he'd probably ignore me. As I pull into my assigned parking spot, I turn off my car and pull my hair into a high bun to begin applying makeup. My life no longer revolves around my dad. He's dead; he doesn't exist.
My mind is churning with ideas, and I find myself wishing I knew what that bastard was up to before he died. What did he do to enrage the Irish Mafia? As I apply a light layer of concealer under my eyes, a sigh forms in my chest. When Frankie went missing, I assumed he'd ended up in a drug den. It's no secret that my half-brother enjoys the white stuff. It's not like he and our dad got along, but perhaps Frankie knew something I didn't.
My thoughts are interrupted by a sharp ping, and I reach for my phone. There's a text, and my heart leaps into my chest.
Answer me:Meet me at this address tonight at 6pm
“Answer me?” I mutter, a sour taste spreading across my tongue. “It must be Jack.”
