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“It’s okay,” I assure her.
“I usually don’t have a mother taken hostage in her own home.”
“I truly am sorry,” I say to my neighbor once again.
“I told you to stop that.” She grasps my hand, squeezes it, and then pats it. “Howard wants me to stay with him and his family for a couple of weeks. I’m doing it to make him happy, but I’ll be back, you hear me? And I want our little Gabriel here when I am.”
I nod, feeling my throat close. I shouldn’t make her promises I may not be able to keep, but if I don’t believe it myself, then I’ll never be able to convince anyone else. And if I can’t do that, I’m not sure my department will work as hard.
Being as he’s Drago’s son, he already has a dark mark on him that shouldn’t be there. It shouldn’t matter the DNA one possesses or the last name they bear no more than the color of one’s skin or the religion a person follows. A person’s life is valuable no matter what.
“I think it’s a great idea, actually. Being with your family will do you some good. Don’t you have grandbabies you haven’t seen in a while?”
“I do. And I am looking forward to spending time with my little ones.”
I lean in, pulling her in for a quick hug. She wraps both of her arms around me, squeezing as hard as she can. For an older woman, she certainly has great strength within her—mentally and physically.
Stepping back, I nod to her son, who doesn’t return the gesture.
“Have a good time,” I tell her. Then I step around and unlock my door, going inside.
After chucking my purse onto the couch, I walk into the kitchen reach up over my stove and open the cabinet. I pause, looking up at the whiskey bottle sitting there, and I wonder how long it would take to lose myself in the alcohol and forget everything that has transpired in the last six days.
Fuck it, I tell myself as I push up on my tippy toes, grabbing the bottle.
It’s the expensive bottle Alana gave me for my birthday months ago that I’ve only ever drunk a few sips from. But if I’m going to get myself drunk, might as well do it on the good stuff.
Pulling the corked cap off, there’s a hard knock on my door, making me jump. I sigh, eyeing the bottle.
Who the hell could that be?
I set the cap on the counter next to the whiskey, and then turn, walking back out of the kitchen and to the door. Not caring to look through the peephole, I twist the handle and yank, pulling the door open.
“What do you want?” I ask Eric.
“You hung up on me.”
“Yeah. So?”
I turn, giving my back to him and leave him standing there. He can come in, or he can fuck off. I really don’t care. I walk back into my kitchen to finish my task.
The sound of the door closing confirms he came in, but I don’t face him or even acknowledge his presence. He pissed me off. He doesn’t deserve my attention.
My case has nothing to do with that kid Diaz took from you. That’s PD. It’s on them to find that boy.He said.
Yep. Still pissed off over that comment.
“I don’t like being hung up on.”
I look over my shoulder, seeing him through the opening over the kitchen sink, and for good measure, I shrug my shoulders, then turn back around to face the whiskey. Suddenly, it doesn’t look so appealing. I can’t focus all my energy on locating Diaz if I’m getting drunk.
“Now that’s the way to apologize. I’ll take two fingers since I have to drive home.”
I cork the bottle and then push it to the back of the counter. Without replying, I push past him, walking out of the kitchen.
“What the hell?” he calls after me.
What the hell?
