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Huh, I was sure there was at least one pervert under this roof that would want these smelly things. Good to know my stuff is safe.
As I start to scurry back to my room, the soft sound of discontentment reaches my ears.
“—listen to me. Don’t worry about the money. Worry about making that damn appointment.”
I freeze as Trip hisses softly to someone.
“No, you’re not hearing me. I’ll go meet your first client and then head over to Garry’s. If I’m a little late, the fucker can kiss my ass. I’ll make sure the job is done on the ranch so he can’t say shit to you. Will is going to the Jefferies’ to finish the deck. Everything will be covered while you’re busy.”
I definitely don’t need to be involved in whateverthisis. Grimacing, I tiptoe toward the bedroom door, hoping not to be noticed.
“Dad, we’ve been over this a thousand times. If you miss another appointment, it could be a while until we can get another one and you don’t—”
I slip into the room and gently shut the door behind me. When I can breathe easy, I crouch down to rummage through my purse for my phone and charger. Pulling out my phone, I find a sticky note with: “keep it charged at all times” scribbled on it, stuck to the screen.
I roll my eyes and attempt to turn it on, not expecting anything to happen. But something does happen. The screen lights up as it powers on. In the upper right hand corner, my phone sits fully charged. Someone charged it? I frown. That’s so weird. Were they trying to break into my phone to see if they could uncover anything in here? They wouldn’t have found anything.
The only thing that ties me to Joey’s murder are the stains on my soul.
Pushing aside those dark thoughts, I order a car to pick me up. I debate putting back on my dirty clothes. After all that sweating last night, and judging by the smell radiating from them, I’ll probably end up puking. I glance toward the closet but immediately reject the idea. There’s no way in hell that I’ll be walking out of here in Jason’s clothes. Eventually, I opt for throwing the leggings and shirt on, forgoing any undergarments.
When my ride alerts me that they’re here, I make a break for the front door, padding on bare feet toward it. I grab my shoes next to it and reach for the door handle.
“I could’ve just given you a ride home.”
I jump in surprise before turning around to face Trip. Dressed in a t-shirt, jeans, and work boots, Trip looks like he’s about to head off to a job site. I’m not surprised given the conversation I overheard a few minutes ago, but I wonder what he does. Instantly, I scold myself. Who cares what he does for a living? Not me, that’s for damn sure. I don’t want to knowanythingabout him. It’s dangerous enough that he’s my type, what with all those tattoos and that shitty attitude. If I learn anything about him, I might find something I like and thenthatwill get me into serious shit. I don’t need a reason to care about this bastard. Especially not after last night. Humiliation wells up as I glare at him.
“I’d rather risk my driver being a serial killer than deal with you again.” With that I turn, open the door, and walk out.
The sound of the front door shutting is followed by the soft stomps of booted feet.
I glance at the stairs. Can I make it down all four flights without regretting the decision? A step in that direction immediately gives me my answer. Wincing, I turn and head toward the elevator where Trip is waiting.
“Didn’t want the exercise?” he asks conversationally.
I don’t reply. Seething silently, I wait as the elevator arrives. When it does, we both step in. It takes everything in me not hiss in pain. It seems the more I move around, the more I irritate my core.
Oh please let there be enough hot water in my building for me to draw a bath.
When we make it down to the first floor and the elevator doors open, Trip steps out first. By the time I’m reaching for the glass door to exit the building, Trip is out of sight. With a sigh of relief, I head toward the waiting car.
* * *
By two o’clock that afternoon,I’m feeling better. Not by a ton, butbetter,which is a start. The aching has lessened, my mood has improved, and my future is looking a tiny bit brighter.
Using what Brenda had suggested the night before, and powered by anger, I dive into researching Grant, Jason, and Trip. I’m going to find something, and I’m going to make sure to hit where it hurts. The first on my list is Trip Baniker.
He’s twenty-five, an only child, and he and his father run a successful carpentry business called Baniker Carpentry, Inc. The reviews on the company are fantastic. Most declare that the father-son duo are the best in the area. The extra touches and the willingness to go above and beyond stand out as praises in the long, well-written reviews. Trip’s dad, Carlos, started the company thirty-seven years ago all by himself. Now they have a handful of employees, but mostly the jobs are done by either Carlos or Trip.
Finding nothing useful to persecute Trip, I move on to my next tormentor.
Jason Nani… There’s hardly anything about the soon-to-be veterinarian. There are several articles about the top academic students published by the school paper with his name on them, but that’s about it. So, I go straight to social media next. It takes me a while to reactivate my old accounts, but once I do, I comb through the different Jasons in the area until I find him. To my surprise, his profile centers around his family. He and his parents moved here from the island of Kauai nineteen years ago. He must have been a toddler when they moved since he’s only twenty-three. Judging by the thousands of pictures of Jason and his parents, they either work or live on a ranch.
My eyes skim over the dates and short descriptions under the pictures. It looks like they’re veterinarians. Huh, is his goal to be just like them? If Jason’s pictures aren’t of his parents, they’re of him at school. He’s the typical student. There are pictures of him at a few parties, some in group pictures in a dorm setting, and of course, there are some of him, Grant, and Trip together.
I stare at the latest picture of them, uploaded only a few days ago. They’re under the bleachers somewhere. Is that Groveton’s football field or someone else’s? I haven’t been to a game before. While football is more important than breathing to most people that live in Texas, to me, football is just about as interesting as doing taxes. Now I definitely have a reason never to visit the stadium. I don’t want Grant thinking I’m interested in anything about him.
Grant Gipson.
