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Chapter Fourteen
Niko
I dumpthe dregs of my coffee, rinse the cup, and then put it in the dishwasher before swiping my keys and wallet off the counter and heading out the door. The clouds overhead are dark, promising a thunderstorm later today.
As I’m opening my truck door, my phone rings. Pulling it from my pocket, I briefly look at the name displayed then swipe my finger across the screen to accept the call.
“Hey, Tori,” I greet my sister as I climb in the truck. “What’s up?”
“Thank God I caught you!” Tori pants over the phone. I pause in putting the key in the ignition.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
She blows out a breath that sends crackles to my ear. “Michael. That’s what’s wrong. He’s freaking out because I’m trying to book flights for us to come down for a visit, but he’s not letting me. You remember that plane that went down in Florida a couple of months ago killing all those people?” She doesn’t give me time to answer before she continues. “Well, now he thinks that any plane we’ll be on will go down just like that one did.”
It’s definitely not a laughing matter, but if you knew Tori’s husband, Michael, then you could just picture him running around clutching his hair, muttering to himself and sending Tori a glare when she won’t do what he wants, which amps up his anxiety even more. Michael tends to be… dramatic at times.
“And why are you calling me with this?” I ask, unable to hold back a chuckle. “It’s not like I can do anything about it.”
A feminine growl sounds over the phone. “Because if I don’t talk to someone about it, I’m going to strangle the man, and you were the only one available.”
I prop my elbow on the window frame and drop my other hand to my thigh.
“He just worries about you and the kids. Give the guy a break.”
“Niko, you know how many breaks I’ve given him? Lord loves him and so do I, but he needs to stop with the exaggerated worrying over every single thing that happens. Before this plane crashed, it was the Ebola epidemic in Africa. In Africa, Niko! We’re not even on the same continent, and he wouldn’t let us leave the house without one of those surgical masks things on, just in case it was brought back to the US like in 2014. He’s driving me crazy. I’m going to be bald before I hit thirty-five from pulling out my hair.”
I can’t help it when a laugh slips free but quickly changes to a wince when Tori screeches, “It’s not fucking funny!” Tori can be quite dramatic at times too.
“Okay.” I try to soothe her. “Just calm down, okay? Are the kids around?”
“No,” she huffs out. “Why?”
“I was just wondering if you were screaming and cursing in front of them.”
“I’m about at my wits’ end, so that may be a possibility soon,” she mutters.
I run my fingers through my hair then drop my wrist on the steering wheel. “Look, Tori. I can understand Michael’s worry. Hush and let me finish,” I say when I hear her suck in a breath to bark at me. “I can also see how it gets excessive at times. You need to sit him down and talk to him. He needs to know how much it’s bothering you. He’ll always worry, but maybe if you explain your feelings, he can work on toning it down to a reasonable level.”
I’m ashamed to admit I haven’t been the typical protective brother. From the age of fifteen, I focused primarily on finding Aislin, which left little time to pay attention to my brother and sister. However, I wasn’t totally oblivious to what was going on with them. When Tori started dating Michael seven years ago, I liked him right away. I saw how he looked at my sister, the total adoration in his eyes. Michael may worry a lot, but he does it because he loves my sister and their kids more than anything. He’d do anything for them and protect them with his own life.
Tori sighs over the line. “I hear you. He just aggravates me to no end sometimes.”
“He loves you and only wants to keep you safe,” I tell her simply.
“I know. Thank you, Niko.”
“Now go talk to Michael and make him let you buy those tickets. I want to see you and my niece and meet my nephew.”
I drop the phone on the passenger’s seat once we hang up then start my truck. Thoughts of Tori’s problem leave my mind when I think about where I’m going. It’s something I need to do, something I feel compelled to do, even if it’s something I shouldn’t do. I fought with myself for all of twenty minutes this morning on whether I should visit again or just leave the woman be. Betsy barked at me when I held her food bowl instead of putting it on the floor. When I looked down at her, I swear the dog was telling me with her eyes to go. Sounds stupid, and it probably is, but fuck if I’m going to ignore my dog if she’s telling me I should do something. Aren’t dogs supposed to have supernatural abilities to see shit people can’t?
This’ll be my second visit to Jane Doe. The first time, I was lucky I wasn’t caught. This time, I know I’m pushing it. Even knowing Captain would have my hide, it still doesn’t stop me from pointing my truck in the direction of the hospital. Something’s pulling me there, demanding I go back to see her, and it’s not just that she’s the likely culprit who has been breaking into my house. It’s more than that. It was her god-awful sounds of panicking when I first walked in the room. It was the dead look in her eyes when I was questioning her. The scars on her arms, legs, and face. It was the emotionless way she spoke to me. I want to know what happened to her and see if I can help. She’s obviously been through a terrible ordeal, no matter the circumstances behind it. So many answers are surrounding her case that it’s brought on my curiosity.
I also want to make sure Mr. Stewart doesn’t show up again. He seemed adamant that she was his niece, but she looked nothing like the picture he showed us. Maybe the eyes, but that’s as far as any resemblance goes.
My eyes land on a sign on the side of the road, and before I realize it, I’m whipping the wheel to the right. I pull into the busy parking lot of a store and find a place to park. I have no idea what in the hell I’m doing, but I get out of the truck, lock it, and walk inside anyway. I stop just inside the doors, looking left then right before heading toward the women’s clothing section. I walk past the bras and panties and head to the nightgowns. I know from experience how rough hospital gowns are, so maybe if I make her more comfortable, it’ll be easier to get something useful out of her.
I walk around, looking at all the different nightgowns. Why in the fuck do women need this many things to wear to bed? Why can’t there just be four or five options instead of the fifty I’ve looked at already. How in the fuck am I supposed to know what she would like to wear?
