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Chapter Twenty
Niko
I standwith my back against the counter, coffee cup in hand, and stare out the window across from me. I feel anxious and twitchy as I look at the house next door. No windows are in my view, and it’s bugging the shit out of me not to know what’s going on over there.
Moving Doe into Aislin’s old place, or rather my new place, was the right thing to do for a couple of reasons. One being the scared look on Doe’s face when she heard me yelling from my nightmare. I hated that fucking look. I hated knowing she wore that look because of me. She’s been through so much, too much, and is already skittish enough. I really don’t want to add to it.
Another reason is because having her here in this house, so close, seems… different than being around her at the hospital. When I initially invited her to stay here, it felt like the right thing to do at the time. While I still believe she’s better off here than on the streets or in an overcrowded homeless shelter, I’m not sure I like the way it makes me feel to have her in my home. She’s still rail thin and many of the marks on her face and arms are still an angry red, not to mention all the old scars, but even through that, she’s beautiful. With each visit to her in the hospital, her hair looked healthier, and I’m sure it was from the regular washing and the nutrients she was now getting. I’ve noticed most of the time she likes to wear it down with some over each shoulder and some hanging down her back. For some reason, it bothers me that she uses her hair to hide her face at times, but I also understand it’s a defense mechanism.
I bring my coffee up and take a swallow then deposit it on the counter because it’s too fucking cold now. I cross my arms over my chest, feeling a slight twinge in my sore wrist but ignoring it. I scowl at the house across the way. Although having Doe in the other house was the right thing to do, I still don’t like having her there. Part of me wants her here, with me, but then that part cringes at knowing she’s in a place that means so much to me.
I’ve warned her away from the only room in the house that still has an old discolored door, but that doesn’t mean she will stay away. What if she goes in Aislin’s room and rifles through her things? I’m too scared to enter the room, and I sure as shit don’t want someone else going in there either. It’s fucking stupid, but I consider that room sacred. That room isn’t mine; it’s still Aislin’s.
I haven’t seen Doe since yesterday evening when I moved her in, and I’m ready to pull my fucking hair out. Why in the hell do I feel this strong need to see her, as if I need to make sure she’s okay? And why in the fuck does my skin crawl with the thought of her being in Aislin’s old house? It’s a goddamn house, for Christ’s sake.
“Fuck,” I snarl to no one then jerk away from the counter. I need to do something besides stand here all damn day and stare at the house and wonder what she’s doing.
I go to my office, sit at my desk, and fire up the computer. I came across a couple of houses a few days ago that I’m interested in buying to flip. Now that I’ve finished Aislin’s house, I need a new one to occupy my time. The houses are local; actually, one is only a couple of blocks over, and that’s the one I’m most interested in. It’s a two story with four bedrooms and two baths, wraparound porch with a detached garage. It’s old—like, really old—and in terrible condition, which makes it cheap. I’m waiting on a reply from the realtor about an appointment to see the inside.
I’m just pulling up my email when I hear a knock on my front door. Getting up, I head straight for the door, wondering if it’s my new neighbor then ignore the feeling that thought gives me.
When I pull open the door, it’s not Doe I find on the other side, but Tavers. He doesn’t greet me or wait for me to welcome him inside; he just walks past me, throwing over his shoulder, “Where’s Doe?”
I close the door then turn to face him. “Next door.” At his questioning look, I explain better. “She’s staying next door. With what she’s been through and the way she’s still so uneasy being around people, I figured it would be good for her to have her own space.” I don’t tell him about the nightmare, and the fear I know she felt at finding me like that.
“That’s good,” he mumbles. It’s only then that I notice the tenseness of his body. Whatever he’s here to say, I’m not going to like it.
“What is it?” I ask, my own body growing stiff.
Instead of answering, he turns his back to me, running his fingers through his hair in agitation. “Goddammit,” he mutters.
“Tavers,” I growl and take a step toward him. “What the fuck is wrong?”
He spins around, his own anger lighting his face, but there’s also something else there. Something that has the blood in my veins turning hot.
“The tip for the cars didn’t pan out,” he grits out. He keeps his eyes on me as he continues. “Every single fucking white Honda Civic in the area around that time has been accounted for, except for one, and that one was reported stolen two months prior to Aislin being taken. It was stolen outside the Detroit area when the owner was visiting her mother. It was never found. With all the others, either there’s no connection to Aislin whatsoever, the owners had alibis, or there was no fucking way they could have pulled off kidnapping her.”
Red. Bright blinding red is all I fucking see as Tavers’ words hit me. Uncontrollable rage has every muscle in my body tensing, ready to lash out and obliterate something. My temples throb, and my jaw fucking hurts from clenching it so hard.
“How in the fuck is that possible?” I ask Tavers, my voice sounding unnatural even to my own ears.
Although Tavers’ eyes carry anger, he looks at me wearily as if he’s unsure what my next move will be.
“I had them all checked three times before I came to you with this,” he answers. “The witness must have made a mistake on the make of the car. We’re bringing him back in for more questioning.”
The words barely leave his mouth before I’m turning away from him with a roar and slamming my fist against the nearest wall. Drywall crumbles to the floor as I drag my fist from the hole I just made. The table beside the front door bashes across the room when my booted foot connects with it. The old coat rack Mom’s had since I was a kid gets snatched up and slung across the room.
“Niko!” I’m reaching for a lamp on the coffee table when Tavers’ voice booms at me. His hand lands on my forearm, forestalling me from grabbing the lamp.
I snatch my arm away from him with a growl. My hands go to the back of the couch, and I drop my head. My breaths come out choppy, and my heart beats an unsteady rhythm. I pull in a deep breath, count to ten, and then let it out, trying to calm the raging fire burning inside me.
“This isn’t over yet, Niko,” Tavers says quietly beside me. “We’ll get this fucker and nail his sick fucking ass to the wall.” He leans over and stresses, “This is not fucking over.”
I ignore his words because no matter how hard we try—no matter where we look, what we do, or who we pull in and question—every goddamn thing that could even remotely be a lead turns up empty. Am I giving up? Fuck, no. I’ll never give up, but the state I’ll be in when we do find the bastard is questionable. The longer it takes, the more the wrath has time to grow. I feel it festering and building strength inside me until it damn near consumes me.
I close my eyes, and an image of Aislin pops in my head. It’s of her when we were kids. She and I are riding our rusted bicycles down the street in our neighborhood. She has her head thrown back, laughing; the expression makes her look like the little girl she was, instead of the more mature version she was forced to be. It wasn’t often that Aislin laughed, but when she did, her whole face lit up and my whole world brightened. I loved listening to her laugh. And what’s fucked up is that even after fifteen years, I swear I still hear it sometimes. I both love and hate the sound now.
The image changes to an older Aislin. This one is of her lifeless and brutalized body on the cold slab of metal in the morgue. My chest feels like a ton of bricks is sitting on it. I will never in my fucking life forget the image of seeing her there like that, wishing with everything I had that she would open her eyes and show me the gorgeous green beneath. But then I think she’s probably better off dead because with the condition she was in, there’s no fucking way she would be the same Aislin. Her body may have survived, but her mind wouldn’t have. That thought hurts so fucking much. Even knowing what she went through and the condition her mind would have been in, I wanted her to survive, but I’m also glad she didn’t.
