Return to Me (Breaking Free Book 2) Page 17

  I try to read, but as it grows darker and darker outside, my thoughts get too frayed to concentrate. I almost want to pack it up and leave right now, but that would be nuts. Changing my plans to accommodate an errant fear is crazy. No one even knows I’m here. Nothing is going to happen.

  In the past when I got like this I would have a drink or six, maybe a pill, sometimes both. That’s not an option anymore. I simply have to deal with it.

  Just like last night, Gabe calls shortly after he gets his daughter settled in for bed. The baritone of his voice is deeply soothing, even against the backdrop of Charity’s incessant scraaaatching. He tells me about his day. I tell him about mine.

  “Are you gonna come see me tomorrow after work?” I ask.

  “I would love to come see you.”

  Letting that word taken out of context wash over me, I graze my nails over that tender spot on my neck. Love. I’m full to the brim with it. I’m bursting. Maybe I really am crazy, but I’m sane enough to keep that thought to myself for the time being.

  The next morning we leave bright and early. I take along a few things from my Nashville residence that I plan to put to good use in the very near future. I’m eager to get back to my home, and so is Charity. She wants me to drop her off at home. When I ask if she’s sure, she is very sure. When I ask if she wants me to walk in with her, she shrugs. I should at least go make sure everything was sorted out properly the way I had arranged.

  I haven’t walked inside that place for seven years, and creeping past that familiar front door is surreal. There is no hospital bed or medical equipment remaining. It’s all clean, tidy, not at all unlike the way my mother always kept things.

  It is all eerily the same. She didn’t like change, and she didn’t believe in being wasteful. It’s the same lumpy, floral living room set, the same haunting and almost gory crucifix on the wall. There is new wallpaper in the dining room. New curtains and decorative fixtures in the kitchen, a country hearts motif. When I check the fridge, I find it practically bare. The cleaners must’ve taken care of that as well.

  “We need to go get you some groceries, Charity.”

  “I want to go to the garage.”

  She doesn’t need to work at the garage. My sister has more money than she knows what to do with, thanks to me, but also thanks to the fact that she never spends what she makes. Maybe I’ll have to hire someone to clean for her, do laundry and such. My mother usually took care of all that. “Leave the backdoor unlocked. I’ll run out and get some food to get you by. How does that sound?”

  Maybe I’ll have someone come around to replace the windows, put new locks in too. Could she do with a security system? Maybe this is me being paranoid. I might have some crazy fans, but no one even knows who Charity is. Perhaps I’ll call Faith later and have her weigh in on things.

  I run back out to my car to retrieve a few items I brought back from Nashville. The wig I wore sometimes when I wanted to go out around town without being pestered. It’s jet black, a short bob with blunt bangs. Coupled with thick, cat-eye glasses and dark lipstick, I am almost unrecognizable. Add in the extra roundness of my face from the weight I have yet to lose, and I don’t think I’ll have any problem with being noticed.

  While I am changing my appearance, so is Charity. She returns in jeans decorated by dark smudges of oil, and a powder blue work shirt with her name on a patch over her left breast.

  Maybe it’s good for her to get back to her normal routine. The garage during the days, romping around the woods in the afternoon. I offer to drop her off on my way into town, figuring our father can drop her back in a few hours, but she wants to drive.

  She has an old Mustang convertible that she restored from a rusted heap of metal. Charity may not give a shit if her clothes are stained, worn thin, or have holes. She might forget to run a brush through her hair some days, but that car is gleaming, shiny. It’s kept cleaned, waxed, and in perfect running order.

  Charity pulls out behind me. At the end of the street we go in seperate directions. I travel to the nearest all-in-one supercenter. It’s not too busy this time of day, and disguised as I am I glide through the isles invisible. This wig is sort of itchy, and the glasses are an unwelcome weight on the bridge of my nose, but it’s a small price to pay for anonymity.

  I’m not sure what to buy for Charity. She has such peculiar yet simple tastes, so I get a variety of things I’ve seen her eat at one time or another. I make it all the way up near the register when I remember one more item I’d like to purchase. A regular coffee maker, and regular coffee, for Gabe.

  I make a u-turn with my cart, and nearly crash into someone else’s cart following close behind. “Sorry. I didn’t see you there.”

  The man in a dark blue jumpsuit doesn’t say a word. His outfit sort of looks like the coveralls my dad wears at the garage from time to time, but different, clean of any stains. He gives me a peculiar look, one I must be returning. I know him from somewhere, don’t I?

  He’s the asshole from the gas station, the one I didn’t remember. I still don’t remember him. He’s remarkably plain. I don’t mean that in a condescending way, but he has no distinguishing features that stand out. If there was ever someone from my past I might forget, it’s this guy.

  “Sorry,” I mutter again, careful to lower my voice. So far I haven’t been recognized, and I’d like to keep it that way.

  He still doesn’t respond, and I continue on past him. I feel a light breeze on the back of my neck as he reaches over to fip up the artificial locks at the back of my wig.

  I turn my head to glare at him. “Get the fuck off me.”

  He smirks and walks away in the opposite direction, pushing his cart at a lazy pace. Whoever he is, he saw right through my disguise, I think. Maybe he’s just an all around creep. I grip the handle of my cart with white knuckles and speed towards the front of the store. I just want to drop this stuff off for Charity and get to the safety of home.

  Chapter 22

  Gabe

  It’s a bit past noon when my cell buzzes. I answer. “Hey, what’s up?”

  “I know you’re at work... I know you’re probably busy... but I might need your help.”

  “Trin, what’s wrong?”

  Shane gives me a look from the next seat over at hearing that name.

  “Brent told me not to call the police, and I’m not calling the police. I’m calling you. Does that make sense?” She sounds frantic, and her words are echoing, bouncing off each other.

  “Where are you?”

  “I’m in the shower. He said to sit tight, Brent, but he won’t be here for hours. He’s flying, but it’s going to take hours, and someone might be in here right now. I don’t know. I can’t believe someone got in here. How did someone get in here?”

  “Are you at home?”

  “You can’t tell anyone you’re coming here. Promise me.”

  “Trin-”

  “Promise me. I don’t need this getting out. Brent said-”

  “I’m on my way. I’ll be there in five minutes, and I’m going to stay on the line, okay?” I cover the receiver, tell Shane where we’re headed, and why. He calls it in, and I don’t stop him. Maybe Trin’s dickwad manager doesn’t want her to notify the authorities for some reason, but I really don’t give a shit what he wants. There’s no way I’m going to wander into a house, especially one as large and full of hiding spots as Trin’s, without backup. “We’re almost there, Trin. We’ll be there in just a minute. What makes you think someone’s in the house?”

  “It’s another creepy letter, and flowers, just like last time. On my bed. How could someone get in without setting off the alarm? I understand how they got on the bus. That was my fault. I didn’t lock the door, but there is no way they got in here. It’s not possible.”

  Trin is talking in whispered circles, not making a whole helluva a lot of sense, but I let her keep talking. I don’t interrupt her until we pull up to the gate. She’s locked herself in her bathroom, pre
sumably safe, and I’d prefer she stay there until we can get inside. “What’s the code out here.”

  She makes a sound that is part sob, part laugh. I hear her swallow. “It’s your old cell number.”

  “Mine?”

  “I made it something I would never forget.”

  If I wasn’t so on edge, I might pause to consider this, but right now my focus is on getting inside and making sure she’s safe. “You’re gonna have to refresh my memory. I haven’t had that phone for years.”

  She rattles off the number, and I parrott it off to Shane.

  “Is someone with you? Gabe, I’m not supposed to-”

  “It’s just officer O’Sullivan, remember him? We’re about to come in now. If you hear something, it’s just us.”

  I punch in the code at the door, MISTY, and we both proceed inside with weapons drawn. Shane leaves the door hanging open. Backup will be here in a few minutes time. Protocol for a home invasion is no sirens so they might already be on their way up the mountain.

  Typically we would clear the downstairs first, but I already know where Trin is, so I make a motion towards the stairs.

  The house is silent. There are too many damn angles in this place, so many doors. At the top of the staircase, I motion to the right, and Shane covers my back. I fling open Trin’s bedroom door, lead with my weapon out in front. Her robe is dangling off one bedpost. The unmade bed is covered in dried petals, and a bouquet of dark roses tied with a white ribbon lays in the center. There’s also a single sheet of white paper laying on the floor face down.

  Well, someone’s been here.

  “Gabe, is that you?” she asks from beyond the closed door.

  “Stay right where you’re at for a sec, Trin.”

  We sweep the room, under the bed, behind a decorative folding screen, then the huge closet. It’s all clear, in here at least. There’s some noise from downstairs, several sets of footsteps. It must be that second squad.

  I try the bathroom door, but it’s locked. “It’s me, Trin. You can unlock the door now.”

  I reholster my weapon at the metallic click of the lock disengaging, but Shane still has his ready. When Trin swings the door open, she’s pale, with ruined makeup and a crooked, black wig fixed on her head. She flings herself at me, and trembles in my arms. “Did you read the creepy ass letter? That’s some Hannibal Lecter level shit, and they were in my room. How the hell did they get in here?”

  “That’s what we’re going to find out.” From my vantage, I can make out the rest of the bathroom beyond her shoulder. “Have them clear downstairs,” I say to Shane behind me.

  “Gabe, you weren’t supposed to tell anyone,” Trin says. “I can’t have this getting out.”

  “Let them check the house, and make sure it’s safe, then we can worry about that later.” I walk her backwards a few steps and nudge the bathroom door shut behind us with my foot to make sure some possible assailant doesn’t catch me unaware. “You’re going to be okay, Trin.”

  She nods up at me.

  “Did you see anyone?”

  She shakes her head.

  Up until this point I’ve remained detached, focused, because I needed to be, but the true gravity of the situation hits me. I kiss her forehead, her cheeks, her lips. I hug her against me tight, maybe too tight, but she doesn’t complain. She nuzzles her face against the side of my neck, and lets out a quiet sob. “I’m supposed to be safe here.”

  “You are safe, Trin. I’ve got you.”

  I hold her like that for a long time, until her breath steadies, then I pull her back by the shoulders, kiss her again and again.

  I don’t know what the hell has gotten into me. This is an active crime scene with a possible suspect still on premises. I tear my mouth off hers, and tell myself to pull it together.

  “We’re going to stay in here until they give the all clear,” I say. “You and me.”

  She nods up at me with half-lidded, smudgy eyes. “You and me.”

  “What’s up with this?” I ask, pulling the wig off her head. Her blonde hair tumbles down her back and around her shoulders.

  “I was incognito.” Her thumb traces up along my jaw, and her eyes follow the line she’s drawing. “I went shopping. I got a coffee maker. For when you come over. For you.”

  “You didn’t have to do that.”

  “I wanted to. I wanted… you.” Trin pauses to swallow. “I love you.”

  “I love you too.” The words tumble out with no precognition whatsoever, like a reflex.

  Trin is in a highly emotional state, possibly in shock, definitely not thinking clearly. Who knows if she actually meant those words, but I did. I knew the second they were out of my mouth that they were true.

  One of her hands slides behind my neck, pulls my mouth back down to hers.

  There are footsteps outside and I break my lips off hers. After a short, quick knock, the door opens and bounces against my back. “All clear,” Shane says. “You wanna escort her downstairs, and we can make a report. Forensics will be around shortly.”

  For some small time, petty crime like at the place in Misty Flats, we take care of all that, but Shane was right to call in the specialists. If someone managed to get past her elaborate security system, we’re not dealing with an amateur, and we need to find concrete evidence.

  I begin to lead Trin out with a hand on her elbow, when Shane blocks my path and throws me a huge, wide-eyed smile. “Rookie, you may wanna…” He makes a motion across his mouth, which I fail to grasp the meaning of for a second.

  “Shit. Come here,” Trin says. She pulls me back in the bathroom, and grabs for a small wipe in a popup container on her vanity cluttered with cosmetics and other crap.

  Shane is grinning like an idiot from the doorway as she wipes away the smeared lipstick from the corner of my mouth. Trin folds over the rectangle of damp cloth and uses it to do the same around her open lips while looking in the mirror. She folds it over one more time and swipes away some of the ruined makeup under her eyes.

  “We need to call this whole thing off,” Trin says to both of us. “I wasn’t supposed to call the police.”

  Shane and I look at each other. “Trin, don’t you want to find out who left that letter?”

  “Sure. I would love to, but we never found out who did it last time. I don’t need those news vans outside again, and then there’s the copy cat stalkers to think about.”

  “Ms Sinclair, we’re going to-”

  “Please don’t call me that.” Trin scrunches up her nose. “Ms Sinclair was my mother.”

  “Trin, no one is going to go to the media. That’s not how we do business around here,” Shane says.

  “I understand, but I know how this kind of thing works. Someone goes home, tells their wife or husband or their buddy next door, then they tell someone else.” She waves her hand through the air. “What’s done is done. I would like to find out how the hell they got in here though. I had this place built from the ground up so no one could get in.”

  With both of us put back together, I lead Trin downstairs, sit her down and have her tell us exactly what happened.

  What happened was, she returned from her trip, and after running a few errands for her sister, went upstairs to take a shower where she came across the flowers and letter. Unsure if whomever left them was still there, she locked herself in the bathroom and called for help.

  She called Brent first, and me second. That bothers me more than I care to admit. What the hell is that dickwad going to do from hundreds of miles away? It bothers me even more that his first response was for her to hide in the damn bathroom for hours until he arrived.

  “I got a letter just like this when I was on the road. Same dead flowers too, and they left it on my bed that time as well. On my tour bus, but there were people all over. I don’t know how they did it without someone seeing.”

  “Did you notify the authorities?” Shane asks.

  Trin shakes her head.

  “Where w
ere you at?”

  “I don’t even remember now. It was a while back. Atlanta? No, it was after Atlanta. Brent will know. When he gets here, he’ll be able to tell you.”

  Trin leads us over towards the front door. There’s a large, decorative mirror hanging above a table topped with candles. After a bit of fumbling, she presses something and the mirror swings back to reveal a recessed touch screen.

  “There are cameras all over outside,” she explains. “It only keeps the video for twenty four hours I think, but it tells you when every door and window in this place has been opened.” She pauses to put another code in, then a splash screen for the security company blinks brightly. After a few swipes of her finger, a crude outline of her home appears, and she taps a few more places. “Before I came in today, no one has been here since I left Friday afternoon.”

  “I’m not sure if the bank in town has a setup like this,” Shane says. “But if they got in here, we’ll figure out how.”

  “Go back,” I say. “To the blueprint of the house.”

  She taps the arrow on the upper lefthand corner, and the diagram blinks back on screen. There are a few points of entry on display, most of them near the front of the house, one leading into the garage.

  “What about the doors that lead out from the kitchen onto the deck?”

  Trin sighs quietly. “I had that added on later, but that’s a straight drop. No one could get up there. That deck hangs right over the side of the mountain, and there’s no steps.” She blinks up at me, and shakes her head. “There’s no cameras back there either. I didn’t think… I should’ve thought about that.”

  We walk to the kitchen. I should have Trin wait up front, maybe outside in one of the cruisers so as not to contaminate the crime scene, but I don’t want to leave her alone right now. I remind her not to touch anything, and I ask Shane to go grab me some gloves. Any other time he might tell me - Get them yourself, Rookie, but not this time. When he returns, I slide them on, and carefully test the door. “Did you leave this unlocked?” I ask.