Page 60 of Forged By Shadows

“Hi sweetheart. I expected you home hours ago- Oh, Avery! It’s so lovely to see you,” Keren sees me and shoots up from her chair. There’s an awkward pause where she morphs between an over joyous smile and then tries to reign herself in, shakily holding up her hand. I knock it aside and drag her in for a tight squeeze. There’s no need for polite pleasantries at this point. This woman knows more about me than anyone else on the planet.

“Nice to see you too, Keren. I’m loving the vibe going on here.” I wave a hand over her outfit and the table. “Is there space for two more to join in?”

“And wine for two more to enjoy,” Meg hastily adds, heading for the kitchen. “We’re going to need a shit load of wine tonight!” Keren’s brow twitches and mouth opens, most likely to chastise Meg’s language, but a huge grin breaks out instead.

“There’s a few bottles in the refrigerator!” she calls out. “Get yourself comfortable, Avery. I want to hear all about that new school of yours.” Picking my bag up from where I dropped it, I turn away as Keren’s hand touches my arm. “As your friend, not your therapist,” she feels the need to add. I smile warmly, jumping over this blurred line with both feet.

“Of course,” I agree, seeking out Meg’s room. I find it easily, marveling that I’ve never been to Meg’s apartment before. She’s always insisted on coming to the manor, and being a hermit, I’ve never thought to insist otherwise. Slipping into the room, I opt to leave the light off as I approach the window overlooking the street. The white Bentley sticks out sorely against the night. Inside, Wyatt has reclined the driver’s seat, his arms underneath his head. Through the shadows, I trick myself into thinking he’s staring directly at me. My heart skips a beat as I jerk backwards.

“Make mine a double measure!” I shout to Meg, placing a hand on my chest. Whatever it takes to get my mind off stalkers, shadows and watchful eyes.

Chapter Forty One

Two figures stumble out of the main doorway, hissing at the brightness like a set of vampires. I lean against the car, wondering how I’m the one who had the most uncomfortable night’s sleep, but they look like zombie versions of the girls who entered the building last night. Holding a hand over their darkly-rimmed eyes, they almost crash into me whilst hunting for the rear handle.

“Heavy night?” I raise a brow. Meg grumbles something incoherent, while Avery blurts out one word.

“Coffee.” I roll my eyes. Waiting for the pair of them to be seated, I slam the door as hard as I can. Their cries from inside bring a smile to my lips. Silver linings, and all that. Despite my plan to get to the manor early, I do detour for drive thru coffee like the hospitable escort I am. Nursing their takeaway cups, I slide a glance to the rearview mirror.

“Happy now?” I sigh. Daggers are glared back at me from the backseat.

“Fucking asshole,” Meg seethes. Avery tilts her head in agreement.

“We know you can’t be nice to save your life, but you didn’t have to keep braking so sharply every ten seconds,” she scowls. To prove a point, I slam my foot on the brake and the car jumps to a hastily stop. The girls cry out and curse, bringing a slither of joy to my cold, dead heart.

“Thought I saw a cat,” I grunt, making a show of peering over the dashboard. Finding some Xanax in the car door, I toss it into the back, ensuring that by the time we eventually reach the manor, my passengers are semi-personable. Ditching the car a street over, we walk to the gates, which are oddly slightly parted. We enter, walking up the driveway to the house I once thought of as home. I hate being here. I hate the feeling of time lost, of memories faded.

On approach, there is nothing out of place to be seen. No scaffolding, no sign of any restorations taking place. Avery strolls for the front door until I make a sound in the back of my throat. Jerking my head to the side, we amble around the outside of the manor first. My gut tells me something isn’t right, starting with the open gates.

Everything seems normal; the sliding doors are locked, the pool is covered over for the winter. There are no lights on, no one anywhere to be seen. Until we get to the rear, I’m starting to believe there’s no reason Avery couldn’t return here after all. Fantastic news for me, I think, but then I see it. The window to my father’s study is covered with wooden slats, remnants of glass still littering the trampled bushes underneath.

“What the hell?” Avery takes a step back. My hand flashes out before I can stop myself, spying a shard of glass just behind her heel. As soon as she’s stable, I retract it and then push past, shoulder barging her for good measure. I wouldn’t want her to get the wrong impression.

I lead the pair to the kitchen door, finding it also locked. Avery shoves me aside as payback, and reveals a lockbox between the shrubs. She knows the code to release the key, and once inside, she attends to the alarm. I push my hands in my pockets, leaning against the counter with nonchalance. Maybe then she won’t realize I wouldn’t have known what any of the codes were. It won’t be my birthday and I sure as shit refuse to acknowledge hers.

From the inside, my father’s study looks like a bomb has exploded. A weapon has smashed through his desk, cleaving it in half. The drawers are strewn across the floor, papers and files upended across every inch. His sideboard is in similar condition, although the bottles of drinks have been left untouched.

“What do you think happened in here?” Avery holds a hand over her chest. Meg doesn’t spare her much of a glance, her face grave as she assesses the mess.

“Seems like someone was looking for something. The real question is, did they find it?”

“Not likely,” Avery scrunches up her nose. “Nixon only kept work files in here. Anything of personal importance is in the safe.” I still, on the verge of stepping into the study. Keeping my face impassive, I half-turn my head to acknowledge the outline of her face.

“We need to check if the safe is intact.” My words are crisp and sharp, hopefully not revealing that I have no idea where this fucking safe is. The girls both lead the way, allowing me to fall behind and keep watch. Meg’s reassured swagger is a visual reminder that she knows my own home better than I do. Up the stairs and along the passage, we enter a nondescript room containing a random assortment of furniture and artwork, all covered with dust sheets. At my curious gaze, Avery rolls her eyes.

“We call it the auction graveyard. Mom often came home with random pieces she couldn’t resist bidding on, although many are from charity events. There’s the odd memorabilia piece she was gifted from the set of her latest film and a couple of awards dotted around too.”

Making a beeline for a covered cabinet, Avery tugs the dust sheet free. The wooden piece presents as an antique, but the hinges and screws are too new. A set of double doors containing glass showcases mini trophies and picture frames within, whilst Avery pulls out the large bottom drawer to reveal a face of steel. The safe faces upwards at the three of us crowding around.

“Open it,” I demand. Avery looks ready to elbow me in the face.

“It’s a finger scanner,” she glowers, leaving off whatever name she just wanted to call me. “I don’t have access to it. You wanted to check it’s intact, and it is.” Staring down at the armored box, a swirl of curiosity and frustration wars within. A burning sense of needing to know what my father is hiding flares to life.

“What use are you?” I huff, walking away. The girls don’t pay me any mind, taking the time to recover the cabinet. I’m on my way back to the stairs when I hear a click and the sound of footsteps from below.

“Darrell?” a gruff voice leaks through the lobby. “Did you turn the alarm back on last night?” A shuffle comes next as I plaster myself to the wall and with a flick on my hand, urge the girls to do the same.

“Yes, ‘course I did. I know I did,” another voice replies, this one more nasally. The first man grunts.

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