Page 58 of Finding Home with You

This sets him off and he lets go of my arm, his hand moving to my face, squeezing my cheeks between his fingers.

“You’ll be sorry, Erin,” he murmurs and I can feel his hot breath against my face. “You just fucked with the wrong guy. For once in your fucking life, just do as you’re told.”

His hand drops from my face just as a black sedan pulls up in front of my house. With the force of his body weight, he shoves me against Ryan’s truck and glances at the waiting car, but he doesn’t pull back from me. His weight is pinning me against the truck and I wonder if he can sense my fear, my anger and my hatred for him.

Yet in this strange moment of mixed emotions and sweaty palms and weak knees, teeth clenched and fisted hands, I think of my father.

I try to commit everything about the car to memory, but like everything that goes along with this lifestyle; the car is as invisible as the driver inside it. No make or model listed, an out of state license plate that will be tossed before they even reach the highway, and dark tinted windows.

It’s meant to be like he was never even here.

I know he has a gun hidden somewhere on him, and so does the person driving the car. All it would take was a second for them to make me disappear too.

Chapter Twenty-One

Ryan

“So where are we at?” the captain asks as he walks into the situation room and closes the door. He shoots me a look and I know exactly what it is he’s referring to.

Glancing at Joe, who I’ve only briefly filled in since I got in this morning, I turn back to the captain and start. “The prison snitch was a bust,” I explain. “The little shit either knows nothing, which I don’t believe, or is legit too scared to talk.”

“That would be a first,” the captain mumbles.

“I know. I’m thinking it’s the truth though,” I continue. “He used to run with Fitzgerald’s crew, so even though he’s been locked up for the last couple of years, I don’t buy that he doesn’t know something.”

“So, what now?”

“Well,” I start, letting out a deep breath. “I thought I’d pay Fitzgerald another visit,” I say. “Maybe try laying it on a bit harder now he knows I’m seeing his daughter.”

The captain watches me for a few minutes, an unreadable look on his face. “And you’re sure this isn’t going to interfere with how you handle this case?” he eventually asks.

“No,” I say immediately, refusing to look away.

“It could actually work to our advantage,” Joe offers, surprising us both. “I mean, Ryan’s connection might rattle Fitzgerald and Macklin, make them wonder exactly how much he does know,” he continues, shrugging. “How much Erin might have confessed to him.”

I nod, even though in reality, that has been fuck all so far.

The captain pauses, taking a sip of his coffee as he looks at each of us in turn. “And exactly how much do you know?” he eventually asks, as though he’s read my mind but somehow thinks I’m the one who’s now too scared to talk.

I shift in my seat, stalling as I take a long sip of my coffee.

“Summers,” he continues. “You know this was part of the deal with you staying on the case,” he adds.

“I know,” I say, nodding. “I just don’t want to betray her trust, alright? She’s important to me.”

The captain nods. “Which is all the more reason that you share as much information as you can,” he says. “We want this Macklin fucker caught, don’t we?”

“We do,” I acknowledge.

“Alright, so what else did you find out?”

I take a deep breath, hoping to fuck that Erin can at least understand why I have to do this, that everything I’m doing is to keep her safe. “He, her father, was based out of Atlanta,” I start. “Had a front antique business of all things that kept him frequenting Boston on a fairly regular basis. Macklin was…still is, his right-hand man,” I continue. “Erin was never part of the scene though, left it permanently when she was around eighteen, I think. That’s when she moved to Rockport.”

“And she doesn’t know anything?” the captain asks, his eyes locked on mine. “Any of the specifics of these deals of her father’s? Who they were with, what they really involved?”

I shake my head. “She says she doesn’t. I mean she saw stuff, but only things like people coming over, hushed conversations and shit.” Even as I say these words, I know they’re not entirely true. While it might be true, it’s all Erin told me, but I know there’s more that she isn’t saying. Shit, it’s likely much worse stuff that she knows about, has maybe even seen, that she’s still keeping to herself.

“Think she’d be willing to go through our books, see if she can identify anyone?” he asks, bringing me back to the present.

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