Page 95 of Torched Spades
“To him, it’s the only way to assert his control and make her invisible.”
I was right all along. George Reese is a dirty cop who keeps his hand out and his mouth shut. He silences any voice that speaks out against him.
What I failed to realize was that the voice was Becca’s.
For three hours, I’ve followed a trail of breadcrumbs down the darkest corners of the web, finally finding one that led to the root of all evil.
“The sins of the father…” I murmur.
Sitting back in my dining room chair, I stare at the information on the screen, comparing myself to another man-made-monster. Becca called us both hero-laced devils.
I didn’tfuckinglisten, and now, it’s too late.
Becca thinks she knows me. She thinks she’s molded my edges to fit inside her clinical boxes. But there’s no box that can contain me, and if she’d stop running from the man in that damn picture frame on her desk, she’d realize why.
We’re the same damn person.
Denial is a powerful thing. It wipes away sin faster than prayer and more permanently than an acquittal. The irony lies in her demand for truth then her refusal to see it.
Of course, I’ve played my own game of “hide and go seek the truth.”
I’ve been too busy shoving Becca in another woman’s shoes to see what’s been going on right in front of my face.Not that it was a tight fit.
The similarities are uncanny. Long blonde hair pulled back in a low ponytail. Deep baby blue eyes hiding behind wire-rimmed glasses. The constant fucking questions and challenges…
All of it clouded my judgment and messed with my head.
Slamming my laptop closed, I drag my phone out of my pocket and punch in the code that brings life to the empty screen. Once again, Becca’s condo is empty. However, I’ve tracked her habits for eight long weeks. I know she’ll leave the office around six o’clock, stopping to grab takeout at her favorite Chinese place before arriving home by seven.
I check my watch.
Six-forty-four p.m.
Rising from the table, I wander into the kitchen, my eyes bouncing from the screen to the freezer as I open the door. The moment I glance up to reach for the frozen pizza in the back, I see it…
A flicker of movement.
My hold tightens around my phone as I stare down at the darkened screen, my blood turning to ice as I see her bedroom window shatter.
“Fuck!” The pizza hits the floor as I rush to the dining room and retrieve my gun. In one continuous blur of motion, I have my keys in my hand and am out the door, sprinting toward my car. A brick slams against my chest as I turn the ignition, and I see the time flash on the dashboard.
Six-fifty-two.
Eight minutes. That’s all I have to make the ten-minute drive to Becca’s place and stop her from paying for her father’s sins.
Again…
* * *
I don’t have time to pick the lock.
Six-fifty-nine, I pull around to the back of her first floor condo and pull my gun before eyeing the window this bastard just broke.
I could go in after him. It’s not like the lack of light would hinder me. I’ve been inside Becca’s condo so many times, I know the floor plan as well as my own dick. However, for a split second, rational thought overpowers blind rage, and I slow my pace.
I know from watching my phone the entire way here that she’s not home yet. Unless this motherfucker plans to walk out the front door, what goes in must eventually come out. So, keeping my screen on the camera feed facing her front door, I slip around the corner and wait.
It only takes thirty seconds for the asshole to get his pants leg caught on a shard of broken glass and fall straight on his ass. He’s still on his knees, reaching for his lost gun when I press the muzzle of my Glock against the back of his head.
