Page 32 of Assassin's Prey
The woman glanced at the paper, her brow furrowed. “Do you know the dates of death?”
Abby gave it, and the beehive bobbed this time as the woman nodded. After retrieving a pencil from the depths of hair behind her ear, the clerk wrote down the date. “This should not be a problem. If you and your”—she cleared her throat—“gentleman friend would like to have a seat, I’ll retrieve the documents for you.”
“Thank you.”
I moved to a nearby bench, drawing Abby with me. Catching her eye, I mouthed,Gentleman friend?
Her choked-off giggle lightened the mood for the briefest moment.
“Nervous?” she asked quietly.
“Why would you ask that?” I wasn’t nervous. Nerves weren’t part of my MO. I had nerves of steel, always.
Abby wiggled her hand, and it was only then that I realized I was doing my best to crush her bones. With a muttered curse I let go. “I’m sorry.”
She watched as I took her hand between mine and began kneading away the pain. “It’s okay, you know.”
It wasn’t, but I didn’t say so. What had happened to the man that was never fazed, who never felt anything? The man who’d done his job without emotion, simply because it needed to be done. Who knew in his head that he cared about his family, but never let the caring rule him. He was gone, and in his place was someone I feared might be too weak to protect them all.
Abby leaned close, sensing all that I wouldn’t say despite trying to hold it back. Her warm breath whispered across my cheek to my ear. “Love isn’t a weakness, Levi. You might have had to close some part of that off in order to survive, but you’re not just surviving now. You’re living. Lay down your sword for a little while and let yourself feel. Let yourself grieve.”
My chest squeezed painfully. “Laying down my sword means running the risk of falling on it,” I pointed out.
Abby shook her head, the familiar scent of vanilla and flowers surrounding me as her hair brushed my face. “Don’t you want to remember what you’re fighting for?” Her hand tightened around mine. “Isn’t that what your parents would’ve wanted for you? For all of you?”
I couldn’t answer that question. Parents wanted a lot for their kids, I was sure, but I barely remembered the time when hopes and dreams had lived in my parents’ eyes. All I had was now.
“Miss?”
We looked up. The clerk had returned, her stacked hair shaking in agitation as she frowned across the counter. Abby stood and led the way over. “Yes?”
The frown deepened. “Unfortunately, I won’t be able to help you.”
“Oh.” Abby was frowning now too. “Might I ask why?”
“Because these records are missing,” the woman replied. “I can’t say how or why. They would’ve been filed with us directly from the court. They should’ve been here all these years. But they aren’t.”
Something settled inside me. If we’d needed confirmation that we were on the right track, this was it.
“There are no records of the files being removed?” Abby asked. Did they even do that? I imagined a system like the library had, only for checking out files instead of books.
“I’m afraid not. Files aren’t removable, though you can request copies. And I show no records of that either.” The woman’s agitation was clear, her perfectly ordered world thrown into disarray. “The only way to track them down now would likely be through the lawyer who filed them.”
Abby met my gaze. We both knew how likely Chadwick was to hand over copies.
After thanking the lady, we exited the records office. “Now what?” Abby asked.
Good question. I wasn’t sure. “B and E?” I suggested, only half kidding.
Abby focused on that half and elbowed me, but I caught the edge of worry on her face as I trailed her to the upper floor.
“We’ll figure it out,” I assured her. We walked into the rotunda entry of the courthouse, me slightly trailing behind.
Abby came to an abrupt halt in front of me.
“What—”
And then I saw him too. Alan Chadwick stood at the opposite end of the room, his back almost turned to us as he talked with another man in a suit. Another lawyer, most likely.
