Page 18 of More Than Nothing
He let out a jagged breath as she turned away, deliberately unclenching tight fists. Eyes on the back of her head, her mass of rich curls, he forced down the image of a butchered Florence, dead-eyed and broken, on a filthy bed in a Detroit suburb.Notactually Florence. She hadn’t been his sister. But, God, they’d looked so similar. Even now, Roman felt the shock of it. Staring down into the face of someone so like his sister, he’d thought for just one minute—
His heart had stopped for a beat. Two beats. And it had taken him months to be sure it was working properly again.
Roman ran a hand over the stubble on his jaw and took a swig from the beer bottle. It hit him in his knees every time he had one of these sudden flashbacks; his legs felt shaky beneath him. Unreliable and numb. He’d seen dozens of dead bodies through his homicide years. He’d seen even more brutal injuries. But none had floored him like the impact of the poor, battered girl with Florence’s face.
He swallowed down a surge of sickness and pulled himself back into the moment. Thea’s kitchen. Familiar and comfortable. All was well and his family was fine.
Out on the deck, his mother and father sat at a table made by Thea’s husband, Luke. His brother-in-law, quiet and laid-back, was a talented carpenter. He’d become a very good friend. When Roman needed a more measured opinion than Milo’s, or some easy company, he could always turn to Luke. He was a stand-up guy.
“My son!” His mother stood up to give him a hug as Roman finally stepped out through the door. He rested his chin on the top of her head. “You look tired, mijo! Elias, doesn’t he look tired?”
“Thanks, Ma.” His voice sounded rough but steady. “Just what everyone wants to hear.” Roman squeezed his dad warmly on the shoulder, pulling out a chair to sit down. Luke, leaning against the rail, raised his beer in welcome.
His mother waved away the comment. “You know what I mean. Are they working you too hard already?”
He smiled at her. “I don’t know whotheyare but I’ll be putting in some long shifts until I’m completely familiar with the new role and my team.” It didn’t faze him. Every shift had been a long one as a city cop.
“Milo and Cait are joining us,” Thea shouted from the kitchen. “They’ll be here soon and they’re bringing pie!”
It was chaos when they all got together. Everyone talked over each other, mostly forgot to listen, and told stories that grew gradually more raucous as the afternoon continued. There was teasing and laughter and affectionate gestures by the bucketload; it’d always been the same in his family. He’d missed too many of these lunches during his time in Detroit. He might be the serious one, the most buttoned-up, the one who found it hardest to relax and let his guard down, but here, it didn’t matter and no one judged.
It was great to be home. Although he had no idea how to break it to them that it wasn’t for good.
“How’s your week been?” His dad was always interested and finally Roman felt able to share. Now his days weren’t filled withbrutalized bodies, misery and degradation—confidential horrors he wouldn’t have dreamed of revealing in the middle of a family Sunday lunch—he could talk about work like a normal person.
“Still trying to identify where the Westlake girl got hold of the drugs she took. Other than that, we were called to a burnt-out lodge down Beggar’s Track a couple of days ago, which might be an insurance job. And Peggy Winterburn reported her neighbor for cutting down a tree that she said was hers. It’s been a steady week.” He took a swig of his beer.
His dad chuckled. “That woman could have an argument on her own in a locked room.”
“I saw Arianne Westlake in the hardware store yesterday.” His mother stroked his arm. “She looks wrecked.”
“I often see Millie go past the salon, usually with her basketball friends.” Florence worked as a hairstylist on Main Street. “They all seem so confident.”
“On the surface maybe. Underneath, they’re just immature kids with insecurities, who make stupid decisions without thinking of the consequences.” Roman said it without heat. “Just like we did and just like others will in the future.”
“But, as a parent, you always pray your children will escape the worst fallout from those decisions.” His mother gave a sad smile. “And not all of us are lucky.”
“She’s fortunate she survived at least.” Roman laid a hand over hers. “Now we need to do what we can to shut down the supply.” He cast around for a subject change. The one he found was a close link. “I also met the Daxes recently. I called at their house with Dougie to ask Frank Dax some questions. Could be coincidence, but I had two flat tires on the patrol car when I left work that afternoon.”
His father’s eyebrows drew together.
“Fuckers.” Luke muttered into his beer and gave his mother-in-law a guilty glance. “Sorry, Ava.”
“Tyson Dax is a dick and Dean’s not much better,” Flo chipped in. “Sorry, Ma!”
“Was this about Ray Parker’s truck?” Luke asked.
“Can’t say, I’m afraid.” Roman pulled an apologetic face.
“Poor Ray. He’s such a sweetie. Mrs. Elliott lives on the corner of his road. Ray and his partner clean her gutters every year.” His mother frowned. “I’ve only seen Mr. and Mrs. Dax a handful of times in person, and never together. We don’t really mix in the same circles but I’ve heard all the gossip. Seems amazing we can live in such a small town and rarely cross paths.”
Roman could see that Athena Dax wasn’t the type to join his mother’s book club. “Not a bad thing, Ma. Elenie—the daughter—seems OK but I wouldn’t ask any of the rest of them to water your plants if you go away.”
“Frank Dax sure does love a lighter.” Luke set his empty bottle on the edge of the table. “He’ll pull one out of a pocket and flick it on and off with that dead-eyed smile of his. It’s his way of saying, ‘Don’t mess with me or I’ll burn down something you love.’”
Ava shuddered and his father reached over to smooth a hand over her hair. Roman would have smiled at the casual touch if he hadn’t been focused on Luke’s words.
“When have you come across Frank Dax?” he asked.
