Page 74 of Mistaken Identity
“My sources tell me that your mother has requested to move from her current long-term care facility to a government-run one that is in Oklahoma,” he said. “And, on the Combs’ front, I was snooping around the lawyer’s files, and they’re scrambling because they didn’t expect for Gunner to fight back. Or Gunner to even be in the picture in the first place. They’re trying to find dirt on him, but he comes out looking like a fuckin’ Nobel Prize winner with his work for the government and his cash donations to various organizations that help school shooter victims.”
“So they’re not going to be an issue much longer?” I wondered.
“Nope,” he said. “As far as I can tell, the lawyer suggested pulling out. He said he’d continue to take their money, but it would be smartest to just be nice and ask for visitation instead of demanding it.”
“Gunner won’t let them anywhere near her after the shit they pulled,” I admitted.
“Nope,” he agreed. “But they don’t know that.”
“Thanks, Apollo. I know that you’re busy,” I murmured quietly.
“Never too busy for my family,” he hesitated. “One last other thing.”
I would’ve laughed if he didn’t sound so worried.
“What?”
“I’ve been looking for Jordie Goodwin. I can’t find him anywhere. He’s left no trail at all. That means that he’s been erased. And there are only a few people who can erase someone like that.”
“Who would do it?”
“The government,” he said. “My guess, he’s someone important. He’s probably special forces. It won’t be easy to get him.”
I gritted my teeth. “You let me worry about that.”
“I’ll get his location to you as soon as I can find it.”
I shoved the phone in my pocket, started to lift my hand to knock, and found myself staring at Week through the screen door.
He opened it, and I walked inside without an invite.
The place looked exactly as it did when we were teens.
“I heard what you said,” he said. “My girl finally decides to talk, and the guy is a total fucking douchebag?”
“Yep,” I confirmed. “I have Apollo keeping an eye on him, but he thinks that he’s going to keep his distance. We’re going to take him down, but we are doing it the only way that Creole will be able to live with. And that’s the ‘right’ way, not the Truth Tellers’ way.”
Week tilted his head. “What if I’d feel more comfortable with the Truth Teller way?”
I thought about my answer before I said, “I have other people I’d rather treat to the Truth Teller way.”
His eyes stayed zeroed in on me for a few long seconds before he said, “I told her you would never do that.”
I closed my eyes in relief.
“It was a bad look,” I admitted. “But I walked in.” I shook my head, my stomach churning. “I saw her hair, and I just…fuck. I reacted. Left. Took off and didn’t look back. I thought she…”
He jerked his chin toward the kitchen. I followed behind him and took a seat at the bar, nodding my head in thanks when he handed me a beer.
I didn’t point out that it was barely nine in the morning.
I just took the beer and twisted the top off before bending the lid in half and placing it gently on the counter.
“The day that she told me that she was hurt…” He looked up at the ceiling. “I wanted to tear this world apart.”
I could imagine.
“Then she found out she was pregnant,” he sounded ravaged. “I thought I’d despise that kid. But it turns out, all I could see in him was my baby girl. And I loved him like I loved her.”
