Page 92 of Truck Stop Tempest

“No.” I hadn’t. Except for public appearances, the two of them were never together. I couldn’t remember a time Jeremy spent the night at the house. Sure, he’d show up for meals because one thing my mother did well was cook. He’d also show up for punishments. Other than that, well, I had no clue where he laid his head at night.

Tito turned back to the computer. “Ingrid Holt died forty years ago. Your mother took her name. Her social security number.”

I watched in horror as his fingers battered the keyboard, his eyes scanned the screen, and a wall fell around him. Much like when he’d attacked the punching bag, he zoned out, the Tito I knew disappeared, and a man possessed took his place.

A disturbing silence blanketed the room. My stomach rolled, head buzzed.

“Tito. What’s hap—”

“Take her home, T,” Tito blurted without so much as a glance my way.

“No,” I protested. “This is my life—”

“Now, Tango!” he yelled, slamming a fist on the desk.

Tango hugged me closer, his voice low, a forced calm that wasn’t necessary, but appreciated. “Come on, Tuuli. Let’s leave him to it.” He scooted me out the door. It wasn’t until we reached his car that he offered a sympathetic grin. “It’s better to steer clear of Tito when he’s working.”

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