Keep Her Safe Page 19

  FBI agent or not, I’m not about to sit here and listen to him trash-talk my dead mother. “Sounds like you should be busy going after this Mantis guy. Don’t let me stop you.” I stand, giving Cyclops’s leash a small tug toward the motel’s entrance.

  “What did you need to give Gracie Wilkes?” Klein calls out.

  My feet falter. “What are you talking about?”

  “Her neighbor said you came to give her something.”

  Sims, that piece of shit. “Some old family pictures.”

  “You drove twelve hours to give old family pictures to her? You sure about that?”

  His tone puts me on edge. It’s like he already knows about the money.

  “Have a good night, Klein.”

  “So, if I were to go into that motel room, I wouldn’t find anything suspicious at all?”

  A bag of ninety-eight thousand dollars that is too coincidentally the same amount written on that news clip to be at all coincidental.

  But, most importantly, he’d find Gracie, and then she’d quickly realize that I left out the part about the feds coming to see me the other day. It was fully intentional on my part, and—probably—the wrong decision, but I already know Gracie enough to know she’d hold me at knifepoint until I gave her Klein’s business card. She’d have no issue telling him everything, including her own suspicions about my mother.

  “You’d find a sick woman who needs her rest. I think you’ve already scared her enough for one day, don’t you?”

  He pauses, as if to consider that. “When will you be back in Austin?”

  “As soon as I help Gracie get Dina into a rehab program and find a new place to live.”

  Klein eases himself off the bench to stand next to me, and I sense his mood shifting. “Lying to a police officer in a statement carries a maximum of six months in prison. That’s a criminal record, Noah. But you know all this, working in the DA’s office. Then again, I’m guessing your uncle would do what he needs to do to make the charges go away.”

  I swallow. “Have a safe trip back.”

  “Of course, he’d have a hard time doing that, what with all the media attention around you being a homicide suspect—”

  Homicide? I’m unable to keep my cool anymore. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “So who put you up to it? Who wanted Jackie out of the picture?”

  I feel my face twist up as I struggle to grasp his meaning. Because he can’t be saying what I think he’s saying . . .

  “Jackie was so drunk, I’ll bet she didn’t even see you coming until the gun was—”

  My fist connects with Klein’s mouth, needing the vile words to stop. “I did not kill my mother!” I force out through gritted teeth.

  I did, however, just punch an FBI agent in the face and, dammit, if he didn’t have cause to arrest me before, he does now. Smart bastard.

  Klein tests his lip with the back of his hand. It comes back with blood. Oddly enough, though, he doesn’t look at all surprised, and he hasn’t made a move for his cuffs. “I know how to push your buttons, don’t I?” He produces a business card from his back pocket. “Here . . . in case you lost my other one. You’ve got forty-eight hours to sort out things with Dina Wilkes, and then I expect you to contact me and tell me everything you know. After that, when I show up on your doorstep, it’ll be a lot less pleasant than this talk. For you, and for anyone who’s hiding information from me.”

  I numbly take the card.

  With one last sharp look, Klein strolls away, ducking into a dark-colored sedan.

  I exhale a lung’s worth of air slowly. Is this what my mom meant when she talked about having the feds breathing down her neck being the worst pressure?

  Because I get it now.

  * * *

  I peek into the adjoining room. Gracie is curled up in the chair, her head resting on the armrest. Fast asleep.

  I breathe a sigh of relief.

  Dina offers me a weak smile and beckons me in with a limp wave of her hand.

  “Do you need anything?” I whisper.

  “No. Thank you, Noah.”

  The wrappers from the oyster crackers that came with the broth sit empty on her nightstand. “Good. You ate.” I move to collect them.

  “Noah! What’d you do to your hand?”

  I stretch my fingers out in front of me, studying my reddened knuckles. I haven’t punched a guy since high school; it was some punk who was picking on a disabled kid out in the parking lot. I feel only marginally bad about hitting Klein, mostly because the guy didn’t have warning. He definitely deserved it, though. “Banged it. It’s nothing.”

  I toss the trash into the bin in the corner, feeling Dina’s gaze on me the entire way.

  “Abe always said that if we didn’t end up having a son of our own, he’d be just as happy having you around. He loved you so much.”

  A lump swells in my throat. I nod, unable to come up with a suitable response.

  “When do you think you’ll be leaving to go back to Texas?”

  “Tomorrow morning. I need to talk to my uncle.” And find out what Maxwell was doing fourteen years ago that would explain why Abe jotted his name down on that news clipping.

  And I need to do that all before my forty-eight hours are up.

  “Silas . . .” A weak smile touches Dina’s face. “He’s the district attorney now. How’s he doing?”

  “Good, all things considered. He’ll be running for District Court judge in the next election and he’s basically a shoo-in.”

  “I thought about going to him. Telling him about the intruder. But then I realized that no matter what I did, it wasn’t going to bring Abe back, but it could mean losing Gracie, too. That man . . . it’s been fourteen years and I still feel his hand around my throat when I close my eyes.”

  My gaze skates over the needle marks in her forearm. Gracie called Dina weak. But is she? Because some could argue that she’s one hell of a strong lady, to bite her tongue all these years to protect her daughter. And maybe biting her tongue turned her into this.

  She twists her wrist to hide the marks. “I’m glad you have Silas.”

  “And I’m glad she has you.” I nod toward Gracie.

  “For whatever that’s worth.” Dina takes in a deep, almost exaggerated breath. “I can’t explain this feeling. It’s like . . . I’m finally feeling sun against my face again, after so long.”

  “That’s because you’ve been alone in all this. But you’re not anymore.”

  Tears well in her eyes. “If anything happens to her—” Her voice cracks. With effort, she rolls her head to settle her gaze on her peacefully sleeping daughter for a long moment. Gracie’s features look so soft in slumber, almost childish. I never noticed her thick fringe of dark lashes before, too busy mesmerized by her penetrating gaze.

  “Abe and I never had it easy. It seemed like for every person who accepted us, there were two looking at us with disapproval. Because of Abe’s skin color. Or mine. Or our skin colors, together. I remember rocking Grace as a baby, holding her in my arms, worrying about what her life would be like. How people might treat her. How they might punish her because I fell in love with her father. Seems like the least of our problems, doesn’t it?” Her hard swallow fills the room. “She grew up to be so beautiful. And strong.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” I look down as I agree with Dina, afraid that she’ll see the thoughts I’ve been having about Gracie these past two days. “And she needs you, alive and clean.”

  Dina chuckles softly. “That girl hasn’t needed me for years.”

  “She does. She always will, no matter what she says. That’s why we’re taking you to a rehab center tomorrow morning. It’s a great place. Dr. Coppa recommended it.”

  “We can’t afford—”

  “I have money. My mother left it for me.”

  “No, I can’t—”

  “You have to, Dina. Do it for Gracie. And for Abe. Imagine what he’d say if he saw you like this.”
<
br />   She falters over whatever rejection she was going to throw out, and finally, sighs with resignation. “You know she’s not going to let this go, don’t you?”

  “Yes, ma’am. She’s already told me she’s coming back to Texas with me.”

  “Did you tell her no?”

  I chuckle. “Is there such a thing as telling Gracie ‘no’?”

  “You’ve figured her out already. She’ll find her way there whether it’s with you or in the back of a Dumpster.”

  “Yes, ma’am. She’s the most stubborn girl I’ve ever met,” I agree.

  “Takes after her daddy. I wish he got to see her grow up. He’d be so proud.” Dina blinks away tears. “If she goes, I’d rather it be with you. I’d feel a lot better about that.”

  “You focus on getting better and I’ll make sure she doesn’t do something too bullheaded.” Easier said than done. Gracie’s as subtle as a pickup truck barreling through your front door.

  Dina nods. “Keep her safe, will you? For Abe.”

  “No one’s going to come after her, Dina. She doesn’t know anything.”

  “Neither did I. Not really.”

  “I won’t let anything happen to her,” I promise. It was easy for a masked man to terrorize a broken-hearted Dina fourteen years ago, using threats against her little girl to scare her into silence. But Gracie’s not a little girl anymore, and something tells me she won’t be as easy to scare away as Dina was.

  The real question, though, is whether Gracie is going to give someone a reason to try.

  CHAPTER 26

  Grace

  Saguaro cacti stand like quiet sentries on either side of us as we pass through the stately gates of the Desert Oaks rehab center.

  I try to decipher my mom’s steely face in the window’s reflection as she takes in her new home. It’s nothing too clinical, nothing too urban. Nothing that will make her feel like she’s being incarcerated.

  What is it that I see in those eyes now? I’ve always thought I could read her like a book. But that hasn’t been the case after all, not entirely. Because buried deep down were secrets she was too afraid to share. Was it paralyzing fear or was it the pain of knowing that her husband had been murdered and framed for corruption that turned her into this shell of a woman?

  Fourteen years of this secret, festering inside her.

  What if it has festered too long? What if she has no real chance for recovery?

  Noah pulls up to the curb in front of the sand-colored one-story building. “I’ve already made the first payment,” he tells me in a hushed voice.

  I frown. “What? When?” Because the bag of cash—that bag of dirty money that we fought over last night, that we shouldn’t be using but what other choice do we have?—is sitting in the back, untouched.

  He slides out of his seat and shuts his door, not answering me. I watch him from the rearview mirror as he pops the back and grabs the small suitcase full of clothes and toiletries I ran out to buy for her earlier this morning. “Stay, buddy.” He gives Cyclops a rough pat on his head before shutting the door and heading for the main entrance.

  What has he been up to? Besides making sure everything falls into place, that is.

  Mom didn’t put up a fight this morning when Noah announced that we were bringing her here. She simply nodded. But I caught the wordless look pass between the two of them. Noah must have said something to convince her during those few hours I drifted off last night. Her little golden boy, coming to her rescue.

  Yet another thank-you that I owe to him.

  Mom sighs. “So I guess this is it for a while?”

  “You’ll like it here. It’s a female-only center. You’ll share a unit with five women. But you’ll have your own bedroom, so you have space to escape to when you need it. There are male security officers, but you won’t see much of them. Security is tight.” As tranquil as the place looks, they make an intensive effort to keep the people needing help in and the people causing the harm in their lives out. She’ll be hard-pressed to find a heroin dealer with the balls to show up.

  If she has a chance anywhere, it’s here.

  “They have a pool and a gym, plenty of yoga and meditation sessions. You’ll have daily individual therapy sessions and healthy meals. It has a high success rate. And who knows? Maybe you’ll make a friend.” God knows she could use one.

  I catch her gaze in the side-view mirror, drifting to Noah, who’s busy chatting up the security lady by the door. “Every time I look at his face, I see Jackie.” A long pause. “What he’s doing for me. For us . . .”

  “He’s trying to make up for what his mother did.” I open the door and climb out.

  Mom follows, smoothing the front of the white blouse I bought for her over her slender hips. She looks far from healthy, but a shower and fresh clothes are definitely an improvement. “Don’t stir up trouble in Texas.”

  “I’ll be fine. We’re just going to try and get answers, that’s all. And hopefully the police report. Noah has good connections. Plus he’s smart.” And I have no idea if he’s going to argue about taking me to Texas, because we’ve barely said two words to each other since last night. “Maybe we can find Betsy, at the very least.” It’d be nice to have more family.

  “I don’t know, Grace. Fourteen years and she never came home. If she’s even alive, she might not remember who she was. Or maybe she doesn’t want to remember, with all they would have done to her . . .” Her voice drifts. She reaches around her neck to unfasten the chain and slips it into my palm. “Maybe this will help jog her memory.”

  I accept it quietly. “We should get you checked in.”

  “Okay. Well . . . take care of yourself.” She reaches for me.

  I instinctively take a step back, putting myself out of reach. We’re a long way from hugs.

  With a small nod of understanding, she turns and heads for the main entrance, patting Noah’s arm as she passes by.

  I move to follow her in but Noah grabs my wrist, the heat from his hand searing my skin. “She needs to know you think she can do this,” he whispers, leaning in close. So close, the minty scent of his gum kisses my senses.

  “I don’t think she can do this.”

  Pleading blue eyes stare down at me. “You need to. For your own sake, as much as hers.”

  “You don’t know her like I do.” He hasn’t been let down by her, time and time again. Still, for Noah, I find myself wanting to pretend. “Don’t leave without me.” I shake off his grip and march through the doors.

  * * *

  I step outside and exhale with relief.

  Noah’s leaning against the side of his SUV, his feet crossed at the ankles, trying to convince a leashed Cyclops to sit for a treat.

  And here I was, sure I’d find Cyclops and my things sitting with security, and him gone the second he had the opportunity to ditch me.

  I saunter over and mimic his stance. “So, how long until she runs out, screaming at the top of her lungs?”

  He chuckles. “I don’t think she’ll do that.”

  “They told me you phoned this morning and paid for the first week with your credit card? And you promised to wire the rest tomorrow, after the bank opens?”

  He slides on his sunglasses but says nothing. I know why he did it—because whether he wants to admit it or not, he knows that money is dirty.

  Which means he’s using his own money to pay for my mom’s rehab. One part of me wants to refuse the help; the other wants to throw my arms around his neck. But we have important things to discuss.

  “We should get going, then. I’ll drive the first stretch, seeing as you didn’t get much sleep last night.”

  Noah chews the inside of his cheek and I ready myself for a battle.

  “Are you even allowed to drive?”

  “Who’s gonna stop me?”

  He raises an eyebrow.

  “I have my license, if that’s what you mean.”

  After another long moment, and with a reluctant sigh, he
dangles his keys in the air in front of me.

  “What’d you do to your hand, anyway?” I noticed his bruised knuckles this morning, as he was loading the bags.

  “Nothing important.” He sets the keys into the palm of my hand, the heat of his fingertips both comforting and thrilling against my skin, making me forget about bruised knuckles and heroin-addicted mothers for a split second.

  “Ready?”

  This is it. I’m going back to Texas.

  Either I’m going to find a bunch of roads that lead to nothing but dead ends—the person or people behind my father’s murder having covered their tracks so well that no amount of digging will uncover them—or I’m going to find the truth.

  All I’m certain of is that someone out there killed my dad and got away with it.

  Until now.

  “I’m ready.”

  CHAPTER 27

  Noah

  Shit. I turn the volume down on the radio so I can grovel properly. “I’m sorry. I forgot.”

  “You forgot about courtside at a Spurs game?” Jenson can’t hide the disbelief in his voice. I don’t blame him. They’re my favorite team and he won tickets for today’s game against the Rockets.

  “I’ve been . . . preoccupied.” An eighteen-wheeler blasts its horn at another car as it speeds past.

  “Where the hell are you, anyway? I haven’t seen or talked to you since Thursday.”

  “Right now? At a gas station in New Mexico.” In my rearview mirror is an annoyed Gracie trying to coax Cyclops into peeing. I should have told her to take him near a sign; he’s partial to those. “I had some things to take care of for my mom.”

  “For her will?”

  “Nah.”

  He waits a beat for me to elaborate before he starts pressuring. “Dude, what’s with all the cloak-and-dagger? It’s me.”

  I sigh. Jenson’s good at keeping his mouth shut. “You remember my old basketball coach? The one who was shot in a drug deal?”