I need to walk away. I don’t.
No, I keep coming back to her eyes. Every time I close mine, I see hers.
I came here because I’m a fucking glutton for punishment after she sent me away to have a talk with him. I should have left it at that. She made her choice. I would have sent him away. Instead, she had me leave. I shouldn’t care what happened after I left. The dismissal she gave me earlier still stings, but what the hell can I do about it? I should let it all go and let her go. I damn sure shouldn’t be here watching, seeking, and waiting for whatever the hell comes next.
I can’t. For some messed-up reason, I can’t walk away.
Knowing I left her with him, I had to come back and see for myself if he got to stay. What kind of crazy game is she playing? Why does he have this pull over her? Why does his family have such a connection to her? He asked her to come home. His whole family wants her to come home. It’s just nuts.
Home. I mean, really? The girl lived with them for some time obviously, but where did she end up? Back home. She brought herself back to the same nightmare that haunts her to this day. I have heard of people trying to overcome their fears by facing them, but this is so much more fucked up than holding a damn snake to get over your phobia.
This shit . . . This shit she’s doing—living in the basement of the house her family was murdered in—is the stuff that is made for TV or something. It blows my mind. There is no way I could live in a place like that, and I had a far from ideal childhood.
My father deserves to die brutally, and still I wouldn’t want to sleep in the same house it happened in, no matter how much I know he earned it. She had a loving family, and to live in the place it all came to an end . . . I just can’t wrap my head around it.
She backs out of her driveway, bringing my attention back to the urge to follow her. She’s in that car, in the outfit. The outfit that tells me Lorraine isn’t out tonight. No, my angel has tucked herself away. Why? I can’t help questioning.
I shouldn’t care. I should turn around and sort my own life out. Missy keeps calling, I keep ignoring. Missy is no longer my problem. I am my problem.
But every time I close my eyes, I picture her blue ones staring back at me. I picture Lorraine, leaning over my hospital bed like a vision of an angel.
I should take my ass back to the hotel and find a new place to live. I have enough problems of my own. Do I do the responsible, smart, and normal thing, though? Do I leave the woman I barely know to her own troubles?
No. I follow her instead of my instincts. I sit back and try to sort out what she’s doing.
She drives without checking her rearview, and like the sick fuck I am, I follow her.
Our first stop is on Brown Avenue. She parks her car in front of house number 7929 and sits. She doesn’t get out. She doesn’t move. She simply parks, turns the car off, slides down into the driver’s seat, and waits.
What the hell is she waiting for?
When I see the garage door open to the house across the street and the black BMW pull in, there is no doubt in my mind who is driving. Charlotte Whittaker, the most put-together woman in the district. She is a fierce negotiator and will stand toe-to-toe with any man in her perfectly tailored suits and high fucking heels. She’s one of only a few people my father actually respects.
Charlotte enters her home, and still, we wait. I look around, trying to figure out why we are here since there is no other activity in the area. After thirty minutes or so, the taillights flash on Lorraine’s car before she pulls away.
Keeping my distance, I pull out, following her to the next location. We stop on East River Drive. She repeats the same process of sitting still and watching. I can’t figure out what she’s watching. The upscale neighborhood is quiet.
My mind goes over why she would be here. I come up empty.
We aren’t here nearly as long before she pulls off again. We stop next at Wesley Drive. I immediately know who lives across the street from where she has parked.
Gavin Waters is a shrewd businessman with an appetite for the finer things in life. He also goes so far back with my dad he’s my damn godfather.
It’s not long before the man I have known my entire life comes out in jeans and a polo shirt with his hair styled in this shaggy way that is the polar opposite of his usual slicked-back business look. His Lexus backs out, and I am shocked when Lorraine—or I guess I should call her Heidi since she’s in the getup—pulls out, following him.