“There’s something I’ve been wondering about. You said you and the others always check up on the victims of the ones you kill.” He nods. “What about someone who was saved before they were a victim?”
“What are you getting at?” he asks with a frown.
I sit up straighter and fold my hands in my lap. “The baby,” I state. “The one Marco and Gabriela were trying to adopt. What ever happened to her?”
“I’m not sure. JW normally has people look into the victims’ lives to see how they are doing. Then offer assistance if they need it.”
“Could you find out?” I grab his hand and squeeze it, my eyes pleading. “I hate the thought of that baby being a ward of the state. But it terrifies me that she went to someone else who would hurt her.”
I may have had a sheltered life by my own choosing, but I still know of the horror stories of being in foster care.
Aziah nods, and some of my anxiety fades. “I’ll go see him tomorrow to find out. And if there’re no updates, I’ll find out myself.”
My shoulders droop, and I give him a relieved smile. “I just want to make sure she’s okay. If she gets adopted, could we look into the family to ensure they’re good people?”
“I promise, wherever she ends up, she’ll be given the best care.”
Impulsively, I lean over and press a kiss against his lips. “Thank you.”
He clears his throat and jerks his chin up.
“Come on. Let’s go grab something to eat.”
I follow him into the kitchen and take a seat at the table as he pulls out the makings for spaghetti. I’m fascinated watching him cut the onions, dice the tomatoes, and brown the hamburger meat. He moves around the kitchen so naturally, like he’s done this a thousand times. His mother died during childbirth, and if I remember correctly, his father had someone come in each day to cook for them.
“You look so domesticated cooking.” It certainly doesn’t go with the whole dark, brooding vibe he gives off.
He smirks and lifts his eyes to me from across the bar as he continues to cut an onion. “Mae made sure all her boys knew how to cook before we left.”
I should have known. Of course, Mae would ensure they knew how to take care of themselves.
“How in the world are you able to cut that without tearing up? My eyes always pour anytime I’m around an onion. Even sitting here, my eyes are misting.”
He shrugs, looking back down at the counter. “I don’t know. They’ve just never bothered me.”
“Lucky,” I mutter, blinking rapidly to keep back the tears. Outwardly, I ignore his chuckle, but inwardly I melt.
“Is there anything I can do to help? I feel useless just sitting here while you’re doing all the work.”
“I’ve got it. You just sit. You don’t show it, but I know your back has got to be sore and your shirt rubbing it will make it worse.”
On the contrary, my back is fine, just a slight burning sensation. The aftereffects of my cuts are worse. Even so, I stay seated, enjoying watching him puttering around the kitchen.
He’s just pouring the sauce in the pot with the hamburger meat when there’s a knock on the front door. He moves to set the sauce down, but I get up and wave at him to continue.
“You stay and finish. I’ll grab the door.”
I turn and leave the room before he has a chance to stop me—because I know he was going to—and go to the door. After everything that’s happened to me, I’m cautious by nature, so I look through the peephole. I stumble back a step when I see a blonde-haired woman on the other side. It only takes me a minute to remember who she is.
Grace.
Aziah’s old lover.
The woman who would beat him at his request.
I’m tempted to just ignore the knock and tell Aziah we must have misheard. That there was no one at the door. But I can’t do that. For one, I’m sure she’ll knock again, and I won’t be able to explain away two knocks. And two, I’m simply not that type of person.
&n