Wrong Kind of Love

I sit at the table with a steaming cup of coffee, then read over the headlines on my phone. Missing Medical Student from Vanderbilt University. Shit. I click on the article, quickly skimming the information: Twenty-five-year-old Victoria Deveaux was last seen leaving her boyfriend’s house at University Apartments six days ago, although she wasn’t reported missing until last night. Her boyfriend told reporters she had planned to go to a friend’s cabin over spring break to study for upcoming exams, which is why no one reported her missing until yesterday evening. Beside the report is a picture of her smiling with a guy in a collared shirt that looks like a complete fuckwad. Euan. Lying sack of shit.

This is when I realize I’ve lost my damn mind. Of course, she would eventually be reported as missing, and what the hell do I think I’m going to do? Just keep her? Like some twisted version of The Collector, only instead of my being some psychopathic freak, I’m just a hardened criminal who's found a bit of a conscience. I’m tired and worn out from dealing with this shit with her and Tom and Garcia. I can’t even think straight. I bury my face in my palms, then I call West. This shit has to be taken care of now.

The buzz of a police scanner comes over the line before his voice does. “JP, what you need?”

“A body.” It’s the only way to get her out of here and ensure she’s out of Tom’s sites. Then I can focus solely on finding him and gutting him like he deserves. And then, and only then, can my life go back to somewhat normal.

“Shit, Pearson.” West draws in a long breath.

“Female. Five six. Blonde… And I’m gonna need you to throw the investigation.”

“Fuck… ”

He patrols Dayton, which is full of crack houses and heroin dens. Kids find dead bodies in the park all the time on that side of town. “Come on, West. Don’t act like you stealing a dead body registers on your moral compass.”

Caleb comes into the kitchen, grabbing a Pop-Tart from the cabinet as I disconnect the call. “What was that about?” he says.

“Just… shit.” I swipe a hand over my jaw, trying to sort through all the crap I need to get in order to get her out of here. “Do you still talk to that guy who does the fake IDs?”

“Yeah.” He crams half a pastry in his mouth. “What do you need?”

“A driver’s license, student visa from the UK, fake utility bills all in the same name.”

His brows lift. “Utility bills?”

“Just see if you can get your guy to do it. Use the picture of her from one of the newspaper articles.”

He stops chewing. “You’re letting Ria go?” Letting her go. Like I had a choice about it before now.

“I need her outta here. She’s…” Fucking with parts of me a woman has no business fucking with.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

When she first arrived here, he harped on letting her go, and now, it’s not a good idea? I pass my phone to him, the newspaper article still on the screen. “Then what do you suggest, Caleb? Keep her locked away in the house for the rest of her life?”

He chucks the rest of his Pop-Tart to the table and stares at the device.

“She was supposed to be here three days then gone. Seems we both somehow forgot that there was more to this than Tom. She has a family. Friends.” I swipe the phone from him and toss it by my coffee mug, the stress of the situation finally settling in. “She’s a medical student for Christ’s sakes. She’s missing, and people are looking for her.”

Caleb paces the length of the table for a moment, raking his hands through his hair. “So you let her go. Just let her go, drop her off at the station. She’s not going to tell anyone. She trusts me. She likes me.”

He keeps rambling about why she won’t turn us in—because of him—and something hot bleeds through me. My temper spikes, and I tell myself it doesn’t matter. He’s my brother, practically a kid, and so what if he has a thing for her. There are a million other things about this situation that should take precedence over that. Finally, he stops pacing. “We’ll just take her to West.”

Like the answer is that simple. “And what about Tom?” I say, and his expression washes white. “You think he’s just going to let her go on her merry-fucking-way? I called West to get me a body. We’re gonna fake her death so she can sneak under Tom’s nose, and that’s why I need the damn documents.”

Resolve sets over Caleb’s face. He gives a curt nod, grabs his keys from the counter, and heads to the door. “I’ll go get shit together then.”