Beneath These Scars (Beneath #4)(28)

Jerome inclined his chin. “Your thanks is accepted and will be passed on to Mr. Titan.” He walked toward me. “Now, would you at least make an old man feel somewhat useful by taking my phone number in case you run across something troubling at your apartment again?”

“Sure,” I replied. Didn’t mean I’d ever call it, but it was a sweet offer.

“Good,” he said before rattling off the digits, and I punched them into my phone.

We both left the shop, and I locked up behind us. My Jetta was parked at the curb and Jerome climbed into the Aston, which honestly didn’t look that unusual parked on the streets of the Quarter. This area was prime real estate, which translated to big money. Which was why I was going to need a hell of a lot of cash to buy Dirty Dog from Harriet.

I waved good-bye as he drove off, and I got into my own car. A piece of paper sat on the seat. Picking it up, I saw the bold handwriting across the bottom. Paid in full. It was the invoice for my car repair.

When I saw the total, I breathed a sigh of relief. Three hundred bucks. That I could handle. And I’d make sure Titan got a check from me ASAP. I wouldn’t let the man buy me a damn thing.

As I drove home, I debated whether to mail it to his office or his house, and still hadn’t made up my mind when I pulled into the back alley parking spot for my apartment. After turning off the engine, I eyed the exterior stairs for a good five minutes, but didn’t exit the car.

I decided to make a call before I got out. Quickly scrolling through my phone’s contacts, I found her number.

“Hey, it’s Yve,” I said when Valentina picked up.

“Hey, I know.”

“You hear anything from your daddy’s PI? About Jay? Where he might be?”

“Not yet. Daddy has him giving us daily updates, and this morning’s was a joke. Jay has disappeared. Daddy is pissed, and he actually hired me a bodyguard until they find him. The cops have increased patrols in my neighborhood too. I bet if you called in a concern, they’d do it for you too.”

Right. Because the cops would run extra patrols in Tremé because one scared nobody of a woman had no proof of anything. Unlikely. I thought of the detective Titan had offered to call. I bet he could have made it happen, but then again, what couldn’t he make happen?

Stop it, Yve, you’re sounding complimentary about the man.

“Well, stay safe, honey. I’ll be fine,” I said.

“I will, Yve. Watch your back. I don’t trust that bastard.”

Before she could hang up, I asked, “Have you seen anything weird? Like signs that Jay might’ve been around you? In your house?”

Valentina actually laughed. “This place is locked down tighter than Fort Knox. No way in hell he could get in here. My dad made me move home the second we lost our bid to have his parole denied again.”

So maybe I was the only crazy one here.

“Good. Take care, Valentina.”

“You too, Yve.”

After I hung up, I took what I hoped was a deep, courageous breath and climbed out of my car. I tucked my hand into my purse and wrapped my palm around the grip of my revolver. I would never be defenseless again.

I climbed the stairs, unlocked the door, and pushed it open. As soon as I was inside, I withdrew the gun from my bag and held it tightly in both hands in front of me as I walked through every room of my place. I studied every surface, every item, looking for anything that might have been moved. I found nothing.

Saving my bedroom for last, I stepped inside. Everything looked exactly the same, right down to the rumpled sheets on my unmade bed, something that had driven Jay absolutely insane and had earned me that first cracked rib. The drawers to my dresser were all still halfway open, a bad habit that during my marriage had earned me a broken finger, courtesy of being slammed in the drawer as he shut it to prove his point.

The joints and bones in question twinged in horrific memory. But there was nothing else out of place that I could identify. I turned to walk out of the room, but froze three steps from the door.

The mirrored tray where I put my night creams and perfume had an empty space. Chanel No. 5 was gone.

It had been Jay’s favorite scent, and when I’d first gotten away from him, I’d refused to wear it for that very reason. But it was also my favorite perfume, so I’d decided I wouldn’t let him steal that small piece of me. I’d bought a new bottle and wore the perfume whenever the hell I felt like it, but it was gone.

I went to check the bathroom on the off chance I’d moved it. It wasn’t there, and I couldn’t remember moving it.

Someone has been in my apartment.

The same gut-twisting panic from yesterday stole over me, but this time I shoved it down. I wasn’t going to let that man run me out of my own house. I would not. This was my home, and if I left again, I’d be letting him win.

Instead, I picked up my phone and Googled the number of a twenty-four-hour locksmith and a security company. Both agreed to be here within the hour.

I would feel safe in my own home, goddamn it.

I would not let him win.





THE NEXT DAY, I WALKED out of the banker’s office and into the lobby with the knowledge that it didn’t matter whether I wore a designer power suit and kick-ass pumps, or ratty old jeans and a T-shirt. I was wearing the former, and the business loan officer had still told me in no uncertain terms that there was no way in hell they’d lend me what I needed to buy Dirty Dog.