Long Way Home (Thunder Road #3)(65)

It’s not much, but he’ll read into it exactly what he wants to know.

“Thank you,” he says, and I walk away.





Violet

“IF YOU NEED anything else, call me or Cyrus.” Eli extends his hand to the three people who were with me while I picked out Fiend and his band of hairy friends.

The detectives said the overgrown hairballs couldn’t see me. They said the men would have no idea it was me tattletaling, but the way Fiend stared straight ahead, straight at me, the way a cold sludge seeped into my veins, I don’t believe them.

We’re in the lobby area and my jacket is on and I’m ready to go. Chevy’s arm is around my shoulders. His touch is welcome and comes close to creating a safe cocoon, but there are too many problems for me to feel completely at ease.

Mom is by my side, Eli and Cyrus on the other side of her and I’m quiet again. Don’t mean to be, but everything feels so heavy that staying upright is exhausting.

Each person takes Eli’s offered hand and they fake smiles except for Detective Jake Barlow. He stays serious as he shakes Eli’s hand and then his eyes meet mine. He lets go of Eli and offers me a manila envelope.

“We found this in Fiend’s possessions. I thought you’d like to have it back.”

Nervousness descends on me. It’s expected that I open it and begrudgingly I do. I peel back the lip, and when I peer inside, time freezes. It’s a silver chain and attached to it is my soul. My eyes burn, my throat swells and I press the envelope to my chest. This is the closest I’ll ever come to hugging my dad again.

It’s his cross. The one he wore since before my birth. It’s mine again. He’s not home, but his cross is and I’ll take this win.

Chevy brushes his fingers along my arm and Mom cranes her neck like that could cause her to have X-ray vision. “What is it?”

“Dad’s cross,” I whisper.

I step away from Chevy, needing room to return the cross to around my neck, and as I open the envelope again, I pause. Inside the envelope is handwriting and the first written words inform me that this is from Detective Jake Barlow.

Look at me and blink twice if you’re in a situation you can’t trust the Terror with and you’re scared. I can protect you from the Riot, from the Terror. I can help you. If you blink twice, excuse yourself and go to the women’s bathroom.

The entire world goes into slow motion and each inhale and exhale of air feels like it takes years. Two million thoughts, but I can’t process a single one. A life-and-death split-second decision. I lift my gaze, meet the detective’s and each blink rattles my frame like the pounding of a bass drum.

Bam.

Bam.

Detective Jake Barlow has blue eyes, like the twin flames of a blowtorch, and those eyes are zeroed in on me. He rips his stare from me and extends his hand to Eli again. “Hate to do this, but I’ve got another meeting. If anything comes up, any questions, you know how to get ahold of me.”

Eli shakes his hand, thanks him again, and Detective Jake Barlow walks away as if he didn’t just rattle my snow globe of a world.

I snap back to reality, gather Dad’s cross and then notice another familiar piece. “It’s also Dad’s watch.”

Mom audibly inhales and the guilt of losing something that meant so much to her skips along my veins. I reach in, pull it out and barely have time to offer it to her before she snatches it out of my hands. It was fast and brutal and I deserved it. Besides, I’m not going to wallow in sadness or guilt. I have Dad’s cross.

I crumple the envelope until it’s unrecognizable and toss it in the nearest trash can. My fingers shake as I try to clasp the cross on, but I fail and it snags in my hair.

A warm hand brushes my hair to the side and strong, calloused fingers take the clasp from me. A glance over my shoulder and Chevy’s focused on my necklace. A snap, the chain becomes heavy on my neck and I close my eyes when the cross lands on my chest.

“Thank you,” I whisper.

With his hands on my shoulders, Chevy merely kisses the back of my head.

“Looks good on you again, kid,” Eli says. Cyrus nods in agreement and Mom’s eyes fill with tears. I consider reaching out and taking her hand, but Mom steps away from me as if she could read my mind and the idea of us touching, once again, repulses her.

“You guys want dinner?” Eli asks. “Name it and it’s yours.”

“I need to use the bathroom,” I blurt.

It came out so fast and loud that Eli attempts to hide a smile. “Okay.”

I walk away, no one follows and I weave through the half cubicles, then turn the corner. A uniformed police officer stands in front of the women’s bathroom, and the moment she sees me, she steps to the side.

At the far end of the three stalls, Detective Jake Barlow leans against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest. “We don’t have much time, so let’s cut to the chase. I will protect you. From the Riot, from the Terror, from the kid in third grade who pushed you around on the playground, but the only way I can do that is if you tell me everything that is going on. I’m going to be honest, you’re a minor and I should probably have your mother in here.”

“I’m eighteen.”

He tilts his head. “That’s not what Eli said.”

“I turned eighteen the day I came home from the Riot.” I don’t blame anyone for forgetting. We’ve all been too busy cauterizing the bleeding while waltzing through a minefield.