Keep Her Safe(129)

“Who was he?” Gracie pushes.

Dunn wipes away at some salt on the table with his hand, his eyes downcast. “He never produced his identification. He made up some lousy story about it being lost.”

Gracie’s jaw tightens with frustration. “What did he look like?”

“White guy. That’s all I remember.” He pauses for a moment. “Red hair, I think. Sorry, that’s all I know.” Dunn eases out of the chair. “Y’all enjoy your meal.”

Gracie’s eyes narrow. “Was he a cop?”

Dunn’s shoulders tense. Whatever cooperation he was showing us has gone out the window. “You listen here, miss . . .” He leans in, his hand gripping the back of Gracie’s wooden chair, his anger poorly veiled, though he manages to keep his voice low. “I’m tired of hearin’ the kinds of accusations thrown around about the APD. I hear ’em all day long. Lazy cop this, dirty cop that. There are a lot of mighty fine police officers in this city who risk their lives day in, day out so y’all can stroll down the streets in peace. Just because Dwayne Mantis was a rotten apple in the bushel basket doesn’t give people the right to turn our integrity into the punch line of a joke.”

Our server shows up then, oblivious to the choking tension around us. “Can I get y’all a refill on your sweet teas?”

Dunn stands abruptly and, with a deep inhale, manages to slough his anger away. “Jillian, you make sure these two get whatever they want on the house. Their parents were both fine officers.” With that, Dunn marches for his office.

“What the hell, Noah!” Gracie hisses the second our server is gone.

I pick at a piece of sausage, a lump swelling in my throat. I have no answer for her.

How could my mother do that to Abe? To Dina? To Gracie? To fifteen-year-old Betsy? They were family and she chose a friend—some ‘white guy, red hair’ friend—over them.

All I can do is shake my head as I pick through my memories, trying to place this person. The only white guy with red hair I know is Jenson, and he was eleven at the time. “I guess now we know what our parents were fighting over,” I mutter.

“You realize what this means, don’t you?” Gracie’s words escape her slowly, her mind still trying to make sense of this. “My dad was out searching for Betsy when he witnessed that bust at The Lucky Nine, and because he witnessed that bust, he got himself into that mess with Mantis. And because of that, he died.”

And the reason he was out looking for Betsy in the first place is because my mother made him leave her in that hotel room.

“What I let happen . . . I may as well have pulled the trigger.”

Now I know what she meant.

Basically, Abe died because of what my mother did that night.

And the only way she could see to “do right” by it all was to put a gun to her temple.



* * *



“What do you say we order in pizza?” I holler, knowing my voice will carry through the open window to the backyard.

“You’re kidding me, right?”

“I’m not, actually . . .” I mutter, standing in front of the open fridge, patting my grumbling stomach while I eye the still-full shelves. Nothing looks appetizing.

With a sigh, I find an apple, along with a strip of beef jerky, and I wander through the French doors. Gracie propels herself through the water with ease, her normally wild hair soaked and stretching halfway down her back.

Cyclops comes trotting up to me, eyeing the beef. “Go find a squirrel or something.” I take a bite off the end, ignoring him and watching Gracie swim to the edge of the pool, to rest lean arms on the side.

“You know that’s his, right?”

“I wouldn’t necessarily call it ‘his.’?”

A whimper sounds and I look down to see him licking his lips. “Begging doesn’t suit you.” It actually does, with that one eye. He looks downright pathetic.

“I bring those home from work for him once a week. He loves them.”

“Well, I love them, too—ow!” I yelp, as Cyclops snatches the strip right out from my lowered hand. He scampers away with it between his jaws. “You little . . .”

Gracie’s deep bellow of laughter carries through the warm spring air, erasing my annoyance instantly. How long has it been since anyone’s laughed like that back here? At least fourteen years.

The beautiful sound dies slowly on her lips. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Because you laugh just like your dad did.”

Her jaw hardens slightly. “Sometimes it makes me angry, that you remember so much about him and I can’t even picture his face.”

I make my way toward the edge of the pool. “I’ll tell you everything I remember.”

After a moment, she nods. Her gaze drifts over my T-shirt and shorts. “Not swimming?”

“Nah, don’t feel like it.”

“The water’s warm,” she taunts.

“Liar. Your lips are blue.” We’ve been in a cold spell these past few days. I turned the pool heater up, but it’ll take hours to get to a comfortable temperature.

“Huh.”

Here we go. “?‘Huh’ . . . what?”

She shrugs. “Nothing. Just didn’t take you for a giant baby.” She casts off from the side using her legs. “I think I saw a blanket in the living room. You should go and swaddle yourself before—” She squeals as I charge toward her, diving into the cool water fully dressed, the shock of the temperature oddly refreshing on my muscles.