Keep Her Safe(30)

“No one’s ever just trying to help. So tell me what you want or leave me the hell alone.”

I rub the spot between my eyes where my head is beginning to pound. There’s not going to be any dancing around this with her. “My mother died last week, and she left something for you.”

Wariness flickers across her face. “What is it?”

“Something that could . . . change things for you.”

“What is it?” she pushes.

“I can’t say here.” I hold her gaze.

“Does it have to do with my dad?”

I hesitate. “It might.” Ninety-eight thousand dollars in cash that my mom went out of her way to hide and insisted it go to Gracie? My gut says it has everything to do with Abe.

It’s clear that the topic of her father is a touchy one for her, even after all these years. “Let’s go find a place to stay and get some food, and then we can talk.”

She sits up, looking ready to follow me out. But I see the moment she decides against it, the moment when her shoulders sag and her body sinks back into her chair and that ongoing fire that’s been simmering inside her fades out. “You know what? I’m tired of this. So no . . . unless you’ve got something that’s going to prove that my father wasn’t some drug-dealing scumbag who ruined our lives, then I don’t want whatever it is, because it’s not going to change anything for me.” Her slender, lithe frame suddenly seems so small, so . . . beaten down. Physically, she’s still young and vibrant.

Beautiful.

But she’s got a haunted gaze in her eyes, the kind you get when life has disappointed you over and over again, when you’ve seen and suffered.

“He was a good man.”

“I need her to know.”

My stomach tightens as my mother’s voice fills my head, reminding me that it’s not just money that she wanted to give Abe’s daughter. She wanted to fix this. To give Gracie peace of mind. A coat of polish for the tarnished memory of her father.

A chance to know a different truth.

But how the hell do I give her that without telling her everything that I know, everything Silas made me swear to keep to myself, to protect my mother’s name?

I don’t think I can.

But I can give her ninety-eight thousand dollars, if I get her somewhere more private. Someplace where she can’t cause a scene and bring the cops around.

“Look, I just drove twelve hours across two states to see you. I know you didn’t ask me to, but I’m here. I haven’t done anything today to make you think that I’m a bad guy, or that I’d hurt you, have I?”

“No, but—”

“You don’t want to sit in this crappy hospital waiting room all night, starving and tired. So please, Gracie. Trust me. Just this once.” I’ve been told that I’m hard to resist when I resort to begging. I don’t usually use these powers—I do have some dignity—but if there ever was a time to pull out all the stops, this is it.

Her wary gaze shifts to the gym bag, then back to me.

Finally, she stands, tugging at the bottoms of her shorts to adjust them. “No one calls me Gracie.” I hear the pained warning behind it. And I can guess why.

That’s what Abe called her.

“I’m sorry . . . Grace.”

Grabbing her purse, she starts walking toward the door, mumbling, “Pizza is better.”

I sigh with relief. “Pizza it is.”

She does a quick scan of her clothes, which are as dirty as mine. “And can we stop at a store on the way?”

“Anything you want.”

“Are you always so agreeable?”

“Yes, ma’am. I try to be.”

She exhales a shaky breath and presses her lips together. I can’t miss the hint of anticipation flickering in her eyes or the faint air of hopefulness that lifts her shoulders.

She does want whatever my mother left for her and, despite her obvious skepticism, she is hoping it’s something that will change her life.

A bag of money will do that, but I’m not sure it’s what she’s looking for, especially if she starts jumping to conclusions about why it should go to her in the first place.

Who am I kidding?

This girl is going to kill me.





CHAPTER 11


Officer Abraham Wilkes

April 17, 2003

Noah answers the door, those innocent blue eyes instantly dulling the simmering rage that still burns inside me from last night.

I check my watch. “Why aren’t you in school?” I intentionally waited until I thought he’d be gone.

“Got an orthodontist appointment in half an hour.” The sullen look on his face tells me the news isn’t good. “They’re gonna tell me that I need braces.”

“You’re not surprised, are you?” Jackie’s been bitching for years about how much money she’d have to fork over to fix those crooked front teeth of his, because our benefits won’t cover all of it.

“No, sir. It’s just—” His prepubescent voice cracks, and he clears it. “It’s gonna suck.”

I ruffle the top of his head, his sandy-brown hair as soft to the touch as it was when he was knee high. “Would you rather go through life like this?” I gesture at the gap between my two front teeth.