Keep Her Safe(33)

When you’ve grown up scouring your trailer for your mother’s drug stash, you know a thing or two about playing hide-and-seek. Noah’s in for a rude awakening.

The shower starts running. I want to be sure that he’s not going to pop back out to catch me red-handed, so I occupy myself with my slice and a can of beer, accepting that I’m both famished and thirsty. I hardly ever drink—watching my mother’s dependence on drugs and alcohol has given me an unpleasant perspective—but I need something to take the edge off.

A minute later, I get the signal I’m waiting for—the sound of curtain rings dragging over a metal rod.

I go straight for the dresser, yanking all four drawers open. Empty. Next, I throw open the closet door. Nothing but extra pillows and a small safe that sits open. I move over to the nightstand drawer, even though I already know it’s too small to hold anything but a Bible.

There’s nothing under the bed, either.

And nothing tucked behind the curtains.

“Dammit . . .” I survey the room again. This should be easy, but maybe he’s smarter than I think he is and he left that gym bag in his car. Why else would he trust me in here alone? He’d have to be an idiot to—

The mattress.

It’s been shifted down slightly, just enough to see that it’s not lined up with the box spring.

Adrenaline pulses through my veins as I dive for the headboard, sticking my hand into the unknown. My fingers graze the nylon material and I smile with nervous satisfaction. The mattress is heavy and it takes full-body effort to push it, and then serious tugging on the strap.

But finally I pull the bag free.

And unfasten the zipper.

Whatever anticipation I felt gives way to pure shock. “Oh my God.”

The bag’s full of money.

So much fucking money.

What is Noah doing with all this money?

I drop down onto the edge of the bed. Is this what Jackie Marshall wanted me to have? A bag full of cash? My hands shake as I fan through wads of it.

There’s only one explanation that I can come up with for him showing up here with this a week after she died, and for being so evasive about it.

It’s drug money.

Was this Dad’s cut from whatever he and Jackie Marshall had going on? Did she feel some twisted sense of duty to pass it on to me? Fourteen years later, after she’s dead and no longer has to answer questions?

Noah must know my father’s story. And he did say whatever he had to give me might have something to do with my dad.

How much does Noah know, anyway?

I squeeze my eyes shut and take a few deep breaths. For the second time today, my temper rears its ugly head, and that’s never good. I don’t think straight when I’m this angry. I do things like wave knives at strangers on my doorstep and antagonize slimy drug dealers. I need to calm down.

But when I open my eyes and see all that money at my fingertips, my rage only flares hotter. And mixed in with it is a healthy dose of pain and disappointment.

Somewhere, deep inside, I held the tiniest sliver of hope that my mother isn’t delusional, that the police had it all wrong about my dad.

I glare at the bathroom door, imagining Noah behind it.

That coward. This is why he was stalling.

He was afraid of how I’d react.





CHAPTER 13


Noah

I hold my breath as the stench of smoke intensifies. Hot water and a handful of shampoo will fix that.

At least Gracie seems more agreeable now than she was earlier. It must have been the shower and food. That always makes me feel better.

Or maybe she’s finally accepted that I’m not the asshole she thinks I am. I could be stressing myself out about the money for no reason. She’s homeless and, I’m assuming, broke. This money is going to solve her problems. She can rent a decent apartment, get her mom into a rehab program that might actually help her to stay clean.

Hell, I may get to see another one of those genuine, unrestrained smiles across that pretty face of hers.

I’m thinking about that when the shower curtain flies open. I turn to find Gracie standing there, the gym bag held open within her shaking hands.

That pretty face is brimming with shock and rage.

“Is this what you came to give me?” she hisses, her voice barely audible above the stream of water.

Shit. “I’ll explain everything.” Of course she snooped. She doesn’t have a trusting bone in her body. And here I thought I hid the bag well, but clearly I’m not smart enough for her. I should have handed her the entire pizza box and sent her back into her room. And I definitely should have locked the bathroom door. Generally if a girl is barging in while I’m in the shower, it’s not to yell at me.

“I don’t want a dime of this fucking money!” Her teeth are clenched and I can see the muscles working in her jaw. At least she’s not waving her knife this time.

My hands fall from where they were rubbing shampoo through my hair to a surrendering position. “Just . . . let me explain before you make any decisions.”

“You lied to me!”

What? “How did I lie? I didn’t tell you anything!”

She whips the bag to the floor and then folds her arms over her chest, her voice turning snippy. “Fine. Explain.”

“Can I have a minute?” I’m far past the point of trying to hide myself, so all I can do is stand there like a fool.