Beneath These Lies (Beneath, #5)(7)

Driving slowly, I searched the fronts of the dilapidated houses for the address I’d memorized from Hennessy’s computer screen. Most of the house numbers were barely hanging on. I checked the slip of paper I’d written the address on. I was in the right place.

Psyching myself up, I parked and pushed open the door to the car, locked it, and hugged my purse close to my body. I swore I could feel eyes on me from every direction.

Doesn’t matter. I’ve got this.

Mental pep talk complete, I glanced back at my car, hoping it would still be there when I got back. Hennessy was right. I had no business being here, but that wasn’t going to stop me.

Forcing confidence into my stride, I headed for the sidewalk and the gnarled chain-link gate blocking the walk up to the house. Luckily the metal latch was in good working order, which meant I probably wouldn’t need a tetanus shot from touching it.

After opening the gate partway and sliding inside the yard, I took a deep breath and strode up the cracked concrete to the porch. At least the steps had been recently replaced, so I wasn’t at risk of falling through them as I climbed up. The screen door also looked relatively new, but the doorbell I pressed looked ancient.

I listened for the telltale chime from inside that would let me know the thing actually worked, but heard nothing. Pressing it a few more times for good measure, I continued to wait. Nothing.

“Ain’t fixed yet.”

I spun around at the deep, rough voice coming from behind me. A man leaned against the inside of the gate, watching me. I hadn’t even heard him come through it. Clutching my purse closer, I thought about the Smith & Wesson inside and prayed to God I never had to use it.

Something about this guy told me I might need it. Menace. It came off him in waves. But under it, he was also strangely gorgeous, which didn’t make sense.

I took in his light caramel-colored skin, hair buzzed to a dark shadow, his T-shirt stretching across a broad, well-muscled chest. Intricate designs in black ink wrapped around thick biceps and forearms. I dragged my gaze back to his face, finding his piercing silver eyes assessing me as carefully as I did him.

Swallowing, I got to my purpose for being here. “Do you know Derrick Rockins?”

The man’s carved features gave nothing away. Jesus. Was his going to be the last face I saw before I ended up in the trunk of a car and my parents had to file a missing person’s report for me?

My heart hammered and my palms sweat where I held on to the leather of my purse.

After a long silence, he finally responded. “This ain’t the kind of neighborhood you come to and start asking questions. Woman like you? It won’t take long before someone decides not to let you leave.”

I gritted my teeth, willing myself not to show fear. Instinctively, I knew that would only make things worse. I would face down the devil in hell to find Trinity; I just hoped I hadn’t found him.

I tried again. “I’m looking for a girl named Trinity. Someone said Derrick Rockins might know where she is.”

Something flashed through those silver eyes, and I was willing to bet my Tesla it was knowledge.

Resolve straightened my spine, overcoming the fear, at least until he pushed off the gate and crossed his arms. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, they were big. The muscles strained against the cotton of his T-shirt.

“Who is she to you?”

Decision time. Tell him more or offer as little information as possible? I decided at this point, I had nothing to lose by going with the truth.

“My employee, and someone I’m very worried about.” When he said nothing, I filled the silence instinctively. “She didn’t show up at work and she’s not answering her cell. Her grandmother hasn’t seen her either, and since I care about her and the police won’t let me file a missing person’s report yet, I’m doing what I can to find her myself.”

His expression hardened to granite as soon as I mentioned the police.

“You went to the cops?”

His ominous tone threatened my resolve. If he was connected to the same gang as Derrick, then obviously I’d just said the wrong thing. There was nothing I could do but brazen it out. Show no fear.

I lifted my chin. “Yes. And if you’ll tell me where she is, you’ll save me another trip to the precinct tomorrow.”

His eyes narrowed. “Who the f*ck goes to the cops when someone doesn’t show for work?”

Squaring my shoulders, I infused my tone with all the confidence I could muster. “I did, because she’s just a kid.”

He uncrossed his arms. “She ain’t no kid.”

Bingo. He knew her. He freaking knew her. I latched onto that fact like a dog to a bone, and some of the apprehension of facing him down drained away in the face of my determination.

“You know where she is. Admit it,” I demanded.

The thunderous expression on his face told me that no one demanded anything of this man, but I didn’t care.

“Why should I tell you a goddamned thing?”

“Please,” I said, my tone near to begging. “All I want to know is if she’s okay.”

He studied me for long moments. I didn’t know if he read the desperation on my face, but he shifted.

“She’s fine. He took her out for her birthday.”

“It’s not her birthday anymore.”

“Well, it was, and he was out of town,” the man countered.