Fury on Fire (Devil's Rock #3)(10)

Uncomfortable?

Yes. Merely uncomfortable. Not bothered. Not hot and bothered.

One thing was for certain . . . it was time to meet her neighbor. Maybe if he realized her bedroom was on the opposite side of his, he would exhibit a little more restraint, because this was just ridiculous.

She toyed with the idea of knocking on his door, but given his current activity that seemed destined for awkwardness. Clearly, they needed to meet, but not tonight.

Tomorrow, she would descend on him. Turning, she fled her room as the sounds grew louder. She took refuge on her first floor, relieved she could no longer hear the activity next door nearly so well.

Tomorrow would be soon enough.





FOUR




The following day, Faith stepped outside into the early-morning light and observed North Callaghan’s truck in its usual place—and his bike inching over onto her side of the driveway. The guy knew no boundaries. Annoyance punched her in the chest. Just another point of contention to be discussed.

She swung her gaze to glare at his door for a long moment in the already humid morning. The cicadas’ song congested the air as the moment stretched. She plucked at her silk blouse to keep it from sticking to her skin. Pencil skirt. Fancy blouse. Heels. Today she’d gone all out. She had to testify in court and had dressed for the occasion. There was also the chance she might run into Brendan.

She continued to glare at that door. At this early hour, she didn’t know if his guest was still visiting or had left sometime in the night. There was no strange car parked along the street, but that didn’t mean anything. Perhaps North Callaghan drove her home—or not.

Last night, she’d eaten her chow mein downstairs and watched Chopped at full volume, but that didn’t stop the faint sounds of opera sex from trickling down and attacking her ears. Honestly, she didn’t know how many more nights like that she could endure.

Seized with sudden impulse, she dove back inside her house. In her kitchen, she scrawled a quick note on a piece of paper. Finished, she stared at it for a moment, making certain it said everything she wanted it to say.

We need to talk at your earliest convenience.

Faith Walters, your next-door neighbor (833-555-1201)



Polite. Succinct.

Nodding to herself, she swung her purse and satchel back over her shoulder and exited her house, heels clicking on the concrete. On her way to her car, she stopped and stuck the paper between the windshield wipers of his truck. Feeling pleased with herself, she dusted her hands and climbed inside her car.

Now she only had to wait.

Once in her car, she went straight to the courthouse. It was only a fifteen-minute drive from the outskirts of Sweet Hill to the city’s small downtown area. Fortunately, she was the first witness called in to the custody hearing over eight-year-old Noah Grimes. Faith had worked his case upon moving back to Sweet Hill after grad school. The parents, in and out of jail for various drug charges, had failed to send him to school—despite all their promises. A bus picked up within walking distance of their home, so that wasn’t an issue. He should be in the second grade by now, but he was at a kindergarten reading level. He knew his alphabet and a few common sight words. That was it. No more. His math ability was deficient as well.

In addition to the truancy matter, prior to removing him from his family Faith had noticed he looked thin. Too thin. When she offered him a granola bar, he’d eaten it without taking a breath. The boy’s maternal grandparents were applying for custody and had already been vetted as appropriate guardians. They were loving grandparents who had effectively lost their daughter years ago to her drug addiction and just wanted to save their grandson.

They sat in the courtroom now, solemn-eyed and attentive to the proceedings. After delivering her testimony, Faith stepped down from the witness stand. She mentally sighed as Noah’s mother buried her face in her hands and wept. They were always sorry. Always remorseful. Her husband, a tall, cadaverous-looking man whom Faith knew to be twenty-eight but looked more like thirty-eight, pushed up abruptly from the table where he sat. The action sent his chair banging to the floor.

His attorney placed a restraining hand on his arm but it did no good. His eyes bulged as he stabbed a finger in Faith’s direction. “You got it wrong! You don’t know nothing, bitch! I’m a good father! You did this, you stupid bitch!”

The judge banged on her gavel, calling for order. Court officers swarmed him. Faith hurried from the courtroom, shooting a quick, encouraging smile at Noah’s grandparents. Mr. Grimes wasn’t the first angry parent she’d ever encountered. She knew better than to take it personally. At the end of the day, when she looked in the mirror, she could take comfort in the fact that little Noah was living in a safe and loving home. That fact made suffering one * parent bearable.

She left the courthouse and was back at the office by 10 a.m. Unfortunately, she hadn’t come into contact with Brendan at the courthouse, so the special care she had taken with her wardrobe and hair for his sake turned out to be a waste of time.

She spent a little over an hour answering emails and catching up on work before Wendy popped her head inside her cubicle. “Hey, let’s go get some lunch.”

“I’ve got an interview at Washington Elementary at two—”

“Plenty of time. Frank’s right outside.”

Faith reached inside her drawer and grabbed her purse. “Well, why didn’t you say so?”