The Purest Hook (Second Circle Tattoos #3)(81)

Dred could see their hesitation. “No. Not at all. Her dad passed away, and he left something in his will for Brewster. Just trying to make sure he gets it.”

“Sorry for your loss, miss,” said Joe. “If you find him, tell him my wife hates him.”

Dred thanked them for their help and hurried Pixie to the car. “That was when it happened, Dred. That’s when I ran. Oh my God . . .” She wrapped her arms across her stomach.

She was losing control, and while a sense of panic washed over him, he was determined to keep his shit together. “We’ll figure all this out, Pix. It’s better that we know for sure, then we can start to deal with it.”

“I actually did it, I killed a man,” she whispered against his chest. He held her while her shoulders shuddered in quiet sobs.

They stood by the car for a moment longer, but he knew they needed to get out of Pahokee and figure out what came next. He’d already asked his lawyer find him a recommendation of a kick-ass lawyer in Miami. “We need to go, Pix. Focus on the positive. We now know there was a witness to Arnie moving Brewster. If we find that person, we might be able to prove he was alive when you left him, or at least tell Arnie you have proof he was involved so he backs off.”

He kissed the top of her head, then opened the car door for her.

As she was about to step inside, an employee called after them. “Mr. Zander. Wait.”

Pixie turned.

“I’m sorry about your dad,” the man said, obviously assuming Pixie’s tears were for the imaginary loss she’d suffered. “You said Brewster was left something in a will?”

“Yeah,” Dred answered. “It’s not much, but we want to make sure Brewster gets it.”

The man chewed on his bottom lip for a while. “Okay, here’s the deal,” he said, lowering his voice. “Brewster got in a little bit of trouble, never asked what, but he had to leave here quickly. We stayed in touch on and off. He’s like an hour and a half away in Hollywood.”

Dred wrapped his arm tightly around Pixie, who had slumped against him. “You sure?”

“Yeah. Spoke to him over the holidays, wished him Merry Christmas and shit.” He fiddled around in his pocket and pulled out a piece of paper. “This is his address.”

Dred took the paper and read what was written. “Thank you for this,” he said, and shook the man’s hand.

Pixie was in no state to drive, so he bundled her into the passenger seat and set the satellite navigation system for the address he’d been given. “You okay, Snowflake?” he asked as he pulled out of Pahokee.

“I need to see him,” she said quietly. “Which is something I never thought I would say. But I need to see with my own eyes that’s he’s alive and well. To know that I didn’t kill him. Then I can get on with the rest of my life.”

Dred reached across the console and held her hand. “What are you going to do about your mom?”

“I don’t know. I guess I need to get past all this first, then see how much energy I have left to try and forgive her.”

It was after four p.m. when they pulled into Hollywood. Pixie’s silence worried him, yet he understood. He couldn’t begin to imagine the thoughts that must be racing through her head. For years she’d lived with the guilt of killing another person, only to find out he was still alive. It had taken her stepfather blackmailing her to find the truth.

He followed the road the satellite navigation suggested onto a tree-lined street. The houses were nothing fancy, but the neighborhood seemed quiet. Dred took a deep breath. He’d spent the second half of the drive trying to convince himself that finishing off what Pixie had started when she stabbed Brewster was a bad thing. The predatory * needed the kind of lesson a sixteen-year-old girl wasn’t capable of giving. What would he do if he found out the guy had kids? Could he in all good conscience drive away, and leave children there with him because reporting him might cause problems for Pixie?

Dred parked a few houses down and looked at Pixie. “Ready?”

The color was coming back to her cheeks. “I am. I spent the whole drive figuring out what to say, and the truth is, I don’t need to say anything. All I need is to confirm he’s alive, and go.”

Dred tipped her chin. “I love you, Sarah-Jane Travers.”

“I love you too, Theodred Zander.”

They left the car and walked to Brewster’s house. Pixie rang the doorbell and waited.

She heard a squeal from inside, followed by male laughter, which got progressively louder.

The door swung open. “Hello,” Brewster said with a huge smile on his face. He looked from Dred to Pixie. “Oh shit.” The grin faded, and Brewster stepped onto the steps and pulled the door shut behind him.

“Brewster,” she said calmly.

Brewster looked back toward the house and cursed again. “Look, Sarah-Jane, please. I don’t know what you want. But I’m sorry. I’ve changed. I swear it. I just got married, and she has no idea about . . .”

She let the silence hang painfully between them.

“You can’t even finish that sentence, can you?” Pixie asked, finally.

In the event they ever needed proof that Brewster was alive, Dred whipped out his phone and took a picture.

“You disgust me.” Pixie turned to walk down the steps.