Treasure Your Love
Page 12

I read his name out loud again and then looked up. Sylvie was staring at me. Her sudden hesitation wasn’t a good thing.
“Who is he?” I prompted.
“He’s a murderer. He killed his wife and two children. Psychologists declared him as mentally unstable, but he was allowed to walk free due to a lack of evidence.”
My blood froze in my veins.
“It’s so cruel,” Sylvie whispered. “I’ve seen pictures of his children and the abuse they endured. It is too horrible to even imagine.”
“It’s a harsh and unfair world,” I said bitterly. “Even if you fight for justice, expect to lose and maybe even be ridiculed for trying.” I looked at the black book in my hands. “My sister’s boyfriend Danny walked free because the judge was swayed by personal biases and failed to see that behind Danny’s smiling face and charming words hid a monster. No law in the world will help if justice is swayed by a human inability to judge between right and wrong, good and evil, and that beautiful doesn’t equal good.”
“I know,” Sylvie said weakly.
I closed the book, wishing it’d be as easy for me to shut off evil. Put it away. Hide it. Burn it. Do whatever was necessary to make the world a safer place.
“Sometimes I wish I could kill him. There were nights I wanted to see him dead for all the torture and pain he caused my sister.” I laughed—not because it was funny but because the thought hurt.
I wiped a stray tear from my face, the reminder of loss too heavy, and watched the moisture on my finger. “They granted him protection. While my parents and I were threatened by Danny’s friends and feared for our lives, that piece of shit spent his days cozy in a safe house. No matter how many years pass, I can’t stop thinking about her and all the things I could have done to save her. People keep saying shit happens for a reason. I’d love to know what that reason is.”
Sylvie’s arms wrapped around me in a tight hug. In the silence of the room I knew she understood me. That she was there for me—she always was. As simple and straightforward as her touch seemed, it meant a lot more than words, which were cheap and worthless, spoken with no real intention behind them, except maybe to put an uncomfortable conversation to rest. Besides, there were no words Sylvie could say to ease the pain inside me. She knew it. I knew it. Saying sorry was simply not enough.
Time couldn’t erase my memories. Time couldn’t make them hurt less, but made me appreciate them more. With every day, with every breath I took, I could feel myself growing, becoming stronger—a braver me who accepted that this world wasn’t just beautiful. It was cruel. It was heartbreaking, and only the strongest survived. The kind of world that had taught me the need to keep going, to continue fighting, to keep learning. To get up after falling and keep going some more, without relying on anyone, without looking back.
“I’m sorry for laying this on you. My head’s a horrible place to be in right now. I don’t know when it all turned so serious,” I said, feeling guilty for my emotional rollercoaster ride. I forced a smile on my face and peeled myself out of Sylvie’s embrace.
“I wish you’d talk about it,” Sylvie said gently.
I shook my head. Now wasn’t the time. “The point I wanted to make is that we can’t be sure whether the guy we’re looking for, Eric Statham, isn’t the football player. No matter how hot he is, don’t let his appearance sway you, because evil people look just like you and me. An evil mind isn’t always the result of bad upbringing. It’s the result of bad character, and it can happen without any outside influence. There are attractive bad people, not because they were created that way. It’s a matter of choice, one we’ll never understand no matter how hard we try.”
“I always thought the bad guys look insane.” Her lips twitched. Her feeble attempt at infusing humor into a tense situation was more than welcome.
“You’ve been watching too many horror movies.”
“You make me think twice about inviting the pizza delivery boy in. Makes me want to hide inside a room like a loony bin and trust no one.”
“Is finding the book the reason why you want to go on a road trip?” I had been wanting to ask the question since Sylvie told me about her discovery. “Is running away from it all your solution?”
“Never thought about that,” she admitted. “Kenny asked me before I found it. But in some way, yes. I thought if I physically distanced myself from it all, I could escape. Maybe when I return everything will be over, because right now I feel like I’m being watched. I know that’s paranoia talking, but still.”
“Running’s not the answer to our problems.” I glanced at my watch. In less than an hour, Jett would finish work, and I wanted to be home before he was back. I pushed the book and disk inside my handbag. “Gotta go.” I stood and headed for the door, then stopped midway, remembering I hadn’t asked about the disk. “Did you check out the disk as well?”
“I tried, but it requires a password.”
“We’ll have to talk to Kenny, then. By the way, he’s awesome.” I shrugged into my jacket. “It took me a while to figure him out, but I’m glad you’re dating.”
“Yeah, me, too. Who knew Italy would turn out the way it did?” Her cheeks flushed a little bit, which never happened when Sylvie talked about a guy. “Speaking of Italy, I forgot to ask. Have you by any chance seen my tennis bracelet? I remember I still had it when we came back.”
I shook my head. The tennis bracelet was one of Sylvie’s favorite pieces of jewelry. “It’s probably in the bathroom. If it’s not there, I’ll stop by later this week to help you find it.”
“It’s okay. For all I know it might be somewhere inside the suitcase. I haven’t unpacked yet.” She laughed and accompanied me to the door, hesitating. “Want me to come with you?”
“No. I’ll be fine.” I hugged her briefly.
“Are you sure?”
I heaved an exaggerated sigh. “I’m not afraid. I stopped being afraid of bad people a long time ago because I don’t care what happens to me. What scares me is disappointing Jett, so right now I really want to get this over and done with.”
She leaned against the doorframe and crossed her arms over her chest. “It’s called being in love, I guess. You simply treasure what you want to keep. If he doesn’t forgive you, he doesn’t feel the same way about you. You deserve someone who stands by you in every possible way. If he truly loves you, he’ll walk the extra mile just for you.”
“Thanks for the insight, Oprah.” It was our favorite line. “I’ll call you later with an update on the Jett situation. Wish me luck, and make sure to lock up.”
“You know I always do.” Which was a lie. She always forgot.
Sylvie didn’t move out of the way, and in spite of her encouraging smile, her gaze implored me to stay. I wanted to so badly I almost caved in. But I needed to talk with Jett.
“I’ll see you when I see you.” I walked past her, eager for some alone time to sort through my thoughts.
Chapter 11
OUTSIDE, THE RAIN had stopped, but the sky was still a palette of gray. The air carried the scent of fumes and damp earth, and a faint promise that fall would soon be coming, coloring the streets in hues of copper and orange. I forced oxygen into my lungs and headed down the road in search of a taxi, minding the puddles at every corner.
I reached a crossing and stopped. A black limousine passed by and turned a corner, heading for Sylvie’s building.
The lights changed to green. I was about to cross the street when I noticed a guy walking toward me, waving.
“Excuse me?” he said in a strong foreign accent I wasn’t able to place. “Can you help me?” Dressed in jeans and a T-shirt with the logo “I love NY” slapped across his chest, he looked like a tourist. And a lost one at that. I smiled.
“Sure. Where are you heading?” I asked.
He inched closer. His arms brushed mine casually as he showed me the map. He didn’t seem to mind, but I leaned away to put some inches between us. It happened before. People who didn’t know when they were in my personal space.
“Sorry.” He smiled apologetically and pointed to a spot on the map. “I need to get there.”
“You should get a taxi. It’s way too far to walk.” I had looked up to make sure he understood when someone grabbed me from behind and covered my mouth with such force it knocked my breath out of my lungs. My handbag was yanked off my shoulder. For a moment my mind went blank, unable to put a meaning to the situation, and then awareness kicked in. My heart almost froze in my chest as I struggled against the iron grip dragging me to a nearby car I realized was the black limousine.
“Let me go!” I screamed, but no sound escaped my throat. I bit as hard as I could on the hand clamping my mouth shut, my teeth piercing through skin.
“Bitch,” a male voice hissed a moment before I was pushed flat on my knees and the car door slammed, bathing me in pitch-black. In spite of the sharp pang of pain shooting through my left knee and carrying through my thigh, I dashed for the door and yanked at the handle. It didn’t open.
I was trapped.
Fuck!
My breath quickened as countless thoughts began to race through my head. I was being abducted, and nobody knew where I was. If I didn’t alert someone now, I might never make it out alive. Slamming my fists against the window, I screamed for help. My voice echoed in my ears, but nothing stirred and no one came to my aid. The windows weren’t just tinted, making it impossible to peer inside—or out; the car was probably also soundproof. The engine whirred to life, and then we began to move.
Think, Stewart.
I took a deep breath and let it out slowly to calm my frayed nerves. Maybe if I were lucky enough, my abductors might make do with my handbag and the valuables inside, and dump me back on the street. I knew I was holding on to foolish hope, but I couldn’t let reality kick in just yet.
I figured I could write a note and throw it out—if the window opened. Someone might find it and call for help. I always carried paper and pen in my handbag, and my mind already came up with a message: Help me. I was abducted in a black limousine by two guys, one with an accent. Thanks and don’t always trust a tourist.
I laughed bitterly at my own horrid joke as I sank back to my knees and brushed my palms across the floor in search of my handbag and a miracle. If only I could get my hands on my cell, the first thing I’d do was call 911, and they’d track the car. Or send a text to alert Jett of the situation.
And then someone switched on the lights. I blinked several times until my eyes adjusted and I took in the figure sitting on the other side.
No shit!
My mind placed a name to the face, but it couldn’t be. I was either hallucinating or going crazy. But he looked pretty real and there was no mistake he was the same guy I had seen in all the pictures at the funeral. In front of me, his fingers interlaced, bent forward to regard me intently, was Robert Mayfield. And he was very much alive.