Page 105 of Finding Noah

“I don't handle paperwork. My associate does that. Shawn.”

“Shawn. Is he around today?”

“He's always around.”

I swallowed at his tone. “Would it be all right if I spoke to him?”

He shrugged as he took another puff, then leaned over to crush the remaining cigarette out in a planter housing dirt and about a thousand old butts.

Then, without another word, he began to walk toward the back door of the house, holding it open and waiting for me to follow with a warning glare.

I stamped my cigarette out and left it with the others in the planter slash ashtray as I frantically questioned if I should follow him or not. My gun was in the car, and all I had on me for protection was a cell phone and a pocketknife. I could put up a reasonable fight if things happened to go awry, but this man had several inches and about thirty pounds of muscle on me—and that was just him.

Who the hell knew what this Shawn looked like?

What if there are more guys in there as big as Abraham?

I didn't have backup. Nobody but Meg knew I was here. Fuck. Suddenly, this entire plan seemed stupid and harebrained, and I had no idea—absolutely no fucking idea—what I was getting myself into.

Yet … despite every iota of intuition telling me to excuse myself and leave … I followed him and went inside.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

WARNING SIGNS

Shawn, as it turned out, wasn't nearly as terrifying as his associate—and apparent brother—Abraham.

In fact, immediately after his introduction, Shawn proceeded to apologize for Abraham's abhorrent attitude.

“We grew up in the foster system,” he explained, leading me away from Abraham and down a brightly lit hallway. “Our experience was … well, let's just say, it wasn't a positive one. So, my older brother is a little skeptical of strangers.”

I followed along, walking over plush blue-gray carpet between white walls decorated with landscape paintings and accented by ornately carved molding. I noted the closed doors and their raised panels, wondering what they concealed, then remembered where I was and how unlikely it was that I actually wanted to know what was behind them.

“That must be awkward when people come in here, looking for funeral services,” I half joked as we passed a long, winding staircase.

The newel post alone looked like it was worth more than every piece of furniture in my house.

Shawn laughed as he swung a right and led me toward the only open door we'd come across.

“No offense, but there's usually a pretty big difference between mourning families and cops coming around, asking questions.”

“Touché,” I replied, passing the threshold into what appeared to be an office, with a huge desk and several chairs positioned in front of it. “Do you get cops in here a lot?”

Again, Shawn laughed, but it wasn't one of condescension or nerves. It was good-natured and light.

“Actually, you're one of the first in a long, long time,” he said, sitting behind the desk, in front of a computer screen. With a wave of his hand, he gestured toward the chairs. “Please, take a seat.”

I did just that as I asked, “So, you used to have cops pay visits?”

His features remained friendly and soft as he nodded. “Abraham … Bram,” he seemed to correct himself with a fond smile. “Well, when we were adopted by our father”—he gestured toward a picture on the wall of an elderly man—“Bram liked to, uh … let's just say, rebel in whatever way he could. You know, nothing too wild or anything like that, but he'd get into trouble.”

I nodded, suddenly understanding as I threw in a few guesses, “Shoplifting, graffiti …”

Shawn's responding nod was deep as one side of his mouth curled into a smile that said he knew I got it. “Exactly. The cops brought him home a few times when he was dumb enough to get caught. But that hasn't been in … God, decades. Not since we were kids.”

I could feel my body relaxing by the second as Shawn talked, and my understanding of Abraham's surly attitude began to make sense.

He was just a suspicious, scared kid inside a big man's body, and I couldn't help but wonder what kind of nightmares he'd lived through to make him that way.