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She stared at me with desperate eyes. “I lied when I came here. Or at least, I didn’t tell you the whole truth. I didn’t just come to Saint View because I had a friend who lives here. I actually didn’t know anybody here at all.”
It was the story she’d told me when I’d questioned where she lived. She’d said she was sleeping on a friend’s couch, and that was how I eventually came to rent her my apartment.
“Okay,” I said slowly. “You wouldn’t be the first person who’s lied to me. I’m sure you had your reasons.”
She nodded hard. “I really am sorry. I hate that I lied. You’ve been so good to me, coming here was the best thing I ever did.”
I waved away her apology, knowing there was something deeper, and more important beneath it.
“I was living in my car,” Fawn admitted. “Something happened at home, and one day, I just got in my car and left with nothing but the clothes on my back and a few things shoved in a duffel bag.”
I swallowed hard. I’d always suspected that Fawn’s life before she came to Saint View Strip wasn’t a happy one. But she’d always put on a brave front, and in my opinion, people were allowed their secrets. God knew I had enough things I didn’t want to tell anyone. I just figured that if I didn’t want people prying into my life, then people probably didn’t want me prying into theirs. So I’d done what I could to help her, without asking for details.
I reached for her hand. “Okay, but none of that has anything to do with what happened here last night.”
“I don’t think you’d be saying that if you knew what I was running from.WhoI was running from.”
“Then tell me.”
She took a shuddering breath. “My ex. He’s messed up with all sorts of bad shit.”
Augie’s face went hard. “Did he hurt you? Tell me his name. I’ll fucking kill him myself.”
His words sent a chill down my spine. I had no doubt he meant it literally.
Fawn seemed to understand that, too. She shook her head. “You can’t. You don’t know his family. If they’ve found me, it’s over. I’ve gotta leave. It’s the only way.”
I shook my head. “Whoa, whoa, slow down. This isn’t anything to do with you. Nobody has found you. This is about me. This has William’s and Laura’s names written all over it.”
Fawn pressed her fingernails into my palm. “Because we interrupted his speech the other week? No. No way. This has to be Eddie. He gets off on this shit. Scaring me. Taunting me.”
I hated the fear in her eyes. I just wanted to take it away. She was too young. Too sweet and innocent to be that afraid. Fuck this Eddie guy. I’d kill him myself if Augie didn’t. But for now, I just wanted the fear in Fawn’s eyes to go away. “I’m telling you, this is William and Laura. Laura’s been sending threatening letters, trolling me on social media. I went over there the other night, and we got into it. Boston had to break us up. They want me off the strip. But I’m not going. And neither are you.”
Augie gripped her chin and twisted it to face him. “Damn right you’re not. If your ex wants to show his face around here, I’ll deal with it. You hear me?”
“And me,” I agreed. Lyric and Phoenix would have our backs as well, once they found out.
Fawn let out a shaky breath. “Do you really think it’s William and Laura?”
There wasn’t a doubt in my mind. “One hundred percent.”
Relief flushed Fawn’s face. “Okay. Okay, thank God. Because I don’t want to leave. I love it here, with you guys. I’ve got school and friends and dancing and money and freedom. Freedom most of all.”
I hoped the grinding of my teeth wasn’t audible. Her ex sounded like a piece of work, and she was too precious and untainted for some asshole to come and try to take that away from her. If he showed up, we’d run the little shit out. “You always have us,” I told her. “Nothing comes between the family you choose for yourself. Okay?”
She wiped her tears and stood. That quiet inner strength she hid inside straightened her spine and pulled back her shoulders. “Right then, family. Let’s get our home back together.”
20
BOSTON
Richards wasn’t at his desk in the bullpen, so I hung my jacket up and went searching for him. Over the past week, I’d learned he had a coffee addiction, so there was a good chance he’d be found in the kitchen, brewing up a pot.
He was, and he wasn’t alone. Johnson and Stewart sat at the table chatting with him, along with three other officers occupied by cleaning dishes and looking for something in the refrigerator. I tried to keep my face neutral, but it was an effort. I couldn’t forget Johnson’s expression when he’d dragged Heath Michaelson’s unconscious body out of his apartment. Or the sound of him beating the shit out of him on the recording. None of it sat right with me, and though my opinion of the older man had never been high, it had sunk to new lows.
The worst part was that he had a rookie as his partner and was teaching the next generation that his way of policing was the standard.
It was all a giant self-perpetuating circle that made me want to rip my hair out and scream.
