2. CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER TWO
I vy
Iris slurps her drink so loudly I wince.
“Do you have to do that?” I’m not one to police my sister. Not after all she’s been through. But today was particularly tedious for me and I’d love some quiet.
“It feels good.” She does it again. “You should try it.”
“Eh, no.” I swipe my card over the sensor and push the lobby door, holding it open as we walk through.
“Try it,” she insists.
I give in and bring my straw to my lips. The refreshing fruit juice we grabbed from the cart in the park fills my mouth and the bubbling sound actually doesn’t grate my nerves.
“So…” Her eyes twinkle as she waits for my verdict.
After seeing her face plastered all over the internet and on billboards for years, I kind of forgot that at twenty, she’s only just left her teen years behind. Something so simple can make her so happy. From my outside perspective, she seems to have lived a thousand lifetimes.
“It’s nice.”
The smile on her face warms me. When I got the call that she’d collapsed and was taken to the hospital three weeks ago, I dropped everything and rushed to her side. Our parents, who’d pushed for and “managed” her music career, were nowhere to be found.
While Iris was bedridden, discoveries that left me stunned and her heartbroken, cropped up. She couldn’t pay the hospital bills despite the fact she was a big superstar. Why? Our dad—no, Luke, because he doesn’t deserve to be called a father—had embezzled all her money and skipped town. While our mom, Katie, ran off with Iris’s boyfriend. Scum doesn’t even begin to describe them.
We still haven’t spoken about what happened. Not really. It’s been a week since Iris returned home from the hospital and is trying to live a normal life with me, a sister she never spent time with growing up.
I’m trying my best to help her lead that normal life after the hell our parents put her through. If that means sipping loudly and other ridiculousness, then I’m game.
“See?” Her startling green eyes brighten for a second before returning to their usual weariness.
She used to be happy and bright. More than I ever was or could ever hope to be. But the years and our parents’ interference did a number on her. And trying to keep a smile on her face is like expecting a wet rag to hold a flame.
I tear my gaze away. Looking at her for too long always breaks my heart. She deserves none of what she has faced. Damn our parents. Now that they are out of the picture, she’s my responsibility and I’m going to do right by her.
I press the button on the elevator. The door slides to enclose us when my phone buzzes. I whip it out and read the notification. A sigh escapes me and my shoulders fall.
“Work?” Iris asks.
“Yep,” I reply. “It’s a kid I placed in a home. He’s been having trouble adjusting, and his foster parents are at their wit’s end.”
I don’t mean to sound so despondent but sometimes I’m just so tired. Trying to do the right thing and still having it blow up in your face sucks.
“I wonder how you do it.” Iris’s eyes are glued to my face.
I wonder what she sees. An older sister who failed to protect her? A woman wound so tightly she can feel the ache in bones? A person grappling with life but losing their hold on everything?
“You’re amazing.”
My eyebrows rise. “W-What do you mean?”
“How you deal with watching broken families and trying to help them. It must take a lot from you.”
I start to deny it, but it’s my sister here. Not my boss. “It does, but at the same time, it’s fulfilling when it works out. I just hate to see those who cannot stand up for themselves getting beaten down again and again. I always want to help them.”
I hold her gaze for a long second until she blinks and looks away.
“Shoot.” I bite my lip. “I didn’t mean to make you feel bad.”
“I know.” She keeps her head bowed. “I’ve got you at least. Some people don’t have a badass social worker sister on their side.”
My lips twitch. “I’ve never heard badass and social worker in the same sentence.”
“Really?” She raises an eyebrow. “I should call you that more often then.”
The elevator stops and we get off. We pad across the carpeted hallway floor in companionable silence toward my apartment door.
“Hold on.” I grab Iris’s arm, stopping just before my apartment door.
“What—” She stops, probably seeing what I’m seeing. “I didn’t leave the door open. I promise.”
“I know.” I edge forward, my heart climbing into my throat.
“Ivy,” she says in a hushed tone. “Someone might be in there.”
I know but I have to see. I creep closer until I’m standing in front of the open door. A boot print lines the center of the door where it must have been kicked open.
“Do you think it’s them?” Iris asks behind me.
I’m shaking. This building is supposed to be safe. We need keycards to enter. A stranger shouldn’t be able to come in. Especially not one that can gain access to my apartment. “We don’t know that.”
“It’s them, isn’t it?” Iris whispers.
I spin around to find my sister on the verge of tears. Her face has turned pink and her lips are trembling. “Hey, hey.” I pull her into my arms and hug her tightly. My god. She’s shivering. “It’s okay.”
When she was in the hospital, Iris confessed she didn’t want to continue in the music industry. She told our parents this a year ago but they coerced her into continuing. She’d reached her breaking point and she couldn’t return to the stage. I immediately fulfilled her wishes drawing up a letter for her label and a notice to the public.
Ever since, she has been receiving messages from fans. Some wish her well. Some plead for her to reconsider. Others are more forceful. Threatening. Obsessive.
We went to the police and they assured us it would blow over. Fans can be a bit over the top. I’ve handled her social media since to keep her unaware of the worst messages.
But this, this is one I can’t hide her from.
I hurry to my neighbor’s house and knock at the door.
Yolanda opens up. “Hi—”
I barrel right past her, pulling Iris along. I deposit her on the chair and wipe off her tear-stained cheeks.
“Ivy, what’s happening?” Yolanda stands over us, wringing her hands. “Is everything alright? I heard a bang down the hall earlier, but I was too afraid to check.”
“It’s a good thing you didn’t. Did you lock your front door? Lock the door.”
Yolanda hurries off and returns, her features etched with concern.
I grab my phone from my purse. “I’ve got to make a call.”
I head to the window and pull down a blind to take in the surrounding area. Nothing looks suspicious in the night as passersby go about their business.
The call to the police goes through. I forgo any pleasantries and go right down to business. “I would like to speak to Detective Callum Holton, please.”
He was the one who took the complaint about the threats Iris had been receiving. He was attentive and sympathetic and seemed competent. If any officer would understand the gravity of what we face now, it would be him.
“I will connect you to him,” the voice says. “Stay on the line.”
I glance over my shoulder as I wait. Yolanda and Iris stare in my direction. Iris is hunched over a glass of water and a blanket rests on her shoulders.
“I’m calling the cops,” I explain, pointing at the phone.
Just then, a voice comes on. “This is Callum Holton.”
“Detective Callum. This is Ivy Ross. My sister Iris and I reported the threats against her to you.”
“Yes, yes.” He sounds more alert. “I remember.”
“Well, there was an incident tonight and we believe it may be connected.”
“Where are you?” he demands.
“In our neighbor’s apartment. We can’t go into mine because someone broke into it.”
“Text me your address.” A shuffling sound comes from his end like he’s already on his feet and in motion. “I’ll be there shortly.”
I do as he asks.
An hour later, Detective Callum and his partner arrive. Iris and I find the courage to enter the apartment for the first time since we found it broken into. We tiptoe behind them into the unrecognizable space.
“My goodness.” Iris covers her mouth with trembling hands, tears seeping out of her eyes.
I’m too numb to cry. I feel as though I’m having an out-of-body experience. My favorite vase I scooped up at a yard sale crunches underfoot as I walk through the living room. My lime green couch looks like the Wolverine clawed his way out of it, foam sticking out everywhere. The TV hangs at an angle, only held up by the cable. Is that a crack at the edge?
“All clear.” Callum comes out of the kitchen. “Can you look through the house? In case anything was taken.”
I nod shakily. Every step leading me deeper into the apartment reveals just how thorough whoever did this was. The dresser drawers are thrown about. Underwear scattered all over. It doesn’t move me that the cops saw our private bits of clothing. A not well-meaning stranger rifled through them and that’s infinitely worse. The mattress is flipped over, and the nightstand lies on its side.
Even the bathroom isn’t spared. The showerhead is gone, and the mirror is shattered. My stricken face stares back at me through the pieces barely hanging on. I turn around before I start crying. One of us needs to be strong.
I walk into the kitchen, ignoring Iris’ whimpers. She believes this is her fault. While she may be the target, the sick bastard who did this is entirely at fault. Pots, pans, and plates. Everything is out of the cabinets, lying on the ground. Some intact. Some cracked. Most shattered—like my heart.
Back in the living room, the detectives give me a professionally sympathetic look. Of course, this must be another Tuesday for them. Not for me though.
I collect my sister in my arms and she cries on my shoulder.
“Anything taken?”
“No.” It hurts to say so. If they came looking for something, maybe this destruction would be justifiable. Yet, everything is there. Just ruined beyond repair.
Since our couches have been torn up, the detective takes our statements in Yolanda’s apartment. I owe her a ton. We’ve commandeered her living room and she’s been kind enough to offer us all something to drink. I should arrange a gift basket as a thank you to her.
This thought is promptly cut off by Detective Callum’s next words. “You need to go somewhere else.”
“Excuse me?” My eyes narrow. I surely didn’t hear that right.
“You and Iris can’t stay,” he says with an emphasis. “They may come back, and we don’t have the manpower to keep watch over you 24/7. A safer location would ensure Iris is not found again.”
Iris frowns. “Detective Callum...”
“Just Callum is fine.” His gaze shifts to the side to include me. “Both of you.”
“I can’t ask my sister to leave her home for my sake.”
I place a hand on her arm. “I don’t care. I’d leave everything a thousand times over if I can ensure your safety.” I won’t be our parents. I turn to Callum. “I’ll do anything to keep my sister safe.”
A note of appreciation lights up his eyes. “An old army buddy of mine just started a security and investigation firm in a town not too far away.”
I’m already nodding. Taking Iris out of Denver ensures whoever’s after her will lose sight of her for the foreseeable future.
“I can’t let you do that, Ivy. I can’t let you drop everything for me.”
“I will always drop everything for you, Iris. I care about you.”
Her face softens. “What about your job?”
“It will be here when this blows over. I don’t care. I just need you to be safe, okay?”
She looks down, combing her fingers through her chin-length brunette hair. In the past week, I’ve learned that the action is a result of nerves.
“Okay?”
She meets my eyes and nods. “Okay.”
“We’ll do it,” I tell Callum.
“Good. Just pack up whatever you’ll be needing.” His eyes flit to Iris briefly. “I’ll set you up in a hotel tonight and tomorrow, I’ll take you to meet Brody.”
Brody . I hope this Brody is good at what he does because I need my sister to be as safe as a joey in a mama kangaroo’s pouch.