Chapter Six #2
He loved his daughter, but his refusal to talk about whatever had happened was a problem. I knew from personal experience just how healing it could be to talk through things because it was the only way to come out the other side. That was what had helped me after my brother was murdered.
I pulled into the parking lot and sat in silence for a few moments. Feeling helpless, I called my mom.
“?Mija!” she answered on the first ring, voice bright and warm. “How’s the new job?”
I smiled, tension already easing from my shoulders. “It’s good. The little girl’s amazing. The dad’s…” I hesitated, searching for a polite word. “He’s stubborn.”
She laughed softly. “Give him grace, Ana. It’s not easy dealing with a child who’s shutting you out. You think you know what to do, and then one day they just stop letting you in.” The hurt and the weight in her voice was an instant pang of guilt.
My chest tightened. “I didn’t mean to complain, Mami. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize,” she said gently. “I’m not saying this to make you feel guilty, I just want you to think about it from his perspective. He’s hurting too.”
I knew better than most, the effect it had on the parents and still I hadn’t given him any grace. “You’re right.”
“Of course I am, I’m your mother. It’s kind of my thing.” Her laugh was small but genuine. “I am also missing my daughter.”
I laughed to myself. “You’re also as subtle as a sledgehammer.”
Laughter bubbled out of her, loud and amused. “That’s my daughter, too smart for your own good. Come by the restaurant soon, I’m letting Marco put something on the menu.”
“I will. I promised Zoya that you make the best tortillas on the planet.”
“Be careful,” she reminded me in that gentle tone. “You put so much of your heart into your job that you forget to keep a piece of it for yourself.”
“I will, mami, I promise.” I sighed as I got out of the car and grabbed my bag with my free hand. “Love you.”
“Love you too, honey.”
I ended the call and set the car alarm. The night air felt cold, but there was also something else.
I couldn’t put my finger on it, but I felt on edge.
I was already walking towards my apartment while I shoved my phone into my back pocket, but the closer I got, the more that feeling that something was off intensified.
Then I froze. My body went completely still.
My door was hanging open, barely hanging on to the hinges.
My heart lurched into my throat before flipping over. I stepped closer, every nerve in my body screaming danger. “Hello?” I called softly, already knowing no one would answer. The place had that vacant feel about it that chilled me to my core.
My living room looked like a tornado had hit it. Furniture was overturned. Couch cushions had been slashed open. Books were torn and scattered across the floor. The word WHORE was spray-painted in red across my wall. SLUT scrawled on the mirror.
My stomach dropped.
My hands fumbled but I managed to grab my phone and call the police. It rang once before someone answered.
“Nine-one-one, what’s your emergency?”
“I—” I swallowed hard. “I just came home and my apartment’s been broken into. It’s… it’s trashed. Someone spray-painted things on the walls.”
“Okay, ma’am. Take a breath for me. What’s your address?”
I rattled it off automatically.
“Are you inside the apartment right now?”
“Yes,” I said, my voice thin. “I just walked in.”
“I need you to leave the apartment immediately. Do you see or hear anyone inside?”
“No. I don’t think so. It’s empty.”
“Good. Go back outside, get somewhere safe, and do not touch anything. Officers are being dispatched now.”
I backed towards the door, my heart pounding. “Okay. I’m leaving.”
“Do you have a vehicle nearby?”
“Yes.”
“Go wait in your car, lock the doors, and stay on the line with me until you’re safe. If anything changes, tell me immediately.”
“I’m outside,” I said, my breath coming fast. “I’m in my car.”
“Good. Help is on the way. You did the right thing.”
Once I ended the call I waited outside in the parking lot as the dispatcher instructed. I couldn’t stop shaking while I waited, wondering if whoever had done this was watching me. Wondering who they were. Why had they targeted me?
It was an out-of-body experience, watching the sheriff’s vehicles as they pulled into the parking lot.
Four men headed into my apartment. After fifteen minutes one of them came out, he was an older man with salt and pepper hair, and as he strolled towards my car there was an air of authority about him.
I rolled down the window as he approached.
“Good evening, ma’am, I’m Sheriff Hudson Cross,” he introduced himself. “Miss Moreno?”
I nodded. “Call me Eliana,” I somehow managed even though my throat was so tight it felt difficult to breathe.
“I’m guessing your place wasn’t like this when you were last here?”
“No,” I answered. “Definitely not. I was at work all day and just arrived home. I don’t know why anyone would do this to me.”
“Did you see the entire apartment?” he asked.
I shook my head. “I saw the living room and that was enough. I got out and called 911.”
The sheriff’s expression was carefully blank. “I need you to come with me. Stay close and don’t touch anything.”
I nodded and got out of my car. I followed him into my apartment, past the wrecked living room and down the hall where the bedroom and bathroom were located.
“Prepare yourself,” he warned and then opened the door before I could answer.
When I stepped inside, I understood why.
There were photos on my wall, maybe a hundred or more, and every last one of them was of Zoya.
From us playing in the front yard. Some from her at the playground with a younger redheaded girl and others with an older woman I assumed was her previous babysitter.
My knees went weak and I dug my feet into the ground to keep myself from falling.
“Oh my god!” I cried out, suddenly sick and terrified.
“I need… I have to call Sle—Mr. Kerris.” He would blame me for this, probably hate me.
Definitely he was going to fire me. I yelped when the sheriff’s hand landed on my shoulder. “Sorry.”
“How do you know Sledge?”
My gaze narrowed at his use of my employer’s club name. “I’m Zoya’s nanny. How do you know him?”
His lips twitched. “We have an understanding that requires occasional cooperation.”
I didn’t know if that was true or not, so I nodded and found Sledge’s contact info. Then I braced myself for his anger as I made the call.