Chapter 23
23
FORD
I walk into Trent’s garage after I checked out of the seedy hotel and head upstairs to the spare room he offered, ignoring him as he watches NASCAR reruns.
“Busy night?” he asks, staring at the TV, and then takes a drag of his beer.
I smile. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
He nods, holding his beer in the air by the neck. “Want one?”
“I’m good.”
I’m almost to the top by the door when he asks, “You fucked her yet?”
I pause. “Be very careful and specific about who you’re referring to, or that mug you have for a face will be a permanent one.”
After a long pull, I can hear the smack of his lips. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
“Well, get used to it. You keep her name and any of your crass bullshit out of your piehole. What I do with her is none of your fucking business.”
“I didn’t mean it like that. I’m worried you’re going a little too fast.”
I turn around, taking the steps two at a time, jumping on the last two, and getting in his face. “FAST FOR WHAT?” I grip his shirt in my fist. “You’re going all sentimental on me, Trent? Did you consider that when you abandoned her on the side of the road?”
He swallows visibly, then winces. I’m choking him with his shirt, wanting nothing more than to squeeze the life out of him for what he and Chris did. I’m sure if I wasn’t a celebrity and didn’t have so many eyes on me, I would have killed him, tied him and Chris to the fucking tires of their precious cars, and lit them on fire for what they did to her. But I have to find something—or rather, someone else. Her true attacker.
Leaving her asleep on her bed was one of the hardest things I had to do. Before leaving, I checked her monitor to make sure her grandmother was stable.
I wanted nothing more than to go back to Dulce’s room, crawl in her small bed, and fuck her. Eat her pussy like a fucking buffet.
“I-I know, Ford,” he stammers. I can see the terror in his eyes. He’s afraid of me like he should be.
“You know what?” he says like I care what he thinks only what he did.
My anger builds to the surface when he puts in his invalid two cents, but I have to listen. Analyze every word because something is missing from this puzzle.
“She doesn’t trust easily, and you need to be careful, or you’ll lose her.” He swallows. “Forever.”
"You think I don't know that she's terrified, asshole? She has every right to ask questions and not trust anyone. What else do you know about that night?” I press.
Every so often, I drill him for answers. I can’t go to Chris’s drug-addicted ass for solid information because he’s high all the time. I could beat him ten ways from Sunday, and he wouldn't know the difference. Besides, you can’t trust a drug addict. He’ll say anything for his next hit. Desperate people lie. It doesn’t mean that he’s off the hook. I let him think that I don't care, and Trent doesn't have the balls to tell him.
A war is never won if the enemy sees you coming.
“I’ve told you everything I know.”
In the morning, I head over to the police station to pay Officer Dickhead a visit. The station is small, and the smell of sawdust and old wood permeates the air. Two wood desks make up the office, and a chocolate-colored shelf has papers stuck on the edge of missing persons across the state. Persons of interest on others who haven’t been caught.
“How can I help you?” Officer Dickhead drawls, closing a file on his desk.
I knew he was here today and didn't have road duty. I checked. I threw my last name around, making it seem like my father was checking things out.
I take a seat, not bothering to take off my sunglasses. “I need a copy of the report from that night.”
He leans back, making the old chair squeak with a smug smile. He knows I’m asking for Dulce’s case specifically. “I’m afraid that isn’t possible.”
I raise my brows. “Why not?”
“Because it’s still an open investigation.”
This asshole is lucky he was there to help Dulce, or I would have him fired so I could take him out and beat the shit out of him. Like the ole days when I would fuck around town with my friends. The shit we would get into wasn’t talked about. It wasn't reported because someone would disappear or lose their job.
“I can have the preliminary report, and I’m not asking,” I say in a stern tone.
His shit-brown eyes grow hard. “Make a phone call. Throw your name around like you rich boys do, but count me out.”
“Is there something you’re hiding,” I ask, looking directly at him, “or don’t want me to see?”
I don’t trust him, and he knows it. I don’t buy the bravado or hero act he puts on around Dulce. Like most people in this town, he’s hiding something.
"I'd like to ask you,” he volleys back. “Funny.” He sits up and leans over his desk. “Don't act like it didn’t take you four years to come riding into town on your white horse like some white knight.”
He isn’t wrong. It did take me four years to come back. To figure out that what was missing would always be her.
“It's also taken you more than four years to find out who attacked Dulce. Any leads?”
He flinches like I punched him.
“None,” he admits, but I can’t tell he isn’t looking into it.
“I find that hard to believe,” I fire back, leaning back in the chair and giving him a fake smile. “And frankly, no one in this town gives a fuck, but I do, and it’s also obvious you truly don’t give a fuck about Dulce.”
“That is where you’re wrong. I do care about her more than you think.”
“I got a different vibe when you took her to dinner,” I point out. “You kind of forgot to tell the girl you’re fucking that you’re interested in someone else.”
“Be careful, Keller. You might find yourself in a similar predicament.”
“I’m single. I don’t do entanglements.”
He snorts. "I'm sure Dulce would be impressed by that. And all the women you've screwed since then and the fact that you lack commitment—to your family, friends, or her.”
“And you’re so great,” I say with a menacing smile.
“I’m not a saint, but I have made sure no one else comes near her since it happened.”
“Like you did with old man Moody?” I sneer.
When I mention the old man's name, he stiffens slightly and then plays it off like he is arranging something on his desk.
“I’ll look into it,” he says, but I don’t believe him. “He didn’t do it,” he adds. “That I can assure you.”
“He exposed himself to Dulce and Katie and mocked them. Isn’t that enough to bring him in? Or how about the fact that he doesn’t live too far from where Dulce was attacked?”
His jaw hardens. “I said I’ll look into it.” I move to get up, and I’m almost to the door when he calls out, “Ford?” I turn around. He wipes his mouth. “I’m in love with her.”
I snort. “You have a funny way of showing her.”
I wanted to tell him she didn’t feel the same way. She isn’t his to love, and if he so much as touches her, he’ll end up worse than Trent, but why tell him? It doesn't matter because he will never have her. I’ll make sure of it.