Chapter 37
Thirty-Seven
Carter
He turns the volume up right before the beat drops, and we both play the air drums, bobbing our heads to the music.
As we drive deeper into the city, we pass by the little shops, and I’m reminded that besides the new wedding ring I had custom made for River after the day she claimed me as her husband, I haven’t bought anything else for her for Christmas.
Shit. That’s in a week.
The days seem to blur together, and the holidays creep up way too fast when you’re playing game after game during the fall and winter.
Sinclair Tower—where we live—has several department stores on the bottom level, and not too far sits a Tiffany & Co.
Maybe I should stop in there and grab her a necklace or something.
She’s not a materialistic person, but like any woman, she loves pretty things.
“Hey, man,” I say, grabbing his attention over the music. “We’re close to some of the shops, and I need to pick up a few things for River for Christmas. Just drop me off at the Tiffany & Co. I’ll walk to my building from there.”
“I can go with you.”
“Nah,” I argue. “It shouldn’t take me too long. I’m gonna pop in and pop out. Go pick up your boy, then you can swing by and grab me. I’ll run the gifts up to my floor and pick up a few days’ worth of clothes.”
Turning left, he rounds the block, then pulls up in front of the store.
I hop out and pull my jacket tight around my body, then brace a hand on the cold truck door as I tell him, “I’ll shoot you a text when I’m done.
Shouldn’t be too long. It’s just a ten-minute walk home, so give me maybe forty minutes to an hour? ”
He jerks his head in a stiff nod of agreement. I close the door and dash between the cars of traffic before ducking into the store.
I know . . . I know! You don’t have to point out that I straight up Jay walked. I have shit to do, and I’m on a time crunch.
An older gentleman who appears to be in his fifties greets me as soon as I cross the threshold.
After telling him what I’m looking for, he directs me to a glass case, displaying various bracelets.
I pick out a dainty, gold bracelet with two hearts and a diamond in between them to represent the twins.
Of course, I don’t stop there. I’m Carter Fucking Graham. I don’t half-ass anything.
In the next display case, I spot a gold necklace with a charm in the shape of a key encrusted in diamonds. It’s the perfect symbol of her strength and the power she wields. The doors she’s closed and locked up tight and the ones she’s opened to start a new chapter in her life.
After paying, the salesman takes the jewelry to a counter where someone wraps them.
A few minutes later, he hands the teal bag to me, then I’m out the door.
As I step outside into the cold air, the wind whips around, funneling through the tall buildings like a wind tunnel.
Car horns blare over the Christmas music playing along the street, and people hang their heads out of their car windows, yelling and cussing at other drivers.
Everyone is always in a rush to get somewhere here in New York.
I consider hailing a cab to stay out of the cold but think better of it.
I’ll get home much faster if I walk. It takes about five minutes to make it to my building and shivers wrack through my body as I step into the heated lobby.
I pass by the reception desk and almost stop to confront Brian and ask him how he knows the “private investigator,” but something stops me from turning around to do so.
Instead, I pluck my cell out of my back pocket and pull up the contact for Detective Matthews to see if Ryder’s been in touch. I meant to do it earlier, but then Cal asked me if I wanted to ride with him to pick up Tucker.
Pressing the call button, the phone rings a few times before a gruff voice clips out, “Detective Matthews.”
“Detective, this is Carter Graham,” I say as I press the up button on the elevator.
“Good to hear from you, Mr. Graham,” he greets, his voice holding a more pleasant tone than before.
The elevator dings, and the steel doors slide open. I didn’t think this through very well, so I add as I press the button to my floor, “You can just call me Carter. I’m stepping onto the elevator in my building, so I might lose reception.”
“No problem. What can I do for you, Carter?”
“We met with Ryder Vance last night. Any chance you could tell me if he’s spoken to you or not?”
“Yes. He filled me in. Of course, this is an ongoing investigation, so I can’t say too much.
But I will advise you to act normal and not ask anyone any questions.
That includes this Brian guy if you should happen to run into him.
I want an authentic reaction when I bring him in for questioning.
We don’t need to give him time to ponder his reposes, especially if he’s guilty of accessory to stalking or breaking and entering. ”
That checks. The elevator comes to a halt on my floor. I step out and begin to make my way to our door.
“Funny you should say that. I almost stopped at the desk and asked for him, but something told me not to.”
“I’m glad to see you have some common sense.”
I chuckle at that as I open my door. I drop the little bag, along with my keys, on the entryway table, then shed my coat, hanging it on the coat tree by the door.
When I turn around, I find myself staring into the eyes of the man who’s been my wife’s living nightmare as he lounges on a chair in my living room.
Heat and tingles travel up my body. Blood rushes to my head. Adrenaline courses through my veins.
Pure rage engulfs me.
My initial thought is to drag that son of a bitch out of my goddamn chair and rip him apart with my bare hands. But the analytical side of my brain tells me not to. I’m a smart enough man to know that I need to assess the situation before acting. This man is fucking crazy.
I relax my expression, unclench my jaw, and allow a mask to fall into place.
“Hey, Mom, I need to go. I have company,” I say nonchalantly.
“Uh, Carter, you do know that I’m not your mom, right? Do we need to send you in for a psychological evaluation?”
“Yeah, Mom. Yeah. I know that.” I chuckle as if I’m in on a joke. “Well, you go right on ahead and tell Dad that he needs bring his ass up here and I’ll show him what a good time is.”
“What are you saying?” He pauses for a second. I wait for it to finally click. “He’s there. Isn’t he?”
“Yep. Yeah. He is. Oh, you know how it is with that ol’ bastard. Never really learns. Kinda like that saying, some people live and learn and some people just live. Anyway, Mom, like I said, I just made it home, and one of the guys popped in.”
Jaxon leans forward, elbows on his knees, and lights a cigarette like he owns the goddamn place. He takes a drag and tilts his head to the side, his brows pulling down into a frown like he doesn’t know what to think of me.
“Stay on the phone with me and keep him talking. Don’t do anything rash. He could have a weapon. We’re on our way.”
“Oooh. Can’t wait!” I force a fake laugh. “Alright. Love you too, Mom. Bye.”
Hearing the detective yell at people on the other end, I turn the volume down, then pretend to end the call. I place my phone receiver end up in my back pocket, hoping the detective can hear what’s going on.
Keep him talking.
I’m good at talking. I can do this.
The question is, can I do it without losing my shit and killing the fucker with my bare hands?
“I would ask who you are, but I don’t want to insult your intelligence by playing dumb. You obviously came for a reason so let’s chat,” I say, crossing the living room and making my way into the kitchen. “Want a beer or something?”
I can tell he’s confused as hell as I make my way to the fridge, pull out a Corona and hold it up.
He wasn’t expecting that kind of greeting.
Is it a good idea to give a psycho alcohol?
Probably not, but the gesture is throwing him off, so I pop the top and slide it to the end of the island before I lean back against the kitchen counter.
My heart rate spikes as he unfolds himself out of my chair and crosses the space to stand at the island.
He picks up the drink that I’ve offered him, tilts the bottle up, and takes a long pull.
We match each other in build and height, which partially explains why River was so apprehensive when she first met me.
Looking around the apartment, he asks, “Where’s Rivie?”
I have to force myself to stay in place. Stay even-tempered. To keep my molars from grinding and my nostrils from flaring. I even out my breathing and wave a hand around in the air, keeping lightness to my voice as I answer.
“Oh, you know how women are this time of year. They always have to buy a gift for every single person they know and come into contact with. You in town for long?”
He shakes his head and pulls out the stool to sit down. “No. Just in town on business. Thought I’d stop by.”
I watch his mannerisms. He seems docile right now, but a few things—besides coming into our home uninvited like it’s normal—have alarm bells going off in my head.
For one: his face is free from expression, and his brown eyes look empty.
Then, there’s his relaxed and hunched shoulders.
Like he’s given up. When someone gives up, things go south pretty quickly.
He takes a drag off his cigarette and holds it up. “You have something I can ash in?” he asks with no inflection to his voice whatsoever.
I reach into the cabinet next to me, my eyes never leaving him, grab a juice glass from the shelf, then slide it over to him before leaning back against the counter.
“Thanks,” he says, blowing a plume of smoke out of his mouth, then he ashes into the glass. I have a feeling that I have until he’s done with that cigarette before shit hits the fan.
“You look like you have a lot weighing you down,” I say.