Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
“I heard about Hendrix,” Echo said while dribbling the basketball.
Messy was one way to describe brain matter splattered on the wall from a high-caliber revolver.
“Still no leads on the missing girl?” Echo asked.
Samantha Williams. Thirty-one, single, no kids.
According to her friends, she was generous to a fault.
Her coworkers thought she was hardworking.
Her family loved their daughter, sister, and aunt.
Her mother was beside herself with worry.
Her father was beside himself with rage—anger that had taken root and grown until it exploded out of his Smith & Wesson Model 500.
“Hendrix’s garage read like a criminal superstore,” I told Echo.
“Plastic sheathing on the shelf. Next to that, duct tape, painter’s tape, a box of gloves, rolls of twine, and rope.
If that’s not enough to get a cop’s attention, the box of disposable polypropylene coveralls complete with hood and foot covers would’ve pinged. ”
“So, he’s your suspect,” Echo surmised.
Ethan shrugged. “The shelf down from the how-to-get-away-with-murder kit are paint cans. And it looks like a bedroom has been freshly painted. Boxes are still stacked in the middle of the room covered with a tarp.”
“We’re looking into when the supplies and paint were purchased,” I rejoined.
“Williams blowing the back of Hendrix’s head all over the living room wall has left us with no suspect.
If he took her and she’s still alive, we’re on a tight clock to find her before she dies from starvation, dehydration, or the elements.
If Hendrix killed her, she’s not buried in his backyard.
Techs have his phone now. We might get lucky with the GPS or he could’ve been smart enough to leave his phone at home while he dumped her.
Truck’s a bust, it’s too old for onboard tracking. ”
We lost Ethan’s attention when the gym door opened. “Look who decided to finally show up.”
“About time you hose monkeys graced us with your presence,” Echo tossed out the friendly jab as Brice Lancaster, Jackson Clark, and West Myers made their way toward our huddle.
“Aw, look at that, boys, Echo’s still salty he failed his firefighter’s exam and had to settle on being a cop,” West returned the quip.
West’s quick reflexes saved him from taking Echo’s pass in the gut. “Put up or shut up, ladder jockey.”
“The shit talk is on point today.” Ethan chuckled.
West executed a figure eight between his legs before passing the ball to Brice and asking, “Why is it, the donut eaters always feel the need to trash talk?”
Brice easily caught West’s pass before Ethan could get in a block. “Jealousy.”
“Yep,” I agreed, moving to cover West. “Must be nice being able to nap on the job.”
Jackson took his place under the basket near Echo. “Don’t forget the comfy couches and the eighty-five-inch TV with surround sound.”
West’s hand landed on my shoulder in a bone-jarring smack. “Good to see you, Jase. How are the munchkins?”
“Good. Back home today after school,” I told him.
“Excellent. Tell them their Uncle West says hey.”
“Absolutely, but you could come over and tell them yourself,” I reminded him, knowing full well he’d blow me off but hoping he wouldn’t.
“Maybe next weekend.”
West Myers was one of my closest friends—had been for a long time. He and Ethan had helped me through my divorce, Ethan by listening to me bitch and giving sound wisdom on how to help my kids adjust to the change.
West had helped me drown my anger in a bottle, then drove me home from whichever bar we’d planted our asses in.
Even if it meant West had to go back to pick up whoever he was going to take home for the night.
Not that the women he picked up ever got more than a few nights.
Shay cheating on me was all the reinforcement West needed to cement his theory that all women were liars.
Unfortunately, at the time, I’d played into the notion, and seven years later West was so deeply entrenched in this belief all he did was work, go to the gym, show up to our weekly basketball game, occasionally he’d have a drink with a friend or troll a bar looking to get laid, but mostly he’d turned into a loner.
Seeing as I knew West as well as I did, I knew trying to nail him down to come over would only piss him off, so I let it go and focused on the game.
Not even ten minutes later Jackson launched into another round of shit talk. “Looks like Chels got smart and hit up the station for volunteers for her fundraiser. Care to make a wager? Station 57 versus the 6-10?”
Echo, Ethan, and I worked out of the 6-10.
Brice, West, and Jackson were out of fire station 57.
I would’ve taken him up on his bet if I wasn’t actively dodging Chelsea’s efforts to corral me into an auction that as feared would end up with me out to dinner with a stranger.
And a few days ago another buddy of mine, Dalton, told me Chelsea was also considering doing some sort of calendar.
Hard fucking pass.
“Dude, you better make it fair and give them all the local precincts,” Brice put in. “Quinn made her rounds and worked her magic.”
I had no doubt Brice’s wife got plenty of firefighters to sign up for the cause. Not many people could say no to Quinn and not only because the woman was gorgeous, but she was also downright tenacious.
I glanced over at West. “Did you sign up?”
“Against my will.”
And there you go, proof no one could say no to Brice’s wife.
Now I was royally screwed. There was no way I was getting out of this.
“Damn, old man, you forget your glasses?” Jackson taunted when Echo missed an easy pass from Ethan.
When he didn’t immediately snap back, I glanced over my shoulder to see what grabbed Echo’s attention.
All I caught was a glimpse of a woman in profile, yet there was something familiar. Hell, even the way she moved reminded me of…Rainy.
Christ, now I was imagining the woman, as if dreaming about her wasn’t enough.
I never should’ve mentioned her to Ethan.
It had taken me years to accept I would always regret letting her walk away.
Make peace with the knowledge that for the rest of my life I would love a ghost. With effort, I’d managed to push the memory of her back into the back of my mind.
Unless of course, my ex-wife was throwing Rainy in my face, but in the seven years since Shay, I’d done a damn good job not dwelling on a past I couldn’t change.
I felt West bump my shoulder, drawing my attention from the now empty hallway back to the court. “You know that woman?”
“Nope. You?”
“Not yet I don’t.”
No doubt he’d have the chick’s number by the time he exited the Hope Center, and if she was the kind of woman who was up for a good time with no strings and no promises, he’d nail her sometime in the next forty-eight hours.
My gut clenched at the thought.
No, it revolted.
“Might fuck with our games if you bang someone connected with the Hope Center,” I told him lamely.
“A woman as fine as that one.” He shrugged. “Might be worth it.”
“If you’re not careful, you’re gonna turn into Preston,” I told him.
West gave me a one-finger salute in response to my insult.
Preston was that guy who no one could stand. Especially the guys he worked with at the station. The asshole bragged about the badge bunnies he nailed behind his wife’s back. At this point, the only reason he hadn’t been ratted out to his wife was because he was smart enough not to bring her around.
Three loud tones from my pager echoed through the gym followed by my phone ringing.
“Seriously,” Ethan complained. “It’s our day off.”
“Bet you wish you would’ve studied harder for that exam.” Jackson went in for one more dig.
“Yeah, I was really hoping for a spot on the evidence destruction team,” Ethan shot back and included a middle finger.
“See you next week,” I called out as I made my way to the bleachers to grab my phone.
“I’ll call Chelsea and let her know she can add your name to the list,” Echo said.
When Ethan didn’t respond, I realized he was talking to me. “I’m not going up for auction.”
“Come on, Jase. Be a good sport. It’s not like a date has to end with showing your wiener,” West yelled across the gym.
Wiener? West had the sense of humor of a six-year-old.
“Do we know how many times you were dropped on your head as a child?” I asked.
“Not enough to stop me from passing the—”
“Exam,” I finished for him. “Yeah, we know. But, hey, I get it, that’s all you have to brag about when you boys are on your extended sleepovers. It’s like a big circle jerk, stroking fireboy egos with how smart you all think you are.”
“There you are.” West laughed. “I was worried you’d lost your sense of humor since you gave your last ride-along.”
“You mean the one your mom took?”
“You know my momma’s always up for a ride-along as long as the man giving the ride is in uniform.”
That was the truth.
West’s mom had screwed half the uniforms in Hollow Point. And that was when she was married to West’s dad. After they divorced, she’d made it her mission to be an aging badge bunny and she didn’t discriminate—some of them weren’t much older than West and not all of them were single.
From the outside, my jab might seem cold or below the belt.
But it wasn’t. West’s way of dealing with the betrayal was to put it out there.
Everyone knew who his mother was and what she did.
He wasn’t using humor to mask his pain or shame.
He genuinely didn’t care about the woman or who she was screwing.
On the other hand, he did use the infidelity to further his reasoning never to trust a woman.
But there was no underlying anger. Just complete ambivalence.
I made it to the bleachers, snatched up my phone, looked at Ethan, and told him, “Roger.” I swiped the screen to take the call. “Hey. Find something?”
“Hit the jackpot,” Roger, one of our techs, told me with more than a hint of excitement. “I know it’s your Friday off, but I got into Samantha’s phone.”
“I’m at the Hope Center with Ethan. We can be there in fifteen.”
It didn’t take long to toss out a few more insults at the smoke eaters and change before we were on our way through the lobby.
Female laughter drew my attention to the windows of the multipurpose room Josie used to conduct volunteer orientation.
Valentine’s woman, Sophie, was smiling at Josie, but it was the mystery woman whose back was to me who was laughing.
A sound so familiar it was an inexplicable ache in my chest. It made me want to interrupt whatever meeting Josie was conducting—barge in and lay claim before West finished playing basketball and made his excuse to meet her.
The thought of my friend touching this woman made me want to tear his head off.
Mine.
Long dark hair lashed around her as she shook her head. Images of my hands gliding through that thick mane violently clashed with the vision of it spread out over my sheets.
There was something about this woman. Emotions I hadn’t felt in fifteen years clawed their way to the surface—need, compulsion, longing.
Not even with my wife had I felt an all-encompassing craving—nothing remotely close to what I’d felt with Rainy and now this nameless, faceless woman who had stirred to life a primal instinct that had long ago died.
What the fuck?
“School pickup is at three-thirty, right?” Ethan asked from beside me.
School.
My kids.
I shoved my crazy thoughts into the trash where they belonged and focused on my responsibilities.
Kids.
Making sure Juni was adjusting to her new classmates and teacher.
Checking in with Colson and how he was making out with the change to middle school.
Police work.
However, I’d yet to accomplish this by the time I followed Ethan into the parking lot of the station.
Who the fuck was that woman and why the hell did a glimpse of her in profile and the sound of her laugh set my blood on fire?