Silence
The apartment felt too full, and now, it’s a shell.
The last thing we heard was that Xavier was heading in to try and get visual confirmation of Zayden.
I’ve spent the last hour cleaning up, rearranging chairs to where they should be, folding blankets and over-fluffing pillows.
I washed every dish, even though there’s a perfectly good dishwasher, and I’ve reorganized the fridge into alphabetical order.
“Have you considered counting the salt granules?” Mercy asks, and I laugh quietly as I decide the milk probably looks better on the top shelf. “I don’t blame you. When my girl left, I cut holes in all my socks just so I could fix them again.”
“Okay, that’s a lot stranger than what I’m doing,” I say, as I place an egg on every shelf.
“Is it?”
I close the fridge. “Corey seems nice.”
“Oh, Corey is lovely. Enormous penis, too.”
I whirl on her. “What?”
She chuckles. “Silence, we were in the bedroom for an hour. It took ten minutes to show him my nerve gas.”
“You little minx,” I whisper, leaning against the kitchen island. “How did that even happen?”
“Simple. I asked if he wanted to have sex. He said yes, because why wouldn’t he?”
I lower my voice. “So when you say enormous, we’re talking—”
“Oh, Silence. Don’t be crude,” she chides, and I wilt. “But let’s just say I’ll be feeling him for a while.”
I chuckle. “I hope you used protection.”
“Always. Although I almost got it mixed up with my pepper-spray condoms. That would’ve really killed the mood.”
Three sharp knocks have us falling silent. Charlie stands from the couch, signaling for us to stay put as he goes to the door, checking through the peep hole. He frowns to himself, and his fingers hover over the doorknob for a few seconds before he finally decides to open it.
“Detective Marshall,” he says jovially. “Fancy seeing you on this coast.”
A few seconds of silence pass until a woman speaks. “What the fuck are you doing here?”
Charlie shrugs. “I could ask you the same thing. NYPD not cutting it for you anymore? You’ve come to harass people who enjoy the beach, instead?”
I exchange a glance with Mercy, but she’s focused on the door, her hand resting on the gun at her hip.
I hadn’t even noticed she was armed. She has a way of charming you into focusing on her face, and I suppose that how she’s as successful as she is.
She’s the living embodiment of a false sense of security.
“I’m looking into the disappearance of Gio Morelli,” the detective says.
“Someone said that he was spotted in California, so I’m helping the bureau.
We got an anonymous tip about this address.
” Of course she did. Does that mean Ryker knows?
If anyone is going to give an anonymous tip, it’ll be him, surely? “Funny that you’d be here.”
Charlie says, “Maybe the universe wants us to be together, Quinn.”
“Maybe you should step the fuck aside so I can come in.”
“Warrant?”
If Ryker knows that Gio Morelli was killed at the Agency, then we’re in so much more trouble than we first thought. But the question is, did he give a name, or just this address? And does Sabina Morelli know he was spotted on this coast? Are her men already on the way?
“I’ll come back with a warrant, Charlie, or you can just let me the fuck in.
” I dart over to the door and open it wider, beaming at the detective, whose eyes are now on me.
She’s extraordinarily pretty, blonde hair pulled into a low pony, dark eyes scrutinizing.
She’s in gray suit pants and a white shirt, an NYPD badge fixed to her hip, and has three officers with her, all in LAPD uniforms. “And who are you?”
“Silence Silver,” I say brightly, extending my hand. “I’m staying here. Detective Quinn Marshall, was it?”
She lifts her chin and shakes my hand. “Yes. How do you know Charlie?”
“He’s a family friend,” I rush out, before Charlie can say anything else sarcastic and piss this woman off further.
“You don’t need a warrant. You can come right in and look.
There’s no one here but us two and my friend Mercy.
” Charlie eyes me, but I step back and gesture toward the living room. “Come in.”
Detective Marshall nods curtly and steps inside, almost elbowing Charlie as she does. They clearly have history, and I’m curious about it.
The detective eyes the room, signaling for the officers to start their search. She remains in the living room. “Nice place. What do you do for a living Mrs. Silver?”
“I’m a registered nurse, but my husband works in tech.”
She peruses the living area. “That’s not very specific.”
“The specifics would bore most people.”
“Try me.”
Charlie folds his arms. “She’s let you search the goddamn place. She doesn’t have to answer your questions, too, Quinn.”
“It’s Detective Marshall,” she snaps.
“Right.” Charlie drags out the word. “You always make sure to follow the rules, don’t you, Detective Marshall? God forbid you fall on the wrong side of the precious law.”
I blink, looking between a smug Charlie and a furious Quinn. Her cheeks have turned pink, but luckily her phone rings, interrupting whatever the fuck just happened.
“Marshall,” she snaps into the phone, and I feel sorry for whoever called her.
I lean close to Charlie. “I don’t know whether you want to kill each other or ride each other.”
He grumbles, “She wishes.”
“You wish.”
“Don’t be disgusting. She’s a cop. I’d rather hump the couch.”
Detective Marhsall hangs up, and her scowl has been replaced with a wicked, satisfied smile as her attention lands on Mercy. “What’s your name?”
She beams prettily. “Mary Poppins.”
“Cute. You’re Mercy Harrison, right?” The tension in the room ramps up, and somehow, Detective Marshall’s smile widens further. “There’s a warrant out for your arrest. Did you know that?”
“That’s absolute rubbish! I haven’t committed a crime in years!” Mercy cries, striding over to us.
“You stole chemical materials.”
“Oh.” She puts her hands on her hips. “Yeah, I did do that.”
As one of the officers returns from the search, Detective Marhsall pockets her phone. “Cuff her. She’s coming with us.”
My spine stiffens, and a cold sweat breaks out across my back. No, this isn’t happening.
Charlie’s nostrils flare. “This is bullshit, Quinn.”
“Don’t get too mouthy, Mr. Calloway. I’ve been told to bring you in, too. Turn around. Hands behind your back.”
Fuck.
Charlie locks eyes with me, and I know he’s thinking the same thing I am.
This is Ryker.
He knew this would happen, arranged for these warrants to suddenly pop up. He’s making sure I’m alone.
An officer grips Charlie’s wrist. “Touch me again, and I’ll tear off your arm and slap you with your own hand.” He looks back at Quinn. “Think about this. You get an anonymous tip and suddenly we’re both arrested? You don’t think that’s a little strange?”
Quinn shrugs. “As long as I get to inconvenience your day, Calloway. Cuff him. Now.”
My hand shakes as I run it through my hair, watching as both Mercy and Charlie are handcuffed.
“You’re smarter than this!” Charlie insists as the officer tries to pull him away. He glances between me and Quinn, and I’m fixed in place, trying to steady my breathing. “Fine, arrest me, but don’t leave her alone, Quinn.”
She frowns. “You can’t be serious—”
“Why do you think I’m here!” he bellows as he’s dragged to the door. “Put everything between us aside. Do. Not. Leave. Her. I’m begging you.” Detective Quinn glances at me, light brows pulled together. “Quinn!”
“Okay, fine, I’ll stay,” she snaps. “You better not be bullshitting me, Charlie.”
“I’m not.” He looks at me. “Lock the door. Barricade it. Call Xavier and Yale.”
I nod quickly, and Mercy gives me one last concerned look before being taken away.
The quiet that follows the door slamming closed feels like a weight pressing against my lungs.
With a trembling hand, I call both Yale and Xavier, but neither call connects.
My palms are sweating and I drop my head back, closing my eyes and breathing deeply.
I can’t afford to panic. Quinn is here, and that’ll have to do for now.
Ryker wouldn’t kill a cop, would he?
“Why is he protecting you?” Quinn asks.
I tip my head forward. “I can’t … I can’t tell you.”
She huffs. “Then how do I know he’s telling the truth and not just trying to delay me looking for Gio Morelli?”
“Do you think he’d do that? Lie about my safety?”
She purses her lips together, and something crosses her expression before she looks away. “I can’t stay forever.”
“That’s fine. Just until I can call my boyfriends.”
The word sticks in my throat, like boyfriend isn’t enough for what Xavier and Yale are to me.
“Boyfriends? I thought you were married?”
“Long story,” I mumble, dialing Yale again, then Xavier. It isn’t ringing or connecting to voicemail—an automated voice just keeps telling me that the call can’t be connected.
Quinn keeps her eyes on me. “You know, if you tell me what’s wrong, I could help.”
“And ten years ago, I’d have done just that.”
She shakes her head. “Silence, when you get involved with men like Charlie, they convince you that we’re the bad guys. It’s too complicated to call the cops, or we wouldn’t understand. But you know in your gut you should talk to me.”
I twist my phone in my grip, anxiety churning in my gut, my heart beating too fast. I can’t tell her, but every instinct drilled into me by society is screaming at me to ask for help, to hand over the burden of Ryker to officials, even if it’s just for a little while.
“Silence—”
We’re cut off by the sound of heavy, booted footsteps.
My heart beats so violently that I can feel each pump of the muscle, and Quinn reaches for her gun, resting her hand on it.
We wait for a knock.
It doesn’t come.
The floorboards creak under the weight of whoever is in the hall, their shadow visible under the door.
A quiet, groaning squeak reaches my ears.
The doorhandle slowly turns.
Terror splashes down my spine, and Quinn takes out her weapon, pointing it at the door.
“NYPD. Identify yourself.” The squeaking stops, the doorknob stilling.
She jerks her head at me, and I move quickly and quietly behind her.
She unhooks a walkie talkie from her belt.
“Dispatch, this is Detective Quinn Marshall with the NYPD, working with LAPD and FBI on a missing persons case. I’m at 2251 Orchids Lane requesting backup for a possible break-in. ”
“Copy that, Detective Marshall. Units are on the way.”
The man on the other side of the door still hasn’t moved. Quinn takes a step forward, her gun still raised. “NYPD. Respond or—”
A bullet tears through the door. Quinn takes several steps back, firing twice. I duck, covering my ears.
“Dispatch, this is Detective Quinn Marshall. Shots fired at 2251 Orchids Lane—” Something thuds against the door. “If you breach this door, I will shoot you!” she bellows. Another thud. Another. “Dispatch, where are those units!”
“One minute out—”
The door flies open. Quinn fires, holding her ground, and the man stumbles, his back meeting the doorframe.
But the bullets slam into a vest, and he barely misses a step.
Quinn’s gun clicks, the clip empty. “Fuck this.” She marches forward, and the intruder barrels toward us.
I’m unsure if he’s enormous or if my mind is exaggerating his physique, but I shrink back.
“Taser!” Two prongs shoot out of the device in Quinn’s hand, securing themselves to the attacker’s arms. He jerks violently, eyes widening as he falls to his knees.
Quinn is panting, cheeks flushed as she takes out her cuffs. “You’re under arrest for—”
He shouldn’t be able to recover that fast. Maybe he’s as big as I think he is, and the current wasn’t strong enough, because he lurches forward, seizing Quinn and throwing her.
She’s like a rag doll, her body slamming into the ground and skidding toward the kitchen.
The intruder stands, and I dart around the couch, heart in my throat as I make for the discarded taser.
Sharp pain shoots across my scalp. Warmth spills down my skin.
The world tips.
My knees meet the floor, and somewhere in the recesses of my mind, a voice begs me to keep moving. To keep fighting.
“Look at your father! Look at him and fight back!”
The last thing I hear is the echo of my mom’s voice.