Chapter 13
What is it about Andie that fascinates me? I’ve been staring at her for an hour trying to pinpoint exactly why I can’t tear my eyes from her.
It could be the way her lips remained slightly parted after she licked them, or the way her chin moves as if she’s mimicking what she’s saying in a dream. Perhaps it’s the dewiness of her skin and the pink flush she always wears on her cheeks.
Maybe it’s the lines between her brows, the ones I desperately want to smooth. Is she fighting to remain asleep? Or is it that she’s trying to wake up, but is trapped in a nightmare?
What does she see in her dreams?
Never ask me to look at you while we fuck.
Someone hurt her. It was evident in the terror she displayed yesterday morning.
The desire to hunt down and kill, -no, not just kill, but annihilate, - a total stranger hit me like a ton of bricks and it knocked the wind out of me. All I needed was a name.
However, when I pressed her for information, she once again became agitated. I felt helpless and enraged all at once. But I let it go. I decided to give her time. A day seems good enough.
I’m about to touch a fingertip to her frown lines, when her phone buzzes. I grab it from the nightstand where it’s been charging and peer down at the screen.
Lola, it reads just above the picture of a little blond girl on a horse, her arms outstretched, a huge smile painted across her face.
Even if I didn’t know this is Andie’s daughter, there would be no mistaking that they’re related. Same bright blue eyes, same small nose and full lips. Same freckled pale skin.
I bring the screen closer, scanning the little face and wondering which bits the father gave her, if any, when the phone is suddenly snatched out of my hand.
Andie gives me a glare before looking down and cursing. “Shit!” She throws the blanket over me and answers. “Hi, baby.”
“Momma, are you still in bed?” the girl asks.
“Yeah, I worked really late last night,” she says. I try to get up, but Andie puts all her weight on me. “Did you have breakfast already?”
“Miri made me ham and eggs. But…” her voice turns into a whisper. “The sunny part was too runny. It was kind of yucky.”
“Sorry baby. I’ll make you some when I come home. I looked up your scores for your math test. You did amazing.”
“It was too easy,” the kid says with an air of proud confidence.
“Next week’s won’t be,” Andie warns.
“You’re not going to be here to study with me.”
“We’ll do it over the phone.”
“It’s not the same. And you won’t be there at violin. It’s the last one before recital. I miss you, Momma. Can’t you come home?”
Andie sighs and the disappointment in that single breath is so palpable it touches something inside me I wasn’t aware was even there.
“The important thing is that I will be there for recital,” she says. “And I swear I’ll never miss anything, ever again.”
I’m not sure how long the call lasts. Long enough that the air under the covers grows stale and hot. But even though Andie gets off the bed and paces the room, I make no effort to move.
It feels like I’m eavesdropping on something private, yet I’m completely tuned in to every word being said.
I learn a lot from that conversation, more than I could from any files or reports from my private investigators. Things like, Andie is as dependent on her daughter as Lola is on her. She wants to know everything Lola has done, what she thinks, how she feels and Lola in turn shares without censoring anything.
I learn Lola is on probation for standing up to a bully, and doesn’t regret it even though she still has bruises from it. That touches something inside me too.
“Who the fuck is bulling your kid?” I ask the moment she hangs up.
Andie spins to me as if she’d forgotten I was still here. “Just some little punk that thinks she’s better than Lola because she doesn’t wear expensive brands like she does. Lola doesn’t care about that kind of stuff, but Kenzie decided to pick on her friend and she lost it.”
“Kenzie? Kenzie what?”
Her brows pinch together. “What do you mean what?”
“What’s her last na…I…” That’s when I realize that I’m gritting my teeth and I have no idea why. Nor do I know why the fuck I’d want a kid’s last name.
Suddenly, red flags begin to blare in my head. Leave. Fucking run. Danger. Danger.
“Gavin?”
“I have work to do.” Throwing off the blankets, I get out of bed and go to the restroom.
* * *
I go over the documents in front of me, trying to get a clearer picture of exactly who Andie is. I’ve read them before, almost a year ago when I decided to hire her. But this morning, after I came into the office, I opened the files again.
She was born in North Carolina but moved with her family to Los Angeles when she was one. Her father, Jeff Burrows, left when she was just a child and her mother, Tina, was a drug addict. From what I gather, she moved out of California when Andie was just fourteen, but obviously left her daughter behind.
There isn’t anything on Andie again for four years. No school, medical, or travel records. Nothing on her whereabouts during all that time. But I can easily surmise where she was and what she did because my childhood wasn’t too different from hers.
Except, where I was lucky enough to never get caught for my crimes, she ended up in jail for theft.
I pull up those records now. Although they’re not very detailed, many of the names and locations blacked out when the record was sealed, it gives me enough information that I can get a fairly good picture of her life.
As an abandoned minor that never made it into the system, she lived on the streets, surviving by her own wits. Probably with the help of people who gained something from keeping her on the streets.
Then she was arrested and sentenced for grand larceny and sent to prison for twenty years. Harsh sentence for an eighteen-year-old, even if what she stole had amounted to one hundred thousand dollars.
A good attorney would have been able to reduce her time greatly. It was her good behavior and probably the fact that she gave birth while in jail that got her released two years into that sentence. She moved to Las Vegas the day her parole ended.
I lift my cell phone and dial Mason. “Get me her daughter’s birth certificate.”
“Miss Burrow’s?” he asks.
“I want to know who the father is.”
“Give me a few minutes.”
Half an hour later, I receive the PDF in my email. When Charlotte Rae Burrows was born, she was allowed to live with Andie. It was part of a program that allows mothers and their children to be housed in a supervised facility.
Something doesn’t add up because she would have had to qualify for it, and I doubt someone with a twenty-year sentence would meet the requirements.
What does makes sense is that unknown is listed in the field where the father’s name should be.
I sit back but my gaze is still narrowed on that word. Unknown.
There are only two possibilities. Andie was a promiscuous teen and truly had no idea who the father was. Or giving her child a life in prison was preferable to handing her over to a man living on the outside.
There’s a knock on the door and I glance up to Patrick. He glowers at me as he steps inside. “You were supposed to walk the Hufton with me.”
The Hufton is one of our boutique resorts with a private casino for those that want a much quieter Las Vegas experience.
“I have my plate full today,” I tell him.
He walks behind me and I slam my computer shut, but not before he gets a good look at the screen.
Blowing out an annoyed huff, he says, “Your plate or your bed?”
“How was the walk?”
Moving around the desk, he drops into the chair across from me. “Eventful.”
“How so?”
“First, tell me why you requested more information on Anderson Burrows? I thought you didn’t sleep with the staff.” When I arch a questioning brow, he says, “You’re not exactly being discreet. I was at the club last night with Sheila.”
“Kinky.”
“We like to spice things up. Apparently, so do you.”
“I didn’t see you there.”
He laughs. “Did you see anyone besides Anderson? I didn’t realize who she was until now. An employee, Gav. I’m disappointed.”
My jaw tenses. “Her employment will be terminated after this week, so it doesn’t really count.”
He frowns. “Does she know that?”
“Yes. It’s an agreement we have. She stole from me.”
“So what, she’s working off her debt to you?”
“It was a trade. Something I wanted for something she wanted.”
“What was that?”
“For her to remain free.”
“Then why are you looking further into her background? Unless…” he trails off, his eyes widening. “Unless she will still matter to you after his week.”
I stand abruptly, annoyed that he’s reading more into this than there is. “I answered your question, now answer mine. How was the walk eventful?”
He digs into the inner pocket of his coat and pulls out an envelope. Sliding it over to me, he nods to it. “Your buddy Marco Tadesco from the alliance is one slippery bastard. He managed to get in and out of the Hufton without getting caught by security. Left that at the front desk for you.”
“I told you to take care of him.”
“Without killing him,” Patrick snaps. “Sorry, that presented a challenge.”
“Mother fucker.” I snatch the envelope and tear into it. Inside I find a short note written on the back of a black and white photograph. “Fuck!”
“What is it?”
“We have a problem. I want you to double security on all our locations.”
“Don’t worry. Marco won’t?—”
“This is bigger than that weasel.” I immediately grab my cell phone and dial Luca’s number. When he doesn’t answer, I leave a message. “Luca, call me back as soon as you get this. I might need backup.”
“What’s going on?” Patrick asks, his eyes narrowed.
“If this is true, we’re going to need all the help we can get.” I toss the photo onto the desk and his eyes widen.
“Is that…”
“The Ferryman.” I glance at the photograph depicting a dark-haired man entering Snake’s Den, the club across the street from us. How fucking appropriate. It isn’t a sharp image, but I’ve seen him close up enough that it doesn’t have to be. “I’m ninety nine percent sure the man in that photo is Gideon Black.”