Standing in the doorway of the office, I look back inside. My gaze settling on the desk, it’s only a few feet away. From this angle, I can see that the paper closest to me says the name Baros.
My fingers drift to my tattoo. Dad’s eyes catch the movement, narrowing. And that’s my cue to escape.
I can’t handle the questions.
The memories of death.
The guilt.
Because I know, without a doubt, that if there’s anything that can bring me to my knees, it’s the boy who died in my place.
4
Skye
It’s been one week since I found the file and one week since it’s slipped through my fingers. There is no question in my mind that something important is nestled between the clutter and mess of Dad’s notes.
Shit.
I need to know what’s in those files.
My restless mind will never calm until I’m able to see what he knows, and maybe, just maybe, it will lead me to get closure.
My past is fuzzy.
Only bits and pieces still linger from before my dad adopted me. I can’t even remember what my mother or father look like without a picture.
It’s not fair.
And although I know the gang involved with their death was caught years ago, I can’t help but think there is more.
I can’t help but think Felix Bernard is involved.
Which is why I have to go back through all of my father’s files from the case.
I was just there, but I didn’t get what I was looking for, and as much as I don’t want to make the drive again, I have no choice.
Every minute that passes is another minute in which I have to work for the scum who may have had a hand in my parents’ death.
I pick up the phone and dial my father’s number.
He doesn’t answer on the first ring, nor on the second. It isn’t until I’m about to hang up on the fourth that he picks up. Which is unlike him.
“Skye?” It comes out haggard and out of breath. He sounds like how he used to when he had a bad day at work and was drinking too much. I shudder inwardly at the thought that something is wrong with him, and he’s drinking more and more often. A beer here and there is one thing, but if it’s more than that, I don’t know how I can help him unless I get him to move to the city with me.
“Hey, Dad,” I respond. “Did I wake you?” Please say no. He lets out a throaty laugh that is followed directly by a cough. “You, okay?” Through the phone line, I can hear him take a large sip of water.
“No. I’m up, sweetie.” He might be up, but his voice certainly doesn’t sound like it.
“You sound like you’re in bed.” I think about the best way to handle this. Should I invite myself over off the bat, see what he’s up to? Or I can nonchalantly ask him about his schedule. Then I can plan to stop by when he’s not there.
Yeah, that’s the best plan.
If I go to his house when he’s not there, I can easily go in and out without having to worry about him asking me too many questions, and then I won’t have to risk him finding me.
I just need to take pictures of the file, or maybe just borrow it. Would he notice if it’s gone?
I go for option one. Taking a breath, I keep my voice soft and steady.
“What are you up to today?” I ask.
“Just a few errands.” His response has my shoulders dropping in relief. Depending on the errand, today could work. I don’t have any meetings that I have to be at. If he’s busy, I can probably make it in and out before he even realizes.
“What errands do you got going on?”
He doesn’t answer at first, but then he exhales. Whatever he’s about to say, he knows I’ll probably ask him questions, and he doesn’t want that. My back muscles tighten again.
“I have a doctor’s appointment—”
“What doctor?” I interject before he can finish his sentence. My heartbeat picks up as I wait for him to answer.
“Just my yearly appointment, Skye. It’s no big deal.”
My father could be bleeding in the street and say this same sentence. This doesn’t make me feel any less worried.
“No symptoms? Are you feeling okay?”
“No. And yes, I’m feeling fine.”
“You do sound different. Your voice—”
“There is nothing wrong.”
I mull over his response before pressing one more time. “Dad . . .”
“Skye. Who’s the parent here?” He sounds like he’s pretending to scold me. As if we traveled back in time to when I was ten years old, and I just got caught eating ice cream in my bedroom at two in the morning. He would tell me never to do it again, all while having a huge smile on his face.
“You sure? Why do I feel like you’re keeping something from me? If something was wrong, you would tell me, right?”
“Yes, of course. But I promise I’m fine, just getting older. But I can’t talk right now.”
“Why?” I’m a dog with a bone, but I need to know how long he will be gone.
“If you must know, I’m meeting someone for lunch.”
This has me perking up. “Oh? That’s nice. Who are you meeting?”
“Skye . . .” he trails off, clearly not happy with my questions. “What is this, an inquisition? I’m fine. Everything is fine, and I’m just going out to lunch. You’d think you were the parent.” He groans, and despite my nerves over the situation, a laugh bubbles out of my mouth.
“I love you, Dad. I’m just making sure.”
He lets out a sigh. “I know that, but I don’t want you to worry about me.”
“Well, there’s nothing you can do about that. No matter what you say, I will always worry about you.”
“And as much as I love that you care about me, I do need to go. Lunch is in one hour, and I’m not ready yet.”
“Fine. I’ll let you go. Bye, Dad.”
“Bye, sweetie.” And then the line is silent.
With that over, I grab my bag and head downstairs to the street. I keep a car in the city.
It isn’t ideal. I have to get up early and move it often. Especially with street sweeping rules, but with my dad not living in the city, I need to have a car to visit him. I guess I could take an Uber, but I like the freedom having a car provides.
As soon as I step out of the building, I walk first to the florist, pick up my usual bouquet, and then I’m off to where I parked my car. It’s only a block and a half away. The street isn’t crowded, but it rarely is at this time of the day during the workweek. This street tends to be busier on the weekends because of its proximity to fabulous restaurants.
While I’m walking, my gaze scans the street, and I lock eyes with a man. He’s standing by the side of my building with a hat on. I don’t know him, but he seems to be staring at me.
There is something creepy about the way he watches me.
A shiver runs down my spine.
My police officer for a father has instilled one thing in my brain, it’s that you can never be too careful. Mind your surroundings, and always have Mace on you.
I turn quickly and move faster toward my car. It’s light out, and plenty of people are milling about, but I still rummage through my bag for my Mace, just in case.