“You’re a fucking idiot, you know that, right? Stay behind me,” he orders, shoving the flashlight into my hands.
I shine it around, keeping it low so no one along Zach’s street notices. I come to the realization that everything looks the same as it did at the poker night.
“Hurry,” Madison urges.
Not following Jack’s advice, I break into a run, hurrying into Zach’s office at Madison’s urgent tone.
“Goddammit,” Jack hisses, pausing over the threshold. “I’m staying outside the door to keep watch, so hurry the fuck up.”
Swallowing the sudden lump in my throat, I place the flashlight on the desk and head straight for the mirror. With panting breaths, I lift and pull it from the wall, grunting as I go. I drop it to the floor, not even trying to be gentle with his stuff. I freeze while I catch my breath, staring at the looming safe. Wiping the sweat off my forehead, I dig into the waist pocket of my yoga pants, finding the Post-it with possible combinations. The hot pink paper is filled with number combos that I spent the past few days coming up with. I’ve done research on birthdays, graduation dates, and business dates. I even converted names into number form.
I don’t know if any of them will work, but it’s worth a shot.
The first one I try is a dud. It’s his birthday. I also try the name of their club. A dud. It goes on likes this: each time I spin the lever to certain numbers, it still doesn’t work. Then I finally get to the last numbers on the Post-it, and I try Savages. And much to my surprise, it opens. I pull the lever, and slowly, as if there’s a fucking treasure inside, I open it.
The inside is deeper than I originally expected. When I reach my arm in, it goes as far as my elbow. There are different items scattered inside. With my gloves on, I lift and move things around as I inspect them. There’s a handgun that I try not to look at too long and a velvet box that holds a ruby red necklace. I trace the gems, momentarily stupefied by the grandiosity. Next, there’s a wad of cash—a heavy wad—and as I flip through it, I see they’re all hundreds. The rest is paperwork—much like Baz claimed was in his—a passport, his birth certificate, nothing of importance to me.
I push all that stuff aside, still careful with the gun, and I pause on the cherry wood box. It looks like something you’d find at an antique shop. Something handmade that they only sell at landmarks or gift shops. My face scrunches into a frown as I lift it. I roll my eyes when I see what’s hidden behind it.
“Christ. Bet Baz has no idea you really are a druggie.”
“Find anything useful yet?” Jack whispers, popping his head inside.
“Not yet,” I whisper-yell back.
I’m looking at what is a fairly large bag of what I’m guessing is coke. This is like a slap in the face after Baz was left to clean up their mess just to keep the club’s reputation clean. I set the box on his desk, planning to go back to it. I rifle through everything else in the safe, but there’s nothing. Nothing that’s incriminating, and certainly nothing with answers.
With a frustrated sigh, I glance back at the bookshelves, my gaze honing in on the book I grabbed last time. My feet eat up the distance as I pull it from the shelf and open it to the first page. I come up short, my breath lodged in my throat.
No.
Dammit, no!
I grind my teeth together when I realize the picture is gone. Why would he move the picture? What else am I missing?
I toss the stupid book on the ground, and like my hands have a mind of their own, I yank the books off the shelf, opening each one to flip through all the pages and look for anything hidden inside. The pile of books at my feet grows and so does my frustration.
“Fuck!” I growl, tossing down the last book.
I glance around, taking in the mess. Jack pops his head in the room, and his eyes widen.
“Fucking Christ. We’re going to jail,” he groans before turning back to his post.
He’s probably right. If Zach wasn’t sure someone broke in here before, he would be now. I can only hope I’ll have found what I need by the time he gets home to this. Would I be the first person he thinks of? Especially after the poker night?
I wonder if Baz told them? And if he did, they’re probably all celebrating my departure from his life.
Bastards.
I’m sure that’s what their Vegas trip was all about.
Stepping over the pile of scattered books, I lift the lid on the wooden box. My last hope. My heart bangs in my chest when I see what’s sitting right on top. It’s the photograph. He moved it inside here. But why?
As I rifle through everything inside the wooden box, my hands start to tremble. It doesn’t look like anything special, but then again, why would he have something like this in his safe if it wasn’t of value to him? I feel in my gut that something’s in here. There’s a bunch of frayed receipts, the ink now almost completely faded. There’s a piece of rope with what looks like dirt and another piece of what looks like binder paper, folded in fours with the frayed edges and all. There’s a drawing, I think. A bunch of lines connecting little numbers in the corner.
I flip the paper this way and that, trying to figure out what the hell I’m looking at. It doesn’t make sense. It looks like a map, but it also looks like a map that a crackhead drew, so I can’t be too sure. With a sigh, I toss the paper back inside the box and survey the room. It’s a mess. And that’s putting it lightly.
Stuffing the box into my bag, I close the safe, relocking it and placing the mirror back over it. I pause, considering cleaning up the books, but there’s no way I can remember what order they go on the shelves, and with my luck, Zach will know. He’s probably an anal bastard who will notice the simplest of things. I opt to leave the mess for him. Figure it can’t hurt any more than all the damage I’ve done already.
The ride back to the motel is silent again, the air laced with defeat. I didn’t find what I needed. All I have is this stupid fucking box and the random shit inside. I rest my forehead against the glass as I look out the passenger window, watching as we pass cars along the highway.
Jack sighs. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry you didn’t find what you were looking for.”
Frustrated tears prick the backs of my eyes. I don’t reply, opting for a nod instead, too afraid I’ll break out in sobs if I try to respond.
I’m so lost in my head that I don’t even notice when we pull into the motel parking lot. Jack throws the car in park and shifts in his seat to face me.
“This could be a good thing, Mackenzie. Maybe it’s for the best you didn’t find anything back there.”
I unclick my seat belt, not saying a word, because I don’t agree. This isn’t a good thing. Not even close.
“Why don’t you come back to my hotel tonight? You won’t have to stay at this place.” I can practically see the shiver that rolls through him as he glances around at the dingy motel that is likely housing murderers, drug dealers, and prostitutes.
“I’ll be fine. I think I need … I don’t know. I think I need to spend some time alone tonight.” I start climbing out of the car and pause just outside the door. I turn back toward Jack, his form swimming before me as the moisture builds, threatening to spill over. “Thank you, Jack. You’ve been … God, I couldn’t have made it this far without you, so thank you.” I grab the bag containing my findings and shut the door as the first tear slips down my cheek.