“Smith…”
Forever on alert, Smith’s voice comes through the speaker of my cell phone two seconds later. “Yeah?”
Roxanne arches a brow when I ask, “Are you still friends with the composite sketch artist at Ravenshoe PD?”
“Yeah, but I don’t see her coming out at this hour.” His snickers out a laugh before continuing, “She might if you were willing to offer her some kind of incentive.”
By incentive, he doesn’t mean money. The male counterparts of Ravenshoe PD are all about favors, money, and uncut blow. The female half are all about the D. You can have anything you want around these parts if you’re willing to toss a few orgasms at the depraved women running this place. Even the chief of police’s daughter shared trade secrets when I was balls deep inside of her.
I’m about to tell Smith to get her here no matter the cost, but the faintest trickle of a whisper stops me. “I can draw.” When my eyes stray to Roxanne’s, hers roll at the shocked expression on my face. “If you don’t believe me, tell Smith to take a look at my Instagram page.”
“She’s telling the truth,” Smith chimes in as image after image pops up on the screen of my phone.
I hear Roxanne’s throat work through a hearty swallow when I move to gather my phone off my desk. Although her confidence is hot enough to blister my skin, she’s nervous about what my response will be to her drawings.
She has no reason to fret. She has an immense amount of talent.
“You drew these?” The drawings range from portraits of dogs and cats with their tongues hanging out to couples in various stages of erotic content. The detail is undeniable. Even with the sketches being black and white, I can see the texture of the dog’s shiny coat, and I’m not going to mention the realistic veins in one of her model’s cocks, or he’ll have a bounty on his head by the end of tonight.
“The animals were commissioned pieces on Fiverr. People emailed me photos of their animals, and I turned them into sketches for five dollars a pop.” She drags her tongue over her plump lips. “And the people are from the images in my head.” Shame burns on her cheeks when she mutters, “If I dream about them, they end up in the pages of my sketchbook.”
I’m torn between wanting to explore the shame in her eyes and getting back to the task at hand, so instead of picking, I do both. “Send someone out to purchase a sketchpad and pencils.” When Smith hums an agreeing noise, I send him a quick message about a request I can’t articulate in front of Roxanne before devoting all my attention to her. “Do you think you can sketch the man you saw that night?”
A current I haven’t experienced in years trickles into my veins when she once again dips her chin.
Chapter Twenty-One
Dimitri
His face is rounder than I remember, and his stomach is almost double in size, but there’s no denying the man Roxanne saw at the Slice of Salt is my brother, Roberto. His eyes are the same wintry blue coloring as mine, his bushy brows hang heavily over his eyes, and the faintest of scars from where I accidentally jabbed my stick-sword into his right cheek is present in Roxanne’s sketch.
It’s Roberto. I’m one hundred percent confident of this. The only thing I can’t work out is why. Audrey was taken less than two years ago. Roberto has been missing for almost five years. The math doesn’t add up. Roberto, along with Ophelia, CJ, and I wanted to leave the family behind, but we were meant to do it together. We were a team, a unit, and we pledged never to leave the other behind, so why did he? And does his reasoning have anything to do with Audrey’s kidnapping and Fien’s disappearance?
There’s only one way to find out. “Pack everything up. We leave in an hour.”
Roxanne’s eyes dart up to mine, seeking answers, but I’m out the door before a single syllable can be fired from her mouth.
“What do you make of this?” I ask Rocco, who leaps up to his feet since my unwarranted jealously saw me stationing him outside of Roxanne’s room instead of inside of it.
When I thrust Roxanne’s drawing into his chest, his lips purse. “What does Roberto have to do with this?”
“That’s exactly what I’m trying to work out.” He follows my fast pace down the hall. “Roxanne saw him around Slice of Salt the night Audrey was kidnapped.”
“Shit.” Rocco drags a hand across tired eyes before pushing out a set of words I never anticipated for him to speak—especially when it comes to Roxanne. “Are you sure we can trust her? Maybe you should hold back for a moment and take a good look at the evidence.”
I freeze partway down the hallway before glaring at him with steely, annoyed eyes. He forced Roxanne into my life believing she could help me get Fien back, and now he’s asking me to tug on the reins just as things get interesting. Is he brain dead?
“I’m not saying she’s untrustworthy. I just need you to be cautious.” When his roundabout excuse fails to hit its mark, he tries straight-up honesty instead. “Smith sent me to collect Roxanne’s sketchpad from her apartment as per your request.” That was what I texted Smith about earlier. I didn’t want Roxanne knowing how fascinated I was to see if I had featured in her dreams, so I didn’t vocalize my needs. I sent them via a text message. “There was more than one sketchpad. They went back years. This one is from when she was in primary school.” He thrusts a cheap, flip notepad into my chest. “From the dates, I’m guessing she was around eight or nine.”
The already brisk cantor of my heart jumps up a notch when I flick through the extensive collection of drawings. Although Roxanne’s talent isn’t at the level it is now, there’s no denying she was a skilled artist even back then. But the thing is, the sketches are too graphic for a child, far too erotic. The images only adults should see, and even then, they’d be paying top dollar to see them. I know this because my empire was built on this type of filth.
After handing the notepad back to Rocco, I ask, “Roxanne said her drawings are based on dreams. Could that have been the case back then?” My question is a woeful waste of time. I’ve never seen Fien in the flesh, but even I know this type of behavior isn’t normal for a child.
Rocco shifts from foot to foot while nervously breathing out of his nose. “Smith said her mother dropped her off to live with her parents when she was only a child.” He lowers his eyes to the notepad holding graphic images of couples in various stages of raunchy sex. “Could this be the reason?”
I shrug, truly unsure. The information Smith unearthed about Roxanne’s family months ago reveals her parents are fucked in the head, but come on, this is beyond that. You can be dependent on drugs, but that doesn’t stop you knowing the difference between right and wrong. A parent is supposed to protect their child, they’re supposed to love them like no one else can. They are not supposed to make them a mental case like my father did me.
Although my jaw is tight and the wish to kill is doubling the width of my veins, I can’t let this slide. “What if she isn’t wrong, Rocco? What if she did see Roberto that night? If I ignore that, and it turns out she was telling the truth, I’ll never forgive myself. I need to know if she saw Roberto. I need to know if he’s a part of this.” I bounce my eyes between Rocco’s. I’m incapable of recognizing the man glancing back at me but I know one day he will eventually expose himself. “Then once I know, I’ll deal with this. I’ll make this right.” The way I say ‘this’ reveals who I am speaking about. “Just not until Fien is home. She has to come first, Rocco. She should have always come first.”