Hold On

“We’re sorry to make you go through this,” Mike said. “But we have to get all this down.”


Marscha was staring at the carpet. At Mike’s words, she slowly tipped her head back and looked at him.

She was losing focus. The pain was pushing through. It was going to hit any second.

They needed to get everything they could before she succumbed.

“At this point, what did you do?” Mike asked.

“Stupid,” she whispered.

“What was stupid?” Mike pressed.

“I turned off her car,” Marscha answered.

Fuck.

“Did you touch anything else?” Garrett asked.

Her head slowly swiveled his way and then she shook it.

“Ran inside, called nine-one-one,” she told him.

“You go back out?” Garrett queried.

She shook her head again. “The operator kept me on the line. Told me to stay inside.”

“Good,” Garrett muttered.

Mike took over. “Is there someone in particular she was associating with that you have concerns about?”

“That’d be a long list,” she shared. “Though, most recent, even though he’d ended things with her a week ago or whatever, is Jaden Cutler.”

Again, Garrett’s spine shot straight, but this time his stomach also turned just as Mike’s gaze cut to him.

It took a lot, he tried, but he didn’t succeed in keeping the harsh out of his voice when he turned back to Marscha and asked, “Jaden Cutler?”

She was way too far gone to process the harsh in his voice.

“Most recent dickhead douchebag asshole loser that Wendy associated with. Also the worst of the lot. Totally. And it was him that broke up with her. Kicked her ass out. She was livin’ with me but also livin’ in hope he’d take her back. Can you believe that shit?”

“Outside of disliking him, do you have any reason to believe he was a danger to your sister?” Mike asked.

“He’s just a danger,” she declared. “Mean as a snake when he’s in a bad mood. Up his own ass, thinkin’ he’s God’s gift when he is not. Man doesn’t work, but he’s got money. How is that? How do you not have a job and have money?” she asked.

“I know several ways, Ms. Derian, but do you know this Jaden Cutler was involved in anything that might lead to what happened to Wendy this morning?” Mike pushed. “Did she say anything to you? Did you hear her say anything to anyone else, for instance, on the phone? Did Cutler say anything in your presence?”

“No. But you got the experience I got with Wendy and her parade of losers, you just know.”

She had nothing.

Fuck.

“Did Wendy ever talk to you about Cutler, his acquaintances, or the people they spent time with?” Garrett asked, hoping like fuck she’d mentioned Carlito Gutierrez.

She hadn’t.

“No,” Marscha stated and tossed out a hand in irritation. “This is all I was to my sister—a crash pad when she ditched one of her losers, or when one of her losers beat her up or cheated on her and she thought she’d teach him a lesson by takin’ off only to go back, or when one of them decided it was time to move on so they dumped her. She was dumped, she didn’t take a lot of time finding a replacement because, apparently, she couldn’t exist without a healthy dose of asshole in her life.”

Garrett braced when she finished her litany and instantly looked to the front window.

It was going hit.

Now.

“Guess she couldn’t,” Marscha whispered. “Couldn’t live without it. Couldn’t live with it.”

It was then the tear fell. Just one, down her cheek to hit her pajama top.

Then she dropped forward. Face in her knees, her back bucked in a way that looked painful, and her sob tore through the room with such force, it felt like a physical thing.

They’d get no more and both Garrett and Mike had long since learned that when it hit, two cops hanging around, watching or attempting to ease a pain that had no relief other than time, was unwelcome and unwanted.

Their job was to catch the bad guy.

Garrett was already on the move.

Mike was too.

“You’ll stay with her?” Mike muttered to Ellen.