“Planners?”
“Yes, you know, the three-ring calendar books? He always had one. Even when he got a cell phone, he liked to write things down. It’s where he kept all the information about his scheduled jobs, appointments, et cetera. He even used it as a diary sometimes, you know, writing notes or memories in the margins. I packed all his stuff away in storage before I sold his house.” There had been no money to pocket from the sale. She’d been lucky the housing market was good and she could pay off the second mortgage. But she’d kept those planners, among other things that were valuable to her. “And I keep wondering if that planner might . . . I don’t know. Offer something small.” Or maybe it’d just be painful and heartbreaking to read through the things her father was doing in his final days. Painful and unnecessary.
“Maybe it’s time you clean that storage container out anyway,” Chantilly said. “The last time you took a few days off was to deliver a baby. You haven’t taken a vacation in seven years,” she scolded.
“This is a vacation.” She turned slightly, sweeping her arm around the beautifully elegant room with a view of the ocean to the beach itself, sun sitting high in the sky, where her daughter gleefully flew a kite.
“I’m glad you think so. But, Noelle, darling, perhaps it’s time that you go put your father to rest completely. Clean out his things and say goodbye, for real this time. And if there’s any chance, even the smallest one, of finding something that will help solve your crime, you must. Otherwise, they might still be out there, putting people in the same cage you once inhabited.”
Chantilly’s words hit Noelle like a cold gust of air, and she shivered. That was the difference, perhaps, between those who were able to find their shine without also being given closure. They were able to move on because they didn’t have to worry for the unknown souls out there who might be similarly victimized because no one had ever been brought to justice.
And now Evan was presenting her with an opportunity to do her part in turning over every last stone. How could she refuse if she ever hoped to truly shine?
She leaned down and wrapped her arms around Tilly, kissing her on her velvety cheek, breathing in the lovely scent of Chanel No. 9. “I love you,” she said.
“I love you, too, darling girl.”
An hour later, when she stepped onto the sand, she bent, removing her sandals, and carried them in her hand as she walked toward where Evan was standing, watching Callie with the kite nearby. The wind had died down now, and Callie controlled the kite easily, her neck bent back as she watched it glide through the air.
Surprised pleasure danced over his expression when he turned her way. “Hi.” He pulled his phone from his pocket and looked down at it, obviously checking to see if the time had slipped away from him.
“I got off early,” she said in explanation. She’d told him she’d meet them at the beach at five, and it was only four.
“Oh. Great. You can take a turn next,” he said, grinning and nodding his head toward Callie.
She smiled, but it quickly slipped. He turned more fully toward her. “What is it?”
She stretched her toes in the sand, stalling. She was frightened, she realized. She had made her decision, and yet, saying the words to him, making the commitment, had fear gripping her. Was she really about to do this willingly? “Paula’s coming to stay with Callie for a couple of weeks,” she said.
“Paula?” He looked confused.
She bobbed her head. “You remember Paula, right?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Paula is a children’s book editor, so she can work from anywhere. Two weeks, that’s all I have. I put my father’s belongings in a storage locker when I sold his house. He was good at recording things, sort of obsessive about it, actually. And . . . well, I made my reservations. I’m going to come with you. To Reno. Back to Reno.”
Evan’s brows lifted in surprise. “That’s . . . wow, that’s great. Thank you. Thank you, Noelle.”
She gave a decisive nod. She hadn’t mentioned the fact that Paula had been more than willing to stay with Callie but had expressed hesitation about Noelle spending time with Evan for any reason, much less to delve into the past. Noelle was nervous, too, but she also felt an inexplicable resolve. It was time to lay the past to rest, at least as far as she was able.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Grim waited, breath halted as the kid decided the fate of his eye. Grim had often received compliments about his eyes. His wife had told him they were what she first noticed about him. If there was anything about him that was considered attractive, even now, he thought he could say somewhat objectively that it was his eyes. Interesting that the twinge of fear at how they might go about removing said eye also carried with it a measure of vanity. He almost laughed. The things you could learn about yourself under circumstances you never imagined.
The kid was staring at him, his eyes wide with fear. But his expression was also somewhat lax, like he was either in shock or seeing something in his mind’s eye. The bloody extraction of Grim’s eyeball, most likely.
“I’ll go with you,” the kid said softly, turning his gaze to the greasy-looking man wearing black jeans and a leather jacket that was cut like a blazer. What the hell? Grim pulled himself up, leaning forward, his nose through the bars. The man used a key to open the lock on the top of Cedro’s cage and then lowered the door on the front. He stood back so Cedro could exit, a Taser held at his side.
“Wait,” Grim called as the kid started following the man out the open door. “Wait!” he called again. But the man ignored him. Clearly, it wasn’t Grim’s choice whether he kept his eye or not. It’d been Cedro’s, and he’d made it. Why?
“Stupid kid,” he muttered as the door shut. Grim slid back down to the floor of his cage. He still felt like hell but better than he had since he’d woken in the dark, begging like an animal. He hadn’t begged for his life. He’d begged for some alcohol. Of course, he hadn’t gotten any, and his body had rebelled. He’d thought he’d die a time or two and hoped he would. That was surely coming, only he figured now it was going to be even more painful than it would have been if he’d died of the DTs. “Just my fuckin’ luck.”
Grim had heard about something like this from the men who dealt in drugs and humans crossing the border. Word was, there was some kind of game being played by rich elites who got their rocks off doing sick shit to caged humans. Humans who’d never be missed. Throwaways like the kid.
Like you. Nobodies who have nobody.
The smugglers and traffickers—the cartels—all wanted a piece of it, obviously. Where there was money, there was always the desire—at least by some—to partake. But from what Grim had heard, this game was more exclusive than the likes of even the biggest drug kingpin. Grim had only half listened to the murmurings. Even for someone like him, who had seen depravity the likes of which most people didn’t think existed, he thought the stories about this game were overblown and unlikely.