“How did you—?” Junior’s voice grunted to a stop when Lathan shoved his arm tighter against Junior’s throat.
“Evanee. Go get it. Now.”
She sprinted inside Junior’s shop, her four-inch heels barely slowing her down. She found the toolbox. Ripped open the top drawer.
Inside there were no tools, no greasy rags, nothing to indicate it was a mechanic’s toolbox. Instead, she found her apron folded into a neat square of cloth. Money missing—of course. Next to her apron was her key ring, minus her car key, and next to that a photo of the last happy day of her life. Mom and Rob’s wedding.
It was Junior’s photo, not hers. She would never own something that represented the beginning of so much pain.
The twenty-year-old picture had a sepia tinge to it, but the memory in her head wasn’t dulled in the least. Evanee remembered every detail of that day.
She had felt like a fairy princess in her frilly pink dress. She remembered twirling around and around and around, loving the way the long skirt billowed in the air. She had loved how her new big brother, Junior, had always been there to catch her before she fell to the ground and dirtied her dress.
Rob in his dress uniform had looked dashing as a king. And Mom was a queen in her flowing ivory wedding dress. On that day, Evanee had loved Rob and loved Junior. They were going to give her something she’d never had before. A family. Rob was going to be her and Thomas’s dad, and Junior was going to be their big brother.
In the picture, Mom and Rob stood, radiant smiles on both of their faces, Rob’s arm resting protectively over Mom’s shoulders. In front of Rob and Mom, nine-year-old Junior stood with his arm around the five-year-old version of Evanee. She’d grown up with a larger print of that photo hanging on the living room wall. She’d always wondered why this particular picture mattered so much, especially since Thomas—her baby brother—wasn’t even in it. It wasn’t until this moment that she noticed how Junior had his arm around her in the same way Rob had his arm around Mom. She and Junior looked like a miniature version of Rob and Mom.
There was something about that picture. Something about Junior and her. A thought hovered around the edges of Evanee’s mind, pushing, pulsating, prodding against the resistance of her consciousness.
“Evanee?” Lathan’s voice brought her back to the current situation.
She grabbed her apron, her key ring, shoved them in the jacket pocket, and ran outside.
When Lathan saw her, he let go of Junior. Sagging to his knees, Junior sucked air and coughed.
“What happened?” Lathan was next to her, his gaze darting between her and Junior.
She shook her head, but he waited. “Nothing.” An old picture spooked me didn’t seem like a logical explanation.
Lathan watched Junior until they were on the bike and driving out of the parking lot.
At first, the angry growl of the engine soothed her, but then the realization she didn’t want to face exploded in her mind like a firecracker on a quiet night.
A coldness that had nothing to do with the temperature settled over her. That night, the night of the wedding, was the first time Junior messed with her.
*
Lathan knew something was wrong the moment she emerged from Junior’s shop. She looked like she was running across the high wire of sanity and a windstorm had just kicked up.
She hugged him tight as a drowning man would a life ring.
Only one more block and he’d pull into RaeBeck’s Grocery. Lots of lights to see her words. Lots of people to witness if Junior followed them.
He pulled in, cut the engine, and twisted in his seat, trying to see her face. “What’s wrong?”
She shook her head in short, little Parkinsonian movements and angled off the bike.
Lathan set the kickstand and stood. She continued to shake her head. A sulfur-like scent oozed from her pores. Disbelief. Shock.
He wanted to say something to ease her, but nothing came to mind. He wanted to hold her—knew that would help—but she didn’t seek him out like she normally did, so he just stood there like a big dumbo and stared at her.
“You must think I’m a total… God, I don’t even have a word for how pathetic I must seem.”
“You’re not pathetic. You’ve been through shit with Junior two days in a row. You’re dealing.”
“This is dealing?”
He couldn’t hear the sarcasm in her words, but he witnessed its journey across her face.
“You want to talk about it?” He wasn’t sure he wanted her to. The leash he kept on his impulse to kill Junior might snap.
“Ever have one of those moments—you know, the ding-ding-ding, we-have-a-winner moments—when you see something that has been right in front of you your whole life, but you were too naive, blind, or stupid to see it? And it changes everything. And nothing. All at once.”
“Yeah.” She’d just described the moment when he’d gotten the results back from his DNA test, when he’d been told the olfactory region of his brain was enlarged, when he’d been informed that his sense of smell was more sensitive than the equipment they used to measure olfaction. “I know exactly what you mean.”
Her brows bounced up a little. “Really?”
He nodded. He could see her curiosity taking over whatever had pained her a moment ago. Part of him was relieved, part scared. He didn’t want her to ask about his ding-ding-ding moment. He didn’t want to tell her, and he didn’t want to lie. Time for a distraction. “So where do you want me to take you?” Say you want to come back home with me.
A pretty rose of color bloomed on each of her cheeks. “You know Morty’s Motor Lodge off 70, near Sweet Buns and Eats?”
“Yeah.”
“Take me there.”
“Why do you want to go there? Only druggies and whores live there.” Whores.
No.
She couldn’t be a whore.
His gut plummeted into his boots. He shook his head to dislodge the idea that she’d take money for sex, but the evidence stood in front of him partially covered by his jacket. Those tiny shorts, the hooker sexy shoes she wore on her feet. Hooker sexy. Fuck.