There's so much she doesn't know. There are things about the day Marissa died I've never told anyone. I did it to protect her. Maybe that was a mistake. Maybe guarding her memory isn't the way to go. Look what it's doing to my life.
"What do you think, Blue?" He looks at me from his spot in front of the fire. "You've got the life, buddy. You don't have to worry about shit like this. All you have to do is eat and sleep and run around outside. I wish I were you right now."
He comes over to me, nuzzling my hand. He's been my only friend for a long time. After I had split off from the club, I had nobody. It was like being a kid all over again. No friends, no family. I wouldn't visit my mother for a million dollars. She might be dead, for all I know. I can't go back to that world. Even riding past a trailer park sends a chill up my spine.
Blue knows all my shit. He's a good listener. "What should I do, Blue? Should I go to her?" He stares at me. What does he know? He just wants food.
Shit. I stand, pacing. Can I trust her? I feel like she deserves to know everything, but I can't shake this feeling of betrayal. If I tell the whole story, I'll be betraying Marissa. She was a good wife until things got bad. She couldn't help herself in the end. The addiction was too strong by then.
Will she even believe me? Or will she assume I'm lying, just like everyone else always has?
I listen to her voicemail again. She's on my side. She believes in me. Maybe I should give her a chance to prove it. What if she lets me down, just like everyone else has? It's fine for a person to say they'll believe you, until they hear the truth.
I can't help myself. I call her back. Voicemail. "Hey, it's Jax. I got your message. I've, uh, needed time to think. I want to talk to you. Give me a call, we can meet up someplace."
After an hour of waiting, I start to worry. Why hasn't she called? Did she change her mind? Maybe somebody else got to her before I did and tried to turn her against me. It sounds paranoid even to me, but I know anything's possible in this fucking town. I get my coat and climb on my bike.
I know I could catch shit for going back into town like this. I made an agreement with the club, years ago, that I wouldn't come around. They've never strictly held me to it-after all, a person has to go to town from time to time. Supplies and whatnot. Otherwise, I've been banished. And that's okay with me. There's no love lost here.
I guess parking overnight at Christina's was their idea of going outside the rules. What was I supposed to do? I had to make a choice, and I chose her. I knew the consequences, and I walked right into it. I didn't care. I still don't. But she does.
I wonder how many people will see me as I ride through this time. The town looks quiet, nearly deserted. It's freezing outside, keeping everyone inside their warm homes. But there are eyes everywhere. I swear it's like some of these people stand at their window just waiting for something to happen. Pretty soon word will start to spread that I'm riding through. Like I'm the fucking grim reaper or something.
It doesn't matter. I have to talk to her.
I drive down Main Street in the hopes her shop is still open. No, it's dark now. Maybe that's for the best-it wouldn't do her any good if I were seen at the shop. The townspeople might come out with the pitchforks and burning torches.
I go on to her house, hoping this ride wasn't for nothing. I don't think she's got much of a social life. If I'll find her anywhere besides the shop, her house is probably the place.
Her car's in the driveway. I breathe a sigh of relief. Now all I have to do is hope she wants to talk to me. It's been over an hour since I called her, with no reply. This is unlike her. I wonder who got to her in the time since she called. If she went to the shop at all, the possibilities are endless.
I go to the front door, knocking. It opens at the slightest touch. "Hello?" I call out, thinking she forgot to close it all the way. Silence.
I reach over to the light switch, flipping it. The house remains in darkness.
Shit. Why did I stop carrying a gun?
"Christina?" I open the door wider until it rests against the wall. There's no sign of movement anywhere in the living room or the kitchen.
I take a step inside, and that's when I see it. The porch light is on, showing me a dark stain on the carpet just inside the front door. Along with a purse. Christina's purse, on the floor, contents spilled everywhere.
My heart immediately starts racing. My focus narrows. She's gone. I know who took her. Why wasn't I with her? I forgot how much she needed me. Too busy thinking about myself.
I have to find her.
Chapter 29
"I've told you all this already," I say, sitting on the sofa in Christina's living room. The lights are on, now, the cops having flipped the breaker. He didn't cut the wires at least.
"Tell us again," the cop asks. He's sitting in front of me, on one of the chairs from Christina's kitchen. I want to tell him to get his fat, snide ass off that chair. He doesn't deserve to sit in one of her chairs. He doesn't want to help her. He only wants to pin this on me.
"Don't you get it? While you're questioning me, that fucking maniac has her! He could be raping her, killing her, right now! And you're not doing anything about it!"
"Maybe if you'd comply," another cop says. A female this time. She hates me just as much as the rest of them do. She's not even trying to hide it.
I take a deep breath, struggling to control my temper. "Like I said. I was coming here to talk to her. She called me earlier, wanting to make up after an argument we had-you've listened to the voicemail. I called her back. When she didn't reply after an hour, I came here. I wasn't worried about her safety so much as I was worried why she wouldn't call when she sounded so ready to talk when she left that message. It seemed out of character."
"And what did you find when you got here?"
I want to tell them to look the fuck around. "The door was almost closed, but not totally. I went to knock, but it swung open a little. I opened it all the way. I saw the bloodstain, the purse on the floor. So I called you." I hadn't wanted to. It was the last thing I wanted to do. But I remembered this wasn't about me. It was about her. Finding her. A big fucking lot of good that did me, seeing as how they haven't started looking yet.
"You say you two had an argument earlier today?"
Oh, no. Not this. "Yeah, a little disagreement."
"What was it about?"
"It's personal."
"I thought you wanted to help your girlfriend."
"She's not … Anyway, how would this help you? What we talked about has nothing to do with this. I'm telling you, her ex is a goddamned lunatic. Did you find that clipping? It has to be around here somewhere. I just looked at it this morning." I point to the coffee table. "It was right here."
"We didn't see any type of clipping anywhere," the female officer tells me.
"Great. He probably took it!"
"You're saying Miss Reardon has a stalker?"
"That's exactly what I'm saying. Her boyfriend, or ex-boyfriend, was abusive. He was stalking her. She just recently blocked his number and blocked him on social media. Check it out-her laptop's right here. You can probably log in and see for yourself. He's insane. I know he has her."
"We'll take the laptop as evidence, and have our forensic team go through it."
"You don't need a fucking forensic team for this!" I'm shaking with rage. It's like talking to a wall. "I'm telling you, I looked at her messages today! Just this morning. He said sick things. All you have to do is look, and you'll see what I mean. You should be looking for this guy!"
"What's his name again?" One of the cops takes out a notepad.
"Tommy."
"Tommy what?"
"I don't know. If you look at the account with the messages, you'll be able to see."
"Mr. Fairbanks, we can't just log in to a person's accounts without permission."
I must be losing my mind. It's the only explanation. "Even when you think there's been a kidnapping? Are you kidding me? She's not a suspect here. It's not like you have to watch yourself. She's the victim. She needs your help. Please. Help her. He took her. I know he did."
"Mr. Fairbanks … " The woman cop looks at me, hands on hips. "How do we know you're not just making this up?"
"The proof is right there." I point to the computer.
"How do we know this isn't some convenient excuse?"
"What? You mean you think I did something to her because I saw these messages and thought it was a good excuse? Like, oh, great, now I can kill this girl because I have somebody to pin it on? What the fuck is wrong with you people?"
"Don't use that language with us, Mr. Fairbanks."