Black bird a nevermore d.., p.69
Black Bird: A Nevermore Duet, page 69
“Well,” Sarah started, “I don’t think we’d start here. Mom’s always lived in Seattle.”
“You make an excellent point,” Rhaena added, quirking her mouth to the side. “However … that list will probably triple in a city the size of frickin’ Seattle.”
“We don’t need to do this right now, anyway. What’s the latest on Wren?” Sarah asked, finishing off her coffee. Athan promptly took the mug and went to refill it.
Rhaena sighed deeply, turning the laptop back around. “A whole lot of nothing. Brandon has been busting ass at the precinct looking for clues. He’s actually at the coffee shop now, questioning everybody he can think of. Foster’s with him.” Her eyes rolled.
Athan came back with another mug, and Sarah nearly jerked it out of his hand. She caught the hint of a smile on his face. “Has anybody talked to Brent since we were at the apartment?” Sarah asked, drinking down half the mug.
“No. He’s been radio silent and practically invisible since he left.” Rhaena shut the laptop and scratched her head. “Should we call?”
Sarah thought back to the surprised look Athan had noticed on Brent’s face that day. He knew something. It was time to fess up. “I’ll call,” she said, turning her coffee back up, and turning to walk to Athan’s room.
Brent sat in the red, cracked leather booth where he’d found Wren the day that he’d hit that jock. The usual happenings of the bar continued on without her as if the place itself didn’t blink an eye at her absence. He wiped his greasy hand on a wet napkin and scrolled through the most recent articles about his father. He was desperately searching. For what, though … he wasn’t entirely sure. A reason for him not to believe his father would be capable of something like this? Or was it the proof he needed to confirm that he was, and that Wren was probably at that mansion, or somewhere worse, going through God only knew what. He chewed on his soggy buffalo wings, filtering through bullshit article after bullshit article. His phone started buzzing on the table. It took monumental effort not to slide the ignore button.
“Yes?” he answered, gritting his teeth.
“Morning to you, too,” Sarah drawled.
“It’s three in the afternoon, Sarah.”
“Hm … so it is. Where are you?”
“Eating a late lunch. What do you need?”
“I get the feeling you’re not thrilled to hear from me, Brent.”
“Look, I’m not in the mood, and I’m kinda busy. Is there a reason you’re calling?” He could hear her softly snicker on the other end.
“Amazing. You wait until we’re over to start being the hard one. I’ve been a bad influence on you, Stratford.”
Brent couldn’t help but smirk. “Sorry … I’m just stressed out.”
“Well, I’m sure it hasn’t helped that I’ve been quite the bitch lately. I’m not gonna beat a dead horse, so I’ll just cut to the dirty shit, okay?”
“By dirty, I’m sure you don’t mean the good kind.”
“You’re perceptive.”
“What’s up?”
“Look, it’s obvious that you know something. I might have been clueless when we were together, but I’m far from clueless now. Do you know if your dad has anything to do with Wren’s kidnapping?”
Brent felt his stomach churn. “You say that like you think I had something to do with it.”
“I would ask if you did, but I don’t believe that. Then again, I didn’t think you could burn me the way you did, either.”
“I don’t really know how many other ways I can express my apology for that, Sarah. You have to know I wouldn’t do anything to hurt Wren. We’re not fond of each other, but I’d never hurt her.”
“I believe you, Brent.”
He chewed his bottom lip. “I don’t know for sure. But … yes. I suspect he could have something to do with it. Or everything. The problem is, I can’t find any proof. I’ve spent the last two hours going through any appearance he’s made that the press was able to dig up, and if he did do it, he’s getting a lot better at covering his ass.”
“I’m impressed. That’s a good place to start.”
“Yeah, well … I’m no detective, I guess.”
Sarah huffed a laugh. “Well played.”
“I thought so, too.” The corners of his eyes tightened in a smile that didn’t curl his mouth. “I don’t really have anything other than my suspicion, Sarah. I’m sorry. I wish I could be more help. I wanna find her as much as you do.”
She was quiet for a moment. “Why?”
He matched her silence. “… I dunno.”
“I think I do.”
He drew his brows together. “Wh—what do you mean?”
“Nothing. Look, um … is there any chance we could all be civil around each other and meet up? For Wren’s sake, at least? Maybe tonight, or tomorrow?”
“I … ah … I can’t do it tomorrow. I’ve run into a personal issue of my own. I need to take care of some things. I’m not sure how much of my day that’s gonna take up.”
“What’s going on? Are you okay?”
He debated whether or not to tell her, but Sarah had always been so kind to his mother. And Patricia adored her. Sarah did, after all, give him an opportunity to offer that blood to save her life. It wasn’t her fault that Pat had chosen not to use it. “… Not really. Mom died.”
“No …” Sarah grew quiet for a moment. “Brent, I—I’m really sorry … she was a really good woman.”
He swallowed, softly nodding. “Yeah … yeah, she was.” He glanced up, a familiar SUV catching sunlight as the back door opened and shining a blinding glare into his eyes. He narrowed them at the figure that stepped out and cursed under his breath.
“What is it?” He watched his father step out and walk into the pharmacy across the street, a lone bodyguard trailing behind him. “Brent?”
“Call it fate, but I’m looking right at the son-of-a-bitch. He’s going into Finch & Hammel across the street.”
“The drug store? Are you at Bunker’s?”
“Yeah, I’m gonna follow him. I’ll call you back.”
“No! Brent, you can’t follow him. You’ve still got a restraining order against you. You’re a lawyer. I don’t have to tell you what happens if the shit goes south.”
“Yeah, I’ll deal with that later. If he’s got her, I’m not missing any more opportunities. I’ll talk to you later.”
“Brent!”
He hung up on her and laid cash down on the table, snapping the laptop shut, and scooting out of the booth.
It seemed comical, Conrad Stratford thought as he glanced behind him at his bodyguard who was carefully watching behind him as he browsed through aisles in the small pharmacy downtown. Not only had he completely forgotten in the past few years what it was like to do his own shopping, but it also seemed rather ridiculous to be seen with a bodyguard while poking around awkwardly in the first aid supplies with a bloody paper towel on his right ear. It gave the impression that his security wasn’t worth the pretty penny he paid them.
It wasn’t like he could take protection down into a musty basement where he was unsuccessfully keeping a hostage that was too smart for her own good. He hadn’t expected to see Gretchen storming through the hallway with red splotches on her chest and coffee on her blouse. Add that to the list of idiot things that woman did on a regular basis. Perhaps he couldn’t even say that, seeing as he marched straight down the steps only to find himself fighting the redhead off as she made a bold attempt to slash his face with a piece of broken glass, and ended up nearly taking off his ear. Luckily, it had slipped out of her hand as she hit him, and he spent a few minutes wrangling her to the ground before Gretchen came back to help subdue her. She wouldn’t be getting out of what he’d made sure to put her in after that. Nor would she be waking up anytime soon. Conrad had practically sat on Wren’s back, holding her arms behind her as Gretchen put her out with chloroform—and this time, he made sure to tape that bitch’s mouth shut.
Gretchen made it clear that she wouldn’t be making any runs into town, and he didn’t feel like conjuring up a story to tell emergency services if he walked into the hospital where his wife refused to see him. Didn’t want to risk running into his son, either. Conrad stuck a few packages of gauze and tape into his basket, grumbling under his breath.
“Hmm …” a familiar voice said from an aisle over. Conrad looked up to see Brent’s eyes between the bottles of rubbing alcohol and peroxide. “Looks nasty. You should probably get that looked at.” So much for thinking Boston wasn’t such a small town.
“Brent.” Conrad blinked. “You shouldn’t be here.”
“Why’s that? And what the hell happened to you?”
Conrad forced a smirk. “You should see the other guy.”
“Oh? You file a restraining order on him, too?”
“Cute.” He reached up, pulling down a bottle of the peroxide and checking the label before sticking it into his basket. “How is your mother? Shouldn’t you be at the hospital?”
Brent rolled his eyes and slowly shook his head. “I couldn’t eat any more hospital food. Came out for air and lunch. If you care so much, then you should go see her.”
“You know full well why I can’t do that.”
“Because she’d rather rot in that place than be around you? Why are you shopping? Gretchen a little too proud to get your band-aids? Or did you get a saddle sore from that white horse you ride for the press?”
Conrad scoffed. “Careful, son. You’re starting to sound like—” he caught himself and shot his attention up to meet Brent’s narrowing eyes.
“Sound like who?” Brent asked, thoroughly looking him over.
“Your gaggle of misfits that you call friends.”
Brent snorted and looked towards the door. “You didn’t mean one in particular, Dad? Maybe one with red hair?”
Conrad ignored the nervous flutter in his stomach, and the tingling in his face. “I don’t know what you’re implying, but I’d start heeding that restraining order if I were you.” He nodded towards his guard, and the tight-muscled man towered next to him, giving his son a look that expressed exactly what would happen if he didn’t back off.
“Where was that muscle when you were hiding at my apartment, Pop? Better yet … where was he when you got your boo-boo?” Brent flashed a finger up to Conrad’s ear.
“Get out of here, Brent. Last warning.” Conrad turned his back on his son and started further down the aisle. He could hear Brent’s steps on the other side, following him as they strode parallel to each other, catching the attention of other shoppers.
“She’d be so proud of you … knowing the lengths you’d go. I have to be honest; it even surprises me.” Brent met him at the end of the aisle and briefly stood face-to-face with him before his bodyguard came between them. Conrad peered at his son over the hulking shoulder. “Not that it should, knowing what I know. But if Mom knew what you did to—”
“Shut your mouth, boy. I didn’t kidnap anyone. You’re not going to slander my name with your bullshit. The new boyfriend got you wanting to play detective, now? You think that’ll win her back?”
Brent’s brows raised and he cocked his head. There was a short pause, and a deafening silence between them. “Who said anything about a kidnapping?” The half-smile on his mouth nearly made him vomit. He’d blindly made a massive error in his attempt to sting his son with his weakness, and there was no taking it back. Conrad clenched his teeth, his jaw feathering as he dropped the basket to the floor and left Brent standing by himself.
“We’re leaving,” he said, trying to hide his sudden panic at his mistake as he charged for the door. His guard kept close, and Brent didn’t follow. On his way out the door, he spotted Sarah St. James and her detective stepping out of an unmarked black car across the street. He paused as he met her eyes—so did she. She was right there. The living vessel that carried the only thing he needed. She knew it. He glanced at the detective, who smirked at him, daring him to make a move.
Their silent conversation was cut off by the sound of camera shutters, and paparazzi that came out of seemingly nowhere, calling his name. Shouted questions started pouring in from every direction and his guard shielded him as he hurried him into the SUV, slamming the door shut. As they pulled off, he stared after St. James, who almost looked as if she could see him through the illegal tint on his window, and he could have sworn something was different about her. Something darker than the way she’d looked at the benefit. As the corner of her mouth curled up, he felt a chill creep over his spine.
He’d fucked up. Amateur. Fool. Dead man.
“Well … he looks chipper.” Sarah smirked as Athan eyed the black SUV until it was out of sight. Some of the parasites followed down the sidewalk with their cameras, and of course … some didn’t, turning their attention first to him and Sarah, and then to Brent as he walked out of the pharmacy entrance. Athan took Sarah’s hand and stormed toward a particularly brave photographer who continued to let his shutter fly off as they approached.
“Take another one …” Athan seethed, baring his teeth. “I fucking dare you to do it.” The young, greasy-haired kid’s throat bobbed as he lowered his camera. The few that were left nearby paused their snapping and closely watched as Athan protectively pulled Sarah around his back. “You’ve all got two seconds to clear out. The last time this happened, there were several thousand dollars in broken equipment, and that won’t hold a candle to your hospital bills.”
Brent met eyes with Athan and stood still as the hounds scattered off, several of them muttering insults, or expletives as they left. They met Brent on the other side of the street and Sarah gripped Athan’s hand as they closed the space. “You didn’t have to come to my rescue, Sarah. I told you I’d call you back.”
Athan had to admit, he was a little surprised when Sarah stepped up, letting go of his hand and pulling Stratford into a hug. “I’m really sorry … about your mom.” While it was irritating, he understood it. Some parts of Sarah would never change, and the one thing Dahlia hated more than anything, was his leftover respect for humanity. He prayed she’d never lose it. Stratford patted her back lightly, and eased her off, glancing at Athan briefly as he did so.
Wise choice, Stratford.
“Sorry for your loss,” Athan offered, extending his hand. Brent hesitated but took it and shook gently.
“I appreciate it. Just keep that to yourselves, would you? I’m not making that news public, yet.”
Sarah slid into Athan’s arm, seeming to be slightly bothered by the sunlight as she shielded her new eyes with her hand over her brow. “Why?” she asked, innocently. Brent narrowed his eyes, staring at her curiously for a moment, and then adjusted his attention to his feet.
“I—” Brent twitched his mouth. “I don’t want him to know anything yet. He doesn’t deserve it. I just need a little more time to keep her to myself, I guess. When he finds out, he’ll milk it. The press will eat it up, and she’ll disappear. My mom deserves better than that.”
He couldn’t help but agree with him, and for the first time, a small part of Athan felt sorry for Brent Stratford. Sarah shifted on her feet. “Did you figure anything out?” she asked.
Brent was quiet for a moment, but then shook his head and sighed. “No. Just the typical bullshit he always gives. It never ends well. I’m sorry, Sarah.”
“No explanation for the blood I could smell from all the way over there?” She jerked her head towards Athan’s car across the street and Brent’s eyes narrowed into slits as he peered at her in question, a deep crease forming between his brows.
“You’ve changed. You’re—” Brent paused glancing at Athan. “That’s what’s different today.” It was almost as if all of a sudden, that notion didn’t bother the lawyer as much.
“I’m still me, Brent.”
“I can see that. But doesn’t that mean …” he paused, looking between them both. “Did you … die?”
Athan swallowed, fighting back the urge to grind his teeth at the image of her flat-lining in that lab, and tightened his arm around her.
“I’m okay. Apparently, six feet isn’t enough to keep me down.” Sarah shrugged and smiled at him. Athan leaned in close to her.
Something’s up, Sarah … he’s hiding something.
Sarah shifted again, growing still as she took a harder look at her ex. He still had his hands in his pockets, and seemed as if he were growing more uncomfortable by the minute.
You think there was more to that little “meet-cute” in the store?
Whatever that was. Athan tried earnestly not to snort.
Only one way to find out. Keep him busy. I’m going inside.
He nodded at Stratford, and Sarah’s fingers lingered around his as he pulled away and made to step around the lawyer and open the door. “Be right back.” He lifted her knuckles to his mouth and bit down on them playfully before he let go of her hand.
“Not to sound stupid, but what could either of you possibly need from a drug store?” Brent asked, almost jokingly. Sarah, being the quick-witted asshole that he loved, supplied an excuse he knew Brent would likely be thinking far too much about for a while.
“Condoms,” she spat, quirking a brow. Athan found it impossible to stifle his laugh, then. He didn’t stick around to see the look on Brent’s face, although he found himself immediately regretting it.
He walked in, seeing only two or three customers busying themselves around the small shelves, and one of the staff picking through a discarded basket on the floor. Athan approached her, and when she looked up at him, she nearly toppled over, catching herself and flushing a shade of red before raising from a squat.
“C-can I help you, sir?” she asked, wiping her hands on her shirt.
“Yes … I’m Detective Athan Kane with the Boston Police Department.” Athan went for his badge but forgot that he didn’t have it to flash at her anymore. As the young girl appeared not to give half a shit, he continued, “Was that basket, by chance, left by the gentleman that just walked out with a bodyguard?”
