The Broken Parts Of Us (9 page)

“Detective.” He nods his head at me.

“Anything to report?” I ask, quirking a brow.

“Nothing, sir. A neighbour, a female, came in at around one a.m. and there’s been no activity since.”

 I nod my head at him and guide Kyra inside with a hand on her lower back. Her place is as we left it.

“Go do what you need to do, Beauty, and pack a bag. I want you to stay with me until this is resolved.”

“But we don’t know how long that will be.”

I bite down the need to demand she does as she’s told out of my own fear that this is all about me and I want her to be near me at all times so I can protect her.

“Just stay a few days for now.” I close the distance, reaching up to stroke her cheek. “For my peace of mind, just stay a few days.”

She bites down on her bottom lip and it’s sexy as sin. I swallow the saliva coating my mouth and step away from her.

“Go change.” I nod in the direction of her room, my voice hoarse from the arousal she caused from simply biting her lip.

I check my emails on my phone; the address for the registered Mustang is only an hour away; that will be my first stop today. I need something, any lead on this guy. Not knowing the motive or confirmed pattern of this unsub is leaving me anxious. I check a text from Sammy, informing me he’ll be staying at the studio until noon, then Jasper will be there until closing.

“Ready,” Kyra chimes from behind me. I smile at the sight of her in her dancewear. This woman can pull off any outfit. She would be the death of me if I had to watch her dance around all day in this skin tight outfit.

“What’s wrong?” she asks, reaching up to smooth out the crease from my forehead. The thoughts of Jasper being there all afternoon, watching her doing that exact thing makes me have conflicting feelings. I’m not sure if I’m jealous of him getting to watch her, or her having him watch her. This is all becoming a mess. How can this ever work out? I know he has a thing for her, and I have one for them both and she seems to have one for both of us. It's bound to cause trouble later down the line. Jasper is already jealous.

“I need to go now. I don’t want to be late. River promoted me, and she’s informing the girls today that she’s pregnant and that I’ll be taking on the general running of the day to day stuff.” She beams, and I clasp her hand and walk her back to my car.

* * * * *

I pull up to the small detached house—the address of the Mustang. The lawn is well kept; there’s a rocking chair on the porch, and an older lady is rocking back and forth.

“Hello,” she greets, coming to a stop, the weariness evident in her posture.

I pull my badge and smile as warmly as I can manage.

“Hello, ma’am. I’m detective Jefferson. Have you got a few minutes to answer some questions?”

She rises to her feet and leans in to check my badge.

“What’s this about?”

“We’re investigating the owner of a car that came up registered to this address, ma’am. A Mustang.”

She holds her hand up to stop me.

“That was my son's. He passed away and I sold it on, I couldn’t look at it, knowing he would never be home to drive it.”

I slip my badge away.

“I’m sorry for your loss. Can you tell me who it was sold to?”

“He told me his name was Ethan.” She puts her finger to her lip and looks up to the sky. “No, Evan. He told me he would sort all the paperwork, so I wouldn’t need to worry, and paid me in cash.” She takes a step towards me. “He was a handsome young man, seemed pleasant. Is he okay?” 

An uneasy chill races up my spine at the name Evan.

“Can you describe him?”

“Blond, handsome features, about your height, in his early thirties if I was to guess.”

It could just be a coincidence, but the cold ice flooding my veins and the description told me it was Mya’s ex, Evan. Could he be behind this?

The memories of Mya's death and the circumstances leading up to her suicide fill my head in a torrent of images and a painful ache of grief on the drive back to the station. Evan was Mya’s first and only love. He was older than her, and he was controlling. First was her image; she would no longer wear skirts or dresses. They were replaced with sweaters, even in the summer heat. I noticed she became timid, nothing like the outgoing girl she once was. When I first saw her bruises by chance when she was pulling on a sweater, the brother, man, and agent in me knew straight away what was happening. She finally broke and told me these weren't the first marks he had left her with. The brother's rage won the battle and I confronted him with threats. If he ever came near her again, I would kill him. He punished her for telling me by sleeping with her best friend, filming it, and sending it to her. The thing about love, especially first love when it’s with someone who abuses you, it makes it hard to see that you’re in fact a victim of a crime. It’s not always the violence that does the damage. It’s the physiological effect it has. It clouds judgement; the abuser infects you like a virus, pollutes your mind, and takes away your rationality. They corrupt your thoughts by making you think you owe them, that to love them means accepting them, standing by them why they try to change. They convince you that you must have done something wrong to make them abuse you in the first place. They’re a poison that strips you of everything you once were. Despite all he had done, she was brainwashed into loving him. That video crippled her, broke her fragile psyche and heart, making her take her own life. She plunged to her death from a cliff's edge. I was on duty the night the call came in. I remember driving there, feeling sorry for the family of whoever this person was, to have to tell them that this person killed themselves when all they would hear was that their loved one had gotten so low, had nowhere to turn, that rather than go on living, they threw themselves off a cliff. When I pulled up to other squad cars and yellow tape, a friend and fellow officer rushed towards my patrol car with tears in his eyes, shaking his head. A hole opened up in my chest. I stepped out to be pushed against the car with force by him.

“It’s Mya, man. Oh, God. I’m so sorry, Der, it’s Mya.”

I remember the words and my pushing at him to let me pass, but more officers hands gripped me, holding me back.

“It’s not fucking Mya! What are you talking about? Let me pass! It’s not Mya. She wouldn’t. It’s not my baby sister, you bastards! Let me pass!” I screamed until my throat was raw, my legs buckled and grief attacked every part of my soul. No physical pain can compare to the emotional pain of grief. Our mother blamed me for her death. She blamed me for interfering with Evan. She couldn’t even look at me at Mya’s funeral. Evan dropped off the map. I was informed by Mya's best friend that she was heartbroken. He broke her down and made her end her life. I wanted his life in my hands. I wanted to feel his pulse slow and fade to nothing as I ended his life. I never saw him again.

* * * * *

I find Hans in my office when I get there.

“You know it’s a conflict of interest, having her stay with you.”

I throw my keys on the desk and scowl at him. 

“Why would you think she's staying with me?”

“Peters, the officer who staked out her place last night, said she didn’t come home and you brought her back this morning. I may not be as a good a detective as you, but I don’t need to be to know she stayed with you.”

“She’s staying with River. I just drive her where she needs to be. She doesn’t have a car and I don’t need to explain shit to you.”  I jab him with a finger in the chest. “This is personal, Hans. I think this is aimed at me.”  I walk around the desk, taking a seat and powering up my computer. “I need you to find me everything from the last year on Evan Mills.”

His hands come down on the desk, his frame leaning towards me.

“Why do I know that name, and how is this connected to you?”

“He was Mya's boyfriend and I think he’s the one doing this. I think it’s to send me a message.”

Hans lets out a gush of air and rubs his hand over his face. “Why would he have grievance with you and after so long?” 

The cold freeze that had set into my veins is replaced with a hot boil. I spring to my feet, sending my chair flying backwards and crashing into the wall with a loud thump.

“I don’t fucking know! Perhaps he, like my mother, blames me for Mya. What I do know is I want him found so I can KILL THE SON OF A BITCH!” I roar, hammering my fist onto my desk, making Hans flinch.

“I’ll go run his profile now.” He turns and leaves.

I want this bastard caught, so he doesn’t hurt anyone else to get to me. Why not just be a fucking man and come after me? I grow more frustrated by the second. My phone pulls me from the spiral of anger, frustration, guilt and irritation I'm beginning to drown in. Jasper's name flashing on my screen makes me sigh. I need to hear his voice. I need comfort; that isn't something I'm used to needing, but God dammit, I'm a mess inside and I need a reassuring presence right now.

“Hey.” His warm tone echoes down the line.

“Hey, everything okay?”  I hear him moving around and I know he's brushing a hand through his messy hair.

“Yeah, listen I’m sorry about this morning. I just had a bad night and took it out on you.” Static hums through the line before he speaks again.

“We had a crisis at the studio.”

My body tenses and scenarios of what possible crisis they’ve had rush through my mind like snippets from a movie trailer.

“What happened?” I sound breathless. I feel dizzy. Memories flood my mind from when Danny changed all our lives on the night he lost it and kidnapped River: Sammy's frantic rambles as I found him shot and desperate to find River, Jasper being wheeled out unconscious from a near fatal stomach wound where Danny shot him. Than locating him, confronting him, and being left for dead, bleeding into the dirt.  What if something happened to one of them? How would we cope after everything we’ve been through? How can we cope with another psycho targeting one us?

“Der? Der? Fuck, did I lose signal again?” Jasper's voice pulls me back from my memories. 

“I’m here. What happened?”

“Oh, Mikey had an inset day, so River brought him to the studio. Sammy told him off for running his cars along the mirrors, next thing, Mikey runs off to the bathroom and water starts pissing out the door, flooding the hall. Sent River into her head again.” I hear him exhale. “Anyway, she closed the studio early, that’s why I’m calling. Kyra said she’s staying at our place?”

“Actually yeah, just take her back there. I’ll talk with you tonight; make sure I’m home before you leave.”

“I'm staying home tonight. Hannah has gone on some city trip to look at dresses.”

I stop myself from punching the wall and grind my teeth, biting out, “Fine. See you tonight, then.”

I don’t wait for a reply.

W
atching River break down and cry was disturbing to witness. She’s such a strong woman and to see her fall apart pulled on my emotions. I don’t know the whole story about what she went through, but I know from the news articles that six years ago her then boyfriend was abusing her, murdered people including her father, and attempted to murder Sammy, Jasper, and Derek. He then came back for River nearly a year later and she killed him.

This was something I had never lived or been around. My life was curfews and church on a Sunday; I can’t even imagine myself going through what she has and surviving every day, getting up and living a normal life. 

I wasn’t sure what caused River’s overreaction to Mikey’s bad behavior, but something was troubling her.

 Jasper sent her home with Sammy and Mikey, and then stayed to help clean the mess and lock up.

I’m now back in the cream room at Derek’s, freshly showered in sweats and a sweater. I just want some cocoa and to go back to Denying Heaven; I would rather live in Bulk’s heartache and love problems than my own right now. Fictional men have always been a better option for me. I shake my head at my own pathetic past with men—or man—in my case.

“Hey, I made dinner,” Jasper calls though the closed door. I open It to find him leaning against the frame. He’s still in his jeans and shirt from earlier; the dark blue is a sexy contrast with the light cobalt of his eyes, his mussed hair even more messy than usual. He holds a pizza box, the pepperoni and cheese scent rising from it with the steam. My stomach growls in approval. Junk food is perfect for the mood I’m in.

“Made dinner, huh?” I raise a brow.

His smirk isn’t getting any easier to ignore; he is stunning—should be gracing billboards stunning.

“I made the call.” He wiggles the hand braced against the frame. I see his cell in his hand and smile, grabbing the box from him before I race down the stairs. “Run all you like, Beautiful, there’s no way that body can consume all that pizza.”

I turn half way down the stairs and grin. “This body burns calories at a rapid rate from dancing every day, therefore I can consume them at a rapid rate, too.” I hold up the box. “This is a medium Pepperoni Passion, next time XL this bad boy!” I chuckle and continue my race to the couch.