Page 50 of The Veteran

SAGE

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Kade asked for the umpteenth time as he navigated the streets between the safe house and my teenage home. “The police have turned it over. Any clues about where he put the money are probably gone.”

I nodded, even though my stomach was tangled up and I thought I might be sick. “Yeah. I told you, it’s not about the clues. It’s about triggering a memory.”

His lips pursed. “Are we sure that ‘triggering’ is something we want to do to you?”

I looked at him out of the corner of my eye and covered my mouth to hide a smile. He was trying to protect me, and that was sweet, but sometimes we needed to revisit our trauma in order to be cleansed. While I had no doubt the visit would stir up memories I’d rather not relive, I also knew it wouldn’t send me into a tailspin the way he feared. I was stronger than that.

I reached for his hand, loving the way he instinctively intertwined his fingers with mine. “Tell you what. Why don’t you focus on the physical threats and I’ll worry about the emotional stuff?”

He shot me a narrow-eyed look. “Fine, I can take a hint.”

I smiled again as I released his hand. If it weren’t for the specter of Getty and Baker hanging over us, I’d be having a pretty perfect day. Morning sex with a gorgeous man, followed by napping, and the luxury of making a green smoothie for breakfast because whatever wonderful person had stocked the apartment had made sure I had everything I’d need. I hummed to myself as we drove, realizing we weren’t far away now.

The house was in a nice neighborhood. In hindsight, I should have wondered how we afforded it, but teenage me hadn’t considered how expensive our lifestyle might be—at least relative to Mom’s income level. If I had questioned it, would things have turned out differently? Perhaps we could have had a conversation about finances, and I could have made it clear to Dad that being on the right side of the law, and having him safe, meant more to me than owning the latest fashions and going to the best schools. Ah well, too late for those ‘what ifs’ now.

Kade turned a corner and there it was, up ahead of us.

“That one,” I said, pointing at it.

He pulled over and paused to check out a black Ford parked on the opposite side of the quiet suburban street. “They’re cops.”

I leaned closer to the window to get a better look and noticed that there were two people seated inside, a man and a woman. “How can you tell?”

“The model of the car. The fact there are two of them. It wouldn’t surprise me if Jo put them here in case Getty and Baker turn up.”

“Will they stop us from going in?” I asked.

He glanced at me. “Of course not. It’s your house. But they’ll probably take notes, and maybe a couple of photos. They might approach us if they want to know what we’re doing. Be prepared for questions.”

“Okay.”

He got out of the car and I waited while he surveyed the area and came around to help me. We followed a path across the small front lawn, which had been mowed recently. One of the neighbors must be doing outdoor maintenance since I doubted the police had concerned themselves with taking care of the property. Even if they had, full access had technically been returned to me now, and the police no longer cared what happened to it.

I searched my purse for the key and slotted it into the lock. Kade ushered me aside, turned the key, and gently pushed the door open. The house was silent. He stepped inside, one hand on his gun, which I figured was more of a safety measure than out of any real expectation that someone would be here. The cops would surely have intervened if they’d seen an intruder.

When he beckoned for me to follow, I placed one foot on the carpeted floor and inhaled the musty scent of disuse. I looked ahead at the entrance to the living room, and my vision wavered. Voices seemed to travel to my ears through the fog of time. My mom and dad, arguing. I blinked, and when I opened my eyes again, it was as if I was there. My heart beat frantically against my ribcage as I tiptoed along the floor, drawn by the sound of ghosts.

What if I’d opened that door and confronted them?

What if I’d asked what was wrong?

I rested my fingertips against the wood, concentrating on everything I’d thought, smelled, seen, and heard at the time. I knew it was crazy, but I almost felt as though I could push the door open and see my parents standing on the other side.

I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Not when I knew I’d see a crime scene. Instead, I backtracked to my former bedroom. The bedding had been torn off, the mattress slashed, and the dresser drawers were open, my clothes spilling out.

A sob rose up my throat and I lifted a shaking hand to my mouth as I took in the damage. The evidence of a police search was obvious, from the open closet to the upturned nightstand, but I suspected someone else was responsible for the mattress. Perhaps one of Dad’s former acquaintances. My shoulders shook with emotion and I closed my eyes and forced myself to take deep, slow breaths, relieved when Kade slung an arm around me. Seeing this place, which had once been my safe space, trashed like this made me feel violated. Even more so than when Getty and Baker had broken into my house.

I was tempted to chant a protection spell and envision a beautiful, pure orb of light around me that would keep me distanced from the ruin, but if I wanted to remember something important, I couldn’t shield myself. I had to just let whatever may come, come.

“You all right?” Kade asked gruffly.

“Not really,” I admitted. “But I will be.”

I took his hand and made myself register every detail, then I crossed the hall to my parents’ room. Like mine, their bed had been torn apart and their belongings were tossed haphazardly about. I was almost grateful for it. If the room had been untouched, it would have been easy to imagine them sleeping in the bed, waiting for me to return.

I wandered around, stepping over debris, and when I’d soaked up everything I could, I went to the living room door. This time, I turned the handle and pushed it open. Dust stirred in the air, and my gaze was immediately drawn to the spot where Mom had last lain on the floor, bleeding and broken. There was a neat hole in the carpet, where the bloodstain had been cut out by the police in case they needed to use it as evidence.