Page 4 of Lies Beneath Secrets

“I can use a damn phone. Just get me whatever won’t cost me an arm and a leg, and I need this same number. Don’t change it.” I slide her a piece of paper with my number on it. She nods and types away at her computer. Just because I haven’t upgraded in years doesn’t mean I can’t figure out how to use a phone. I’ve watched plenty of the brothers and the women use their damn phones. I’ll figure it out.

“If you’d like, you can look over some of our phones to see which works best for you.” She gestures to the rows of phone displays, and I shake my head. “Okay.” She glances at Knox. “Anything I can get for you?” The question is loaded with more than just offering to help with this damn phone.

As Knox talks to her, I tune it out. Fucker is a pussy magnet wherever we go. Damn Ken doll.

“Here, you old bastard.” Knox hands me my new phone. I take it and put it in my pocket when it starts ringing. “Just in time I guess.” He chuckles. I look down at the screen.

“Where is 414 from?” I ask, not recognizing the area code.

“Shit if I know, brother. You take your finger and….”

“I fucking know how to answer it,” I snap and swipe across the screen to answer the call. “Hello.”

“I’m looking for a Conner Mathews,” a woman says on the line.

“You got him.”

“Mr. Mathews, this is Casandra from Social Services in Milwaukee,” she states, making the blood in my veins turn to ice. “Do you know Andrea Fletcher?” My throat dries up, and I fight my locked jaw to move. “Mr. Mathews, are you there?” It takes all I have in me to clear my throat. Even then, all I can muster is a grunt in confirmation. “We have her daughter in our custody, and you’re listed as the father. I was hoping you could get here by tomorrow. I really would hate to put her into foster care. She has been through so much already.”

“Yeah,” I find myself saying to the woman on the other end of the call. “Yeah,” I repeat, clearing my throat. “I’ll be there in a few hours.”

“Good. I have her at our office right now.” She rattles off how to get there, then tells me that she’ll see me soon. I’m still standing in the damn cell phone store, Knox watching my every move with curiosity.

“What was that about? You look like you just saw a ghost.”

“I need to go to Milwaukee.” That’s all I tell him before stalking out of the store and back to the truck, barely giving him time to get in before I take off.

“What do you mean you need to go to Milwaukee?” Knox echoes.

“My… I have a… you remember a few years back when I got sent on that solo run?” He nods. “I met a woman there.”

“Fucking knew it had something to do with a woman. She call to say she needed you or something?”

“That wasn’t her,” I answer. “It was Social Services.”

“Why would Social Services in Milwaukee be calling you?”

“Because of my daughter,” I say aloud for the first time. I have a daughter. Never have I spoken them words aloud, not even to myself in the last five years.

“You have a daughter?” He’s as shocked as I am.

“Her mom didn’t want me, didn’t want to be a part of this life when she found out what I did. So, when I left, I figured I’d never hear from her again. Until she ended up calling me a few months later, told me I had a daughter. I’m not sure why she called. She still didn’t want shit from me, not even money. I think she just wanted me to know in case…” I trail off, wondering what the hell happened.

“In case?” Knox prompts.

“When I met her, she was married to some asshole doing a dime in Dodge. I think she was scared of him.” I grip the steering wheel tight. He was halfway through his sentence when we met. He probably got out. “That was a social worker on the phone. They have my kid there and don’t want her to go into foster care. Something must have happened to her mom. I need to get my ass there before tomorrow. My kid is not going into foster care, if I can help it.

“You’re going to bring her here?” Knox laughs a little. “Fuck, can I be there when you tell Tina?” Jesus. Fucking Tina. I can’t deal with that bullshit right now.

“Fucking prick,” I mutter and press on the gas a little harder.

* * *

I peer through the glass in the narrow hallway. It has flowers stuck to it, those ugly plastic things that cling to glass. The edges are peeling up and collecting dust. My daughter sits on the other side of the glass. Her blond hair is pin straight and down to the middle of her back. Close to her mother’s hair color, or how I remember it being. “I was one of the officers first on the scene. We got a call around two AM,” Officer Rice tells me as I watch my daughter through the glass, “Domestic disturbance. The neighbors called and reported they heard shouting, then very loud banging. The door had been broken off its hinges, showing clear signs of forced entry. We found Ms. Fletcher on the floor. She was deceased upon arrival. We searched the home but didn’t find the assailant. Your daughter was found hiding in the cupboard under the kitchen sink. It’s likely she witnessed what had happened.” My jaw clenches tight. It takes every ounce of energy I have left, but I manage to get my question asked without yelling.

“What did he use to kill her?” I ask between gritted teeth.

“We’re unsure at this time, but it seems to have been his fists and…” She trails off a little, then finishes. “His boots.” Meaning he stomped her to death.

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