Page 145 of Mess With Me

I can’t help but notice how the dingy carpets and scuffed beige paint are such a far cry from the family home Laura grew up in. Her mom made “cozy home” her whole personality, with bright throw pillows on every couch and a constant rotation of baked goods in the oven.

“Did his ex-wife have any info?” Ford asks, clearly thinking the same thing.

“She hasn’t heard from him in over a year.”

I saw the pain on Laura’s mother’s worn face when she saw me and the concern when I said we couldn’t locate her ex-husband. But she quickly replaced it with stony indifference. “I don’t really care where he is,” she said. “I’m sure he’ll turn up in a dive bar somewhere.”

I didn’t tell her he’d quit drinking. It didn’t matter. He didn’t handle the loss of his daughter well—though who would? At least he’s been sober the last couple of years.

She reached out and gave my hand a squeeze before she slammed the door in my face, a nod to the happy times we’d once shared, before everything went so terribly dark.

I focus on the matter at hand. Lionel’s apartment is at the end of the hall. Halfway there, my phone buzzes.

It’s Sasha. The dim hallway seems to brighten just by me picturing her face.

SASHA: Hey, you!

GRIFFIN: Hey, sweetheart.

SASHA: You busy?

I don’t ever want to answer her yes to that question, but I stopped when I saw her name, and Ford’s already almost up at Lionel’s door.

GRIFFIN: A little. You okay?

Three dots pop up. Then a new text appears. But it’s not Sasha.

FORD: Signs of forced entry.

I whip my head up. He’s standing with his back up against the wall next to Lionel’s door, his elbows bent, weapon pulled. He’s looking pointedly at me.

“Fuck.”

I shove my phone into my pocket. If she’s not texting me911, it’ll have to wait.

I sprint up the hallway as quietly as I can.

Ford glares, pocketing his phone. “Way to pay attention, lover boy.”

I grunt, glancing at the door. He knows I’m sorry.

The door’s closed, but the frame is bent out of shape.

“You hear anything?” I whisper.

Ford shakes his head. “Think it’s clear.”

I nod. We’ll still go in on the assumption that someone’s inside. Better safe than sorry. I move to the other side of the door.

“Ready?” I ask.

Ford nods.

I bang on the door. “Lionel.”

I tip my ear toward the wood. No sound at all. Then a little pattering and a scratch.

“Chipps,” I whisper.

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