Page 2 of Hart of Darkness
“Shit,” Eddie said. “Hold on.”
I heard anotherclang,followed by what sounded like an explosion.
“Eddie?” I asked.
“Sorry. My tray fell. Look, we had a young girl come in tonight. We haven’t been able to identify her.”
The blood drained from me. I hadn’t heard from Eddie in several months. His last call had brought me down to the morgue to identify a Jane Doe who he’d thought matched Grace’s description. The girl hadn’t been Grace.
“So you think she could be Grace?”
“Maybe,” he said.
“On my way.” I disconnected before he could say anything else. It was best to see the body.
Rafe rested his elbows on his knees. “Still trolling the morgues? Man, you need to stop. I’m not saying give up hope, but it’s got to be gut-wrenching to see dead people, let alone a young dead girl who could be your sister.”
He was spot-on, although I could count on one hand how many times Eddie had called me down to the morgue. Still, the five times Eddie had lifted the sheet or opened the body bag, I’d lost my dinner. Each girl had either died from a drug overdose or had been murdered.
I was still wrestling with my feelings on how my own brother could murder someone. As teenagers, my brothers and I had been in a gang. We weren’t innocent in the least. We’d drawn blood on many occasions during our gang fights, especially when our rivals had hurt Grace to get back at Duke for slashing the tires on one of their cars. That had been a bad night for Mike Santos, the boy who had taken his fists to my sister. I would’ve liked to say that I’d gotten satisfaction out of beating him until he couldn’t see, but it had only served to give me a wake-up call, especially after both of us had ended up in the emergency room.
Rafe snapped his fingers. “You’ve been spacing out a lot lately.” He loomed over my desk. “You look like shit too. Seriously, man, you need to let your quest to find Grace go.” Casually, he backed away, maybe because of the scowl I was sporting. “I’m only saying consider your health and yourself.”
I ground my back teeth together as I snagged my phone, wallet, and keys off my desk. “I know you’re looking out for me, but I’ll decide when I’m ready to give up on looking for my baby sister.”
He scrubbed a hand over his head. “I’ve always been straight with you. I’m not going to change now. So put yourself first. Find an outlet, or better yet, find a woman. When was the last time you were with anyone?”
I chuckled. Rafe was worried about my love life, which was nonexistent. I didn’t have time for a steady relationship. I didn’t want one either. I had sexual needs, of course, but I took care of those with an occasional hookup now and again.
I skirted around my desk. “The talk of my sex life is off-limits.” I didn’t fear much in life, but I cringed at the idea of settling down or even meeting someone who would steal my heart. I’d never been in love, so I couldn’t say what the feeling was all about. With my luck, the woman would learn of my fucked-up family and run like a gazelle. “Grace is my life.” I waved a hand around. “The Hart of Hope shelter is now my life.” At least I was doing something good.
Maybe that would negate all the bad shit I’d done as a rebellious kid. Maybe that would erase all those memories of driving a knife into someone or getting kicked and punched by my drunken old man from the age of six until I reached puberty. Then I’d gotten up the balls to punch my father right back, and he’d let me until he unleashed his strength, sending me to the hospital with a broken nose.
Fucker.
“Hold down the fort. Camera is live on my screen.”
Rafe nodded as I walked out.
The first floor of the shelter had an open floor plan, which consisted of a living area that melted into the kitchen toward the back of the house. I wanted women to feel warm and protected and give them space to relax as if they were home.
Aside from the bare walls that needed some artwork, the place was coming together. I’d gotten the idea for a safe haven after seeing young girls walking the streets at night, being beaten by their pimps, getting high on drugs, or even sleeping on the streets. The idea had cemented itself even more when I helped Bee and Allie, two girls I’d found one night. Allie had been her pimp’s punching bag, and Bee had been eating out of the trash. I’d taken them into my home and given them a chance to rebuild their lives. Recently, they had saved up enough money to move out and into an apartment together. I was so darn proud of them.
I hoped like hell that maybe Grace had found someone like me or a refuge somewhere in the country.
I fingered my keys as I approached Norma’s desk, which had a direct view of the open floor plan and sat adjacent to the entryway that led out to the front door.
My eyes landed on a sticky note on her computer.Remind Dillon to pay the electrical bill.I snagged a pen from the cup and scribbled on her note,I paid the bill this evening.
My mouth curled on one side. I’d met Norma through Kross Maxwell’s wife, Ruby. Both of them had lived on the streets, which was one of the reasons I’d asked Norma if she wanted a job working at the shelter. She knew how to relate to the girls we brought in.
After I punched in the key code to lock the door, I heard a muffled voice. I reached for the gun I usually carried at my back but came up empty.
Fuck.I’d left my weapon in my desk drawer.
The shelter was situated on a corner lot in a half-decent neighborhood in Boston. The street was usually quiet. The neighbors kept to themselves, and two houses around me were for sale and vacant.
I didn’t advertise or have a sign out front. I didn’t want to risk an abusive pimp or partner showing up and wreaking havoc. Sure, news about the shelter could spread to the wrong people, but that was the reason we had security.
