Page 75 of Dominate
Sloan nods and leans in closely as well, her ruddy lips moist as she pulls in the bottom one and chews on it nervously.
“Well, tonight when I stopped that striker Vince Sinclair from scoring at the end, his teammate said something that sort of clicked things into place.”
“What did he say?” she asks, anxiously wringing her hands on the table.
“He said, ‘That was a nice shot, Sinny.’” Sloan’s brow furrows. “Okaaay…How did that trigger something for you?”
“Because Sinny isn’t a nickname I have ever heard Vince Sinclair called before. I don’t know if it’s new, or if only his close friends use it. But the second I heard it, I remembered hearing that name in my house the night we were attacked.”
“Are you serious? Like, was it him? He was there?” she asks, her eyes wide as she processes everything I’m saying.
I shake my head. “I don’tthinkso. Vince is stupid, but not that stupid. But I suddenly remember a voice saying, ‘Sinny never said anything about a woman.’”
My voice catches in my throat as I tighten my hands into fists on the table. Sloan runs her fingers over mine, silently soothing me as flashes of her being struck and crumpling to the floor flick through my mind.
“God, Gareth. What does this mean? Why would he want to do that to you?”
“I don’t know,” I admit with a shake of my head. “I should have stopped them. Paid better attention. Looked up before kneeling down beside you.”
“You’re mad at yourself for checking on me first?” she asks with an incredulous expression on her face. “Gareth, if I wanted a crime-fighter or a vigilante, I certainly wouldn’t downgrade to a footballer.”
I half smile at her use of footballer and shake my head. “How can you be making jokes when I think I know who was behind the attack on us and just went face-to-face with him on the pitch?”
Sloan runs her hand up and down my forearm. “Because we’re okay. Because you’re here, and Sophia is right over there, and we didn’t lose anything.”
“If I’m right, Sloan—if the police figure out he is connected to the attack—I swear to God, I’ll—”
“You’ll do nothing, because you’re going to go tell the police about this and justice will be served. Then you can go back to playing football and spending time with me and Sophia. You have more than yourself to think about now.”
I inhale and exhale heavily, nodding the entire time. “You’re right. You’re right a lot, you know. It’s really frustrating.”
She smirks back at me. “If you’d like, I can be wrong about something else so you can punish me later.”
“Promise?” I ask with a wicked grin, then we turn our attention to Sophia, who has just commandeered a dance game with a boy who looks like total trouble.
The next day, I call the police station and the detective who was assigned to my case back in December asks me to come in to look at the security footage. They had recommended I not watch it before because it can be quite disturbing for victims of an attack. But with this new information, it seems necessary.
When I arrive, I see he’s a portly fellow named Bernie who seems a bit over-worked but appears to be quite sharp.
“Mr. Harris, thank you so much for coming in. I’m told you’ve had some of your memory return.”
“That’s right,” I reply, stuffing my hands into my joggers.
“Good, good. Perhaps with your new recollection, watching the security footage might help us fill in the rest of the blanks. Come on back.”
He leads me into a dark office where a man sits in front of two large computer screens.
“This is Fiero, our computer tech. He’s able to enhance images as necessary. Okay, Fiero, take us through. Mr. Harris, you just stop us if you see anything of interest.”
Fiero scrolls through the CCTV footage that reveals three men hopping the wrought iron gate that surrounds my property. One with surprising agility appears to find an open window on the second level. Watching him scale the walls of my house like Spiderman is an eerie feeling. An image I’ll never be able to forget.
When the footage shifts to interior shots, something substantial sticks out to me. One glaringly obvious item. “I’m sorry, but can you rewind that, please?”
Fiero reverses the image.
“Pause it right there,” I state, leaning in closely. “Are you able to enhance the image?”
He nods and clicks a few buttons on the keyboard. The perp’s face is covered with a ski mask and a hooded jacket, but his shoes are a pristine bright white. “Can you zoom in on those shoes and enhance it again?”
