Page 29 of Sinful Promise
Not probable.
But absolutely possible.
I spy sneakers left haphazardly on the tile floor, and coats slung near a rack. Umbrellas resting upside down to dry, and a dog’s leash hanging near the door.
Abigleash, which implies abigdog.
Swallowing nervously—I don’t want to get bitten on the ass today—I inch closer to the door that leads to the garage, only to frown at the sound of shuffling feet on concrete. Panicked breathing. Frenzied whispers… which means whoever is in there is of the human variety. Not canine.
With practiced movements, I drop my hand to the gun I keep strapped to my thigh, and take it out.
“Quick!” A hissed demand in a male voice comes from the other side of the wood. “Just go already!”
I grab the doorhandle and yank it wide to get an unobstructed view of a garage crowded with shelves. They line three walls, and containers are stacked four high on each shelf. But at the almost-closed roll-up door, I catch the stunned face of a boy. A teen.
“Hey!” Charging forward, I holster my weapon before he pisses his pants, and pass the SUV Whitney drives.
Stopping in front of the teen—who looks a hell of a lot like his father—I grab his arm before he ducks and runs. “You need to stop.”
“Who are you?” He’s fifteen, according to the information we have on the family, but he’s big for his age. Not a great deal shorter than my seventeen-year-old,probably-gonna-play-pro-basketballbaby brother. “Why the hell are you in my house?”
“Detective Malone.” I glance to the kid’s friend: a girl with long, golden locks that stretch all the way to her ass, and a skirt I’d expect to see in a club. I’m not here to put restrictions on what a woman wears, but fuck.Is she fifteen too?Because she dresses like she’s twenty-five and dances for a living.“What’s your name?” I bring my eyes back to the boy and hold his stare. “First name?”
“Jace.” His eyes are the same as his mother’s, though the rest of his features are all Patterson. Sandy-brown hair, light skin, and long, sinewy limbs. “I-I’m Jason.” Bravado makes way for fear. “Why is there a detective in my house?”
“Why aren’t you at school?” I retort. Then I look to the girl again when she moves. When her hands fidget around a scrunched packet of cigarettes. “Who are you?”
“A-Allara.” Scared, she reaches out and hooks her arm around Jace’s to telegraph exactly who they are to each other.High school sweethearts, just like the original Pattersons.“Is… Is everything okay?”
“I think you should go inside.” Extending my hand palm-side-up, I nod when the girl shakily places the cigarette pack in the center.
I don’t even have to ask: she’s a kid, and she knows damn well they should be in school, not sneaking, stealing, and smoking in secret.
“Neither of you are where you’re supposed to be,” I bite out. “That’s dangerous. Because when people are looking, and they can’t find you, shit gets messy, and parents worry.”
I peer to the boy and meet his terrified stare.Your life’s about to change forever, kid.“Go inside and see your mother. She’ll want to talk to you anyway.”
“Tell me what’s wrong,” he argues. Such a big boy, but with terror in his eyes that telegraphs he still has so much growing left to do. “What happened?”
“I think it’s best if your mother tells you.” Turning on my heels, I pointedly look at the mudroom door to get them moving.
Jace stands his ground for a minute, stubborn and rebellious. But when I don’t back down, and my lips remain shut, he grabs Allara’s hand and charges toward the door with a huff.
I wait for the teens to pass, then for them to head inside and the door to close between us. The second I’m alone, I yank a plastic baggie from my back pocket and drop the cigarettes in for later inspection.
I’m not sure anything can be gleaned from them. But shoving them in my pocket and risking Minka thinking they’re mine won’t end well either.
Kill a man?All good. It happens to the best of us.
Smoke?Goddamit, Archer, you’re a monster, and our marriage needs help.
Lowering into a crouch with a twitching smile working across my lips, I peek under the larger, slightly open door and look into the street outside, watching for a minute as cars putter by. As neighbors water their gardens, and the mail carrier makes his rounds.
The Pattersons live on an obnoxiously normal street, with obnoxiously normal, upper-class neighbors. Where teens hide after sneaking out of school when they’re not supposed to.
“What?” Jace’s distant cry of anguish confirms he’s learned of his father’s passing. His howl of pain echoing through the wall, enough to prove he loved him far more than I loved mine. “No!” he booms. “That’s bullshit!”
Pushing up with a sigh, I wander the length of the SUV, past the muddy undercarriage, and then the front right tire that’s met a curb more times than it probably should.
