Finding Tessa by Jaime Hendricks (best ereader for comics .TXT) 📗

“What can I do for you, Mr. Montgomery?”

Jace pictured the detective, smug, with his lazy left eye and fat nose pointing into the phone. “Jesus Christ, Solomon. I have reporters at my door. I thought this investigation was ongoing. What the hell is going on over there?” He tried to contain his rage, but it was hard.

“Mmm, we were afraid of that.” Solomon paused. “Small town and all.”

This jerk-off leaked it. Jace was a suspect and Solomon sicced his dogs on him to try to get him to slip up.

“I’m not answering anyone. I’m consulting my attorney, and I want to set up a press conference for later.”

“You sure that’s a good idea, Montgomery?”

He’d been relegated to his last name. He wasn’t a person anymore. He was no longer a grieving husband. He was a suspect and treated as such. “I’m sure.”

Jace slammed the phone down and went back to the front doorway, which was now crowded with three people staring at the door, wondering what they should do next. He opened it to address them. Instantly, that cell phone and a microphone and two cameras were pointed toward him.

“Get off my property. Come back at five P.M. I’ll be giving a press conference with my lawyer.”

The door slammed shut with a thud.

Jace’s best friend since middle school was Evan Soderberg, who was a lawyer now, but he didn’t specialize in criminal law. He was a jack of all trades, a civil litigator, but he’d know what to do. Jace needed advice, and Evan knew Tessa. He knew the real circumstances of how they met. He’d be happy to help.

Then Jace went upstairs, hugged Candy, and cried over what was happening.

10

TESSA

“Thanks for the recommendation, Hobart,” I say, smug and feeling attractive.

Asshole didn’t make me feel attractive, and only complimented me when he apologized for hitting me. He wasn’t always such a monster. I mean, he was sorry. Sometimes. Always got me a nice piece of jewelry when things got totally out of hand too. Thank God, because I was able to hock it all for a big chunk of the cash I currently carry around.

Tomorrow I’m going to have to go to a drugstore and get a couple of prepaid credit cards to use for things like Uber and Lyft and other online-related things that a regular person needs daily. I can’t continue to have Hobart at my beck and call, texting him at all hours of the day and night and expecting him to come running. It’s almost midnight for Christ’s sake. He’s old. He shouldn’t be on high alert, driving me around. Though it is nice to feel safe and taken care of.

It happened fast, because for once, an older man has my best interests at heart.

“No problem, Tessa. Food was good?” he asks.

“The food, the company, everything.”

From the back of the car, in the dark, I open my purse and take out my compact and check myself in the mirror. The makeup held up well, and my bruise isn’t visible. If Damon sees it, I’ll have to make something up. Grabbing something out of the closet. Walked into a door. The usual shit that nobody believes. Yet we all say it, and everyone we tell nods sympathetically and recalls a story where nearly the same thing happened to them. Their stories are made up, but they help us hide our shame.

“You sure you don’t want me to take you to a different place?” Hobart asks. “I don’t like you going up there alone. People here—they ain’t the regular people. The cops don’t come but once every couple-a weeks. Someone calls, they don’t come. A gunshot’ll get ’em here a little quicker, but by then, they might as well bring the chalk and outline the body.”

Crap. I don’t want to get in the middle of a damn shoot-out. And what if that crazy girl is waiting for me with a brick? She saw me come out of my room, so she knows I’ll be back at some point. What if she’s inside my room with a brick? It’s not like this place has a security guard patrolling the lot. An alarm won’t go off if someone breaks a window or kicks in a door. It’s not even midnight. The party in the lot is probably in full swing.

Hobart is right. I have to get out of that place. It served its purpose earlier in the day, and I had somewhere to keep my stuff while I walked all over town securing my shiny new ID. If Asshole actually had detail on me all day and someone saw me leave my cushy suburban home, they’ve already reported back to him that I’m in a different state in a scummy place. He’s probably laughing.

You’ll never leave. You’re nothing without me. You’re nothing anyway.

“You know what? I think you’re right. I didn’t really unpack. I can gather up my stuff in a minute or two. Would you mind waiting? And do you know another place that’s a little safer?”

“We can go back to the area where you just had dinner,” he says. “Much safer.”

I think about my cash situation. I don’t exactly need a place that puts a mint on my pillow, but I can’t start blowing a hundred and fifty dollars a night, before all those stupid hidden fees and taxes. But I decide I can’t sleep in the Empire overnight. It’s got to be ridden with bedbugs and STDs and I bet there’s a bloodstain under the bed. These things didn’t occur to me earlier when I unpacked my Walmart stuff for my nap because I was on the high of getting away.

“I don’t need a Ritz Carlton,” I say with a laugh. “Obviously.”

“There’s one-a those chain thingamajigs. Nothin’ fancy. A Ramada or somethin’ of the like.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

The ride back to the dump is five more minutes, and I hear the parking lot before I