Local woman killed in plane crash 17 page

“Only, he left before we got back.” Josh strode out of the room and into the spare bedroom.

A square of ratty green carpet buckled between the walls. The metal blinds on the single window hung lopsided and yellowed by age.

“This one has always been empty,” she said. A room reserved for her, one she’d refused to move into.

He turned and walked down the hall, his gait quickening as he approached the kitchen. “He was pissed about what happened with Traquero. He must’ve packed immediately and blew out of town.”

She ran to keep up with his longer strides. “Why? To kill my mom?” She flinched and clenched her fists against the stabbing reminder. “Or to protect himself from Mr. E?” But why would he need to do that? “Van’s a lot of things, but he’s not a coward.”

Josh veered into the kitchen and opened the fridge door, scanning its contents. Of course, the linebacker was focused on his stomach. Her thoughts were on a crash site, somewhere off the coast of the Keys, and the man who might’ve caused it.

He tossed deli meat and cheese on the counter. Then they sat through a nerve-stretching meal. She picked at her sandwich, her stomach souring with each bite. He barked at her to eat when she sat still too long, his anxiety feeding on hers. They finished in silence, staring at the door to the garage as if it would open any moment and let in all the answers.

Thirty minutes later, they tackled the filing cabinet in the hall closet, the only place in the house that could’ve held a clue to Mr. E’s identity. She’d dug through it countless times, but maybe she’d missed something amongst the bills, receipts for generic items purchased for the house, tax filings, and news articles.

He held up two hands full of paperwork. “Who is Liv Smith?”

“The fake identity Mr. E gave me.”

“Everything is in that name. The rental agreement for the house. Liv Smith.” He thumbed to the next one. “The titles to the vehicles. Liv Smith.” His face twisted beneath clenched eyebrows, his voice rising. “The friggin’ repair bill for the A/C unit. Liv Smith.”

She looked up from her drawer. “I see that.”

“You see that?” His cheeks burned red, and his eyes widened in a state of disbelief. He wiped his forehead with the back of his paper-filled hand. “Not a single document shows Van Quiso paying taxes, consuming groceries, or living here at all. Ever.”

Her hackles rose in defense. “He told me to sign stuff. It was legitimate stuff related to the house. I signed it with a fake name.” But she didn’t realize the name was on everything.

“What about the neighbors? Do they know him?”

“No. He comes and goes from the garage. Tinted windows. Just like Mr. E.” She picked the edge of the paper in her hand and said, dejectedly, “I cut the grass.”

He blew out a long exhale. “It’s like he doesn’t even exist.” He returned the papers to their hanging folders, none too gently. “What does it mean, Liv?”

It meant Van was smarter than her. “He can disappear.” And she couldn’t. Not if she wanted to keep Mattie safe.

“Why would he do that?” He slammed the drawer.

She lifted her chin and collided with the sharp green of his eyes. “Mr. E could be planning to shut this down and kill us. Or Van could’ve decided on a career change after my fuck up and bolted.” Without saying goodbye. Her heart squeezed. Stupid asshole heart.

Josh crouched beside her, shifted her hand from the thick file hanging in the drawer, and pulled it out. Her swallow clogged in her throat, along with her breath. How would he react to the news clippings about his disappearance?

Kneeling, he leafed through each one, his face paling, his brow furrowing. She’d skimmed through all of them. Seemed Van had added more in his paranoia about Josh’s notoriety. The file was filled with reports about the dead-end investigation, Baylor University’s on-going support, search parties, and walk-a-thon’s to raise money and awareness. Her heart twisted as she imagined all the pain and resentment barreling through him.

Scooting closer, she straddled one of his knees and wrapped her arms around his neck. He welcomed her with an embrace around her waist, holding her tight as he read.

When he finished the pile, he returned it to the drawer. “Where’s yours?” His voice was quiet and strained.

She reached in the back of the drawer and handed him the thin dossier. “My disappearance didn’t get the publicity yours did.” She offered a smile, but it quivered at the corners.

With a kiss on the crook of her mouth, he opened the file. They read the first article in silence.

Date: 2015-12-17; view: 529