Grace's Redemption, page 7
As real life pulled me from bliss, however, I realized it was my phone. My phone, with a photo of my sister filling the screen. That took care of that.
I glanced at the time. Two in the morning.
“Faith?” I croaked, clearing my throat as I tried to catch my breath. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s Dad,” she said, tears in her voice.
As much as I wanted to blow this off like the last time she’d called about him, there was something different in her tone.
“What?” I asked.
“He took off in his car a little after midnight,” she said. “I’m guessing, anyway. I left his house around eleven after making sure he got to bed.” There was a shuddering sigh, and my skin went cold. “The hospital just called, Grace. He was brought in with a shattered hip. Delusional.”
All I could hear, outside of Faith’s choppy, tear-choked words, was my heartbeat in my ears. My breaths, fast in my chest. I didn’t like the man. He was horrid, outside of his adoration for Faith, but—but he was my dad. Wasn’t I supposed to feel more?
“What the fuck?” I breathed.
“I know,” she cried, sounds of things knocking together in the background. “I’m headed there now. I’ll come pick you up.”
I found myself nodding, until it dawned on me that she couldn’t see that. And then something else. “Drove where, Faith?” I asked, climbing out of bed to find clothes. “What happened? Where did he go?”
“He crashed his car into the Pittman Meat Packing Plant.”
CHAPTER SIX
Mateo
Yeah, so our little chat at the café hadn’t been so productive. Honestly, too many things about the day had thrown me for a loop . . . Cyrus Pittman’s ridiculous impromptu meeting-slash-attempted-bullying session, the sketchy information that Louise dug up for me about my two predecessors, which only seemed to lead down more rabbit holes of fucked-upness. Then the vultures—I mean women—at the school who were all over me with questions and batting eyes . . . especially that Kat. I wasn’t afraid of women, far from it. But I’d been out of the game for a long damn time, and I had no interest in being their bachelor du jour. Been there, done that the first year after Maria died. It was awkward at best, painful at worst. Not again.
But, technically—legally—I wasn’t a bachelor, was I?
And there was my biggest distraction.
Grace Elizabeth McMasters—Beckett.
I couldn’t get the woman off my damn mind. Visions of her in that slinky black dress and heels. Her sensible skirt and librarian glasses. The way she fired back at me for daring to tie her down and not walk away. The indignation. The fear I saw buried deep under it all.
She was a puzzle.
Long after I got Olivia home safe and sound from her playdate, bathed, and to sleep, I lay in bed and toyed with my phone. Like a glutton, I slid open my pictures and scrolled through my Vegas album again, searching for something to give my memory another nudge of that night.
Bits and pieces of laughter, her smiling face, moments of absolute joy and total trust caught in split seconds. Expressions that the tightly wound teacher from Redemption obviously never wore. Another photo filled my screen, Grace tilting her head in a sultry grin, her bottom lip caught between her teeth. Fuck, she was gorgeous. My mind gripped the memory of our bodies slamming together against a wall, mouths fused. Her taste. Her smell. Claiming her from behind, stretching out that tight pussy, that perfect little round ass in my hands.
My cock hardened at the memory.
Damn.
I really shouldn’t be thinking of her like this. I wanted to be free of her . . . didn’t I?
But those eyes. And that mouth.
Then another, more dangerous memory edged the last one from my mind and stole my breath . . .
Her head resting in the crook of my shoulder, leg between mine, her hand brushing through my chest hair.
“You’re so beautiful,” I said.
“So are you.” She laughed and kissed my jaw, the sweet scent of liquor still lingering on her breath. “Let’s stay here forever.”
I chuckled, half tempted. “You make me feel reckless,” I admitted on a half-whisper.
“Mmmm,” she hummed. “And you make me feel . . .”
“What?” I suddenly needed to hear what she had to say.
Her cheek brushed along my skin as if she were memorizing the feel of me. “Seen.”
The sobering memory killed my hard-on, but that was probably for the best. Because I knew, as sure as I knew anything, that it was somewhere in the next few moments that we decided to get married.
My gaze slid over to my dresser, where I’d tucked the cheap silver band in my box of mementos.
“Fuck, man,” I whispered to myself. “What did you get yourself into?”
Next week, she’d said. One week, and we’d know.
I glanced at the time. It was too late to call her now, but we’d have to try again to have that conversation. Maybe in a less public space where half of Redemption, including her sister, couldn’t eavesdrop on us. What we’d say to each other, I had no clue; I just knew there were things that needed to be said.
I set my phone down and rolled over.
I’d no sooner fallen asleep when Olivia’s crying woke me.
“Daddy!”
I threw back the covers and jogged down the hall to her room to find her sitting up in bed, tears streaking down her face. “What is it, baby?”
“I had a bad dream.”
“Oh, honey.” I indicated for her to scoot over and sat next to her, cuddling her into my chest. “It’s okay.” I pressed a kiss to the top of her head.
“I dreamed you died and went to the sky just like Mommy,” she said, her voice hiccupping on fresh tears. “I had no one to take care of me and I was scared.”
I fought back my automatic reaction to cry with her at the unfairness of our situation. Some days I really fucking hated the cards we’d been dealt. Being a widower was one thing. I could usually handle the biting loneliness, the bittersweet memories. But becoming a single father was a double-edged sword that sliced in both joy and pain, and cut deeper the older Olivia got.
I shushed her crying with a tighter hug and more kisses. “I’m here, baby. It was just a dream. It’s okay,” I soothed her over and over until she quieted in my arms and eventually fell back to sleep.
Tucking her back in with one last kiss to her forehead, I took in my little girl. She looked so much like her mother, it hurt sometimes.
I finally made it back to bed and dozed off, only to be awakened again by my cell phone. I rubbed a hand across my face and squinted at my alarm clock. Just after four a.m. Who the hell was calling me at this time of the morning?
My deputy chief, Craig Clark’s name filled my screen. I frowned and hit the button to answer.
“Beckett,” I grit out.
“Mornin’, sir. Sorry for the early call, but there’s been an incident.”
“It’s okay.” I rolled to sit up. “What kind of incident?”
“Single car MVA,” he said. “Driver crashed into the meat packing plant just after midnight. Did all kinds of damage. Fire department had to get involved. Driver was pretty banged up.”
I closed my eyes and pinched my eyelids, trying to figure out why this was such an emergency. “This is Pittman’s place, right?”
“Yes, sir.”
Great. “Okay. And?”
Craig cleared his throat. “Well, Cyrus Pittman’s already making noise about the damages and not being allowed onto the property and, well . . .”
“Jesus, Craig, spit it out.”
“The driver was Preacher McMasters.”
I dropped my hand and stared out my dark window. “Preacher McMasters?”
“Yes, sir.”
McMasters. As in Grace.
Preacher’s daughter.
Yeah, I was awake now.
And one thing that had been made abundantly clear to me from the moment I set foot on Redemption’s sanctimonious soil was that Preacher Noel McMasters was a god among men as far as its inhabitants were concerned. No wonder I’d been called.
“What was he doing over there so late at night?” I asked.
“No clue. But from what it sounds like, his injuries are serious.”
Shit.
“Okay. I’ll head over to the hospital. Thanks.”
“Yeah . . . one more thing, sir.” Something strange wavered in Craig’s voice.
“What’s that?”
“Once everything was secure at the scene, one of the firemen noticed something inside the building that didn’t look like it belonged and pointed it out to one of the officers,” Craig said. “They’ve given it a once-over, but before they go any deeper, they want you to come take a look.”
Something in my chest tightened as my gut told me this was going to be big. “What do they think it is?”
“Nothing good, sir.”
Fuck. “Alright. Tell them I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
I had nobody to call for help with Olivia, so I had to wait until I could get her to school to get my day started. I’d have to look into a reliable babysitter I could call on a dime.
I didn’t walk her to class today, instead leaving her with the teacher at the front drop-off area after kissing her on the head. “I love you, baby. See you after school.”
She seemed to have shaken off all remnants of her nightmare, especially once she spotted her new friend, Charissa. “Okay, Daddy. Bye.”
I drove straight to the plant and parked, making my way toward the yellow police tape. I flashed my badge to the officer at the perimeter, who eyed me up and down in my business casual khakis and polo shirt as if I might be an imposter. Behind him, Craig loped toward us from the wreckage at the side of the building.
“Chief! Glad you could make it.”
The young officer obviously clicked to who I was, and his face turned beet red.
“Morning, Chief.”
I tipped my head and moved past the tape. “Good morning, Officer.”
Craig grinned as we began walking. “He’s new.”
“So am I, it’s fine.” We stepped over some debris that was left from the accident and made our way toward the scene.
The preacher’s snow-white Cadillac was smashed into the south wall of the plant, its hood crumpled in on itself. Both front fenders were toast. The front driver’s side tire was bent in, nearly twisted off. The brick wall was crumbled around the wreckage, a gaping hole to one side.
We peeked inside the car. Debris was strewn everywhere. The airbag lay limp from the steering wheel, dust all over the place. Blood smears streaked the leather, the door, the driver’s side window.
Craig whistled between his teeth. “It’s a miracle the old man survived.”
“Yeah,” I murmured, glancing around at the open fields that surrounded the place. I still wondered what in the hell he was doing way out there in the middle of the night. Why there? I turned back to the destruction in front of me. “So, what did they find inside?”
He tilted his head, indicating for me to follow.
“Cyrus Pittman already tried to get through this morning,” he said as we strode around to a side door and walked inside, where a few officers were still milling about.
“Did he say why?”
“Just wanted to check the damages to—get this—his friend’s property.” He flashed me a disbelieving look. “Claims he sold the plant.”
I lifted a brow as we slowed to a stop. “Convenient.”
“Isn’t it?” He drew back a thick clear plastic curtain. “Especially since we found this.”
“Holy. Shit.”
“My sentiments exactly, sir.”
I stepped beyond the plastic that blocked the meat packing equipment from this part of the room and into a meth cooking operation unlike I’d ever seen. The ventilation, the chemicals, even the packaging materials, were all top notch.
I bent over the closest table carefully and examined the lineup of tools. “This is a professional setup,” I noted, my gaze tracking over the pristine surfaces. “And it’s clearly been going on for a good long while.”
“And they make bank, too,” he added, bringing my attention back to him. He tilted his head toward another door. “Up next is the money room, complete with two bill counters and probably more money straps and bags than Redemption Federal.”
I lifted a brow. “Computers? Books?”
“Sadly, no. Just as clean in there other than a neat fifty grand, ready to go. Too bad for them, it’s not going anywhere but evidence.”
“Anything else?” I asked.
“Just several barrels locked up in the back. They’re bagging and tagging them now for processing, probably for more narcs.”
“Okay.”
He ran a hand over his head, glancing around. “Well . . . looks like we’ve found the source of at least one of our problems.”
“Let’s hope.” I moved out of the way as a few more officers came in to collect more evidence. “So, any word on Preacher McMasters?”
“No.”
I nodded, trying to keep my expression neutral. “Okay. Guess I’ll head down to the hospital for an update, then back to the office. Keep me in the loop if they find anything else here?”
“Sure thing.”
As I made my way to the hospital, I wondered if Grace would be there. Her relationship with her father was clearly tricky, given the way she’d reacted when I called her preacher’s daughter, but this was a serious accident.
When I arrived, I was directed to his room, and a muffled voice responded to my light knock. I poked my head in and found Grace and her sister, Faith, sitting beside their father’s bed. The man himself was sleeping and pale and did not rouse at my entry.
“Mateo?” Grace whispered, shooting her sister a quick glance.
“Hey.” I closed the door behind me.
“What are you doing here?”
“Grace,” her sister hissed, clearly thinking her rude.
She shot her another look, telling her she didn’t care, before turning back to me.
“I was notified about the accident,” I said, keeping my voice low. “Just came from the scene. Wanted to see how he’s doing.”
“Oh.”
A hundred things were communicated in that one word, and I wasn’t sure of any of them.
“So?” I asked. “How is he?”
“Not great,” Faith answered for them both, her eyes softening as she took in their dad. “He’s banged up, and hit his head, but the big issue is a shattered hip bone.”
“Oh, man.”
“Yeah, they did surgery to repair it, but he lost a lot of blood and he . . .” Her words trailed off as she exchanged glances with her sister. “He was already frail.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “Is there anything I can do?”
“No.”
“Yes.”
Both women spoke at the same time and I lifted a brow to see which one would win out.
Faith tilted her head at Grace with a pointed stare. “Yes,” she reiterated. “You can get her out of this room for a little while. Make her eat. She needs a break.”
“Faith—”
“Grace,” she cut her off. “I’ve got this. You’ve been sitting with me all night without so much as a bathroom break. Go.” When Grace didn’t move fast enough, Faith shoved her arm. “Go. And bring me back some coffee and a pastry, will ya?”
Grace shot me a look.
I nodded toward the door. “It’s just breakfast.”
She finally relented and grabbed her cardigan from the back of her chair. “Fine.” Bending, she pressed a kiss to the top of Faith’s head and whispered something in her ear, earning herself a smile, before walking over to join me.
I opened the door and she strolled silently past me, not stopping until she punched the elevator button. As soon as the doors opened and she stepped inside, she pivoted to face me. I walked in slowly, stopping in front of her instead of moving to her side.
Her gaze was weary but unblinking as she met mine. Chin slightly raised. Her big, dark eyes appeared slightly raw behind those glasses, like she’d been crying. The soft, full lips I kept thinking about were bare and pink. Her hair was messily twisted up like maybe she’d done it in the car on the way, pieces falling at random.
Fuck. Why did I want to reach up and tuck those silky strands behind her ears, cup her face, and—
“Before you ask, no.”
The harsh statement caught me off guard. “What?”
“No, I didn’t start my period yet.” She clutched her cardigan tighter and crossed her arms over her chest. “Sorry.”
The doors slid closed behind me, and neither of us hit the button as we stood there, face-to-face in the metal box. All I wanted to do was pull her to me. Take some of her pain away. “I didn’t ask,” I said, shoving my hands in my pockets. “Give me some credit, will you?”
She widened her eyes in something between sarcasm and concession. “Noted.”
“And you said it was next week.”
“Yes.”
The quiet enveloping us in the elevator car was almost unnerving now. Nearly intimate. I moved to the side and hit the button for the lobby, watching her brows crease as she blinked at the buttons like it hadn’t even occurred to her to pick one.
She looked wiped out.
“Wait, why did you say sorry?”
She sighed and gave a little head shake as she closed her eyes and rolled her neck on her shoulders, and I felt a pang of sympathy, but her choice of words wouldn’t leave me alone.
The elevator doors slid open at the lobby floor, and the woman who looked ready to pass out seconds earlier suddenly bolted out like her ass was on fire.
“Grace.” I rushed to catch up with her as she sped down the hall toward the cafeteria, and I grabbed her arm, stopping her. “Hey!”
“What, Mateo?” she asked, looking exasperated.
“What’s wrong with you?” I asked, wondering the same about myself. For starters, why the hell I was so bent on chasing her down?
“What’s—” She shook her head. “Seriously?”
