Rev (Jack 'Em Up #4) (3 page)

No, I wasn’t the best. Well, maybe the best doormat, but those days were over . . . and I was actually starting to believe that a little bit more each day.

Micah

N
othing more from Jewel. I felt like an idiot for hoping.

Instead of worrying about it anymore, I got on with my life. Monday morning, I slugged down a muscle shake, hit the gym early with JD, where we sparred and made plans for my self-defense classes to restart on Tuesdays and Thursdays, then I headed in to the shop.

Once upon a time, Jack ‘Em Up Garage had been my home away from home. My very best friends were there, I could do work I was good at, and keep my hands busy while my mind spun. Trouble was, it was beginning to spin out of control and home was beginning to feel like a prison. The only freedom I felt anymore was sparring on a gym mat. There, it didn’t matter if flashes of Franks and Martinez blinded me along with the stinging sweat. I could beat the ugliness into submission. At least for a little while.

“Mornin’,” Blake called, tipping his head toward a donut box. “Glad you’re back.”

I grunted and bypassed the pastries to grab a water bottle. It was seriously a wonder these three didn’t keel over from heart attacks with the way they ate.

He didn’t say more as I grabbed the folder of our accounts. He’d promoted me to assistant manager back before his daughter, Molly, was born so he could spend more time with the family. Now that he and Delilah had Declan as well, I’d taken on even more of the bookkeeping responsibilities.

I flipped through the pages he’d printed while I was out, my eyes scanning the numbers. “Business picked up.”

He leaned back and propped his feet on his desk. “Yeah. Got that Jag sold and picked up a sweet deal on a resto mod Barracuda. Jesse also had a couple bikes come in. Over all, it was a great week. Coulda used your help, bro.”

My gaze slid up. “Sorry—”

“Don’t apologize, man. We get it. Maybe someday you’ll tell us about it.”

My face froze. I would not give away a sliver of my inner turmoil. I wasn’t that weak.

Blake seemed to sense a chink in my armor. He slid his legs down and sat forward, his eyes serious. “You need to ease up on yourself, Micah. I’m not sure what happened in Afghanistan, but you came home a different man. I guess we shouldn’t have expected any different, but we’re your friends, dude. If you can’t trust us, then find someone to share your shit with. It’s obviously eating you alive.”

I slapped the folder down on his desk and stood. I couldn’t speak. I didn’t know what to say. I yanked up the keys for the Caprice needing a tune-up and stalked out.

“Just think about it, Micah,” Blake hollered behind me. “You can’t keep fighting the war in your head. It’ll kill you.”

I ignored him and got busy, cranking my workbench radio on full blast as a ‘Keep Away’ sign. It worked until the scent of lunch wafted my way. I dropped my wrench with a clank and uncoiled to stand. I stifled a groan. It was a regular family reunion around here. When did an auto shop become a place for anything other than men and cars?

Delilah smiled, her daughter giving me a toothy grin as she toddled along in front of her. Baby Declan was propped in some sling contraption to his mother’s chest sound asleep, milk dribbling down his chin.

Rachel strolled in next, her and Jesse’s daughter, Avery, in a stroller with bags of Mexican take-out slung precariously over the handles.

A very pregnant Tori took up the rear, waddling straight over to her husband, Trace, for a kiss. He reached down and caressed her belly then nuzzled her neck, making her squeal.

My eyes automatically scoured the empty doorway for Jewel, but she wasn’t there. Disappointment slid through me hot and heavy, before I stifled it. I just wanted to see her to gauge her reaction to my silly text messages. If I was being totally honest, I longed to connect with someone who wasn’t maddeningly in love. Someone who also denied their pain. She may think she hid it well, but someone as tortured as I was knew a kindred spirit when they saw one. I could see through her as clear as glass. I just wished I knew what hurt her. If it was within my power, I’d fucking eradicate it with my bare hands.

“Hey, Micah,” Rachel called as Jesse grabbed the food.

I waved half-heartedly, pretending to be busy with the part in my hand.

She unbuckled her daughter and strolled my way. “Wanna join us? We brought plenty of food.”

My gaze automatically moved to Avery. Soft brown hair that was beginning to edge toward Rachel’s red was collected into a tiny spout of a ponytail on top of her head, big hazel eyes studied me intently.

“Wanna hold her?” Rachel’s voice was soft, knowing.

“I’m filthy.”

Rachel laughed. “Her father is worse than that every day he comes home and it’s never stopped him. Wash up. You can hold her while we set up the food then you can eat with us.” Her tone left no room for argument.

I nodded and washed up at the sink. Rachel was waiting right where I’d left her, something like sympathy softening her dark eyes. “Here.” She handed me Avery then spun away to help with lunch. She knew by now that I’d be fine on baby duty.

“Hey there, little girl,” I crooned, bouncing Avery against my chest.

She reached out and touched my nose.

I tilted my head and kissed her finger, making her smile. We moseyed to the open bay doors and looked out at the bright Texas sunshine. She squealed when she spotted a lone pigeon pecking at some crumbs on the ground.

God, I lived for these moments. There was nothing, absolutely nothing, like the sweet innocence of a child to block out the ugliness. I envied my friends. They had no idea how good they had it. But I did, and if bottling up my demons kept their lives cleaner, then that’s what I’d do.

I hoisted Avery above my head. “No ugly monsters for you, right? Only unicorns and butterflies.” I razzed her belly.

She chortled, her smile lighting up my dark world for just a moment.

“Bring me my daughter and come eat,” Jesse called across the garage.

I tucked Avery football style under my arm and jogged over, earning myself more giggles. Jesse swooped her up with a noisy kiss to her cheek. I’d never seen my buddy this happy, and I knew he had nearly as much deep, dark, desperate shit as I did. It gave me hope.

We sat around Blake’s office and ate. The women fed the kids while baby Declan slept on against his mom’s chest. Blake, Jesse, and Trace talked shop and vacations and how Trace’s son, Ryder, was doing in school.

“He’s so excited for this baby, it’s crazy,” Tori said, rubbing her belly in affectionate circles.

“So is his Daddy.” Trace grinned, his eyes only for his wife.

“Have you guys picked out names yet?” Delilah asked, wiping crumbs from Molly’s face.

Tori shrugged, her eyes pinging to Trace. “If it’s a girl, we’re thinking Bailey. If it’s a boy, Brady.”

“You’re seriously not going to find out what it is?” Rachel looked incredulous.

“Nope.” Tori shook her head vehemently and grabbed another chip. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Sure it does,” Rachel continued. “You need to prepare and shop and decorate . . .”

I spoke in their defense before I realized the words were out of my mouth. “It doesn’t matter as long as the baby is healthy.”

Everyone stopped and stared.

I swallowed and looked down.

Still nobody moved, obviously as shocked as I was that I’d spoken. I glanced up, my gaze darting around to my friends in turn. “What? It’s no big deal. Leave them alone.” I stood and dumped my trash. “A baby is a blessing no matter what. Just let them be happy.” I stalked away, not sure why I’d jumped their asses like that. I’d just snapped.

If I couldn’t have any joy in my life, I wanted those I loved to have it in spades. My time in Afghanistan should’ve at least earned that.

Jewel

I
did it. Bright and early the next day, I registered for my first online forensic art class to start in the fall. Just the basics, but it was a start and built on what I already knew. It was a step in the right direction, though my feelings of pleasure were short-lived as I sat across from Theresa, the latest victim of the Baybridge rapist.

She stared blankly at the precinct’s scratched and scarred wooden table, her blue eyes heavy with detachment. I knew that look well, I saw it in the mirror often during my time with Nolan.

I placed my pencil down and reached out to cup her hand. “Theresa?”

Her gaze flew up as if I’d startled her.

I offered her a gentle smile, one that hopefully conveyed I had some idea what she was going through. Maybe not exactly, but enough. “Take your time.”

She sniffled and attempted a smile in return. I handed her a tissue so she could dab the tears that had begun to fall. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry.” My words were firm. She needed to hear this. “Don’t ever say you’re sorry. You did nothing wrong. I don’t want this to be any harder on you than it has to be. Do you need a break? Want to try again tomorrow?”

Trembling hands tucked her stringy blond hair behind her ear. “No. I want to get this over with.” Her eyes flashed to mine. “But if it’s the same man, why do we need to do this? Haven’t you gotten enough drawings?”

I nodded. “We do. It’s important that we get each victim’s perspective, to make sure we don’t miss anything important.” I picked up my pencil and focused on the face taking shape on my paper. “So, his face is round, right?”

She nodded.

“What about his eyes? Tell me about those.”

It was the same as I’d heard the half dozen times before. Evil eyes. Brown nearly black. But this time, something new. “They’re, I don’t know, kinda deep-set, with heavy eyebrows.”

I erased and made the eyes deeper. “Like this?”

She nodded. “He had a beard, too.”

I glanced up, surprised. Nobody else reported facial hair. “Can you describe it?”

“Uh . . .” She mimicked touching her face. “A regular beard. Not long, not short. Full, I guess.”

“Red?” It was known the rapist was red-headed.

She squinted. “More like brown, I think.”

My heart began to quiver as this person morphed into someone new. “Tattoos? Other markings?” I held my voice steady.

“I can’t be sure. Maybe?”

How did she miss the swastika on his neck? Was this truly a different perpetrator?

“Okay. What about his nose?”

She described the same wide nose the other victims had. I drew it and showed her.

“No. It’s not that straight. It looked like he’s broken it before maybe.”

I erased and added the imperfection.

We made it through his mouth, chin, and cheekbones, saving his hair for last. I flipped it around when we were done, my stomach in double knots. “Is this the man who raped you?”

She studied it closely. Then her eyes flooded with tears. “Yes. That’s him.” She jumped from her chair and fled the room, a female officer following close behind.

I spun the drawing back, bracing myself to face the man I’d created. Suddenly, the unknown, nameless monster who’d terrorized countless women began to morph into the one man who still held me captive.