her up outside her sister’s house in Brentwood. The remnants of blood have been washed from her hair and face and only a small Band-Aid appears on her left cheek. She wears her hair down to cover the purple-black bruise just above her temple.
She clutches her camisole over her flowery dress with a clasped hand as we slip through the gate protecting her home from the street. Her arms are little more than pale little sticks extending from her shoulder.
“Are you okay?” I ask as I press the doorbell. A prim chime can be heard resonating inside.
She nods.
“Are you sure?” I ask. I haven’t agreed to bring Jeremiah in on this yet. I stayed up all night analyzing the hell out of my problems but I didn’t come to any conclusion that would allow me or Jesse to get out of this unscathed.
She gives me a small smile and it surprises me. “I got a call this morning. Julia says she is fine. That she’s having fun with Uncle Cal.”
She clutches herself harder as if it hurts to mention Caldwell. Maybe we are not the only ones afraid of him.
“At least we know where she is,” I say, trying to comfort her. I touch her shoulder blades through her pink camisole for the briefest of moments. “We have that much to go off of.”
When no one comes to the door, I knock harder.
“Maybe he’s already left,” she says sheepishly.
I try the handle and the door opens. Regina starts to protest about entering her own home but I walk in before she can formulate an argument. Gerard is on the first floor, sitting behind maplewood desk, pen in hand. I can see the kitchen beyond him and behind that the sliding glass door leading to the yard where the birthday party took place.
“Who are you?” he asks. His gaze fixes on me without so much as a cursory glance at his wife. When
I don’t answer he turns on her. “Who the hell did you
bring into my house?”
The “my” irks me. “Alice Gallagher. I’m Jesse Sullivan’s personal assistant. I’m responding to a complaint that you were not satisfied with the services rendered here.”
His face burns bright red. The red that is common only in men with histories of high blood pressure. A flustered red. “Get out of my house.”
Instead I come closer. “If you are unhappy with our services, we are required by law to offer compensation. Can you please describe the nature of your dissatisfaction?” and here is where I let my professional tone slip. “Perhaps you are dissatisfied by the outcome?”
His attempt at imaginary bill pay isn’t working. His fat fingers bulge around a thick gold wedding band and a pinkie ring bearing a crest I don’t recognize. He looks up.
Regina breaks in before her husband can answer. Her voice is too high, hysterical and I wished I’d made her stay in the car. A shrill voice like that is bound to torment even the most cooperative of ears. “That tree would have killed her!”
“There wasn’t a scratch on her,” his voice rising to match hers. He stands and the chair scrapes back.
I try to redirect the conversation. That’s easier than pulling them apart if they decide to go at it. “Ms.
Sullivan is responsible for your daughter’s condition.
You can thank her personally, if you like.”
“If I ever see her, thanking her will be the last thing I do,” he growls and now he turns those dark eyes on me. He comes around the desk but I’d rather have his attention on me than Regina. I’m not sure what I can or would do if this devolves into a domestic dispute. “She put everything I spent my entire life working for in jeopardy. I’ve proved my loyalty to this organization over and over, and now because of what you did—” He jabs a dramatic finger at Regina. “And she did. I’m being called in for questions.”
I fight to keep a clear head despite his aggressive posturing and tone. The exhaustion from the last few days of chaos is heavy on my shoulders and having a man yell in my face is not helping. When I told Jess I
She clutches her camisole over her flowery dress with a clasped hand as we slip through the gate protecting her home from the street. Her arms are little more than pale little sticks extending from her shoulder.
“Are you okay?” I ask as I press the doorbell. A prim chime can be heard resonating inside.
She nods.
“Are you sure?” I ask. I haven’t agreed to bring Jeremiah in on this yet. I stayed up all night analyzing the hell out of my problems but I didn’t come to any conclusion that would allow me or Jesse to get out of this unscathed.
She gives me a small smile and it surprises me. “I got a call this morning. Julia says she is fine. That she’s having fun with Uncle Cal.”
She clutches herself harder as if it hurts to mention Caldwell. Maybe we are not the only ones afraid of him.
“At least we know where she is,” I say, trying to comfort her. I touch her shoulder blades through her pink camisole for the briefest of moments. “We have that much to go off of.”
When no one comes to the door, I knock harder.
“Maybe he’s already left,” she says sheepishly.
I try the handle and the door opens. Regina starts to protest about entering her own home but I walk in before she can formulate an argument. Gerard is on the first floor, sitting behind maplewood desk, pen in hand. I can see the kitchen beyond him and behind that the sliding glass door leading to the yard where the birthday party took place.
“Who are you?” he asks. His gaze fixes on me without so much as a cursory glance at his wife. When
I don’t answer he turns on her. “Who the hell did you
bring into my house?”
The “my” irks me. “Alice Gallagher. I’m Jesse Sullivan’s personal assistant. I’m responding to a complaint that you were not satisfied with the services rendered here.”
His face burns bright red. The red that is common only in men with histories of high blood pressure. A flustered red. “Get out of my house.”
Instead I come closer. “If you are unhappy with our services, we are required by law to offer compensation. Can you please describe the nature of your dissatisfaction?” and here is where I let my professional tone slip. “Perhaps you are dissatisfied by the outcome?”
His attempt at imaginary bill pay isn’t working. His fat fingers bulge around a thick gold wedding band and a pinkie ring bearing a crest I don’t recognize. He looks up.
Regina breaks in before her husband can answer. Her voice is too high, hysterical and I wished I’d made her stay in the car. A shrill voice like that is bound to torment even the most cooperative of ears. “That tree would have killed her!”
“There wasn’t a scratch on her,” his voice rising to match hers. He stands and the chair scrapes back.
I try to redirect the conversation. That’s easier than pulling them apart if they decide to go at it. “Ms.
Sullivan is responsible for your daughter’s condition.
You can thank her personally, if you like.”
“If I ever see her, thanking her will be the last thing I do,” he growls and now he turns those dark eyes on me. He comes around the desk but I’d rather have his attention on me than Regina. I’m not sure what I can or would do if this devolves into a domestic dispute. “She put everything I spent my entire life working for in jeopardy. I’ve proved my loyalty to this organization over and over, and now because of what you did—” He jabs a dramatic finger at Regina. “And she did. I’m being called in for questions.”
I fight to keep a clear head despite his aggressive posturing and tone. The exhaustion from the last few days of chaos is heavy on my shoulders and having a man yell in my face is not helping. When I told Jess I
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