A shiver raced down her spine and she found herself wishing she’d asked Candy to come with her. Her friend had offered. Missy hadn’t thought she’d find the task as difficult as it was.
“Take your time.”
Missy nodded and started on the right side. The man was tall with a large beer gut. Not him. The next guy had a scar running down his left cheek. She would have remembered that.
Her eyes hit the third man and she froze. Brown hair and blue eyes. He seemed harmless until you looked deep into his gaze. His wiry build was deceptive. He was much stronger than he appeared. She knew that firsthand.
“Him.” She pointed to the suspect. “The third man from the right with the blue T-shirt.”
“You sure?” Detective Stark was studying her, not the man she pointed out.
Missy rubbed her hands up and down her arms, suddenly frozen in spite of the fact she was wearing her coat. “I’m sure. I’ll never forget his face.”
Stark nodded. “Wait here. I’ll be right back.”
He left the room closing the door behind him. Her attacker chose that moment to glance up at the mirror and smile. She jerked away even though she knew he couldn’t see her.
She sucked in a breath. She’d have to face him in court when the time came. And not just him but her other attacker as well. She could do this. Besides, there was T.S.’ statement. He’d gotten a good look at both of them, had seen what they were doing.
The men filed out of the room. The door closed behind them. The silence closed in around her and she was grateful when the detective came back for her. “Come with me.” He motioned her out and she was more than happy to leave it behind. “You sure I can’t get you some coffee?”
“I’m sure, but thank you.” She wanted out of here as fast as possible. She also didn’t think her churning stomach could handle coffee.
Stark led her into his office and motioned her into the chair across from his desk. It was an old wooden one and slightly battered. Like all the furniture around here, it had seen better days. Missy supposed it was functional and that was all that mattered.
“You’ve confirmed that Milo Hawkins is your second attacker.”
“That’s his name?” Somehow it felt different knowing his name. Silly, but true. It made him more real and less of the boogeyman.
The detective shuffled some files before pulling one out and opening it. “Yup. Milo and his good buddy Henry Banks have rap sheets a mile long. They started young and never stopped.”
Henry Banks was the man who’d been arrested on the scene that night.
Stark closed the file and studied her. “It will probably be a while before this goes to court, if it goes at all.”
“What do you mean?”
Once again she was struck by how tired the detective looked. His graying hair was cut short and his face clean-shaven, but beneath the clean-cut exterior was a man who was weighed down by life. Not surprising when you considered what he did for a living.
“They might plea down to avoid a trial.”
“That can happen?” She was shocked and slightly appalled, but at the same time relieved that she might not have to confront the men in a courtroom.
“Yeah, it can, and most likely will. Look,” the detective got up and came around his desk, perching on the edge. “We got Henry on scene. We’ve got Milo, who still had his fancy knife on him.” The detective shook his head. “He should have ditched it. But it matches the weapon used on scene. It was distinctive.”
Missy remembered the long blade with the distinctive silver skull on the pommel and the black carved handle.
“The guy who rescued you—MacNamara—he gave us a very accurate description of the weapon.”
Missy nodded. T.S. had remembered a lot more about the knife than she had.
“Not surprising, though.”
Missy frowned. “Why do you say that?”
The detective shrugged. “He did time. I figure he’s seen his fair share of blades.”
A strange whirring sound filled Missy’s ears. “What did you say?” Surely she must have heard the detective wrong.
“Hey, you okay?” He touched her shoulder.
She sat back in the chair, thankful for the uncomfortable wooden back. It was the only thing keeping her from slumping to the floor. “Explain what you just said.”
Stark tugged at his jacket and rubbed his hand across his chin. “I figured you knew, you two being friends and all. MacNamara got five years back when he was eighteen. Didn’t serve them all. Good behavior and no previous record.”
T.S. had been in jail. He was no different from the men who attacked her. That’s not quite true, her conscience screamed. He’d protected her. “What did he do?”
The detective looked pained now, but he answered. “It’s public record. He drove the getaway car when his older brother knocked over a liquor store. The clerk was shot in the robbery. A cop was shot trying to apprehend them. Luckily no one died.”
She had to get out of here. Missy stumbled to her feet. “I have to go.”
“Maybe you should sit here for a bit.” Worry filled his gaze, along with pity. She hated pity. As a child, she’d seen neighbors, well-meaning teachers and social workers stare at her with that look. They’d all known when her father was in jail. Sometimes for assault, other times for property damage or petty theft. She hated pity. She might have come from trash, but she’d bettered herself though hard work and perseverance. She was strong.
Missy straightened her shoulders. “I’m fine. Please let me know what happens with…” She gestured her hand toward the file on the desk. The attack was overshadowed by the enormity of T.S.’ deception.
“I will.”
She spun around and left, clutching her purse tight. The heels of her boots clicked along the tile floor, the rhythm getting faster and faster as she all but ran for the door. The man she was sleeping with, was in love with was an ex-con.
The one thing she’d promised herself when she’d left home was that she’d only get involved with men who were honest and forthright. Her father had spent time in prison. Both her brothers had done prison time for fighting and stealing by the time she’d left home. Missy wanted none of that in her life.
A sob broke from her throat as she stumbled to her car. Her hand shook so bad she dropped her keys twice before jamming the right one into the lock. When she was safe inside she swiped at the tears rolling down her cheeks. “You will not cry.”
She took a deep breath and slowly released it. Then another. And another until she was sure she wasn’t going to shed any more tears. “He’s not worth it.” Her father hadn’t been worth it. And neither were her brothers.
But T.S. was different, her heart cried. “Sex. That’s all it was. Sex.” She ignored the acute sense of betrayal and the ache in her heart. She rubbed her chest and bit her bottom lip, desperate to bottle up the emotions swirling inside her.
Her breathing was ragged but she kept on working at slowing it down. In and out. The windows of her car fogged as the cold of the day and the heat from her breath collided.
She blanked her mind, refusing to think about the past month. All the good times they’d shared. The laughter. The love. Because she did love him. That’s what made the betrayal all the worse. She’d finally lowered her guard enough to love a man and he turned out to be an ex-con, the one thing she’d sworn would never happen.
Minutes ticked by and she gradually gained control of wayward emotions. When she was calm enough, she started her car and headed toward Lucas’ building downtown. T.S. would be working there today and she wanted some answers.
T.S. was whistling under his breath as he installed the last tile and stepped away to admire his work. The bathroom was almost completed. The tub and shower combo were installed. The toilet and sink were in, the walls were plastered and painted. All that was left to be done was the grout, baseboards and trim. It looked good, if he did say so himself.