Watching Trin by Freya Barker

Chapter 22

Trin

I step outside and my foot slides out from under me, almost landing me on my ass.

Annoyed, I bend down to pick up the envelope some idiot left on the porch instead of sticking it in the mailbox, where it belongs.

I lock the door and walk over to my Jeep, flipping the envelope over to find my name neatly printed. Nothing else: no address, no stamps, nothing. I tear it open and pull out a single folded sheet. At the top is the same neat handwriting as on the front of the envelope.

FUCK OFF OR ELSE ...

Underneath a grainy picture is printed, but I have no problem recognizing the subject.

A cold tingle ripples over my skin as my eyes automatically scan the street. The only person I see is the neighbor across the street taking his dog for a walk. I’m guessing whoever left this must’ve done so after Vic left for work at quarter to seven this morning or she would’ve found it.

Then I turn to the house where I left Tuck in bed. He’s bound to sleep until eleven or noon, so I was just going to pop out and run a few errands. But after seeing that picture of him getting on the bus in front of the school, I don’t think I’ll be going anywhere. Those errands will have to wait for another day.

“Why are you asking around about me?”

I almost jump out of my skin at the sound of the gruff voice behind me and swing around.

A guy is sauntering up our driveway. Hands in the pockets of his jeans and shades covering his eyes. Everything about him screams biker; the leather vest, the clunky boots, and the slightly ratty beard. I glance beyond him but don’t see a bike parked on the road.

If Bodhi hadn’t told me a little about the Arrow’s Edge MC’s legit business dealings these days over dinner last night, I might’ve turned tail and locked myself inside the house. But it’s broad daylight, I don’t really feel a threat coming off the guy, and I also have a pretty good idea who this might be. So despite being shaken to the core, I’m standing my ground.

“You’re Jordan Danvers.”

He stops a couple of feet shy of me and shoves his shades to the top of his head.

“What’s it to you?”

“I’m a freelance journalist, and am working on—”

Apparently, that’s enough for him because without a word he turns and walks off. Someone doesn’t like reporters.

All of a sudden, I’m angry. Twice now someone’s delivered a threat to my house. Three times if you count the biker walking away.

“Hey!” I yell after him, waving the sheet of paper I still have clenched in my hand. “Did you put this crap on my step?” He stops in his tracks and glances over his shoulder. “Because if you or whoever thinks threats are going to stop me from asking questions, you’re sorely mistaken.”

In a few steps he’s in front of me, snatching the paper from my hand.

“The fuck is this?”

His eyes are blue and piercing as they scan Tuck’s picture before pinning me.

“Like I said, another threat. The first time was a rock through the rear window of my Jeep. This time it’s my son.”

Before I realize what he’s doing, he has a phone by his ear.

“Yeah, it’s me. I’ve got a situation here. Yeah, she’s here. Someone’s threatening her kid.” He glances over my shoulder at the house. “Call him.”

“Mom?”

I swing around to see Tucker walking down the steps, still wearing his bedhead, but at least he put on a pair of jeans. His eyes aren’t on me, though, they’re focused on the bearded biker.

“It’s okay, kiddo. Go back inside, okay?”

Of course my son does no such thing and keeps coming toward me.

“Who is that?” he snaps, his voice sounding deeper.

He pulls himself up to his full height as he steps up beside me, and my heart does a little jump when I realize my kid is growing up. At some point this past year he’s gotten so tall I find myself looking up to him. Not quite fifteen and yet I’m getting a glimpse of the man he’s growing into.

And apparently, he has a protective streak a mile wide.

“Tuck, it’s—”

The man shoves his phone back in his pocket and I notice he folds the paper he’s still holding before turning his eyes on my son.

“Everyone knows me as Wapi,” he responds, taking me by surprise. Then he turns to me. “But my legal name is Jordan Danvers.”

“What do you want with my mom?”

I grab Tuck’s wrist, just in case he gets any ideas.

“He’s just helping me with that story I’m working on, kiddo. Stand down.”

Finally my son glances at me.

“The car from the river?”

“Yeah. Why don’t you go grab some breakfast, I’ll be right in after I talk to Mr. Danvers.”

Tucker takes a long hard look at the guy before he nods and walks back into the house, leaving the front door open.

“He looks after you.”

“So it seems,” I respond, still a little stunned by my kid’s protective display.

“He mentioned the car they pulled from the rapids?”

So he was paying attention, good. It means I have an opportunity to get some information.

“The car was registered to Anita Wenzel.” I note the slight jerk of his body at the name. “I believe she was your foster mother.”

He makes a coughing sound at that and mutters, “Mother—that’s rich.” Then he continues with a firmer voice, “What does that have to do with me?”

“Look, Mr. Danvers, I—”

“Name’s Wapi.”

“Fine, Wapi. I’m interested in the story behind the car. I know it belonged to your…to Anita Wenzel. I know she reported it stolen twenty years ago, at a time you and your sister were living under her roof. Which happened to be a couple of doors down from here.”

At the mention of his sister, his face goes hard and I wonder if he’ll shut me down again. When he doesn’t volunteer anything but stays rooted to the spot, I take it as an invitation to probe a little.

“From what I’ve found out, your sister left around the same time the car disappeared. Not long after that you and the Wenzels moved away and other than you, I can’t find any trace of them.”

“Her name was Wenzel. His name was Walter Pratt,” he corrects me. “And I have no fucking clue where they went, but they didn’t take me.”

“How so? Were you placed with another family?”

He mutters a curse and clasps a hand behind his neck as he drops his eyes to the toes of his boots.

“Came home from school one day and they’d up and left.”

It takes me a moment to process what he’s saying.

“Wait. You mean they left you behind? Abandoned you?”

This is opening up a whole new set of questions I can’t wait to dig into. Who would do that to a kid? An eight-or-nine-year-old kid at that. And I haven’t even touched the disappearance of Cherry.

“I’m gonna need a fucking coffee for this,” he mumbles.

“I’ll make some,” I respond without hesitation and immediately turn to the house.

Hell, I’ll cook the man breakfast, lunch, and dinner if he can provide me with some answers.

I leave Wapi sitting on the porch, while I check on Tuck and make us a quick pot of coffee. When I return outside and hand him his cup, he starts talking right away.

“The house was empty except for a garbage bag in the upstairs hallway. They’d stuffed the few things that belonged to me and my sister in that damn bag. I hid out in the house for a while, hoping maybe Cherry would come back, but she was long gone.”

He takes a drink from his coffee and rather than fill the silence with a question, I wait him out. Better to let him tell the story the way he wants to. It’s one thing I’ve learned in my job interviewing people; you learn more by listening than by asking questions.

“At some point I couldn’t stay in the house anymore. People started showing up. I guess the place was being rented out again. Anyway, long-story short, I was eventually found on the street by members of the club—the Arrow’s Edge MC—and they took me in. They tried to help me find my sister but there was nothing to find. It’s like she disappeared off the face of the earth.”

He falls silent and I wonder what he’s thinking.

“A body was found in the wreckage,” I prompt gently.

“I know,” he says, his eyes focused on a point in the distance.

“I heard from a reliable source the remains are those of a young woman.”

His head slowly turns my way and I notice his eyes shine with raw pain.

“As soon as you mentioned who the car belonged to, I knew the body they found had to be Cherry. Part of me knew she’d never have left me with those people.”

I get a sick feeling in my stomach at what his words imply. It’s obvious these were not good people to abandon a young kid, but it sounds like there may have been something darker, more sinister, going on in that house. Before I can ask for clarification, a police cruiser pulls into my driveway, followed by a couple of motorcycles.

*****

Bodhi

Despite my shower back at the station, the smell of smoke clings to my nostrils.

Early into our shift yesterday we were called in to support the Upper Pine River Station, east of the city. What started as a relatively small wildfire they’d been monitoring near the Lemon Reservoir was quickly growing out of their control due to strong winds. The fire was now threatening about five hundred households and a few small businesses in the area.

Most of yesterday, and all of last night, we spent manually digging trenches trying to create a new control line. My hands are blistered and sore, but by this morning we were starting to gain control again. When fresh muscle arrived earlier, we were able to pack up and return to the station.

It’s surprising how wired a mind can be inside an exhausted body. I’d planned to head home, catch a few hours of sleep before heading over to Trin’s, but I’m too restless for bed. She and I have plans for tonight that involve just the two of us, but I’d like to spend some time with Tuck on his dirt bike as well.

Instead of heading north toward my trailer, I turn left onto Main. I stop at Durango Doughworks to pick up a dozen doughnuts and when I get back into the truck, my phone vibrates in my pocket. The screen shows Vic’s number.

“You better get your ass over here,” she barks before I have a chance to say hello.

“What’s going on? Is Trin okay?”

Alarmed at her tone, I start the engine and back out of my spot.

“She says she’s fine, just get here.”

I almost sideswipe a van when I peel out of the parking lot and lift a hand in apology to the startled woman behind the wheel. The sudden rush of adrenaline has my heart going at a decent clip as I weave my way through traffic.

A few minutes later I pull up to the house, surprised to find two motorcycles parked behind Trin’s Jeep. I manage to fit my truck behind Vic’s vehicle. Walking up to the house, I recognize Paco standing on a chair on the front porch.

“Yo,” I call out as I approach.

“What’s up?”

I look up at him as I walk up the steps. It looks like he’s installing a security camera. I’m puzzled.

“I think I should be asking that question,” I tell him.

“She yours?”

I assume he’s talking about Trin.

“She is,” I state firmly, in case he gets any ideas.

He’s probably got a good decade on me, but even I can see he’s a good-looking guy. What my sister would call a silver fox.

“You check your messages?” he asks me cryptically.

I haven’t and immediately grab for my phone, sliding my thumb over the screen to pull up the messages. Jesus, three from Trin, one from VanDyken, and a couple from Paco himself.

“Faster if you tell me,” I point out rather than read through all of them.

He doesn’t have to because Trin walks out and steps straight into my arms.

“I’ll tell you,” she mumbles into my shirt.

Then she steps back, takes my hand, and pulls me inside, heading straight for the study.

It turns out a lot can happen in twenty-four hours.

“I still can’t believe he’s Cherry’s brother. I mean, I’ve known him for years, but only as Wapi.”

She just finished telling me the other bike in the driveway belongs to Wapi, who is off with Jay VanDyken to the lab for a DNA swab.

“I guess that kind of history is not something you bring up in casual conversation.”

She’s got a point.

I hear Vic out in the hallway talking to Paco. I’m torn between being grateful and pissed. The latter mostly at myself.

Looks like I’m doing a bang-up job protecting her so far. Wapi stayed here last night to keep an eye out and Paco showed up this morning with a security system. Fuck, even VanDyken was here yesterday afternoon and back this morning. I didn’t even have the good sense to check my goddamn messages.

“What’s wrong?”

She gets up from the couch and joins me at the window, placing her hand on my hip as she slips in front of me.

“Should’ve been here,” I bite off, a little more sharply than I intended.

Trin seems unaffected as she chuckles softly, rubbing her palm against stubble on my jaw.

“You too? Vic said something similar. You firefighters are all the same, but like I said to my sister, you can’t be everybody’s hero all the time.”

I lift my hand and cover hers, leaning into her palm.

Then I open my heart.

“I don’t need to be anyone’s hero but yours.”