start. The decision was taken out of her hands when he said, into the silence, “I’m thirty-eight years old, Faith. I’ve known your dad since I was eighteen.”
That stopped her. He really was much older, and he probably knew her father far better than she did. Plus, he probably knew what Grant had been doing for those six years he had been away.
“He never stopped talking about you,” Jack continued, as though he could read her mind. “He had to leave when he did, all those years ago, to protect you. And then two months ago, trouble came back to haunt him. He already knew he was dying, and he decided he ought to get to you before he passed. He wanted to let you know he had never abandoned you.”
Faith looked over at him as he drove, her eyes wide and wet with tears. She swallowed, so she could speak. “Why didn’t he tell me?”
Jack shrugged. “Maybe he was going to, before the accident made what he had to give you more important.”
“Do you think it was really an accident?” she asked, wiping her eyes.
Another shrug, a small silence, and then a quiet, “No.” He sighed and ran a hand over his buzz-cut hair. “But I have no evidence that it was anything else. So really, what would I tell the cops? Speculation is zero-tenths of the law.”
Silence descended between them again. This time it was not charged by the electricity that had shaken them earlier. It was nevertheless a weighty silence, as they grappled with their thoughts.
Faith watched the miles fly by and tried to think what the key she now had attached to a leather string around her neck could possibly open. Maybe it is to a safe, although it doesn’t look like any safe key I’ve ever seen. A door to a storage locker or container? And what could he possibly have in it that my dad wouldn’t even tell Jack about?
“Do you know anything about what happened after your dad left you with his mother?” Jack asked, out of the blue.
It was not an especially happy turn in the conversation, but it was better than nothing. Faith found that she liked to hear his baritone. For some reason she couldn’t fathom, now that she had stopped fighting the attraction she felt for him, it soothed her. It made her want to curl up and purr like a contented cat.
“No, I don’t. He never told me, even after he came back. Why?”
“Because whatever that key is for has to be related to it somehow.”
She asked the inevitable question. “What was he protecting me from?”
“Not what, who.” Jack paused and inhaled deeply, and then he told her what he knew, “The story is typical gang stuff, except that your dad infiltrated one of the gangs’ strongholds and took back the bike that they had stolen, along with something that had belonged to your mother. He didn’t check the saddlebags, which it turns out were stuffed with cocaine and money. LOTS of money.”
“What happened then?” Faith was intrigued.
“Well, they couldn’t find the bike because Grant had it so well hidden, and they couldn’t finger him for the retrieval. They watched him for months, and even roughed him up badly once, but he never gave it up. Eventually, they stopped looking. When it was safe, he shipped it to the homestead and only used it there. However, he spent all those years watching his back because he knew they suspected he had something to do with the loss of not just the bike, which was one owned by The King, himself, but also the cash and coke, which was worth half a million bucks. And, of course, they knew he had to have been the one who took whatever it was of your mother’s that they had stolen.”
Faith swung round to face him. “What? My dad owned a bike Elvis had before him?” Her eyes were wide with shock. “Isn’t that worth a lot of money? And what did he do with all of the money and the drugs?”
“Yes,
That stopped her. He really was much older, and he probably knew her father far better than she did. Plus, he probably knew what Grant had been doing for those six years he had been away.
“He never stopped talking about you,” Jack continued, as though he could read her mind. “He had to leave when he did, all those years ago, to protect you. And then two months ago, trouble came back to haunt him. He already knew he was dying, and he decided he ought to get to you before he passed. He wanted to let you know he had never abandoned you.”
Faith looked over at him as he drove, her eyes wide and wet with tears. She swallowed, so she could speak. “Why didn’t he tell me?”
Jack shrugged. “Maybe he was going to, before the accident made what he had to give you more important.”
“Do you think it was really an accident?” she asked, wiping her eyes.
Another shrug, a small silence, and then a quiet, “No.” He sighed and ran a hand over his buzz-cut hair. “But I have no evidence that it was anything else. So really, what would I tell the cops? Speculation is zero-tenths of the law.”
Silence descended between them again. This time it was not charged by the electricity that had shaken them earlier. It was nevertheless a weighty silence, as they grappled with their thoughts.
Faith watched the miles fly by and tried to think what the key she now had attached to a leather string around her neck could possibly open. Maybe it is to a safe, although it doesn’t look like any safe key I’ve ever seen. A door to a storage locker or container? And what could he possibly have in it that my dad wouldn’t even tell Jack about?
“Do you know anything about what happened after your dad left you with his mother?” Jack asked, out of the blue.
It was not an especially happy turn in the conversation, but it was better than nothing. Faith found that she liked to hear his baritone. For some reason she couldn’t fathom, now that she had stopped fighting the attraction she felt for him, it soothed her. It made her want to curl up and purr like a contented cat.
“No, I don’t. He never told me, even after he came back. Why?”
“Because whatever that key is for has to be related to it somehow.”
She asked the inevitable question. “What was he protecting me from?”
“Not what, who.” Jack paused and inhaled deeply, and then he told her what he knew, “The story is typical gang stuff, except that your dad infiltrated one of the gangs’ strongholds and took back the bike that they had stolen, along with something that had belonged to your mother. He didn’t check the saddlebags, which it turns out were stuffed with cocaine and money. LOTS of money.”
“What happened then?” Faith was intrigued.
“Well, they couldn’t find the bike because Grant had it so well hidden, and they couldn’t finger him for the retrieval. They watched him for months, and even roughed him up badly once, but he never gave it up. Eventually, they stopped looking. When it was safe, he shipped it to the homestead and only used it there. However, he spent all those years watching his back because he knew they suspected he had something to do with the loss of not just the bike, which was one owned by The King, himself, but also the cash and coke, which was worth half a million bucks. And, of course, they knew he had to have been the one who took whatever it was of your mother’s that they had stolen.”
Faith swung round to face him. “What? My dad owned a bike Elvis had before him?” Her eyes were wide with shock. “Isn’t that worth a lot of money? And what did he do with all of the money and the drugs?”
“Yes,
Similar Books
