I had to admit, it was kind of nice to have my brother back.
“Fuck,” I said when we entered.
“Mess” was an understatement. Couch cushions were thrown on the floor. The desk drawers had all been pulled out, their contents dumped. The coat closet was open, its inventory scattered throughout the living room.
The kitchen cabinets and drawers had all been gutted. The refrigerator door hung open with half of the food dumped on the linoleum.
“Someone was pissed off and in a hurry,” Nash observed.
I started up the steps, trying to keep a lid on my rage. Twice in one night, she’d been violated, and I’d been a step behind each time. I felt…helpless, useless. What good was I if I couldn’t keep her safe?
I heard my brother on the stairs behind me, his ascent slower than my own.
Spotting Waylay’s pink comforter in the hallway, I headed into her room. It had fared worse than the first floor. Her new clothes had been ripped from the closet and dresser. The bedding was torn off, the mattress flipped and leaning against the wall. The picture frames that had hung on the walls most of my life were on the floor. Some of them broken.
“The ex or the sister?” Nash wondered out loud.
Naomi’s bedroom had been hastily tossed. The bed stripped, the closet open and emptied. The same with the dresser.
There was a mess of cosmetics on top of the dresser that I doubted Naomi had made. BITCH was scrawled across the mirror in lipstick.
I was seeing red that had nothing to do with the shade of lipstick.
“Keep your cool,” Nash advised. “You snapping and going off the rails on a temper tantrum isn’t going to help.”
We poked into every nook and cranny upstairs, making sure the place was empty. By the time we hit the first floor again, Nash was pale and sweaty, and two more cruisers had pulled in.
The surrounding woods were painted blue and red from the emergency lights.
I went out on the front porch to force fresh air into my lungs so I could choke down the rising anger.
I spotted her, standing in the dirt lane still dressed in her work uniform with one of my grandfather’s old flannel shirts layered on top. Waylon was leaning against her shins, as protective as a basset hound got.
I wasn’t even conscious of jogging down the porch steps. I just knew I was being pulled to her.
“Are you okay?” she asked, looking worried.
I shook my head and wrapped my arms around her.
She was asking me if I was okay.
“I’m fine,” I lied.
THIRTY-SEVEN
SHAVE AND A HAIRCUT
Naomi
“Where are we going?” I asked Knox as we left Knockemout in the rearview mirror.
“Are we going shopping?” Waylay asked hopefully from the backseat.
She’d taken the news that we were temporarily moving into Liza J’s well. Of course,
I’d flat-out lied to her, telling her there was a bug problem at the cottage and that we’d be staying with everyone at Liza’s for a few days.
Waylay was thrilled for the extended sleepover.