Chapter Twenty-Five

LIV

What the hell? “Great, now we have Maggie to worry about,” I tell Sam, reading the text from Jack. “She’s going all vigilante, apparently.”

“She might have better luck than us. Trying to find Denise is like a needle in a haystack,” Sam grumbles, scrolling through her phone. We already drove to the house where I lived with the Carters, my previous foster parents, just to find out from the new homeowners that the Carters left months ago after getting a divorce. I thought it’d be easier to start with Denise. The idea of finding Derrick again gives me the chills.

“You’d think in this town there’d be at least one Denise Carter.” We’ve already followed up on the two generic D. Carter listings, one of which was a single man, the other, an elderly woman.

“Maybe she dumped her last name when they got divorced?”

I remember on the foster care paperwork there was a record of Denise’s past history. Her maiden name was on the form, but I can’t remember it. The only name on the form that I do remember is Alejandro Santos—the name of her husband who died with their little boy in a car accident. It was the first time I realized there might be reasons other than Derrick for Denise’s drinking problem.

“Look up Denise Santos,” I tell Sam. She types into her phone and scrolls through the results.

“There’s one Denise Santos in Richmond,” she says. “Lives on Victory Street.” She grins at me. “That’s only like a minute from here.”

But when we get to the address, I groan. “It’s an apartment complex. How do we know which one she’s in?”

“Okay, okay, no worries.” Sam closes her eyes for a moment to think. “Okay, so park at the main building. If it’s a guy in here, we’re good to go.”

“He’s not going to give you her apartment number just because you’re cute, Sam.”

She winks at me. “Wanna bet?”

She’s right. As usual.

The guy inside the sales office is young and good-looking and totally falls for Sam’s act. She should’ve been an actress, as good as she is about making up stories. She pretends like we’re Denise’s out-of-town college friends who are surprising her. Which is hilarious because although we could pass for college girls, if this guy saw Denise he’d see she’s clearly older than that. Watching Sam’s light-hearted, flirty manner as she talks to the guy reminds me of how she was Jack’s right-hand person to recruit lonely foster kids who had a knack for hacking. She did make me feel like I was special, cool, fun—everything a good recruiter should do. I know I should be past that, but the feeling is still a bitter knot in my gut.

Denise’s apartment is within walking distance, just on the other side of the pool. The place is nice, with flowers lining the walkway and bright white iron gates surrounding the pool area. Quiet. Kind of has a retirement village feel and, considering Denise’s love of roosters and quilts and need for peace, it fits perfectly.

Number 226 is on the second floor, overlooking the pool. I hope she didn’t notice me walking here, or she might not answer the door. Of course, she might not be home, either.

Sam gestures grandly at the door, and I use the brass knocker. About a minute later, the door opens and Denise is standing there looking pretty much the same as she did when I lived with her—mousy brown hair, a passive, slightly put-out expression on her face. Her eyes widen when she sees me.

“Olivia?” she asks. “What are you doing here?”

I think it’s the most she’s ever said to me at one time. “I’m not here to bother you. I just wanted to ask you a couple questions.”

“I don’t know…” She looks at Sam with a raised eyebrow.

“This is my friend Sam. We’re looking for Derrick and hoped you could help us track him down.” I didn’t want to say it before she let us in, since I had a feeling she might close the door on our faces, but I have to take that chance.

Her nostrils flare. “Why are you of all people looking for him?”

Of all people? “Because I think he might be stalking me, and I need to know for sure.”

Denise jerks the door all the way open and backs up. “Come on in,” she says, frowning.

“Thanks.” Sam and I follow her to the couch in her small living room. I look around and notice the rooster décor from her house has made it here, too. Rooster pillows, clock, canisters on the kitchen counter. Even more roosters than before, or maybe it just appears that way in a smaller place. I guess an obsession is an obsession.

Denise sits across from us in a formal-looking white armchair, her fingers interlaced across her lap. “How are you doing?” she asks, and I have a feeling it’s more out of politeness than real concern.

“I’m fine, thanks.”

“Your new home okay?”

I nod. She doesn’t know about my grandfather, and I want to keep it that way.

“Good. I always wondered why you left, though I can probably guess. He was way too obsessed with you when you lived with us.” Her lips twist in disgust.

“What do you know about it?” I ask her, trying to keep my voice even.

“Mostly what I guessed. Found a camera setup installed over your room after you moved out, too. I’m sorry things didn’t go well at our house,” she says stiffly. “Derrick was…well, he wasn’t the person I knew in school. I guess I didn’t know him enough when we got married. When I noticed things he looked up online…”

She shakes her head, not finishing that sentence. So not only did she not bother to look for me after I ran away, she ignored the warning signs from Derrick. I’ve never blamed Denise for anything, but at the moment, it’s all I can do to not jump up and scream at her for pretending to be oblivious to his creepiness while I lived there. Of course, now I remember the handwriting on the foster care paperwork wasn’t hers. She never wanted to be a foster parent in the first place.

“Do you have any idea where he is now?” Sam asks.

Denise shrugs. “He was fired from his job and is now working at some restaurant on the other side of town. The Burger Box, I think it’s called. I have his address around here somewhere,” she says, walking into the adjoining kitchen to get an address book. She writes something down on a yellow sticky note and hands it to me. “He’s probably living with one of the hookers he screwed around with. Oh yes, he did that, too.” She smirks at our stunned faces. “If I were you, I’d leave well enough alone and move on. Did you know he has a record? He can’t even hold down a regular job.” She huffs, scowling at the thought. I can’t stop my face from burning. It’s my fault he has a record, and for a weird, completely uncalled-for moment I actually feel guilty. I do not need to feel guilty about anything to do with Derrick Carter.

“Thanks for the information,” Sam says, glancing at me with concern. She reaches over to squeeze my hand, which Denise sees and raises an eyebrow, clearly taking it the wrong way. Her head moves in a barely perceptible shake of disapproval. Obviously, nothing’s changed with Denise.

“Liv, did you want to ask her anything else?” Sam asks.

“No, that’s it,” I say, though I have a thousand questions. Not the least being why she allowed him to take me in if she knew he was a sleazebag in the first place.

Sam and I stand and walk to the door, followed by Denise. I turn as we step outside. I don’t know what I expected. Definitely not a hug or anything, maybe just a sad look or a commiserating smile. But Denise has nothing but quiet disinterest on her face. It’s too much like the expression she had when she first opened the door to allow me into her home almost a year ago.

“Take care of yourself,” she says, and I could be a pizza delivery girl for as much warmth as she puts into the words.

“You, too,” I tell her. “I’m glad you’re doing okay. I’m glad you left him.”

Her eyebrows twitch, and I swear the corners of her lips tug up slightly. She nods and closes the door.

Sam breathes out loudly. “Damn. Still an Ice Queen. Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” I’m not. Not really. But I don’t want to tell her that seeing Denise again released the demons in my head that I’d tried so hard to bury. It makes me childishly wish that if I had one superpower, I’d fly around rescuing all the kids in bad foster care situations.

Sam and I look up Burger Box on our phones. It’s five o’clock, so the drive will be even longer across town. An incoming call rattles my phone. Shoot, it’s Grandfather.

“Hi, Grandfather,” I answer casually.

“Hello, sweetheart. When do you expect to be home?”

“Sam and I are studying right now. I’ll text you and let you know when we’re done.”

“Sam?”

“I mean Emerson. Sorry, we’re in the middle of a history project. Did the PI find Frank Jones?”

“He’s sitting in front of his house right now. The neighbor said he was around earlier, so he probably just went out for a bit. Sounds like he’s still in Richmond, though. How about I come pick you up and we have an early dinner?”

I swallow hard. “I can’t right now. But I’ll call you when I’m on my way home, okay?”

“I’d really like to pick you up, just in case Frank decided to make another trip to Norfolk.”

“It’s okay, really. I have to go. I’ll call you soon.”

“But—”

I hang up. “Worst granddaughter ever.”

“What’s wrong?” Sam asks.

“I absolutely hate lying. Hate it.”

“Me, too.” I glance sharply at her—is she kidding me? “I’m serious,” she says. “I do a lot of things—steal, cheat, whatever. But not lie. Think about it. Didn’t I tell you when I was recruiting you that the company I worked at was going to offer you a job?”

“Monroe Street wasn’t exactly a company, Sam.”

“I didn’t say I don’t flex my truths a bit.”

I glance at the clock on the dash. “I need to get back to Norfolk before my grandfather catches on. Let’s go.”

It doesn’t take long to get to the Burger Box, and it’s not until I see the building in front of me and realize Derrick Carter might be inside that I start to panic. Sam touches my shoulder. “Do you want me to go scope it out?”

I shake my head. I don’t want her to go in and be exposed to that creep. And I definitely don’t want to be sitting in Emerson’s nice car, in this bad part of town, waiting for Derrick to walk up and recognize me. Sam waits patiently for me to get my tongue working again.

“Wait till he comes out.” I manage to say.

“Are you sure? That could take forever.”

I nod. I don’t care. I can’t go in and face him. He’d just lie, anyway, and then he’d be so mad we showed up here, jeopardizing his job, that he might try to kill me next time. Or even if he didn’t stalk me before, he might start.

This was such a mistake.

I should’ve asked Jack to call his detective contact and follow up on Derrick instead. If Jack knew what we were doing right now, he’d be upset. As it is, he’s already texted me to ask for an update. I had no idea what to say, so I haven’t replied at all yet.

“There’s no dark truck in the parking lot,” I tell her. “That’s something, at least.”

“Uh-huh,” Sam says. She nudges me. “Give me your hat. I’m going in.”

She doesn’t bother waiting for me to give her my beanie, taking it off my head and pulling it down on hers. She puts on her sunglasses and pulls her coat on. “He doesn’t know me, don’t worry.” She jumps out before I can grab her, slamming the door behind her. Damn it. Sam is going to get in serious trouble one of these days.

She returns in about a minute, sliding into the seat. “He’s off today. I asked what kind of car he drives and the guy in there just looked at me like I told him his momma smells bad.”

I breathe out a sigh of relief.

“So let’s go to his house,” she says.

My stomach clenches. “No, let’s go drive by Frank’s instead.”

“But the PI is at Frank’s house.”

I’d forgotten. Sam’s staring at me like I should be more worried about the guy who’s been stalking me than my last crappy foster parent. She has no idea.

“I know you’re freaked out about it,” she says quietly. “But Derrick won’t hurt you. I promise.”

Right now, I’m not worried about him hurting me. I’m worried all the horrible memories I’ve worked the last eight months to get over will float up to the surface and smother me. But…if I turn away now, the helpless fear that nearly paralyzes me whenever I think of him won’t stop.

I start the car. No way in hell do I want to have to do this again.

“Excellent,” Sam murmurs, shifting in her seat like we’re in a race car. Derrick’s house isn’t far, maybe five minutes. It’s a run-down duplex next to an adult superstore. Figures.

“So what now, Captain?” Sam asks as I pull into the duplex parking lot.

“I don’t know.” Honestly, I’d only gotten this far in my head. But now that we’re here, I realize I don’t want to go up and ring his doorbell and confront him. Derrick isn’t Denise. As cold as Denise is, she’s still a normal person. Derrick is evil. A pervert. A rapist. Who could very well be my stalker and the person who tried to kill Jack. I can’t take in enough air to keep up with my pounding heart.

Sam places a cool hand on my arm. “Breathe, Liv. You’re not alone, you know. I’m here with you. I’m not going anywhere.”

I nod, closing my eyes briefly and taking deep breaths. Calmly, calmly. You promised yourself you wouldn’t let him get to you again. You’re the girl who bested Bill Sykes, remember?

I’d rather drive off the James River Bridge again than go up and face Derrick.

“The good news is that there’s no truck here,” Sam says. In fact, there are only two other cars in the parking lot. As we watch, an older man and woman walk out to one of them and drive away. That leaves a beat-up silver minivan.

“I don’t see Derrick driving a minivan, do you?” I murmur.

“If he did, wouldn’t he park it in front of his own door?” She points at the door on the far left. “That’s number four. Dude’s not home.”

I look again at the clock on the dash. If we’re going to do this, it’s now or never. “Can you pick a lock?” I ask Sam.

She grins.

Five minutes later, we’re climbing into the side window of Derrick’s duplex apartment. The lock on the window was obviously cheap and worn—it took us seconds to break it.

“Hurry,” I tell her as Sam crawls through the window after me. I peer back through the panes but don’t see anyone watching us. In this neighborhood, maybe nobody would care.

“Stinks in here,” Sam says, wrinkling her nose. The apartment reeks of moldy soccer cleats that have been locked in a hot trunk for a week. I flip on a lamp sitting on a side table in the living room. My heart is beating so hard I wouldn’t be surprised if Sam can hear it. And I wonder if she’s as scared as me. Doubt it, the way she’s wandering around, poking at the dirty dishes in the sink and the open bottle of ketchup on the table. I’m actually shocked at the mess. When I lived with the Carters, Derrick was always dressed in pants and tie for work, and their house was perfectly clean. I guess Denise enforced that rule, because this one is anything but clean. The dingy tan sofa looks like it might’ve been white a long time ago, and several water rings scar the cheap coffee table.

“How could someone this nasty be a foster dad?” Sam asks in disgust, flicking a finger against a glass with the remnants of something like whiskey on the kitchen table. It reminds me of the short glasses Denise used to fill with her vodka every night.

“Yeah.” I grit my teeth and step into his bedroom, trying not to gag at the idea of being in here. A computer is set up in one corner. I turn it on. “Maybe you should keep an eye out for him,” I tell her. We ended up parking at the unit behind his so he won’t see Emerson’s car if he comes back, but I have no desire to hide in his nasty closet if he suddenly shows up.

“Okay. I’ll go back into the living room and look around for clues,” she says.

“Thanks.” I bypass his security and start searching through his computer, looking for documents or images that may have my name on it. I breathe out when I don’t find any. And in his browser history, there’s nothing that indicates a search for me at all, nor anything that involves the jewelry store or even Norfolk. I feel like crying, I’m so relieved.

“Anything?” Sam calls from the living room.

“Nope. Thank God. Because I was really— Ew!”

Sam runs to my side, her face screwing up at the porno sites that fill the history. Yeah, apparently Derrick doesn’t look for me online, but he sure loves looking up smut. I remember seeing that magazine with a naked woman in his closet when I was looking for my laptop…yuck.

“Guys are so gross,” Sam says as I close out the window.

“No one’s as gross as Derrick.”

“He has a lot of random shit. Who even uses blank CDs anymore?”

My eyes immediately flick up to the CD Sam is holding. There’s no label on it. Just like the one I found in his closet—the one that showed me walking around my room in my underwear. My blood turns to ice. I take the CD from her and shove it in the disk drive on the computer. The whirring of the system matches the whooshing of my pulse in my ear.

A window pops up and I press play. Please, please don’t be me. Please.

The video is shaky at first, like someone’s holding a camera. I breathe out, my muscles relaxing in relief. It’s not from an overhead surveillance camera like the one he’d installed in my room.

“Who is that?” Sam asks, pointing at the person in the background. I peer at the monitor. It’s too dark to see many details except that it’s a woman’s figure lying on a bed. I wonder if she’s aware of the camera. She leans up on her elbows and I catch a glimpse of dark curls before the person who set up the camera blocks her. Derrick is still the world’s worst pervert. And hopefully, whoever this is isn’t some teen who’s been drugged, like he once tried to do to me. I eject the CD and look at the others lining the bookshelf. Could there be any of me?

“Hey, didn’t you want to at least see who he was with?” Sam asks.

“No, thanks.” I freeze as someone coughs right outside the door. I can hear voices and something jangling—keys! Shit! I hold down the power button to do a hard shut-down as Sam rips the CD from my hand and shoves it back on the shelf.

“Come on,” she hisses, running to the side window. I follow, slipping out behind her and pulling down the window. It gets stuck an inch from the bottom. “Forget it,” Sam says, tugging on my arm. We take off at a crouching run toward the parking lot behind the duplex.

“Crap,” she mutters. “I forgot to turn off the lamp.”

“Too late now,” I tell her as we get to the car. “He’ll probably think he left it on.”

We yank open the doors and lock them as soon as we’re inside, slumping down in the seats and looking around to see if anyone noticed us. No one seems to be around. We both start giggling hysterically out of relief.

“We suck at this,” I tell her, starting the car.

“That is one creepy guy. Did you find anything else on his computer besides porno sites?” she asks as I pull away.

“Nope.” Glancing over at the parking lot in front of the duplex, I see a white car, a green car, and the silver minivan. No black truck. Sam laughs as I whoop loudly. I give her a high five.

“Thank God,” I say, relief swimming over me and making me feel almost dizzy. I’d rather deal with someone trying to get money out of me than Derrick stalking me, putting roses in my bedroom.

I drop Sam off at Briarcreek, noticing that Jen’s truck is still not at the house. “You’re not going to tell Nancy about today, right?” I ask Sam.

“No. She’d be pissed about us breaking into Derrick’s house, and it didn’t give us any new leads anyway. Keep me updated if you hear anything on your end and I’ll do the same.”

I promise to do that, then head to the hospital to see Jack before I go back to Norfolk. I’m definitely not looking forward to telling him about breaking into Derrick’s and almost getting caught. I know exactly what he’ll say about that.