Finding Our Reality (The Reality Duet #2)

Chapter 7

ELLA

He better not say he’s sorry.

I don’t want his sympathy.

I want his fire, his anger, his determination. I want him to help me find my sister. I want to bring this chapter of my life to a close. I want to bury her, give her peace, give her justice.

Justice. I really want justice.

His lips part, and I close my eyes, not able to look at him. Please, please don’t give me empty condolences.

“Let’s catch the fucking bastard.”

My eyes shoot open. I’m transported back to nearly twelve years ago. Ry knows just what I need, and I’m so glad he’s giving it to me. Reading my mind, calming my worry. Feeding me what I need on a plate of defiance and rebellion. Us against the world. He always makes—made—it feel like it’s us against the world.

Reaching across, he wraps his gloved hand around mine. “I promise we’ll catch him. We’ll catch him, Lulu. And I’ll never let him come up for air.”

Relief chokes my throat, making it hard to swallow. I sigh, nodding in agreement. It doesn’t take long for the warmth of his hand to penetrate the latex of his glove. Glancing down, the sight of his fingers brushing against my skin sends a familiar, yet frustrating, tingle through my low belly.

A completely wanted and unwanted tingle.

I yank my hand from his grasp and rub my knuckles to fend off the lingering heat of his touch. He tries to act like I didn’t just hurt his feelings.

Asshat left me.

He doesn’t deserve the courtesy of having me worry about his injured little feelings. Boo freakin’ hoo.

He flips open his own notebook and prepares to make notes. “I agree we should start at the beginning, but we need to talk about these pictures first. And the pregnancy test. Where did you find these?”

“In Carrie’s room, last Thursday. I decided it was finally time to clean out her room. The envelope was taped to the bottom of her jewelry box, hidden underneath a thin piece of pressed wood—she made her own false bottom.”

He lifts his eyebrows in surprise. “And you have never seen the pictures or the pregnancy test before?”

I narrow my eyes. “Ry…”

“I’m just asking. I know the answer, Lulu, but I still have to ask.”

I inhale, trying to center myself. “I know you do. I know the protocol.” I wet my lips. “No. I’ve never seen the pictures, the pregnancy test, or the envelope before. Assuming the pregnancy test is Carrie’s, I had no idea that she was pregnant.”

“Do you have reason to believe that the envelope was hidden underneath the jewelry box this whole time? Since before Carrie went missing?”

“I really do. Marcum, Leary, and some uniforms searched Carrie’s room. But it wasn’t some rushed and messy search warrant toss. At the time, everyone thought there was a real possibility for Carrie to come home so they were gentle with their search. They searched everything—the drawers, the closet, the desk—but they didn’t turn everything upside down, shatter jewelry boxes, nothing like that. Which is the only way I found this. All of her jewelry was still inside. Why would anyone think something was stuck to the bottom? Under a false bottom, at that? Carrie had to take all the jewelry out, stick this to the bottom, glue the false bottom on, and then put all of her jewelry back in. I just don’t see someone else doing that. I feel confident that it was her.”

“Why would you shatter her jewelry box? That’s how you found this, you broke it?”

“I don’t think that’s relevant. It’s a hard story to explain.”

He nods, giving me some latitude. “But what about other people who were in your house after her disappearance?”

“Who, Ry? You?”

His jaw twitches.

I count off the people on my fingers. “My parents. Marcum. Leary. Uniformed police. Uncle Ray. Aunt Teresa. Raylee. Holt. Ridge. Cullen. Their parents. Janine. Caleb. Kristie. Hudson just a time or two. And you. That’s it.”

“Hudson was in your house?” His words are bitter and deadly.

So, he knows. I don’t know why I thought he wouldn’t. Marcum and my family may not have talked about me, but it’s highly doubtful that he would live in this town and not know. “Yes, Hudson.”

This time the muscle in his forearm twitches. He stretches his fingers to stop the renegade movement. “What about the news people? All of those interviews your parents did?”

“They did all the interviews from the Big House. No one ever came into our section of the house. Even when they had visitors or parties, the Children’s Wing was off limits. How could they play the part of the doting, overprotective parents if they showed the world that they blocked their children off with a long hallway and a locked door.”

Bypassing that comment, he goes back to my list. “Janine? Your old nanny?”

I grab a bottle of water from the small, glass-door cooler in the corner of the room. “May I?”

“Everything in this room is ours. For the foreseeable future.”

I take several swallows to cool my flaming throat. “She came back from Arizona for a few weeks to help with the search. It was devastating to her. We were basically her daughters.”

“And what about Kristie?”

“What about her?”

“I never liked her.”

I tilt my head. I figured as much. He made a few comments in the past. He didn’t like her coming and going as she pleased. “She wouldn’t have put the pictures in Carrie’s room. She doesn’t know any of the people in these pictures.”

He sits back in his chair, eyeing me. “I caught her high once.”

“You what?” Did I hear him right? “You mean when she showed up drunk?”

“No, before that. She was high as a damn kite. I could tell in her eyes.”

I blink. “High on what? Weed?”

“I’m pretty sure it was pills.”

I clench my teeth. “And you didn’t feel the need to tell me that? She was in my house.”

“I didn’t wanna upset you.”

I snort. “My, how the tables have turned.”

He lowers his voice. There’s a tremble to his whisper that hurts my soul worse than it should. “I upset you? Now?”

Be a bitch. Protect yourself. Wrap your armor around your heart. “Just being in the same zip code with you upsets me.” His eyes widen at my honesty. “Can we please get back to the pictures? Focus on our job.”

Using his gloved hands, he spreads the pictures out between the two of us. “Fine. Read them. Tell me what you see.”

I don’t even look down. “I see your brother. That’s what I see.”

“This is what they pay you the big bucks for? The obvious?”

I slap my hand on the table. “They pay me because I’m good. Excellent. Better than most. You asked me what I see. I see Trash. Glaring at me like a damn spotlight in the dark. He’s a lying, filthy bastard.” I point at his brother’s picture with the tip of my ink pen. “And he will be the first person we question. Do you understand?”

If I thought my outburst would disturb him, I was wrong. If I thought he would defend his brother, I was wrong. If I thought he would take me seriously, I was apparently wrong. He tries to hide the smirk on his face, but he fails miserably. “So help me, Ryland Joseph Crutchfield, if you don’t wipe that smirk from your face, I will claw it off permanently with my fingernails. How can you think anything pertaining to your brother is entertaining?”

“It’s not that. I can’t get used to you cussing. It’s unnatural.”

Are you kidding me? I’m trying to find my sister and he’s concerned about my potty mouth. He’s comparing the new me to the old me. I can’t be the old me, ever again. Too much has changed. Too much happiness has been ripped away.

I can’t help it; I have to rub my scar before I collapse. As soon as my fingers find it, my mind starts to calm.

He clears his throat, frowning to wipe the smile from his mouth. “Sorry, I agree; Trash should be our first interview. Please continue. What else do you see?”

I take a deep breath, studying the horrible images. “They seem to be sequential. Same night. I think she’s dying to get high in the first one and then she’s high in pictures two and three.” My thoughts race around, trying to connect all the dots. “It’s Trey’s house. The furnishings are the same as the picture you gave me years ago. The date at the bottom shows that it’s about six weeks before Carrie disappeared. In addition, the letters in the digital timestamp are the same on these pictures as the one you gave me. So, my question would be: did Christina take these pictures? Was she there? Was this her camera? Did she have the pictures developed? Did she give the pictures to Carrie?”

He nods, eagerly watching me. “That’s perfect. Give me more, tell me more.”

“I think everyone left the room. Most likely, they left the trailer. I don’t think all these people were present when Carrie was getting raped. I think it was just Carrie, the rapist, the cameraman—or woman—and…”

“And?”

“Trey. I think he was watching. I don’t think he would leave his own house. He wouldn’t let someone have that kind of control over him.”

Ry seems completely mesmerized. He’s watching me, just casting a glance downward every so often to make sure his notes stay on the notebook page. He seems almost… proud.

Is Ry proud of me?

“Keep going. Don’t slow the momentum,” he says, encouraging me.

“Why is the rapist dressed like that? Like a businessman? Was he there buying drugs? Trying to buy a hooker? Or was it something more? Is he the supplier? If Trey always made everyone leave when the supplier was showing up, that would answer the question of who all was present during the rape. Everyone left, but Carrie couldn’t move; she was passed out. Maybe Trey took the picture. Maybe Trey took the picture, and Christina found it and gave it to Carrie.”

I tap my fingers on the table. “But why take the picture in the first place? If Trey wouldn’t even let Christina take a picture with some pills in the background, why take a picture of a felony sex crime taking place in your house? Blackmail? Sexual arousal, maybe?” That thought churns a violent spasm of disgust in my stomach, making me want to throw up.

“He has a scar or something on his upper left thigh, shaped like the letter J. We need to run that through all the databases. We need to find out if there is anything special about his clothes. Can we tell what kind of belt that is? Pants, shoes? Even underwear?”

I bite my lip. “We need to look at the date. Were there any police calls in the area on that night? What about speeding tickets near Trey’s mobile home? Was that night anything special for me? Where was I when my sister was getting raped? And what about the pregnancy test? Did Carrie take the pregnancy test after she received the pictures? Or did she already know she was pregnant? And is there any possibility that the pregnancy isn’t related to the rape? When’s the last time Carrie and Caleb were intimate?” Rolling my shoulders to ease the tension, I take another drink of water.

Ry raises his eyebrows. He bites the corner of his lip, trying to stop his smile, but he can’t. It’s a sweet smile, a proud smile…a smile that lovers share.

I don’t smile back. I can’t. I wasn’t lying when I said being in the same zip code with him was upsetting. It’s terribly upsetting. Because just looking at him makes me want . Makes me need, makes me desire. It makes my body betray my mind. And just when I get my body under control, my mind decides to double-cross me as well.

I can’t even look at him and hold onto my sanity. I’m going crazy.

Why on earth did I think I could work with him?

He slowly removes the gloves from his hands and reaches across, grabbing my bottle of water. Tipping it to his perfect lips, he downs the rest in one gulp. He nods at the notebook page filled with his handwritten notes. “Is that all?”

“Isn’t that enough?”

Seriously, Ry, isn’t that enough?