*
At night, when I undress, I do the same thing I’ve done every night. I stand naked in front of the long mirror in my dressing room, and I study my body. The marks on my ass have faded now. I can’t see them no matter how much I try. The hickeys on my belly are fading too. They’re lighter than they were, a pale brown-pink now. The marks at my collar bone are still there. Lighter than they were, but they’re still purple. I tilt my neck to the side and run my fingers lightly across each mark. I imagine his mouth on my skin. I remember the sounds he made as he fucked me under the trees. Rough, course sounds. Like him.
I remember what I said to him just before he left.
I’m going to find you, Asshole. If it’s the last thing I do.
Chapter 19
Demon
Afterthefuneral,lotsof things happen at once. The directors of BeckIT decide I should take the helm right away, despite not being quite twenty-five yet. The vote is unanimous. I suppose knowing that I’ll be in charge in just over a month regardless of their decision, is enough to deter any of them from telling me what they really think of me. None of them seem especially pleased about it. Several of them seem under the impression that my uncle was going to continue to act as CEO after I came of age. Can’t imagine who was responsible for giving them that impression.
I’ve worked at BeckIT ever since I graduated from college. My uncle would have winced at my use of the word ‘work’. I admit, I’ve swanned in and out as it suited me. I haven’t applied myself to Peter Beckett’s exacting standards. What I have done is size things up. I’ve gotten the lay of the land. I understand the minutiae of how the company runs and who does what. And who does whom. I know more about the people who work here than my uncle would have learned in six lifetimes. I know what they want. I know what motivates them. I have something on almost every single one of them. I know how the business runs, too. It’s big and cumbersome, but it’s not rocket science. I’ve studied every decision my father and uncle have made in the last twenty years. I was listening when they thought I was fucking around. I know who I can trust to advise me on things I don’t know, and I know who I’m going to fire come June twenty sixth.
At the same time as all that has been happening, I’ve spent every free moment finding the right person to find Saint for me. It took a while. I had to be sure the person in question understood the sensitivity of the job and the prickly nature of the subject. I had to be sure it was someone who would be happy to treat personal privacy like a nice-to-have, rather than something that’s set in stone, or in law, for that matter.
I meet the man in question at a coffee shop near my office. It’s one of those places that feels purposefully melancholic. Dark walls, somber art, and overly strong coffee on offer. He’s sitting near the back. Mid-to-late forties, maybe. Tall and slim with a prominent nose. He’s dressed so neatly it almost looks comical. He’s balding severely. Shiny on top, with a crescent of short gray hair left on the back of his head. He looks like the kind of guy whose name should be Allan. It’s not, but let’s call him that for now.
“It’s nice to meet you, Mr Beckett,” he says, offering me a seat.
His lips smile easily, but there’s a firmness in his eyes that’s jarring. I can’t tell if I like him or not. He was hard to find. Very hard. I cast my net wide. I made subtle requests for a private investigator via several different channels. I asked people I know but don’t think highly of. Allan’s name came up twice.
“What can you tell me about the man you’re looking for?”
“He’s in his late twenties to mid-thirties. Brown eyes. Brown hair. His height is between six foot one and six three, possibly six four. He’s heavy set. Two hundred pounds at least.” Allan has taken a spiral notepad out of his breast pocket and is taking meticulous notes. “He rents or owns a house in the Catskills.”
“Family?”
“Father may be deceased. Mother’s whereabouts unknown. His mother may have a record for possession and there may have been social services interventions during his childhood.” Allan finishes writing that down and looks up, his smile is patient, supportive and understanding of my situation. His eyes are still unwavering. I still can’t tell if I like him or not, I suspect I’ll never know for sure, but something tells me he’s the right man for the job. “It’s likely he spent some time in the military. If not, he’s had special ops or weapons training. He’s highly computer savvy. His tracks will be well covered.”
“Distinguishing features?”
“He has a scar on his left eyebrow and his nose has been broken in the past. He has ink. A couple of bands on his forearm and an insignia on one shoulder. He has a large piece on his back. A raven in flight.”
“Do you have a name or handle he goes by?”
“Saint.”
“Street name, first name or last name?”
“I’m not sure.” He smiles encouragingly at me. “I know it’s not much to go on, but I need to find him. Ihaveto find him.”
“Is there anything you’ve given me that you’re sure of? Anything that’s an absolute.”
“No. Other than physical features, nothing is absolute when it comes to him. Can you do it? Can you find him?”
“If you choose to engage my services, Mr Beckett, I won’t rest or take another job until I’ve found this man.” When he says it, I believe him. For the first time in days, the terrible, swirling feeling of agitation in my chest dies down, just for a moment. “I’ll find him. It may take a while. A lot of the work will have to be manual. With that we have to go on, I’ll have to use a process of elimination. I’ll send you photographs as I find people who meet the criteria. I’ll need you to tell me if you see anyone who looks familiar.”
With that, he tidies the space in front of him, carefully folding the paper wrapper his sugar came in into tiny squares and dropping it into his empty cup.
As he rises, I say, “You should probably know, he may become violent if he suspects he’s being followed.”
“Thanks for letting me know.” He smiles again, as if that information is no more interesting than the fact that the man I’m looking for has brown eyes. He tilts his head in my direction before he leaves. “I’ll take the necessary precautions.”
*
My life takes on a new routine. I wake early and take the girls to school in the morning. They still haven’t fully recovered from not seeing me for over a week. When I get to my mom’s house to pick them up, I get out of the car and they both attack me with hugs and kisses. I get down onto my knees, so I can pull them both close at the same time. They talk over each other, taking turns to pull my face left and then right, so neither of them misses out on eye contact with me.
