Chapter Nineteen
Trace
I watched Cierra as she looked through the notes, wondering if I was making a mistake by taking her into my confidence. I had never spoken about Ryan to anyone, and over the years, my grandparents and mom stopped talking about him. Soon it was like he never existed, but it was important to keep him in my memory. I’d already forgotten so much about my dad, and I was afraid to do the same with Ryan. A lot of the details about him had become fuzzy over the years, but I still remembered how he’d read me bedtime stories, or humor me and build Legos with me.
She glanced up from the notes, her gaze searching my face. I took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, then dug into my mind and pulled out the details from that terrible time in my life. I drained the wine glass, kicked off my shoes, and put my feet on the coffee table.
“After my dad died in a boating accident, my mom fell apart. She couldn’t function with running the household, raising me and my brother, and dealing with the day-to-day aspects of life. My dad ran the show and took care of everything, and my mom served on charity committees, went to luncheons, and checked in with our nanny as to how we were doing. It was real tough on her when he died, and what made it worse was it was so sudden. I remember watching my mom come apart at the seams, and for a time, I hated my dad for leaving all of us.”
“That’s part of the grieving process. Losing a loved one is hard, but I can’t imagine what it would be like losing a father at a young age,” Cierra said as she brought the wine glass to her lips.
“It was tough on all of us. My grandparents told us to come stay with them. They had a huge house with a ton of bedrooms and baths, so we wouldn’t be climbing over each other. I was happy because I always loved my grandparents and going over to their house for long weekends. My mom was relieved, but Ryan didn’t want to go. He seemed so lost, and looking back now, I think it was because he felt like he wasn’t part of the family anymore. My grandparents were my mom’s parents, and the only one he was related to was me.”
“Did your mom and grandparents treat him differently from you?”
I shook my head. “No way. They accepted him as a grandson from the day my mom married my dad. And my mom loved him like he was her son, but Ryan didn’t see it. For the most part, we all got along and life continued on. Ryan got into a lot of trouble at boarding school and was finally expelled. He then went to Washington High and kind of fell in with a bad crowd. It was hard on my grandparents, and my mom sort of let them take over the discipline like she had with my dad.”
Cierra reached over and placed her hand on my thigh. I took another deep breath. “One afternoon, Ryan didn’t come home at the usual time. I’d just turned ten and he was fifteen. Anyway, by the time it was dark, my mom and grandma started to worry. When my grandfather came home from a late-night board meeting, they told him what was going on. By then, my mom had called every one of his friends that she knew, and they all said they hadn’t seen him since school got out.”
I paused as the memories of that night flooded my mind: Mom crying uncontrollably, Grandma clutching the curtains as she looked out, Grandpa reserved and in control, and me scared and confused with my stomach in knots.
“This must be very hard for you,” she said softly.
I nodded. “My grandfather was ready to call the police when the kidnapper called us. I can still remember his raspy, deep voice as he told us that Ryan would be killed unless my mom gave him three million dollars. She begged to speak with Ryan but he said he’d call back. He also said if the police were involved, he’d send Ryan’s head to her. My mother was hysterical and my grandmother wanted to call the police, but my mom was so freaked out that my grandparents didn’t do it.”
“Did the guy call back?”
“Yeah, a few times, and he let Ryan talk to my mom briefly. My family had the phone calls on the speakers, and I can still hear Ryan’s scared, thin voice as he told my mom he was okay but real scared. My mom gathered the money together with help from my grandfather and delivered it at the place and time the kidnapper had set up. The fucker never let my brother go. A week after she dropped off the money, a box arrived. It had two fingers in it. I can still hear my mother’s wails when she opened it.”
“So he killed your brother? How terrible!”
“That’s what we all thought. I’d wanted my grandfather to call the police at that point and preserve the evidence, but he never called. I don’t think they wanted all the publicity that would follow. My mother wasn’t strong enough to deal with it, so they wanted to forget it happened. I didn’t agree with them, but I was only a kid. What say did I have?”
“Do you think Ryan is dead?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. I mean, the stuff we got indicates that, but maybe the guy sold him. But we’ve never heard from him. I’d loved to do a DNA test on the fingers and see if they really were Ryan’s.”
“What a sad, awful thing for your family to go through. For you to have to live with.” Cierra put her wine glass down and tucked her feet under her.
“Not knowing is the worst part, and not having the bastard who did this punished is a close contender. I hired a few PIs over the years, but they never came up with anything.”
She picked up the notes and glanced over them again. “Are these from the kidnapper?”
“And Ryan. The bastard let him write a couple of notes to my mom and me. They were all postmarked in San Francisco.”
“Do you think your family regrets not having called the police at the beginning?”
“Yeah, but they really thought Ryan would be returned safely. If they ever doubted that, the police would’ve been called in from the onset.”
I watched as the enormity of the situation sank in for Cierra. She didn’t say anything more, but she scooted closer to me, pressed my head against her chest, and ran her fingers through my hair. We sat like that until the shadows of the past receded to the dark corners of my mind.
“Thank you.” Her voice was almost inaudible, and I pushed against her and sat up straight.
“For what?”
“Sharing. Trusting me with your story.”
We leaned toward each other, our lips pressing together for a gentle, caring kiss. A growl made her hands fly to her stomach, her cheeks reddening. “Sorry.” She smiled.
Glancing at my watch, I chuckled. “I didn’t mean to starve you. It’s been hours since we ate. Do you want to go out?”
“I’d rather order a pizza. If you have some food in that expensive fridge, I can throw something together. I love to cook, and I’d kill to have your kitchen.”
“I’ll remember that and stock it up the next time you come over. But as it stands now, there’s not much in there but booze, green olives, pepperoni, celery, and some stuff that I’m sure needs chucking. But I have a ton of takeout menus.”
She laughed. “I’m good in the kitchen, but I can’t perform miracles. Takeout sounds great.”
We settled on Indian food and were soon eating lamb vindaloo, rice, and steamy naan. We talked about literature, movies, social issues, and our lives growing up the way we did—me wealthy, her middle-class. I’d never talked with chicks about any of that, and it felt refreshing and a bit scary. Cierra was pushing me out of my comfort zone, and I wasn’t sure how I liked that. I wasn’t into the relationship thing, and I usually grew tired of a woman after a couple of months. The longest I’d ever gone out with a woman was four months, and that was because she lived in another city and we didn’t get together that often.
After dinner I put on a screwy comedy, and we both laughed at the same places, which surprised me. A lot of the chicks I hung with didn’t have a great sense of humor, but Cierra did, and she could be funny. She was just plain different from any of the women I’d been with.
The citrusy scent of her hair and the musky vanilla perfume she wore were playing havoc with my cock. I tried to be good during the movie, but before the credits came up, I had her fused to me, kissing up a storm and playing with her incredible tits. I usually liked big tits, but hers fit nicely in my hands and were just right. And the sounds she made when I flicked my tongue or fingertip over her pink nipples—fuck.
After we shed each other’s clothes, I scooped her up in my arms. She yelped and pounded lightly on my back as I went into the bedroom and put her on the king-sized mattress. Then I spent the next few hours giving her pleasure over and over. She finally conked out, her head on my chest and her beautiful hair covering me like a blanket. As I listened to her sleep, I still couldn’t believe I had a woman spending the night in my bed. And the night before, I’d spent the night in hers. That shit didn’t happen with me.
Cierra was making me bend all my rules, and I wasn’t sure I liked that.