She sighed. “I won’t ask if you’re okay. I know it’s your job. But, gosh, to see that in person, Reed. It must have been gruesome. I just . . . it’s a mom’s instinct to protect her kids from things like that, and here you are, a grown man who’s a protector himself.”
He smiled. “I’m okay, Mom. Really.”
“I know you are. Still though, it’s hard for me not to want to put my hand over your eyes and shield them like I used to do when something inappropriate came on a TV show we were watching.” He could hear the nostalgic smile in her voice. The love.
“I appreciate it,” he said, meaning it. “And I know you worry. But really, I’m okay. Just eager to catch the son of a . . . the SOB who’s committing these crimes.”
“I have faith you will. Are you coming for dinner on Sunday?”
“Yup, I’ll be there.”
“Okay, good. Can’t wait to hug you. I love you, Reed.”
“I love you too, Mom. Tell Dad hey.”
“I will. Bye, sweetheart.”
“Bye.”
He stood there for a minute, feeling a little more settled. Yeah, he was a grown man, but it was nice to feel cared for, to receive the small reminder that he was loved and that if the job got to be too much on any given day, he had lots of listening ears to turn to.
As Reed tossed his phone back on the counter, his stomach growled. Christ, when was the last time I ate? He vaguely remembered inhaling a Snickers somewhere around noon, after he’d talked to Liza and the proverbial shit had hit the fan. Liza. He briefly considered calling her, asking her if he could take her to dinner, but she’d said she was going to take the week to get some R&R, order room service . . . hell, it was way past dinnertime anyway. She’d probably eaten hours ago.
He wondered though . . . who cared for Liza? Did she have people she turned to when the weight of life’s challenges became too heavy to carry alone? Or was that when she headed out to pick up a random man in some bar? His gut rolled. Jealousy. He had no right to it.
After putting in an order for Chicken Makhani at the Indian restaurant close by, he took his beer and his laptop to the couch. He sat down, kicked his feet up on the coffee table, and set his laptop on his thighs before logging in. It took him about twenty minutes to find out that Julian James Nolan had been paroled three days before.
He lifted his eyes from the screen, grabbing his beer from the side table and taking a long sip. Fuck. How did that fit in with someone breaking in to Liza’s apartment, if it did at all? It seemed . . . coincidental though, and Reed was leery of coincidence. His job had taught him that.
His doorbell rang, and he set his laptop aside, answering the door to hot Chicken Makhani. He wolfed it down at the counter, thanking the food gods for Uber Eats and ten minutes later he was back on the couch, laptop in place, second beer cracked, body re-fueled.
He did some online digging but couldn’t find any information about Julian Nolan’s current whereabouts. It’d only been three days though. He’d have to make a call in the morning to find out who his parole officer was.
He took a slow drink of his beer, his fingers tapping the side of his laptop. He hesitated very briefly, feeling a hint of guilt, but telling himself it was in the interest of Liza’s safety that he look up more information on the nature of her brother’s crime. If he was going to make a determination about how likely it was that the man broke in to her apartment and left a white rose on her pillow, he needed to find out more about who he was.
Reed did a search for Julian’s name and a series of hits came up, mostly news articles dating back fifteen years before when Julian Nolan had been arrested for murder and arson. He’d been seventeen years old. A minor.
Reed read through each article, the knot in his stomach growing tighter and tighter as he learned the horrific details of the things Liza Nolan had suffered. When he’d read through them all, he closed his eyes, his chest constricted, his fingers falling from the keyboard.