jeans and a red T-shirt, Julian slams the door in their faces and scowls. His usually magnetic green eyes are red-rimmed and sunken-in.
He looks like shit.
He looks perfect.
“About time,” Jaxon calls over his shoulder from the table.
“You called him?” I ask, my eyes wide.
Julian arches an eyebrow. “Problem?”
His abruptness stuns me. “N-no. I just didn’t know.”
Julian continues to walk toward the box. “He called me because this concerns me, too. I need to be here to see it opened.” He storms over to the table where Agent Hyatt has already started cutting into the corners of the cardboard.
Stepping behind him, I peer around his shoulder. His unique scent hits my nose, and I hold in a cry. Julian could come off stage from a three-hour concert and still smell like soap, spice, and sex. I close my eyes and try to bottle as much of it as I can for later.
“What the hell?” His voice shatters my reverie, slamming me into the present.
Opening my eyes, I move in front of him. Slowly, I scan through the white tissue paper and zero in on what lies beneath.
The faded unicorn stares up at me—the matted rainbow mane dingy with time, and white fur stained with dirt. Trying to catch my breath, I shove the box as hard as I can across the table. It flies with ease and lands with a thud on the floor.
I hear my screams in my own ear, echoing as if they’re coming from someone else. Present fades into the past as the muted tan walls of my kitchen drips into the disgusting mauve and blue flowered wallpaper that peeled off every corner of the tiny trailer.
Voices mute as they call my name.
All I hear is the one that stands above me as my eight-year-old hands clutch the only birthday present my mother had ever scraped enough money together to buy for me.
“Whaddya got there, girl?”
“It’s my unicorn, Daddy.”
He kicks it with his boot. “Looks stupid as hell. Where’d you get it?”
“Mama gave it to me.”
“She did, huh? Your mama should learn her place. I make the money around here. I say how it’s spent. And I don’t spend my money on shit like that.”
I hold it close. “Daddy, please…don’t.”
He leans close, his breath reeking of beer. “Gimme that horse, girl.”
I cry. “No, Daddy, please.” Prying my fingers open, he takes it out of my hands and grabs me by the arm, dragging me behind him. “Stop, Daddy! You’re hurting me!”
“Shut up, girl. You need to learn respect.”
Dragging me outside and across the trailer park, he takes me to the neighbor’s fence. It’s a place Chloe and I are forbidden to go because of the Rottweilers that have already attacked a boy down the street. As I watched in horror, he tosses my unicorn over the chain-link fence and laughs as the dogs mangle it.
I scream, and he yanks me against him until we’re face to face. “Remember those dogs, princess. Remember respect. Princesses can fly over fences, too.”
“Phoebe!” I vaguely recognize Julian’s voice as I struggle against his grasp. Visions of dogs and trailers fade as my kitchen comes back into focus. I blink rapidly, desperate to erase the memory from my mind.
As Julian holds me down, the only thing that resonates is my father’s hands on me. Violently shaking, I work my way out of Julian’s hands and into Jaxon’s arms. My head tells me I’m being irrational, but fear twists logic. Jaxon reluctantly holds me as I calm, and I sneak a small glance at Julian.
He stands where I left him, jealousy burning hard across his face. I hate myself for seeking comfort from another man, but he pushed me out of his life. He started this. I refuse to be the sole blame holder.
“Phoebe?” Jaxon leans away from me, capturing my eye. “Do you recognize that stuffed animal?
Nodding, I relay the story I just relived. Some of them grimace, Agent Hyatt openly weeps, a few shake their heads. Julian leans against the wall and closes his eyes. I can’t blame him. I know what’s in his head.
That same monster has our daughter.
As I take in their stoic faces, bowed heads, and down-turned mouths, I realize what most of them think.
Iris is dead.
They aren’t looking for her. They’re hoping to recover a body. They don’t have to say the words. Their lack of activity says it all.
Chloe’s text from last night run through my head, and immediately, I know what I have to do.
I’ve given