Part 18 (1/2)

No one in the car had to ask where she wanted to go. Breisi merely headed there, shooting toward Studio City and the modest two-bedroom house that had been waiting for Dawn for so many years now.

”Should we leave her alone in...?” Kiko started to say.

Breisi interrupted him, her voice raw. ”It was protected enough for Frank while he lived there.” ”I know,” he continued, ”but we've already gone through his place. Dawn, you don't need to go there tonight.”

”Yes.” In the pocket of her jacket, the corners of Frank's photograph chafed her, ever-present. ”I do.”

It didn't take long to arrive and, once there, she noted that nothing much had changed. Same cul-de-sac, same magnolia trees and bushes huddling over the whitewashed wood, same carport lending to the sense of false security.

Already in the habit, Dawn grabbed her stake to go along with all her other weapons, then exited the car.

Kiko rolled down his window. ”You need us?”

Dawn shook her head, then walked down the short drive, aiming for the front door. The SUV idled behind her. She knew they were watching to see that she got safely inside.

A flood of light-UV? she wondered-consumed the porch, and she noticed an iron cross hovering over the doorway. She got out her anemic set of keys and let herself in. But, as soon as she entered, the past rushed at her, and it was all she could do to lean against the slammed door while it overwhelmed her.

The smell of must and hardwood floors that had been around since the mid-1950s, the stench of whiskey. Home. A place Frank had bought shortly after Eva's death, a hideaway that wasn't supposed to remind him of her.

As shadows floated through the windows, moonlight slanted over his favorite worn easy chair, where Dawn pictured him sitting, ready to welcome her with his weather-beaten cowboy boots propped up on the shabby coffee table and his hands clasped behind his s.h.a.ggy head.

”Welcome to my sanctuary,” the nonexistent Frank said, grinning as he disappeared from her imagination.

It was hard for Dawn to swallow past the lump in her throat.

Home. It was the only thing he'd managed to hold on to through the years, maybe because he'd been aware that Dawn had needed a place to be raised near the grandparents who loved her, near the bar that had employed him at the time. Frank had gone back to being a bouncer after Eva's tragedy. He'd never been much for ambition.

The growl of the SUV taking off made Dawn take in a quick breath, reach for the lights. They still worked, which seemed strange, considering her dad was gone. Yet the electric company didn't know he was missing, and he'd obviously managed to keep up on the bills. Miracle. Limpet must really surrender a decent paycheck.

Her gaze touched the same furnis.h.i.+ngs, the same TV and stereo he'd used for decades. Faint music played on the turntable of her memory: Frankie Valli and the Four Seasons, ”Sherry.” The ghosts of a young Frank Madison and a small girl in cutoff overalls danced across the room with each other.

A twist of sadness wrenched through Dawn, almost made her slouch to the ground. Pus.h.i.+ng the images away, she forged toward the television, turned it on. Company. She needed voices, sound, something to keep her from going crazy.

She knew exactly what she should be doing: rifling through paperwork, seeing if Kiko and Breisi had missed any clues, but she couldn't bring herself to deal with that. So she sank down on the overstuffed couch, resting her sore body.

The TV's reception was fuzzy. Frank had probably tapped into the cable service illegally. Shocker.

She laughed, but there was a thrust of hysteria behind it.

Stop, she thought. Stop, calm down, and think rationally. Freaking out isn't going to help. Seeing ghosts isn't going to do anything, either.

She didn't know how long she sat facing the TV.Copswas on. ThenCelebrity Justice. Then a repeat ofAccess Hollywood. Procrastinating, Dawn watched them all, absorbing nothing, seeing the images, hearing the words:red carpet movie premiere. Who are you wearing? Valentino. What's your next project? I'm taking some time off. That's nice for you. Have fun inside. Wait, here comes Chad Robb, the new James Dean. Star of the film. Did you do your own stunts? Of course, I did....

Dawn stood, ambling down the hall to her dad's bedroom. She stared at the bed for what seemed like hours, the murmur of the television haunting the background. She went to his closet, found a stockpile of grenades and heavy-duty rifles behind his clothing.

Turning aside from evidence of his secret life, she touched his s.h.i.+rts, just like Kiko had said he'd done.

But she felt nothing. Nothing at all.

She wandered to a set of drawers, where she shuffled through more clothing, taking out one of his sleeveless unders.h.i.+rts. On a whim, she took off her jacket, her gun holster, her tank top, then slid his s.h.i.+rt over her head. It was too big, but that was fine. It felt like a security blanket that carried his familiar scent.

Breathing it in, she saw another conjured image of him waiting in the corner, arms folded over his wide chest, disapproval in his frown.

”You're wearing too much makeup. Wipe some of that off or you're not going anywhere tonight.”

Teenage angst revisited her, mingling with her present bottled rage. She kicked the drawer shut as the mirage fell apart. A scream welled up, seeking release. She fought it, her body tight, building toward an explosion.

d.a.m.n you, Frank, for getting into this. d.a.m.n you, d.a.m.n you...

Escaping, walking it off, she stalked to the kitchen table where she'd caught a glimpse of papers strewn over the surface. Bills, doc.u.ments. The paperwork Breisi and Kiko had sorted through. A quick search told her that they'd missed a lot of his effects though. Missed- Sprinting back into his bedroom, Dawn dove to the floor, pus.h.i.+ng at the bed where she knew there were some loose floorboards.

Once they were revealed, she worked them apart, reaching inside without a thought as to what might be in the dark hole besides the bootbox she knew was there. Taking it out, she spilled the contents. Bundles of money-Frank didn't trust banks-mingled with faded pictures and more doc.u.ments.

She needed to tell Kiko about this secret stash. Maybe there'd be a clue, somewhere, anywhere.

Growing more frantic by the second, she scanned the papers. Marriage license. Newspaper clippings about Eva's career as well as Dawn's sports achievements. Frank always had a sentimental side.

Pictures. Frank and Eva beaming in front of a small chapel in Vegas where they'd quietly gotten married, away from her agent and manager-everyone who would've told her she was committing career suicide. Frank and Eva staring at each other during a candid moment at Griffith Park, her mother's stomach swelled with Dawn, their love child.

Fighting tears, she turned them face down, one by one, struggling to hold herself together.

But then, like a plank blindsiding her with a blow to the head, she came to an image that jarred her with such ferocity that she threw it away.

Thepicture landed in the corner of the room, face down.

Her hands shook as they remained poised in the air.

She'd forgotten he'd kept it. G.o.d, she'd forgotten.

Even though it was hidden now, the contents icepicked into her skin, p.r.i.c.kled around her heart until it felt like it was going to squeeze into itself and freeze the life out of her. She felt ten again, reliving the time she'd been poking into places she never should've been looking and finding that nightmares weren't something that just happened in your sleep.

That was the day she'd seen Frank putting the box away, wondered what was in it, then waited for him to leave so she could dig it up and explore what was inside.

She wished she never had, because that's when she'd seen the picture, the image she'd blanked out until this moment.

Why had he kept it? Dawn had never confronted him. It wouldn't have done any good; it would've been just another thing to scream at each other about, to hide from once the initial burst of shock had worn off.

Once she'd blocked it out.

Now, she did the same thing she'd done when she was ten, hugging her knees to her chest and rocking back and forth, erasing what a camera had once captured.

She must've been forcing herself to forget for a long time, because when the doorbell rang, Frank's digital bedside clock read 3:00AM.

Even though Dawn wanted to move, she didn't. Her muscles had iced over with the same white she'd used to blank her brain.

She heard someone-Breisi and Kiko from the sound of the voices-enter anyway, their footsteps stopping at the bedroom.

”You okay?” Kiko asked. ”You left the door unlocked.”

”Sorry.”