over at the gift-wrapped bag and frowned. His mother had put a lot of thought into the gift, and he hated to see her disappointed. Couldn’t the woman see how much it meant to his mother, or was she just that incredibly insensitive?
“Did she say why?”
“She said she couldn’t.” Elizabeth looked at her hands, bemused. “That it wasn’t allowed. I think she’s afraid of someone.” David knew by the way her eyes had clouded over that Ryssa’s recent injuries hadn’t completely escaped her notice, either. “What do you know about her, David?”
An image of Ryssa in her Goth bondage gear shot through his mind, followed immediately by the deplorable slum she called home, while her words, He owns me , echoed hauntingly in his mind. No way in hell he was sharing that with his mother.
David raised an eyebrow and carefully neutralized his expression. “What makes you think I know anything?”
She gave him a patient smile. “I know you , David. You probably took one look at her and did a background check, convinced her only purpose was to fleece a sickly, gullible old woman.”
The color rose in his cheeks, but he didn’t deny it. His mother’s innate bullshit detector was apparently back to firing on all cylinders. “And what if I did?”
“I’m not judging you, David. I just want to know what you found out.”
He sighed. He couldn’t tell her the truth. Well, not all of it. She would demand that they hop in the car and drag Ryssa right back here with them. And, even though in a moment of temporary insanity he’d had the same thought, he couldn’t let that happen. The last thing he needed was Ryssa spouting all that ownership crap in front of his mother. For whatever reason, Elizabeth liked the woman and he didn’t want his mother finding out that she was a crackpot.
And he didn’t need her under his roof, smelling like moonlight and challenging him at every turn with her sassy, foul mouth.
But he had to tell his mother something. A watered down version of the truth, perhaps. At least that’s what he’d meant to do. Instead, the words tumbled out of his mouth on their own.
“Not much. She works nights in a Goth club down in Southtown. Real rough place, not even the cops go there. Lives in a shit hole a couple of blocks away that I wouldn’t keep a dog in.”
He clamped his lips together to stop the flow.
“What about her family?” Elizabeth asked, frowning. She didn’t seem nearly as surprised as he would have thought. Then again, his mother always had a sixth sense about people, an uncanny way of seeing through carefully constructed facades. It was one of the reasons their business had been so successful. She placed more value on her “feelings” about people than in their resumes.
David shrugged. He didn’t want to tell his mother that not even the professional private investigator had been able to come up with a last name, nor find out anything more than a home and work address – and those the PI had only gotten by following her. Brief looks at both the apartment building and the business left him with more questions than answers, but the PI told him point-blank when he’d handed over his one-page report that he was done, and refused to look into Ryssa anymore, no matter how much cash David waved under his nose.
Everything seemed to support his initial theory that the woman was nothing more than a glorified scam artist. The decided lack of information pointed toward a transient lifestyle and a false identity. Perhaps there was a perfectly logical explanation, but given her dubious employment, thrift-store wardrobe and piss-poor attitude, the most obvious explanation was probably the right one: Ryssa needed money, and his mother had it.
That’s what the cynical part of his brain said, anyway. There were other parts that were no longer so sure.
“We have to do something, David,” Elizabeth said as if picking up on his thoughts.
“I don’t think she wants any help,
“Did she say why?”
“She said she couldn’t.” Elizabeth looked at her hands, bemused. “That it wasn’t allowed. I think she’s afraid of someone.” David knew by the way her eyes had clouded over that Ryssa’s recent injuries hadn’t completely escaped her notice, either. “What do you know about her, David?”
An image of Ryssa in her Goth bondage gear shot through his mind, followed immediately by the deplorable slum she called home, while her words, He owns me , echoed hauntingly in his mind. No way in hell he was sharing that with his mother.
David raised an eyebrow and carefully neutralized his expression. “What makes you think I know anything?”
She gave him a patient smile. “I know you , David. You probably took one look at her and did a background check, convinced her only purpose was to fleece a sickly, gullible old woman.”
The color rose in his cheeks, but he didn’t deny it. His mother’s innate bullshit detector was apparently back to firing on all cylinders. “And what if I did?”
“I’m not judging you, David. I just want to know what you found out.”
He sighed. He couldn’t tell her the truth. Well, not all of it. She would demand that they hop in the car and drag Ryssa right back here with them. And, even though in a moment of temporary insanity he’d had the same thought, he couldn’t let that happen. The last thing he needed was Ryssa spouting all that ownership crap in front of his mother. For whatever reason, Elizabeth liked the woman and he didn’t want his mother finding out that she was a crackpot.
And he didn’t need her under his roof, smelling like moonlight and challenging him at every turn with her sassy, foul mouth.
But he had to tell his mother something. A watered down version of the truth, perhaps. At least that’s what he’d meant to do. Instead, the words tumbled out of his mouth on their own.
“Not much. She works nights in a Goth club down in Southtown. Real rough place, not even the cops go there. Lives in a shit hole a couple of blocks away that I wouldn’t keep a dog in.”
He clamped his lips together to stop the flow.
“What about her family?” Elizabeth asked, frowning. She didn’t seem nearly as surprised as he would have thought. Then again, his mother always had a sixth sense about people, an uncanny way of seeing through carefully constructed facades. It was one of the reasons their business had been so successful. She placed more value on her “feelings” about people than in their resumes.
David shrugged. He didn’t want to tell his mother that not even the professional private investigator had been able to come up with a last name, nor find out anything more than a home and work address – and those the PI had only gotten by following her. Brief looks at both the apartment building and the business left him with more questions than answers, but the PI told him point-blank when he’d handed over his one-page report that he was done, and refused to look into Ryssa anymore, no matter how much cash David waved under his nose.
Everything seemed to support his initial theory that the woman was nothing more than a glorified scam artist. The decided lack of information pointed toward a transient lifestyle and a false identity. Perhaps there was a perfectly logical explanation, but given her dubious employment, thrift-store wardrobe and piss-poor attitude, the most obvious explanation was probably the right one: Ryssa needed money, and his mother had it.
That’s what the cynical part of his brain said, anyway. There were other parts that were no longer so sure.
“We have to do something, David,” Elizabeth said as if picking up on his thoughts.
“I don’t think she wants any help,
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