Page 115 of Unbalanced

I can’t go away with her tomorrow, when I’m questioning if she is the person attacking me and my family.

Dressed in all black, I sit in a deserted parking lot and use my laptop to send the tracing script I’ve prepared. Almost immediately, an IP address appears. My fingers fly across the keys, securing the location before whoever is on the other end is notified and cuts the connection.

“Come on, come on.” A map pops up and drops a pin. “Got you.”

I zoom in on the location. It’s a storage facility just outside of the city. Thirty minutes.

Shit.

Wheeling out of the parking lot, I drive as fast as I can, cursing the traffic and lights. My heart races as I fly down the road and cross into an industrial area. Most of the buildings are closed for the night, abandoned, or up for sale, very off the beaten path.

My destination is up ahead. I slow to a crawl, taking in the concrete warehouse with red doors that have faded over time. The gate booth is empty, and the small office is dark. Cameras line the perimeter gate and watch the entrances. I pull out my computer and get to work.

It doesn’t take me long to break into the surveillance system, turn off the cameras, and override the gate. It rattles open, and I pull inside the facility. The unit I’m after is in the furthest corner. I pull up and see a padlock. Yeah, that won’t stop me.

Be prepared. That’s the Scout motto, right? You never know when you may need a few tools, and I have mine with me. I have no idea who or what is on the other side of this door, but I’m ready for anything. I grab my bag, pull on my mask, and climb out of the car. Bolt cutters are quicker, but this lock is easy enough to pick.

For someone who uses such high-tech equipment to run surveillance on me, I expect something fancier than a plain old padlock to secure the unit. It clicks open, and I set it on the ground.

I stand off to the side and lift the rolling door with one hand, just in case a bomb goes off, or something runs out. When nothing attacks me, starts to tick, hum, or blow up, I go a little faster.

Overhead lights flicker on, and I poke my head around the corner. One side of the space is set up like a small greenhouse. Rows of black dahlias in little planters sit under grow lights. On the opposite wall is a desk with a computer and a small velvet box.

I step inside and move toward the computer, eyes sweeping every corner for a hidden camera or trap. The little box piques my curiosity, but then the old-style wax seal with the Mitchell crest on the envelope catches my eye.

Picking it up, I crack the seal and pull out a single piece of paper. Three short lines in bold script.

It’s time we meet. Open the box, then go to your special place. I’ll be waiting.

A shiver races down my spine.

No signature and nothing else in this room to identify my stalker. I grab the ring box and open the lid. There, nestled in the black satin, is my father’s ring. The one I buried with him twelve years ago.

A wave of anger washes over me as the night I killed my father comes rushing back. The argument at the top of the steps about the girl he bought and raped.

“You disgrace the Mitchell name,” I growl, getting in my father’s face. “It makes me sick that we’re related.”

I’ve lured him out here under the guise that I have proof of what he did to that girl, and I don’t want to have the conversation in front of Mother.

“I don’t have to explain what I do to you. You’re my son, but you don’t run this house.”

“I’m going to the police, and I’ll have you arrested for what you did.”

My hands ball into fists as the cool rain falls heavily.

He laughs. I’ve known my father is a bastard for a long time, but this is the first time he’s let me see the evil under the mask and burning in his eyes.

“If you had anything, you would’ve done it already,” he says, putting his hands in his jacket pockets. “Besides, do you really think those charges will stick? Do you even know where the girl is?”

I flinch ever so slightly, but he catches it.

“Didn’t think so. Even if you have evidence, there is no victim, and the Mitchell lawyers will tear your accusation apart. You and it will be thrown out of court.”

“Then I’ll release what I have online, and let the public judge you. No one in the business world will want to deal with you after an underage rape scandal.”

In truth, I have nothing but my word. There are no cameras in that room, and the girl, whoever she is, never even gave me her name. When I got back from the hospital, a cleaning crew was scrubbing down the room he used. Any evidence there may have been is long gone.

I hate him. I hate him and every disgusting thing he’s ever done in my entire life.