Imperfect Justice

by Cara Putman

  It was true. The employee side of discharges could be tricky. She remembered one of her professors talking about how easy it could be to get someone fired and how hard it was to prove discrimination had occurred. The professor had been clear that didn’t mean you shouldn’t file a claim, but it was hard to make a living on that side of the case.

  “Did she call again?”

  “A couple times.” Taylor shrugged. “Each time she’d talk for ten minutes. Tell me she’d dreamed you were the answer to her situation. I’d eventually end the call, and she wouldn’t call again for months.”

  Emilie considered the information. If she’d been in Taylor’s shoes, she would have handled it the same way. “When was the last time she called?”

  “I double-checked before putting her on the list. It was April 1. I almost thought it was a joke.” Taylor ran a finger along the edge of the top folder.

  The pause lengthened, so Emilie leaned forward. “And . . . ”

  “She didn’t have a reason. Said it was the last time she’d call. She was tired of us not helping and didn’t need us anymore.” Taylor’s finger slid up and down the file so quickly Emilie expected her to get a paper cut.

  “Odd, but doesn’t mean she’s fixated.”

  “True, but this does.” Taylor slipped the top sheet from the folder and handed it to Emilie.

  It was an ordinary sheet of white paper, and the message looked like it had been typed on a typewriter rather than run through a printer.

  Dear Ms. Wesley,

  I’ve tried to reach you for help. My life has fallen apart and all I needed was a little assistance. I thought it reasonable to seek it from you, my attorney, but clearly I was mistaken. I have learned the hard way not to rely on others. First my husband, now you. It is a lesson learned after great hurt and trouble, but one I have learned well. Do not worry. I will never bother you again, at least not that you know.

  There was a handwritten signature at the bottom.

  “No one would be crazy enough to sign their name to something like this.” Emilie let the letter fall to the top of her desk and then reread it.

  Could this woman have decided Emilie was to blame for everything?

  Maddy Shift. Emilie let the name roll around her mind, recalling everything she could of the woman and her story. She’d married young to flee an abusive home life, only to find a husband identical to her father. What followed was typical, except she hadn’t had a child. The divorce should have meant a clean break, especially when her ex found someone else to control.

  But it hadn’t.

  Maddy had followed another pattern. There were two. Women who could find a support network and the inner strength to back away, and those who immediately found another man like their first.

  The man Maddy fell for next had quickly accelerated to physical abuse, the stage where she left her first husband. This time she didn’t have the strength to believe she was worth more. When Emilie offered to help with a protective order, Maddy had been reluctant to agree. It had taken several calls and one meeting, a meeting Emilie wouldn’t let her leave until after they’d walked over to court, the makeup failing to hide the purple and green circles that darkened Maddy’s left eye and her jawline.

  It was after the protective order that Emilie had ended the client relationship. There were too many clients and potential clients who needed her help to escape their situations. She couldn’t continue to pour time into someone who didn’t desire change. Emilie had made sure Taylor understood that as they sent the closing letter. No wonder Taylor had shielded her from Maddy’s ongoing calls.

  “I’ll do some checking, because unfortunately it makes sense.” Emilie jotted a note at the bottom of her list. “Any indication when she talked to you that either her husband or her boyfriend was back?”

  “No. Sounded like she’d moved on.” Taylor’s shoulders slumped and her fingers stopped moving along the files.

  “Don’t forget all the women we’ve helped to rebuild their lives.”

  “Maddy wasn’t one.”

  “No.”

  That one word summed up the work they did. What they achieved. And what they couldn’t.

  “That’s all I have, except for a lead on Kaylene’s gun.” Taylor handed her another sheet of paper and then grabbed the stack of filings with Emilie’s notes. “I’ll get started on these.”

  “Thanks.”

  Taylor left, and Emilie scanned the sheet of paper. Then she grabbed her phone and hit speed dial. “What are you doing for lunch?”

  CHAPTER 36

  When she’d called him about lunch, Reid had harbored the hope that Emilie was ready to continue their date from last night.

  Not exactly.

  Tactical Precision loomed on the left side of Jeff Davis Highway as Reid followed his GPS. “I’ve never noticed this place before.” It blended in with the other slightly industrial-looking businesses on the right as they headed south.

  “I can’t say I have either.” Emilie’s voice hesitated as she looked through the windshield. “Here’s hoping we learn what we need.”

  “You take the lead, and I’ll be your protector.” He’d meant the words as a joke, but something about them caused Emilie to stiffen.

  “This feels so off.” Emilie sighed. “I can understand Kaylene thinking she needed protection, but she told me one reason she was afraid of Robert was his gun arsenal. How would one handgun counteract that?”

  “There’s a lot about my sister I didn’t know.”

  Emilie shook her head. “Let’s see what we can learn.” She reached for the door handle as soon as he pulled into a parking space, and pushed open the door before he could come around to help her. “We’ll see if they’re helpful. The police probably talked to them and spooked the owner.”

  “Then you’ll lay the Southern charm on nice and thick.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t like to if I can avoid it.”

  When they entered, a few customers were looking into display cases as employees pulled out guns one by one and explained the virtues of each. They were careful to return one gun before pulling out the next.

  A tall man, his posture screaming ex-military, stepped from a back room and eyed them carefully. “How can I help you?”

  Emilie stepped closer to the counter and turned on a full-watt smile. Did she understand how breathtaking she was when she did that?

  “Hi, I’m Emilie, and this is my friend Reid. His sister bought a gun here about six weeks ago and then got some training. We wondered if we could talk to whoever helped her.”

  The man’s stance didn’t relax one iota, and his frown seemed to intensify. “We don’t release information like that.”

  “I had a feeling you’d say that.” She chewed on her bottom lip, taking the role of a weak Southern belle so completely that Reid almost did a double-take. It was scary how easily she slid into a role that was not her. “I’m her attorney, and we’re trying to prove she didn’t use the gun to kill her daughter.”

  The man’s brows knit together in a way that would be scary if there weren’t a solid glass counter between them. “Then I suggest you get a subpoena.”

  “I’d like to avoid that if we can.” She sighed and played with a strand of her hair. Reid watched the man follow the gesture. “She tried to leave her abusive husband and was desperate to take the girls with her. I know she would never hurt them.” She looked at the man with an intensity that would have made Reid step back if she’d settled that look on him. “But I can’t prove it . . .yet.”

  “I fail to see what that has to do with us.”

  “That’s the great thing. If you help me, I won’t get a judge involved, but if I do her husband will know who to talk to here. He’s not a nice man.”

  The man crossed his arms, and his biceps bulged. “That doesn’t scare me.”

  “It should.” She leaned over the counter. “Because I believe he used her gun to kill one daughter, critically injure the other, and f
rame my client. And he’s going to get away with it if I don’t get some information.”

  The man finally looked at Reid. “Is she always this intense?”

  “Every time I see her.” It was one of the things he appreciated about Em. She threw herself in with wholehearted fierceness.

  “What’s the name of the customer?”

  “Kaylene Adams.”

  His shoulders shifted. “I have nothing to say about her.”

  “Then her husband will get away with two murders. I won’t let that happen.” She dug in with a determination that made Reid want to cheer.

  “Lady, do you have any idea how many people have pestered us about her? The police. ATF. Journalists sniffing around. Why should I help you?”

  “Because if this had happened to your sister or wife, you’d want me bulldogging for her.” Emilie met the man stare for stare, and Reid knew the guy was a goner.

  “Give me a minute. I can’t do this without my partner’s approval.” He stepped into the back room, and they could hear a muffled conversation before he returned with a petite woman who looked like she could match Emilie spunky pound for pound.

  “Gerry tells me y’all want info on Kaylene?” At Emilie’s nod, she studied them before reaching a decision. “All right. It’s about time someone cared about that poor woman.” She turned to Gerry. “Let’s bring them back.”

  The next hour passed quickly with the woman, Lindsey, giving them all the information she had. “Normally I wouldn’t do this, but it can’t hurt her now that she’s gone.” She sighed and rubbed at her neck. “She was committed to getting out. It was easy to tell she didn’t like guns. At all. If she’d felt there were another way, she wouldn’t have bought that little one. I gave her lessons and made sure she knew how to use it.”

  Gerry nodded from his seat on a folding chair. “She held it like it was a dead mouse the first time. I’ve rarely seen anyone so uncomfortable.”

  “But she was adamant she needed one to stay safe when she and the girls left.” Lindsey looked Emilie dead in the eyes. “When I saw the headlines, I knew the police had it wrong, but they didn’t listen. Had their notions of how the event occurred, and nothing I said made them waver in their determination.”

  Reid pushed from the wall and began pacing. “Why couldn’t anyone stop this?”

  Emilie placed a hand on his arm, but he brushed past her. “Reid, it’s a process. Kaylene was doing what she could.”

  “But you were helping.” He turned and pointed at Lindsey. “So was she. The one person she didn’t turn to for help was me. That’s wrong. I’m her brother.” His voice rose with each word until he was almost yelling. He wanted to pick up something and hurl it. The sound of something breaking couldn’t begin to replicate the fragments he felt shredding him. “She should have come to me.”

  “You were her baby brother. She was protecting you.” Emilie’s words grated rather than calmed.

  The truth seared him.

  “And she asked you to protect her most precious possessions. That’s why we’re fighting for Kinley.” Emilie reached out cautiously. “We’ll protect her while we can.”

  “Em, it’s not good enough.”

  “It’s all we can do.”

  The truth slammed into him like a physical punch.

  Lindsey stood and looked at Gerry. “I’ll copy what we have. You can subpoena it later, but this will get you started.”

  Ten minutes later she returned with a stack of paper. Emilie flipped through it, then handed it to Reid. The first few pages looked routine. The application to purchase the gun and then the concealed carry paperwork they already had. It was the next few pages that grabbed him around the throat and squeezed until he could barely breathe. Each page represented one of Kaylene’s meetings with Lindsey. In addition to the record of what Lindsey had coached her on were lines of observations. Snippets of their conversations. It was almost like Lindsey had known she’d need a contemporaneous account.

  “I do this for certain clients. The ones who are fighting harder to escape. Most of the time these notes are never needed, but if they’ll assist you now, it’s worth the record-keeping.”

  Emilie nodded. “Thank you. This will be very helpful. I may call you to testify.”

  “I’ll do whatever I can.”

  Reid nodded, but as he followed Emilie from the back, he felt the impact of what Kaylene had done, and the burden to do the impossible and rescue Kinley.

  “Have you heard anything more from the hospital?” Emilie’s question reminded him how short their time was.

  “Not yet. I’ll call again, see if I can catch Melanie Rogers.” He wanted the nurse to say there’d been a problem and that Kinley couldn’t come home yet. He held the door for Emilie as they left the gun shop.

  “Call from here.” Emilie nibbled on a thumbnail as she watched him pull out his phone. “I need to know how much time we have.”

  A minute later he hung up. “Looks like Monday or Tuesday.”

  “Okay.” Emilie turned around, her hands in her jeans back pockets. Did she understand how fetching she looked? He tore his gaze from where it shouldn’t be back to her hair. Today it was hanging loose and he wanted to run his hands through it. See if it felt as soft as it looked. Grrr. He needed to focus on Kinley and what she needed, not the amazing woman who watched passing traffic on the highway. “Take me to the office, and I’ll flesh out what we have and what we need.”

  “What can I do?”

  She turned around, a determined set to her jaw. “I need to convince the judge you’re ready to provide a safe place for Kinley. Does your apartment have space for her?”

  His thoughts scrambled as he ran through his rooms in his mind. “Sure. I’ll move my workout room.” That wouldn’t be a massive project . . .

  Who was he kidding? It’d take at least the weekend to get it whipped into shape. “How does one make a space girl-ready?”

  “Paint the walls Pepto-Bismol pink.” He blanched, and she started to laugh. “Kidding. How about you clean it out, and I’ll get paint. We can get that taken care of in a few hours.”

  “I can do that.”

  “Great.” She headed toward his Lexus. “Better drop me at Daniels, McCarthy & Associates and I’ll figure out how we’ll save your niece.”

  CHAPTER 37

  Simone hurried after Reid as he jetted through the office, up the stairs, and down the hall before plowing into his office. “A box was delivered for you. COD.”

  “Really? I didn’t know people still did that.”

  “It’s on your desk. Mr. Fletcher will want you to reimburse the firm or he’ll have the costs taken from your next check.”

  “Fine. I wonder what it is.” Reid strode into his office, already focused on the file-sized box perched on his desk.

  “Good question, but one that will have to wait until you tell me why it was so important I meet you at the elevator.” She plopped in a chair and crossed her legs.

  “I need your help.”

  “Does it relate to tomorrow’s reception?”

  “No.”

  “Then it should wait.” She studied him carefully with her dark eyes. “You do understand I’m pulling together a critically important client event on mere days’ notice.”

  “I think I remember that.”

  She didn’t laugh as he’d expected. Instead, she leaned back. “What do you need?”

  “I need you to figure out everything a ten-year-old girl needs to feel at home and order it for me.”

  “All right, but remember this when I ask for a raise.”

  The moment Simone left, Reid picked up the box and looked for the sender. Robert Adams. Inside he found a stack of planners that must go back several years. The only other items were a few books including a Bible. He set the box aside as Simone buzzed him with a question. He’d have to give the box’s contents attention when he was done here.

  The afternoon passed in a rush of preparing the draft slides f
or tomorrow’s presentation and jotting down the notes he would memorize in the next twenty-four hours. Then he headed home with the box, his mind already focused on how he was supposed to get his man cave ready for Kinley. Simone had shown him something on Pinterest that only stressed him out more.

  He unlocked his door and walked past the grand piano, pausing to play a chord on his way through the room. When he reached Kinley’s space, he set the box down and sank to the floor. Once he got his workout equipment and oversized chair out of there, the room would feel bigger. He leaned against the wall and thought for the thousandth time about his sister’s last request. She had left him a burden he feared he couldn’t carry.

  Please promise you’ll take care of my girls . . . Promise me you’ll keep them safe always.

  He hadn’t had the opportunity to protect Kaydence, and he was failing Kinley. From Emilie’s words, she thought they had something to go on, but they lacked clear proof Robert was involved—proof that would convince a judge Kinley should be with him instead.

  He didn’t mind the expense, though Emilie hadn’t mentioned a bill. He’d spend thousands to honor his sister’s request and protect his niece. He knocked his head back lightly against the wall. There had to be something they hadn’t considered. How could two smart people have such awful luck at finding a voice for Kinley?

  Could the planners in the box contain more than daily records of where the girls needed to be when? Could Kaylene have inserted some sort of code or information about what her day-to-day life was like?

  God, You’ve got to help us.

  Robert would not have sent anything that contained a shred of evidence against him. But what if Kaylene had been smarter than both of them?

  Her decision to flee wasn’t spur of the moment. She’d had a counselor, changed out her diamonds, worked with the Haven, and bought a gun and learned how to use it. But the clerk’s conviction that she’d bought it solely for self-defense wouldn’t stand if ballistics proved her gun was used to shoot Kaydence and Kinley.