See, no jealousy. How could Blake not see that? “How’s Kerri?”
“A pain in my ass, same as always,” Cade complained, but it was said with affection.
“Tell her I said hi. Morning, Dodger,” I called out just as Bandit came padding out of CCC. After the dog and I did our morning ritual and I had a brief conversation with Dodger, assuring him that I was fine, I headed into the bar. When I found myself in Sherry’s arms, I didn’t quite know what to do.
My godmother was not what anyone would call ‘affectionate.’ She loved with her whole heart, but it wasn’t something she put into words or expressed with hugs and kisses. So, as she wrapped her arms around me and rocked me from side to side, I sort of froze.
“I can’t stand this anymore, Kensey. I can’t stand hearing that bastard has done this, that, or the other. It’s messing with my head, so heaven only knows what it’s doing to yours. I’m so worried that at some point I’ll get a call saying he’s trashed you.”
Her sniffle made me tense. “What do I do?” I mouthed at Sarah.
“I don’t know,” she mouthed back, clearly on the verge of laughing.
I lightly patted Sherry’s back, not sure how much affection she’d tolerate before she shoved me away. “I’m all right, Sherry. Really.”
She pulled back and smacked my arm. “I know you’re all right. That’s not the point.”
I raised my hands. “Sorry. I get that you’re worried. You’re not alone on that one. It’s hard to predict what this guy will do next or how far he wants to take this. But I won’t let that worry cripple me, and neither should you. Okay?”
Sherry gave a slow nod. “Fine. Put your purse in your locker and get to work. I don’t pay you to stand around looking pretty.”
“You think I look pretty?”
With a somewhat haughty sniff, she walked off.
That was when I got to work. It proved to be a quiet day, which meant there wasn’t much to occupy my mind. As doing nothing never worked well for me and I was more stressed by my car’s doom than I was willing to admit … well, by the time my shift was almost done the ladies’ restrooms gleamed more immaculately than ever before, and the stockroom was impeccably organized.
“Hey, Kensey!” Henry shouted as I was trying to yet again teach Reed how to make coffee. “Yo mama’s so poor, she does drive by shootings on a bus!”
I smiled. “Yo mama’s so old, when she lifted up her boob a pilgrim fell out!”
Lazy laughs rang throughout the bar, none of which were louder than Henry’s own throaty guffaws.
“What the fucking fuck is she doing here?”
At Sarah’s words, I whirled. And barely bit back a hiss. “Laurel,” I muttered under my breath, watching as her gaze swept over the bar.
Reed leaned into me and whispered, “Why are you snarling?”
“I’m not,” I said quietly.
“You’re not now, but you were.”
Whatever. At that moment, Laurel spotted me and then came my way with a cautious smile. “Hello, Kensey.”
“Laurel,” I said simply. Was it possible to look at your boyfriend’s stepmother, who’d tried several times to seduce him, and not want to slap her? Probably not.
“This place is nice.” She seemed to mean it. “I heard from Emma that you make fabulous coffee. Do you do vanilla lattes?”
“I do. You want it to drink in or take out?”
“In, please.”
Damn. As I prepared the latte, I did my best to smother my anger. I had enough crap going on, I didn’t need to cause drama for myself by starting shit with Blake’s stepmother, even if she was wacked.
“Thank you,” she said as I handed her the latte and she put the cash on the bar. “Would you sit with me for just a minute?”
It was a struggle not to curl back my upper lip. “All right.” I couldn’t have sounded less enthusiastic if I’d tried, but she didn’t comment on it. Instead, she headed to a corner table. I sat opposite her and waited, hands clasped in my lap.
She licked her lower lip. “Emma mentioned that things were serious between you and Blake. And, well, I was hoping we could talk.”
“Okay,” I said simply, going for cool and casual. I clearly hadn’t pulled it off, because she winced and her shoulders hunched.
“He told you.”
“He told me.”
“I can imagine what you must think of me.”
No, I doubted she could truly imagine just how little I thought of her. I fucking despised her for what she’d done to a person who’d already been hurt and used enough. “What do you want?”
“I don’t want Blake to hate me.” She inhaled deeply. “I met someone recently. It’s been a long time since I was with a man who was close to my own age.” Her face split into a dreamy smile that reminded me of Clear when she talked of Michael. “Ben’s so good to me.”
Twiddling her fingers, she looked down. “I felt I wasn’t worthy of that kind of affection, so I told him how I’d tried to seduce my stepson. I thought he’d turn away from me. He should have done. But he said we all make mistakes; we all do bad things for what seem like a good reason at the time. Sex is the only type of comfort I know, Kensey. I’m not saying I didn’t know it crossed a line to offer that sort of comfort to Blake, but it didn’t seem such a big deal until I got out from under my cloud and was able to put it all into perspective.
“Ben’s helping me with that. He said I needed to make amends. I have tried to apologize to Blake before. Many times. But he thinks I’m just slyly trying to get close to him so that I can pounce. I genuinely just want to apologize.”
“And, what, you’re hoping I’ll run interference for you?” Because that wasn’t going to happen. She’d made her mess; she needed to be the one to fix it. It would be a struggle, sure, but nothing like that deserved to be forgiven so easily.
“Not run interference. I would like you and I to get along, though. When Emma met Adam, they were very young. Teenagers. I made the mistake of thinking it wouldn’t last, so I was very … dismissive and rude to him, thinking he’d be a passing fancy. I had nothing against Adam, I just didn’t like seeing my little girl with boys. Anyway, that bad first impression left a strain on the relationship I now have with him. I don’t want to make that mistake with you. I’d like us to be friends.”
I sighed. “Here’s the thing, Laurel. I’m not sure I can do ‘friends.’ I care about Blake. A lot. I hate what happened to him. Hate that he was betrayed and abused by his teacher. The last thing he needed was yet another older woman hoping to use him that way. Like her, you were someone he should have been able to trust. You weren’t. I can’t forgive that. I doubt I could ever consider you a friend. The best I can offer you is civility. I’m not being mean here, I’m being honest.”
She swallowed hard. “I appreciate your honesty. Blake needed care and understanding, I know. I tried to give it to him. He wouldn’t take it. Even when he was a child, I couldn’t get close to him. Emma did, which I was glad of. But he just never warmed to me. When his father died, I was the only parent he had. And that scared me. I didn’t know how to care for him, but I didn’t want him to be lonely.” She sighed in annoyance. “I’m not explaining it well. It sounded so much better when Ben put it into words. He understands me.”
“That’s good.”
“The other men were never really interested in me, my life, or my family. Ben is. We talk for hours and hours, in bed and out of it. It’s like he finds every little detail of my life fascinating. I’ve never had that. Not even with Blake’s dad.”
The hairs on my nape stood on end. If I’d had spidey senses, they would have been tingling. I leaned forward. “Tell me more about Ben.”
Later that day, I relayed my conversation with Laurel to Blake as he and I ate our dinner on the balcony. Blake was pissed to hear she’d gone to the bar, and he got increasingly pissed with each word I spoke.
Then he froze, blinking, and the swirly pasta slipped from his
fork. “Say that again.”
I took a deep breath. “I think Laurel’s new boyfriend might just be Noah Linton.”
He stared at me, brow pinched. “You’re serious.”
“She said he’s always asking questions about her life and her family.”
“It’s not unusual that Ben would be curious about his woman.”
“He asks a lot of questions about you. Even me.”
That made him stiffen. “You?”
“To get an idea of whether I can help build a bridge between you and Laurel or not.” I forked some pasta. “He asked for her perception of me. If I’m possessive of you. If I seem the jealous type. If our living arrangement is temporary or permanent. If I’ve taken you to meet my stepfather in prison. Apparently, he recognized my name—said he reads a lot of true crime books.”
“Linton’s trying to build a profile of our relationship,” Blake mused.
“I think so. He finds it fascinating that I’m with you, remember? It wasn’t until I asked questions about him that Laurel seemed to realize how little information about himself he’d given her in return.”
“Laurel’s so happy to talk about herself that she wouldn’t have otherwise noticed.”
I chewed some pasta before I continued. “She only knows his name, some basic info about his family, and that he’s a therapist. None of which is true, if Ben is in fact Linton. And from the brief physical description of him that she gave me, I’m pretty sure he is. I didn’t tell her about my suspicions, because she might confront him. If it is Noah, I don’t want him to know we’re onto him.”
“Laurel wouldn’t have believed you,” he said with a dismissive wave of his fork. “She’d have taken it as an insult that you thought anyone could manipulate and use her that way. Maybe I could ask Emma to feign interest in meeting him.”
“That would work. She knows what Linton looks like.”
Blake pushed aside his empty plate and reached for his wine. “If this is Linton, it was damn ballsy of him to take the risk of inserting himself into Laurel’s life.”
I nodded. “And it speaks of someone who isn’t willing to walk away from whatever he’s doing. He has a real purpose. An objective. Maybe he wasn’t bullshitting us; maybe he really does intend to write a book, I don’t know. And I hate that I don’t know.”
“I’ll ask Emma to see if Laurel will let her meet him. It’s possible that—” He stopped talking as his cell began to ring. Picking it up from the table, he said, “It’s Emma. Speak of the devil …” He swiped his thumb over the screen and then answered, “Hey.” His body went rigid. “What? You’re fucking joking.” He ground his teeth. “Right. I will.”
As he ended the call, I asked, “What now?”
Blake drummed his fingers on the table. “The PI who watches Ricky Tate’s house just called Emma.”
I grabbed the edges of the table. “They saw him going inside?”
“No. They saw Joshua going inside.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Blake wasted no time in calling Rossi to ask him to wait outside Joshua’s house and pick him up the moment Joshua arrived. The plan was for Rossi to then bring him straight to the Vault and escort him to Blake’s office for a little chat.
I agreed with Blake that the likelihood of Joshua coughing up much information in front of me was slim. The guy lived to piss me off. Still, I wanted to hear every word that he had to say; wanted to observe his expressions and body language.
Fortunately, there was a security camera inside Blake’s office that would allow me to watch the conversation remotely on his cell phone using a nifty little app. Small and oblong in shape, it looked nothing like a camera and fit nicely on one of the shelves. Usually, Blake only ever switched it on when he left the office. That was a relief, considering we’d fucked there a few times.
It didn’t come as much of a surprise when Blake revealed that he knew Joshua so well because the asshole went regularly to B3. They’d even fought once, and Blake claimed to have beat Joshua almost to unconsciousness. I would have loved to have seen that.
Blake left me in the security office with Greg. Slouched on a chair, twirling my ankle, I kept my eyes glued to the screen of Blake’s cell phone. When Joshua finally entered Blake’s office, I sat up straight.
Blake remained in the chair behind his desk, sprawled casually. “Hello, Joshua.”
“What the hell’s going on, Blake?” Joshua rolled back his shoulders. “I didn’t make it more than two steps up my driveway before Rossi came over, insisting I get into his car.”
Blake said nothing. Didn’t move. As I watched Joshua’s eyes flicker nervously, I had to wonder if he was on the receiving end of one of Blake’s icy stares. The camera was angled in a way that I could only really see the back of Blake’s head, but I had a perfect view of Joshua’s face.
Finally, Joshua took in a long breath, and his muscles lost some of their rigidity.
“Sit down,” said Blake. It wasn’t an invitation. It was an instruction.
Joshua jerkily took the seat opposite him. “What’s this about, Blake?”
“Ricky Tate, to be specific.”
Just like that, Joshua wiped all emotion from his face.
“I heard you paid his mother a visit.”
“I’m a cop,” said Joshua, unnaturally still. “I visit a lot of people.”
“No, you were off duty.” Blake tilted his head. “Why were you there?”
“What does it matter?”
“I’ve been looking for Ricky for quite some time now. I’d like a little chat with him. Sadly, he’s very much in the wind.”
Joshua squinted. “You think he’s the one giving Kensey trouble.”
“I think it could be several people. Like you, for example.”
I swear, Joshua’s eyes almost popped out of his head. “What?”
“You have a long history of bullying and harassing Kensey. You vandalized a vehicle that once belonged to her. You failed to investigate an incident when she was held at knifepoint, which might leave a person to wonder if the mugger was actually you.”
“What? No!”
“Can you honestly tell me that you don’t seem a likely suspect? If we were talking about someone else who’d done those things, wouldn’t you be suspicious of them?”
Inclining his head, Joshua briefly closed his eyes. “Okay, yes, I can understand why you might look at me for this. I’ve been a shit to her, sure, but I’ve never done anything like that. And except for that one time when I was a teenager, I never physically hurt her.”
There was a short silence. “And what ‘one time’ would that be?” asked Blake, tone filled with lethal intent.
Joshua’s smile was self-mocking. “She didn’t tell you about that, huh?”
“You’re going to tell me.”
“I … Look, I wasn’t in a good place mentally at the time. My grandmother had just told me that my mother was filing for a divorce and—”
“What did you do?” Blake demanded.
Scrubbing a hand down his face, Joshua inhaled deeply. “Grabbed her by the throat and tried to shove her against a wall.”
Now it was Blake who sat unnaturally still. “How old was she?”
“I don’t remember, it was a long—”
“How old was she?”
“F-fifteen,” Joshua stammered. “She broke my nose, if that makes you feel better.”
“It doesn’t,” Blake clipped, leaning forward. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t put you through a world of pain right now.”
“I don’t have one.”
“No, because there isn’t one. And that correct response just saved you from a beating you deserve. You’re going to tell me everything I want to know, Joshua. Don’t fuck around. Poking at the hornet’s nest wouldn’t be wise of you. Now, what led you to Ricky Tate?”
Joshua sighed. “When I was in the bakery, the owner asked if I’d had any luck finding out who’d vandalized Kensey’s car;
said he wouldn’t be surprised if it was the odd guy who went there a few months ago, talking about Kensey. Bill described him, and I remembered hearing that someone with a similar description once turned up outside her school and caused a scene.”
“And this description immediately led you to Ricky Tate? You must have already known his name. How?”
“I heard my father talking about him with my uncle.”
I blinked, not expecting that response.
“Your father and uncle?” Blake echoed, no doubt as surprised as I was.
“My uncle was reeling off information about the kid like his name, address, full description, and background. Apparently, my father had asked for the details.”
“Why would Maxwell have given a shit about anything that went on in Kensey’s life?” asked Blake, taking the question right out of my head.
Joshua’s lips twisted into a bitter smile. “That was the problem. He’d always given a shit about her.” His Adam’s apple bobbed. “My dad was weak. He did whatever Eloise, his mother, told him to do. Watching out for Kensey was his one rebellion.”
I almost jerked back in surprise. Wait, what?
“He wasn’t in Kensey’s life,” Blake pointed out.
“No, but he wanted to be. Maybe it was because she had his eyes. Maybe it was because she was his only biological child. Yeah, that’s right, I’m not really his son. Like Kensey, my mother had an affair and I was the end result. I didn’t know that until a year ago. Eloise told me on her deathbed.”
My mouth dropped open. I heard Greg asking if I was okay, but all I could do was nod numbly.
“Must have been one hell of a shock to find out that you’ve been looking down on Kensey all these years for being the product of an affair when you’re really no different.”
Oh, the irony.
Joshua shoved a hand through his hair. “According to Eloise, my parents had countless affairs—neither of them gave a shit about what the other was doing as long as they were discreet about it. Having Clear Lyons publicly claim that she and Maxwell had an affair and that she was pregnant with his child wasn’t discreet. My mother didn’t handle it well.”
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