by RC Boldt
“Landon’s told me you’re working together on an investigation. I won’t pry because I know you can’t speak of the details, but I hope whoever’s involved is going to be okay.” She glances at me. “May I ask if it’s a girl or boy?”
“A girl.”
She shakes her head, face drawn in sadness, and continues peeling the potato in her hand. “I pray that poor girl gets the help she needs to move past things.” We fall silent for a moment before she pipes up with, “So, tell me, sweetheart. Are you single?”
“Yes.” Quickly but politely, I tack on, “And plan to stay that way.”
She lets out a resigned sigh. “I understand. I had hope that maybe Landon would find someone again.” A wistfulness casts over her expression. “My son might seem like a tough nut to crack, but he wasn’t always that way. He didn’t always guard his heart so carefully.”
Mrs. Lattimer seems to shake off the melancholy and smiles gently. “It was hard on us—especially when we lost his father—but once he joined the Marines, things turned for the better.” She wrinkles her nose. “Aside from that ex-fiancée of his, of course.”
“You mean Kelsey?”
His mom’s head whips around. “He told you about her?” Shock colors her tone.
“We ran into her at the store. He mentioned they’d been…engaged.” Before she cheated on him.
His mother lets out a slow sigh and shakes her head, resuming her slow, careful potato peeling. “That girl did him wrong. No doubt about it. She led him on and lied to him for months.
“But he ended up better off. I’m sure he knows that now, but at the time, he was…” She flounders for a moment before finishing with a soft, “Raw.”
“Betrayal will do that to a person.” I know this better than anyone.
His mother catches my eye, and it’s jarring how similar they are to Landon’s. “So true.” The oven timer rings, and she resumes her work. “Kennedy, would you mind taking out the rolls and placing them in that basket on the island?”
“Of course.”
I grab the oven mitts sitting beside the oven and remove the rolls, setting the baking sheet on top of the stove. Grabbing the basket, I pluck a pair of tongs from the stainless steel utensil container and bring them over near the stove.
“I bet it’s hard when work takes you away from your family, especially on the holidays.”
I school my tone to be one of nonchalance. “I don’t have any family.” At least none that I claim any longer.
“Oh, honey. I’m so sorry to hear that.” Genuine sympathy bleeds from her voice.
“It’s fine.” I take my time carefully placing each roll in the basket. “I’m used to it.”
“That doesn’t mean a person shouldn’t experience what a family is.” I glance over at her, but she’s concentrating on her task. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned in all my sixty-five years, it’s that family is how you define it. It doesn’t require biological ties. It’s people coming together who love one another.”
Staring down at the golden-brown rolls I’ve placed in the basket, I pause. “That sounds nice.” As soon as the words spill from my mouth, my eyes go wide in alarm. I hadn’t meant to voice that.
That sounds nice? Sure, if I were Mary fucking Poppins, maybe.
I hastily add, “I don’t really think I’m the family type…or the love type.” I hurriedly place the remainder of the rolls in the basket, eager to be finished with the task.
When I set the tongs down and turn to rejoin her, I stop short when I find her watching me thoughtfully. She sets down the potato and knife, turning to face me fully and wiping her hands on her apron.
Stepping closer, she hesitantly reaches for my hand, sandwiching it between both of hers. “Sweetheart, I want you to know that everyone deserves to be loved and to have family. If anyone tells you differently—even if that voice inside your head says it—they’re wrong.”
The warmth from her hands surrounding mine reminds me of Grandma Mabelle, and I swallow past the growing lump of emotion in my throat. It gets exceedingly tighter when Mrs. Lattimer adds softly, “I want you to know that you’re always welcome here. Anytime.” With kindness and affection etched on her features, she smiles, and it lights up her face like her son’s.
I can only nod and manage a quiet, “Thank you.” Peering into her eyes is like witnessing the beauty of nature, like a vibrant rainbow or a majestic waterfall. It’s plain to see that this woman is made of goodness and doesn’t have an evil bone in her body.
I should know after staring into countless pairs of evil eyes. The windows of the soul, they’ve been called, and those who dismiss that claim have no idea what it’s like to peer into the depths of pure evil.
I’ve never given much thought to the idea of angels being among us. But with this woman, who readily takes in struggling souls without so much as a blink of an eye, the comfort, kindness, and maternal love that radiates within her touch and the sincerity gleaming within her eyes offer me a hint of what it must be like to be in the presence of an angel on earth.
A yearning incites within me because I ache to see if maybe she would be the one person who could accept me as I am. Who would still welcome me within the walls of her home.
I wish I had the courage to discover whether she could love a murderer like me.
Chapter 66
Kennedy
“That was the best Thanksgiving dinner I’ve ever had,” Ian, the owner of the restaurant Landon took me to, claims with a pat to his flat stomach.
We’re finishing up dinner with Mrs. Lattimer’s “famous” pecan pie while the conversation continues.
Landon’s mother laughs softly. “You say that every year, and we both know I don’t cook half as well as you do.”
“Not true. Your sweet potato casserole is to die for.” He leans in toward the table, eyes dancing. “Feel like finally telling me the secret ingredient?”
She waves him off. “Not yet. When you bring home a nice girl, then I might.”
Ian leans back in his chair with a groan and covers his face. “Not this again.”
“You work too much, honey,” she complains good-naturedly. “I just want my boys to find the loves of their lives.” She takes a dainty sip of her wine.
Damon is seated beside me because he claimed, “dibs to sit next to the smart, beautiful lady.” He leans over to me and says behind his cupped hand, “She doesn’t handle her alcohol well, so we get the lecture on finding love every Thanksgiving and Christmas.”
A little snicker builds up within me, and something draws my eyes across the table to Landon’s. He’s watching me with an expression I’m afraid to decipher, yet it’s as if my heart recognizes it, and it beats faster just for him.
“You know, Caroline,” Ian starts. “A wise person once said, you can’t hurry love.”
“No.” Damon shakes his head solemnly. “You just have to wait.”
A beat of silence passes before they burst into laughter.
This is the first time I’ve ever been a bystander to family banter and not minded it. It’s not that they’ve made me feel like an outsider, but they’re allowing me to simply operate on the fringe and watch them interact. It’s been enlightening, and surprisingly enough…fun.
These people, only two who are blood related, act as if they’ve known one another for ages. There’s good-natured teasing and questions lobbed back and forth about their jobs and what’s going on in their lives. There’s even mention of the latest gossip going around town.
“I almost forgot. Rumor has it I’m your equivalent of a pool boy,” Damon reports before shoving a piece of pie into his mouth.
Landon’s mother cackles at this. “Oh, my.” She delicately dabs at the outer corner of her eyes. “That’s certainly entertaining to hear.”
“It’s the piercings,” Damon says with a shrug, barely suppressing a smile. “Gets the ladies all the time.”
“Not more than the tats,” Collin adds with a win
k. I’d been informed that he had also been taken in by Mrs. Lattimer and now owns his own tattoo parlor. “Wonder what they said about me when I was here.”
Mrs. Lattimer waves him off. “You know I don’t care what anyone thinks. It doesn’t change a thing. I love you boys, regardless.”
Collin, with the multiple piercings on his face and spacers in his ears, has tattoos running from below his chin and disappearing beneath his button-down shirt, spilling out and decorating the length of his fingers. The smile he offers her, though, is a dichotomy to the man’s rough, rugged exterior. “We know, Mom.”
The instant he says Mom, her entire face softens. This woman loves unconditionally, and that’s a rarity in this world.
“So…” Damon glances between Landon and me. “What’s the deal with you two?” He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively. “Because from what I saw at the door, Landon, you were leanin’ in pret-ty close.”
Landon narrows his eyes on him. “Watch it, buddy. Be respectful.”
Damon holds up his hands in mock surrender. “I’m just sayin’. I’ve been sitting beside her this whole time, and she hasn’t checked her cell phone once, taken a duck-lip selfie with a fake-looking filter, or complained because she’s on some weird restrictive diet. If you don’t make your move, I just might.”
With eyebrows raised, I turn to peer at him. “Is that so?”
Damon smooths a hand down his shirt. “Yes, ma’am. I’m a fine catch, especially now that I’ve landed a job as a bagger at Good Eats.”
“That is impressive.”
He grins. “I know. The ladies can’t handle all this goodness.”
“All right, all right,” Collin cuts in. “Enough of that before my pie makes a reappearance.”
A half hour later, everything is put away, the kitchen is cleaned, and I’m laden down with a large container filled with leftovers.
Mrs. Lattimer hugs me tight. “Come back anytime, sweetheart. And I mean that,” she whispers in my ear.
“Thank you so much for this.”
She leans back and smiles at me. “It was my pleasure.”
Landon ushers me out the door and opens the passenger side door for me. Within minutes, he’s navigating the streets, making his way back to my place.
For the first time, I wonder what it would be like if we were a couple heading home together after spending the day with his family.
He parks at the curb outside my apartment and comes around to help me out. After walking up to the door in comfortable silence, I scan in, and we head to my floor. He waits for me to open my door, and I expect him to step inside with me, but he doesn’t. Instead, he lingers at the threshold.
Uncertainty floods me. “Would you like to come in?”
He starts to respond, but a jaw-breaking yawn overcomes him. Once he recovers, he offers a sheepish, “Sorry. I’m dead tired, so I think it’s best to head home.”
A tiny part of me wants to offer to let him stay the night, but I can’t push the words from my lips.
He cradles my face gently and dusts a kiss to my forehead. “Sweet dreams, Doc. Lock up behind me, okay?” He takes a backward step, waiting on me to close the door.
Robotically, I shut it and engage the locks, but I can’t move. I lose track of how long I stand at the door, staring at it.
Wishing he’d come back.
Wishing I could’ve asked him to stay.
Wishing for the possibility that he could’ve stayed.
Forever.
Chapter 67
Landon
“Do you realize how close you are to fucking everything up?”
I thump my head against the car’s headrest, wishing like hell I hadn’t answered my damn phone as soon as I’d parked. I should’ve ignored it and headed inside. I’m so goddamn tired.
Tired of all this shit.
Eyes closed, I let out a sigh, my breath misting inside the cold car. “I’m not fucking anything up. All I did was bring a colleague to my mother’s for a home-cooked meal.”
“Look, Lattimer. We’ve got bodies lining up.” His voice snarls. “But you’re too damn busy bringing the girl home to Mommy.”
Pinching the bridge of my nose in frustration, I close my eyes, barely resisting the urge to slam my head into the steering wheel. “I’ve got everything under control.”
“Yeah. It certainly looks that way.” Sarcasm drips from his tone. A beat of silence passes before he grunts and his voice turns less steely. “We need to keep our eyes on the prize, Lattimer. We’re close, and that’s why shit’s getting even dicier.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Here’s the plan…”
A moment later, I get out of my car and head up to my apartment, the weight of this whole fucking situation dragging behind me like a ball and chain.
This can’t end soon enough.
Chapter 68
Landon
The following Monday afternoon
It’s been a relief—selfishly and professionally—not to be questioned or prepare for an inquisition lately.
The VP’s calls have slowed in frequency, and I chalk it up to everything that’s transpired and the responsibility of burying loved ones and colleagues.
I’m grateful that I don’t have to answer to him right now. Between the pretrial being delayed and Kennedy’s laptop being wiped, there are too many unanswered questions.
Chad reached out earlier and asked that Kennedy and I come into his office late this afternoon. Now, while we wait for him to finish his call, we silently exchange a This doesn’t bode well look. Christ. This is a never-ending circus.
Chad swings open his door, and the sight of his normally perfect hair looking slightly ruffled tells me everything I need to know.
Another fucking landmine has exploded in this investigation.
“Come on in.” He waves us inside his office, and we quickly take our seats opposite his desk.
He shuts the door and claims his chair, sliding off his glasses and setting them on top of a file folder. “I have some upsetting news to share with you.” His expression is mixed with disappointment and frustration. “The parents are strongly considering dropping everything because of the pressure they’re experiencing.”
Kennedy leans forward slightly, and I scrub a hand over my jaw. Motherfucker. Someone’s putting pressure on the parents, I just know it.
Chad’s next words confirm it.
“A representative for the bank that holds their mortgage called them and mentioned that their interest rate would likely increase due to ‘certain decisions’ they were making regarding their daughter.”
Chad’s gaze volleys between us. “Then Jodi’s father was informed that there was a good chance he’d lose his position at his accounting firm where he’s been employed for fifteen years. The reason they cited is”—he slides on his glasses and picks up the legal pad on his desk, reading from it—“‘due to the family’s recent handling of certain affairs.’”
Frown filled with disgust, he drops the pad on his desk as if it’s singed his fingers. “No one else received notice at his accounting firm. Only him.” He leans back in his chair and exhales loudly. “So, you know what this means.”
“It means they’re trying to silence them.” Kennedy’s tone is pure ice, showing me exactly how fierce she is when it comes to circumstances like this.
“I don’t know what the Carshedis will decide. Regardless, Kennedy…” Chad focuses on her. “You’ll be paid the rest of your fee accordingly. I don’t want you to think I’ll hang you out to dry.”
She shakes her head dismissively. “That wasn’t even remotely a concern of mine.”
If I didn’t already fucking adore this woman, this would seal the deal. More concerned about Jodi and her parents, she doesn’t care about the money. Kennedy is the real deal. She has morals and does the right thing even if it doesn’t benefit her.
“Well, as much as I want a certain outcome”—Chad’s shrug is half-hearted—“I wouldn’t
blame them if they walked away from it all just so they could keep their home and his job in order to keep food on the table. These are hardworking folks. Good people.”
Chad leans his forearms on his desk and lets out a heavy sigh. “But sometimes, good people can’t win against a horde of corrupt assholes.”
Chapter 69
Kennedy
“But sometimes, good people can’t win against a horde of corrupt assholes.”
Chad’s right. Sometimes, it’s impossible for good people to win when they’re pitted against corruption. Especially when the good people play by the rules.
To make matters worse, as soon as Landon and I leave Chad’s office, I receive a voicemail. I listen to it while Landon’s gone to grab coffees for us, and I’m within the safe and silent confines of the screening room in the library.
“Dr. Alexandre, this is Duncan Habner from Austin PD. I’m reaching out to see if you’re available to consult on a particular case that was brought to our attention…”
Though he doesn’t offer in-depth details, he says enough, and I wish now, more than ever before, I could clone myself.
I curl my fingers into a fist as a sense of defeat pulses through me, igniting in my gut with fiery anger. When I slam my fist on the table, my laptop jumps and my pen skitters, but the pain reverberating through my hand doesn’t faze me.
I should’ve known. I should have expected this. I should’ve anticipated that once I stepped foot in this very city, the demons of my past would interfere and find a way to taint my job. To interfere with my work in the worst way possible.
The near-silent plea passes through my lips. “Please, let there be someone else who can help. Please.”