“Sure ya do.” She took a sip of her Diet Coke. “But she’s married.”
“Yeah, to a guy who doesn’t believe anything she says. What kind of marriage is that?”
Elizabeth plopped her fork down and pressed her elbows into the table. “Look, I respect the fact that you’re trying to help, I do, but I know you better than you know yourself and there’s definitely more to it. Just admit it and we can move on.”
My ex-wife demanded honesty in all facets of her life and if you couldn’t be honest, you couldn’t be a part of it. Period.
“Fine, okay, whatever,” I said before taking a bite of my burger and using my moment of chewing time to ponder what to say in response. I was busted, and there was no sense in avoiding it any longer. “E, I know it’s ridiculous, I do. I’m drawn to her and I can’t help it.”
She shook her head slowly. “To say you’re from two different worlds would be a gigantic understatement. The Capulets and the Montagues have nothing on this.”
“E, stop it.” I was getting annoyed.
“Sorry, it’s just . . . you know it would never work.”
“Don’t you think I know that? Stop making this into something it’s not.”
She tilted her head to the side, and I dropped my burger onto the plate. “Jesus, it’s not like I want to date the woman. I just . . . Shit, I don’t know.” I took a sip of my water. “I just want to know she’s okay, that she’s safe. That the fucking prophet won’t leave her on the side of the road.”
“And if he does? What then? It’s not like you can rough him up, Jon, you’re a police officer, not a Soprano.”
“What is it with you and fictional characters today? Geez, you’re like a walking Wikipedia entry.”
She laughed before stabbing a piece of grilled chicken. “Francis likes my endless supply of useless information.”
“Well, good for Frankincense.” I gave her a cocky grin before plopping another french fry in my mouth.
She laughed despite herself. “You’re an ass.”
“I know.”
My phone buzzed from the table and my mouth dropped as I stared down at the screen.
“Holy shit.”
“What? Is it her? What are the chances?” Elizabeth’s eyes were as wide as her glass of Diet Coke.
I hesitated.
“What are you waiting for? Answer it!”
“It could be the prophet, remember? He has the phone.”
“Or he had it. Quick, before she hangs up.”
Still hesitant, I kept my hands in my lap.
I could feel Elizabeth’s agitation from the other side of the booth. “If you don’t answer it, I will. C’mon!”
“Fine, okay.” I answered the call, pressing the phone to my ear.
“Cooke.” My voice was terse, prepared.
“Jonathan, oh thank goodness it’s you.”
“Aspen? Aw, hell, I thought it was Black, that’s why I didn’t answer right away.”
“I’m glad you did.”
“You got your phone back? How did you do that? Are you okay?” The questions were flying out of my mouth faster than I’d planned.
“I’ll give you a minute,” E whispered before wiping her mouth with the corner of her napkin, grabbing her purse, and leaving our booth. I was grateful for the privacy.
“He gave it back,” Aspen said. “Sent a note with one of his wives.”
“Wait, I don’t get it. Why would he give it back? That seems really stupid.”
“He’s not stupid.”
“Exactly.”
He’s diabolical and calculated. He gave that phone back for a reason.
“What did the note say?”
“He’s bored.”
“Bored? Bored?!” My voice raised and the women at the next table looked at me, but I didn’t care. I was infuriated. I lowered my voice and muttered, “What the fuck?”
“I know,” Aspen said, then paused. “But at least I have it back and I can get a hold of you. It may be a few days before I can get to the station, but there’s a lot to discuss, and I won’t do it over the phone. Who knows what he’s done to this thing? I don’t trust it knowing he could be recording my every word. Paul never allowed us to lock our phones. That’s the reason I’m in this mess to begin with. If it’d only been locked when he found it . . .” Her voice trailed off. “He could be recording my every word.”
“That’s all right, there’s no use punishing yourself. You’ve been through enough.”
She sighed into the phone. “I suppose you’re right.”
“You’ll fill me in when I see you.”
“Yes. I’ve been isolated for too long.”
“It’s time we change that. Come to the station as soon as you can and we’ll make a plan. If possible, text me when you’re on your way and I’ll be there.”
“I will, I promise. Paul has been more relaxed this week, not watching over me as much. I may be able to sneak off for a bit.” She paused for a moment, then in a hushed tone said, “I’d better go. Thanks for answering.”
Elizabeth was still away from the table when I reluctantly hung up the phone. Relief spread to every inch of my body knowing that Aspen was okay, that he hadn’t hurt her . . . yet. I knew she was on borrowed time. Clarence was using him as his own private entertainment—invoking a cat-and-mouse dynamic between them, playing with her life and that of her children for his own amusement.
Crazy motherfucker.
We had to figure out how to take him down and fast. First things first, get her a burner phone—one she uses in secret that the fucking prophet couldn’t trace or record. Second . . . hell, I had no idea what came next. Touch base with Porter? Continue searching the station’s database for the names in the ledger? I had to do something. I’d go out of my mind if I didn’t.
“Hey.” E slid back into the booth with soft eyes, studying me in an attempt to get up to speed without any answers from me.
“She couldn’t say much, but he gave her the phone back.”
“He just gave it to her? Isn’t that a little strange?”
“Not for this twisted fuck. He’s ‘bored’ and wants to play with her mind.”
Elizabeth sat back, looking stunned. “Whoa. He’s . . . wow.”
“He isn’t threatened by her. Meanwhile, her whole world is turned upside down while he sits back in his fucking throne and laughs.” I slammed my fist against the table and Elizabeth didn’t bat an eyelash. She was used to my outbursts when I felt powerless. “I have to get her out of there.”
Elizabeth raised one skeptical eyebrow. “Would she ever leave?”
I shook my head while tapping my fingers against the table, studying the grain of the wood. “Doubt it. She won’t abandon her faith.”
“Her faith is based on a lie, a huge one.”
“You and I know that, but she doesn’t. To her, the evil lies with the prophet alone. She sees nothing wrong with structure of the religion itself. She doesn’t understand that absolute power is the most corrupting thing on the planet. Even good men can turn when they can control everyone and everything around them . . . and my gut says this fucker was born evil, so there’s no limit to what he’ll do to maintain that power.”
She took a sip of her drink. “So how can you help her?”
“Not sure. Right now, my head’s spinning like a top. I need to convince her to go, but I have nothing to offer. She’d never stay at my place, and even if she would there’s no room for the kids. I have a one-bedroom. Maybe Brinley and Porter . . .”
And then my ex said something I never expected. Not in a million years . . . and I knew her better than anyone. “She could stay with me.”
My mouth dropped open. “What? You don’t know what you’re saying. You’ve never met her, you don’t know—”
“I’m just saying my place is big and I’m never home. Francis and I are just waiting out the lease. It’s an option, Jon.”
“She won’t leave, especially not to st
ay with a stranger. No offense.”
“None taken. I have seven months left on the place. If and when she’s ready to leave, the offer stands.”
“Thanks.” I pushed the plate away, my appetite gone.
“I’ll have them box that up for you.” Elizabeth called to the waitress and offered to pay the check. My head still in space, I waved her off, plunking my credit card down, going through the motions while my brain remained with Aspen.
She was in serious danger, of that I was certain. Clarence Black wouldn’t stop until she was silenced for good, and it was my job to stop that from happening. My job to save her from her own stubborn nature. My job to keep hundreds of women or children or whoever was brought into that torture chamber of a room safe. Hell, when I really broke it down, it all became clear. It was my job to save them all—from the prophet and from themselves.
No pressure.
Chapter 7
Turns out, I didn’t have to wait nearly as long as I’d anticipated. After receiving a text the following morning from Aspen, I hauled myself to the station at the ass crack of dawn, the adrenaline of anticipation overpowering the pull of grogginess and the desire to stay in bed a couple more hours.
“Seriously?” asked Megan, the receptionist, looking at me over her reading glasses. She let out a yawn behind her hand as she waited for my response.
I froze. “What?”
“You’ve never been here this early . . . like ever.” She laughed, holding up the hot pink clock from behind her desk.
“And how would you know that?” I flirted, waving the clock away until she placed it back behind her desk. “You’ve only worked here for five minutes.”
Megan had moved to Arizona a month before and was still adjusting to the area. She was originally from Chicago and had a serious accent—like those guys in the “Da Bears” skit on SNL.
God, I’m old.
“Big case?”
“You know it.” I winked, and she blushed. She’d had a crush on me since the first day we met when I winked at her casually and her cheeks turned a deep red. Since then I was guilty of manipulating that crush for my own gain.
I’m an asshole sometimes.
Leaning in, I lowered my voice and pretended to look down her shirt for a brief second. Her cheeks grew darker. “Listen, um . . .” I looked around the office. “The case I’m working on is highly sensitive and the girl coming in is from the local FLDS compound—”
Her mouth dropped open. “Oh my God, seriously? I haven’t seen one yet.”
I cringed at her phrasing, which was new for me. Just months ago, I wouldn’t have flinched—hell, I said things like it—referring to the members of the FLDS as if they were animals at the zoo, a spectacle to be observed. Aspen changed all that. They were people. People who needed my help.
“Yeah, well, don’t stare, okay? Just direct her to my office as quickly as you can. The sergeant isn’t exactly a fan, if you know what I mean.”
“Got it.” She nodded, aiming to please me.
“Thanks.” I offered one more empty wink and strolled to my office, leaving the door open in anticipation of Aspen’s arrival. Before I had the chance to log my password into my laptop, I heard the alluring tone of her voice.
“Detective?”
Within seconds, I’d hopped to my feet and crossed the room, wrapping my arms around her and pulling her tight. She tensed at my touch which, although it hurt my ego slightly, reminded me that our relationship was supposed to be a professional one. I released her from my grasp, stepping back and holding my hands in the air.
“Sorry, I just—it’s just so good to see you.”
The corners of her lips turned up, and her normally pale cheeks turned a deep shade of pink. “No, no, it’s all right. It’s wonderful to see you, too, you have no idea . . . I’m just . . . Well, I’ve never been one for hugs. My mother used to tease me about it all the time.”
“So in other words, it’s not me, it’s you?” I asked with a nervous laugh.
“Something like that.” She smiled, showing her teeth. Something she didn’t do often. They were bright white and straight, especially for someone who couldn’t possibly have had braces growing up.
Am I really falling over myself because of an impressive set of teeth? What the hell is wrong with you, Cooke? Get your shit together.
For the briefest of moments, I studied her . . . this young woman standing in my office, trying to figure out what it was that made me feel this way in her presence. I certainly didn’t the first time we met. I couldn’t quite put my finger on when she started to creep into my subconscious. Her hair was a generic shade of brown, pulled back into a long braid that hung to her waist. She was wearing the traditional FLDS thick cotton dress that covered every inch of her body. And her feet were covered with worn sneakers. From a distance, there was nothing remarkable about Aspen at all, really.
But there was more to her, and I knew it. Her eyes were a deep aquamarine, so brilliant in color that I would have thought they were colored contacts if I didn’t know better. Her strong eyebrows only served to pronounce those eyes further. Her skin was clear and pale, like that of a porcelain doll and her lips were, despite never being covered with makeup, a dusty shade of pink. They were full and plump, waiting to be kissed. More than her beautiful face was everything that made her Aspen. Aspen was stubborn, clever, and determined . . . everything Elizabeth called me on a daily basis. Cut from the same cloth. Perhaps that, ultimately, was the reason I was so drawn to her. Or maybe I simply wanted to protect her.
Nope, couldn’t be it. I protected women every day on the job; it was more than that. It had to be. It was her.
Shaking off my mounting attraction, I got down to business. I wasn’t doing either of us any favors by acting like a stupid-ass teenager in her presence.
“Did you bring the note? Is there anything we can use?”
Aspen reached into her bag, nodding. “Yes, but I’m not sure. I’ll leave that to the expert.”
I studied the note, rage building in my gut with each sentence. So much condescension and entitlement in one little piece of paper. When I reached the part about myself, I could feel my neck grow hot. There was no way he could know of my attachment to Aspen, but I felt as if he could read my mind. It creeped the shit out of me.
Aspen could read my face. “There’s nothing, is there?”
I shook my head, feeling defeated despite the anger flaring in my gut. “I’ve spent some time on our database, and it looks as though a few of the prophet’s customers in the ledger have quite the record.”
“Record?” she asked, following me to my desk. I pulled a chair around for her and gestured for her to take a seat as I finished logging into my laptop.
“Criminal record . . . some were busted for drugs, one was arrested for indecent exposure.”
Aspen knitted her brow. “What is that?”
“It’s when you show your naked body to someone unsolicited and in public.”
Aspen recoiled as if she’d tasted a sour lemon. “Who would do that?”
“Who would pay to spend time in the prophet’s room of horrors? We’re dealing with some fucked-up characters, Aspen.”
“Good point.”
“Sorry about the language.”
She shook her head and grinned. “I don’t even notice it anymore.”
I gritted my teeth. “That might not be such a good thing, Little House.”
“Hm.” She bit her bottom lip and looked down at the floor.
“What?”
“When you first called me that, I despised you for it. You were making fun of me and I knew it. It was infuriating. But now . . .”
I swallowed hard, looking into her eyes, overwhelmed by their subtle intensity. “Yeah?”
“You have no idea how nice it was to hear it again, to be here with you. I feel safe again, even though I know I’m not.” She shook her head. “Not in the slightest.”
“You will be,” I said wi
th determination. “I’ll make sure of it.”
Aspen tilted her head to the side, studying my eyes as she narrowed her own. “I believe you.”
A knock at the door startled us both. Aspen jumped in her seat, and I clutched the arm of my chair as I looked up, hoping I wouldn’t see Sergeant Ross beneath the doorframe. Instead, I saw another member of the FLDS, a woman I’d never seen before.
“Holly?” Aspen said, confusion in her voice.
The young woman, not much older than Aspen, had deep blond hair and dark eyes. Her presence was meek, unassuming, like most of the women I’d encountered from the compound. Her mouth was dropped open as she stared at us.
“Aspen?” she asked, looking as confused as Aspen sounded. “What are you doing here?”
Aspen rose to her feet and crossed the room. “You shouldn’t be here,” she snapped. “How did you find me?”
Holly shook her head, her skin turning a deep shade of red. “I wasn’t . . . I mean, I didn’t know you’d be here and I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
“You interrupted nothing,” Aspen said, a defensive bite in her words.
“Of course not.” Holly closed her eyes, shaking her head in embarrassment before locking eyes with me, her eyebrows raised in question. “My husband sent me. Detective Cooke?”
I stood and joined the two women at the entrance of my office. “Yes, please, come in.”
Holly closed the door and stared at Aspen and me, directing her attention back and forth, back and forth, but saying nothing.
“You said your husband sent you?” I asked, glancing at Aspen, who swallowed hard and interrupted my confusion.
“The prophet,” she deadpanned. “Holly’s married to the prophet. She delivered the phone to me . . . and the note.”
“I didn’t read it,” Holly insisted, “and I haven’t read this either.”
With trembling hands, Holly placed a sealed envelope in my hand.
“Detective Jonathan Cooke” was written in the same chicken-scratch handwriting as the note Aspen shared with me only minutes before.
Just Keep Sweet (The Compound Series) Page 5