by Green, Stacy
“I’ll take a cab home, Jeremy. I don’t want to talk right now. I just want to be alone.”
“Don’t let what your mother said get to you. She’s not worth it.”
“You haven’t even seen her best performance.” Emilie tasted vomit at the words. “That was years ago, when she convinced Mark Chambers—the man I believed to be my father—she’d had a miscarriage and didn’t want to be married any more. Then she lied to her parents, claiming Mark abused her.”
“Are you serious?”
“Oh, it gets better. Mark discovered me two years later, and Claire still manipulated everyone into keeping him out of my life.”
“You never wanted to see him?”
“I never knew,” Emilie shouted, not caring who overheard. She dug into her bag. “I found out when I was eighteen. Mémé had a letter held in trust for me.” She thrust the envelope at Jeremy. “It’s all here. Read it and show it to Sarah. I don’t want to tell the story again.”
“That’s why you left Portland with Evan.”
“Yep.”
She snatched the letter back. “This is one of the few things I have from Mémé. You’ll just have to read it later.”
“Emilie, I don’t even know what to say.”
“There’s nothing to say. Now go home and leave me be.”
A fourth rum and coke was placed in front of her. Emilie smiled up at the young bartender. He couldn’t have been more than twenty-two. He grinned back, his sandy-colored hair falling just above his eyes.
“Thanks for taking care of me.”
“Any time.” He sauntered away, his jeans conforming to his lanky body in just the right way.
Emilie flushed. Maybe she just needed to get laid. It had been so long…
Sudden movement across the table startled her, and she almost sent her drink flying. Nathan’s face came into focus, his jet-black hair windswept and his eyes bright with concern.
She watched as his lush lips moved and wondered what it would be like to kiss them, to be held in his strong arms. Was Nathan a good lover? Of course he was. Reading people was his job. Her needs would be instinctual to him.
“Emilie, do you hear me?”
She raised her glass and teetered to the left. Nathan caught her by the arm just before she slid out of the booth.
“Give me that.” He set the glass aside. “How many have you had?”
“One. No, two.” She smiled and reached across the table to clasp his hands. “I’m so glad you could make it. I wasn’t sure if my second text went through.”
“It didn’t. I stopped at the bank and banged on the door until your boss answered. He sent me here.”
“He was still there?”
“Waiting for you even though you told him not to. I told him I’d see that you got home.”
“Good.” She clapped her hands together. “Now I won’t have him trying to make it all better.”
“He told me what happened.”
“Awesome. Did Jeremy tell you I’m really a bastard? That I’m the reason Claire’s life failed?”
“How do you know she wasn’t lying?”
“Birth certificate.” Emilie patted her bag. “Looks like the real thing. She’s not lying. I can’t believe that after all these years, Claire still got the last laugh.”
“She’s not laughing,” Nathan said. “You didn’t do what she wanted. That’s why she told you about your father.”
“The money? How do you know about that? Are you a mind reader, too?”
“You told the whole bank,” Nathan said. “You came back in after she left. They were all staring. You got pretty dramatic, telling everyone if they were going to overhear bits and pieces they might as well know your mother tried to pay you off.”
“Oh, yeah.” Emilie reached for her drink. Nathan grasped her arm. Warmth spread through Emilie.
“You’re not drinking any more.”
“I want to.”
“I don’t care. You almost fell out of the booth.”
She yanked her hands away, pouting. Nathan was supposed to be here to make her feel better, not guilty.
“Drinking the pain away isn’t going to help.”
“I’m celebrating.” Emilie threw out her hands. “Free of that bitch Claire at last.” Her right elbow slammed down hard on the table. “Ouch. She might have gotten the last word, but I stood up to her, Nathan. I threw her out of the bank. She didn’t win.” Her voice caught. She reached again for her drink.
“No, she didn’t.” Nathan blocked her hand.
“I’m not a mistake, you know. Maybe in her eyes, but not in my Mémé’s. I was her greatest gift—she said so—and made the last years of her life worth living.”
“Emilie.”
“I’m not a mistake.” Wetness ran down her cheeks. “I’m a good person. People care about me. Mémé cared. Jeremy and Sarah care. They would miss me when I’m gone. Do you think that coldhearted woman could say the same? People will dance on her grave.” Her voice was loud in her ears.
She could barely see Nathan as he moved into the booth beside her. She felt the warmth of his strong arm around her waist and inhaled his now familiar scent as he pulled her close.
“You’re not a mistake,” he whispered. “Not by a mile. People do care about you. I care.”
Emilie pressed her face into his chest as the sobs erupted. “I hate her. Why didn’t she just give me to Mémé and stay out of my life? Why did she have to punish me for her actions?”
“Because blaming you made her feel better about herself. She’s a narcissist. None of this is your fault.”
“Doesn’t really matter, does it? I’m the one suffering and humiliated yet again.”
“No. You were the one who stood up to her.” Nathan seized her shoulders and pulled her back to look into her eyes. “You didn’t let her manipulate you this time. She’s the loser, Emilie. She always has been.”
She stared into his eyes, gratitude and desire spreading over her like fire. Her hands snaked up his chest. She rested them on his scruff-covered cheeks. “Nathan.” Her voice was filled with a longing she hadn’t realized existed until this very moment. “Take me home.”
* * * *
He couldn’t refuse. But he couldn’t say yes. Not like this—not when she was drunk and vulnerable. And certainly not when she was an open case. But God, he wanted to. He wanted to carry her to his car and then to his bed. He wanted to show her just how very much she was wanted.
He grasped her hands. “I’ll get you safely home. But I’m not going to take advantage of you. I’m not that guy.”
“No.” Her lip quivered, and for a moment he thought she would cry again. “You’re not. You’re better than that.”
“When this is all over, I promise.”
“You don’t have to wait for me.”
“I want to.” His pulse raced as she traced his lower lip and jaw with her index finger.
“I’m scared.”
“I won’t let the Taker get to you.”
“Not of him. At least with him, I know what to expect.”
“Then what?”
“Of you.”
“Me?
“I’m starting to worry that you could hurt me far worse than anyone else. And that scares me.”
Emilie looked like a lost little girl hoping against all odds she would be offered shelter.
“I won’t hurt you. I swear.”
“You’re sincere now. But who knows what the future holds?”
He had no idea how to answer. Now was not the right time to tell Emilie she affected him like no other woman ever had—that he couldn’t get his mind off her, that just to be in her presence made him feel content. He’d just have to prove it to her. Eventually.
“You’ll see.” He brushed his lips across her forehead. “One day you’ll understand.”
She blinked, her eyelids moving so slowly he could see the flesh wrinkle as they moved. “You’re ready to pass out.” He took her hand.
“Let’s get you home.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Julian sat in his darkened study and stared out of the bay window into the garden. The distinct colors of the azaleas and gardenias were lost in the moonlight, but the wrought-iron pergola he’d spent years searching for stood out like a sentinel. Wisteria climbed up the structure’s iron legs, but the purple blooms were fading. In contrast, jasmine and rose bushes grew in abundance, their white blooms still beautiful under the moon. Two chairs sat beneath the pergola. In one lay a single white lily for the little girl he would never forget.
But even this peaceful view could not quell his anger tonight. A child should be nurtured and loved by the woman who gave birth to her—not treated like an abomination.
He’d known Claire Chambers was a vile woman long before he first laid eyes on her. But to hear the words she’d shouted at his poor sweet Emilie infuriated him. Hidden in the alley, he’d barely been able to keep his anger in check.
Julian had risen from his crouch, ready to whisk her away to their secret hideout. She would escape the torture of this life and be at peace with the new reality he’d created for her. But the opportunity had never presented itself.
And then she drank her sorrows away. That was not his Emilie. In all the months he’d observed her, not once did he see her in such an establishment. She never purchased alcohol at the store, either.
His fury at Claire morphed into anxiety as Nathan Madigan appeared and entered the bar in a hurry. Had she called for him? What could he possibly have to offer her?
Julian waited for Emilie to exit. Would she and the negotiator be locked in a heated embrace? Was she dating Madigan behind his back?
His answer came soon enough. Madigan emerged, supporting a very inebriated Emilie. She drunkenly clung to him, but Madigan’s stance was gentlemanly. He handled her with care, easing her into the passenger seat of his car and fastening the seatbelt.
Emilie paid him no mind, leaning her head against the glass. Perhaps she hadn’t made a bad decision after all.
But how long would Madigan stay at her home? Going near Big Horn Condos was out of the question. He resolved to trust Emilie and left for home, praying her innocence was still intact.
A chiming brought him back to the present. After more than a hundred years, the English grandfather clock still told perfect time. Julian rose from his chair and poured himself a midnight brandy. He looked again at the text message he had received several hours ago.
Claire Davis had attempted to buy her daughter’s silence. The entire bank staff had witnessed the altercation and Emilie’s subsequent breakdown. She was unstable and relying on the wrong sort of man to steady her.
Something had to be done.
Chapter Twenty-Five
A ten-pound weight had taken up residence inside Emilie’s head. Strange voices and annoyingly cheery music rang in her ears. She forced her sticky eyelids open to find herself watching a commercial for dog food. She’d slept with her mouth open, and slimy drool plastered her right cheek to the couch. At least her impromptu nap had lasted long enough for the room to stop spinning.
She smacked her lips together. Her tongue tasted like she’d spent the last hour licking a dirty sock. Emilie rolled off the couch and stumbled into the bathroom. She stuck her mouth under the faucet and slurped as much of the liquid as she could.
Otis sat on the toilet seat, his eyes narrowed in disapproval.
“Clearly I can’t handle my liquor.”
She had passed out seconds after Nathan deposited her in his car. He’d practically carried her to her condo, and then insisted she eat something. Emilie grumbled in protest, but sat obediently at the counter as Nathan sat a bag of food in front of her.
“When did you get Subway?” she asked in confusion.
“While you were passed out. I wasn’t sure what you’d like, so it’s just turkey and cheese. Do you want me to put anything else on it?”
Emilie shook her head. “It’s all good.”
Nathan had offered to stay, but Emilie didn’t trust herself. The alcohol was still strumming her libido. She wasn’t going to put him in another compromising position.
“Lock this door behind me,” he said. “I’m standing on the other side until I hear it click.”
Emboldened by the rum, Emilie wrapped her arms around his neck. She wanted to be close to him one last time.
Nathan returned the embrace. She could feel the hammering of his heart against her ear.
“Call me tomorrow. I can take you to work if you want.”
“Don’t you have a shift?”
“Tomorrow night.”
“I’ll call you. But I’d better take myself to work.”
“Please let me know you’re there safely.”
“Yes, Officer Madigan. Wait, is that your title?”
“Close enough.” He still held her. “You’re going to be all right?”
“I’ll be fine.”
Nathan gazed down at her and ran his tongue over his lips. He wanted to kiss her. She didn’t think she had the strength to stop him.
A loud beeping shattered the intense moment.
“Shit.” Nathan yanked a pager from his pocket. “I have to go. SWAT just got called to help bring in a fugitive.”
A wave of sobriety washed over her. “Is it the Taker?”
“No. A dealer Narcotics has been after for months. They’ve got him cornered.”
“Will you be negotiating with him?”
“No hostages. I’ll be going in, probably with Chris and Sarge. That’s usually how we run it.”
“Your job is dangerous,” she said, realizing that fact for the first time. “You could be killed.”
“We know what we’re doing.”
“Shit happens.”
“It won’t.” The pager sounded again. “Call me tomorrow. And lock this door.”
“Please, be careful.”
“Always.”
Now mostly awake and sober, Emilie sank down to the bathroom floor and ran her fingers over the chocolate brown rug. Nathan was a good man, the sort of person she’d always wanted but never thought she’d have a chance to be with.
He was also a cop. Until tonight, she’d only thought of him as the hot negotiator standing safely outside the danger zone. Nathan had promised he would never hurt her, but his job put him at high risk. His life could be taken at any time.
Then again, so could her own.
Otis hopped down from the toilet and stood on his hind legs to sniff her face. He blinked, trying to figure out why she was lounging on the bathroom floor.
Why had she gotten drunk?
Claire’s horrible words came back to. Her real father wasn’t Mark Chambers but some random stranger.
Maybe it wasn’t true. Maybe Claire had been lying in one last attempt to shatter her daughter. The father’s name on the birth certificate was marked ‘unknown.’ Claire could have simply taken an extra step to cover her tracks.
Asking Mark Chambers for a DNA test was the only way to know for sure. Whatever anger she’d felt at Mark had dissipated the moment she’d gazed at her birth certificate. He was a victim of her mother’s selfishness too. He deserved the truth.
Emilie resolved to call a private investigator tomorrow. He would find Mark, and together they would discover the truth, once and for all.
“And God help Claire if she lied to me again.” She climbed into bed. “Or that nosy reporter will find herself with one hell of an exclusive.”
* * * *
Nathan dumped his Kevlar vest into the SWAT truck and took a long pull from a water bottle. Locals hung out on the fire escapes and sidewalks as the suspect was loaded into a waiting squad car. Nathan kept silent as the rest of the team celebrated the bust. His mind was on Emilie.
“What’s going on with you?” Chris asked as he unloaded his assault rifle.
“Nothing.”
“Bullshit. Either you got man PMS or something’s up. Talk.”
“I can’t here. Too many sensitive ears. Let’s go to Ike’s after shift’s over.”
“I only need one guess to know what—or should I say who—you’re referring to.”
“The correct phrasing would be ‘to whom.’”
“Shut up, nerd.”
Ike’s was an all-night diner just a few blocks from the station. Cops usually filled the seats, but between the shift change and the early hour, the place was mostly empty. A few early birds—or late-nighters—sat at the counter. Nathan and Chris settled into a back booth.
“So Emilie Davis has your panties in a twist?” Chris dumped a load of creamer into his coffee.
“Yeah.”
“Not smart.”
“I know.”
Chris sighed with pleasure as the server placed a large plate of bacon and eggs in front of him. “She must be one hell of a woman to pull your head out of the sand.”
“She is.” Nathan slathered mustard onto his bacon cheeseburger. “She’s smart and funny. She’s been through a lot, and she’s tough.”
“I’ve never heard you talk about a girl like that. The closest thing was that bitch Ava, and you settled for her.”
“Emilie’s different.”
“You’re walking a fine line.” Chris dumped ketchup onto his eggs. “She’s an open case.”
“We haven’t done anything inappropriate.”
“Yet.”
“I can keep myself in check.”
“Right. No one’s perfect, dude, not even you. Hormones get the best of us all sometimes.”
Nathan didn’t want to admit how right his friend was. “I don’t know what to do. I can’t stay away from her. Hell, I can’t even stop thinking about her.”
“You’re sure about that?”
“Why?”
“I’m sure she’s great, but she’s also damaged goods. Whatever her story is, she’s got a ton of baggage.”
“I know what it is,” Nathan said. “Her mother was awful, and so was her ex. The fact that she’s a functioning member of society is a testament to her strength.”