Abandoned

by Rhonda Pollero

  “I’d like a skinny frap with a half shot of vanilla and a half shot of hazelnut no whip. Dad?”

  “Nothing for me,” he said, then he paid the bill.

  He let Sami—er, Sam—pick the table. Her behind barely hit the seat and she was already spinning her thumbs across her cell phone.

  “Are we going to talk?” Conner asked, making sure he didn’t sound annoyed even though he was.

  “Hang on,” she said. Then a few seconds later she looked up at him. “What?”

  “Do we need to put some limits on that thing?” he asked, nodding at the state-of-the-art phone.

  She looked horrified. “Never. I’d just die without my phone. It’s my lifeline.”

  “Do you know how many perverts use social media to troll for victims?”

  Again with the rolling eyes. “I’m only chatting with friends,” she insisted. “People from school and all.”

  “If they’re in school, why are they texting?”

  “Because school is boring,” she said the phrase as if it was etched on some plaque somewhere.

  The barista called Sam’s name and she went to retrieve her drink. “Ready?” she asked when she returned.

  “Don’t you want to sit down and enjoy that?”

  “I got it to go,” she said as she took a first cautious sip. “Mmmmm, good!”

  “Home we go,” he said.

  The fifty-five-mile drive didn’t turn out as he had hoped. Getting and holding his daughter’s attention proved to be a challenge. She was either drinking her coffee or obliviously working the phone. Still, the closer they got to the house, the more excited Conner became. He knew she was going to be impressed with what he’d done. During her last visit the only thing he’d had in that room was a camping cot and a lamp. Now it was all about her.

  They pulled into the driveway of the modest home Conner had bought the year after his divorce. It was nothing like the McMansion she lived in with Barry and his ex, but it was home.

  Again he struggled to lug her bags out of the back of the truck, but this time Sam helped by rolling one of them up the stone walk to the front door. Inside, he paused at the alarm pad to enter the disarm code, then rolled the luggage toward the back hallway. “Here,” he said as he stopped. “You go first.”

  Abandoning the bag, she walked around him and went to the closed door. She turned the knob and he asked, “What do you think?”

  “I think a bottle of Pepto Bismol vomited in here.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  Emma returned to the office with Willis Maddox in tow. His presence didn’t go unnoticed. She had him sit in her office while she went to see her boss.

  Elgin’s secretary, Jenny, an attractive black woman in her late forties, showed her into Elgin Hale’s office. Hale wasn’t alone. Seated in one of the chairs across from his desk was a short, compact man in his mid-thirties who got to his feet and offered his hand. “Bill Whitley,” he said, pumping her hand. “You must be my pinch hitter.”

  By his jerky movements and the sweat on his upper lip he seemed flustered, or nervous, or—hell, she had no idea; maybe he was about to have a damned heart attack. His hand was a bit clammy and she gave him a sympathetic smile as she released it, politely not wiping her damp fingers on her slacks. Even though Hale hadn’t offered her a seat, she sat down in the visitor’s chair anyway. “Nice to meet you. How’s your…?”

  “Son,” he supplied. “No more fever but my wife has gotten someone to cover her shifts for the rest of the week. She’s a nurse.”

  Handy. “I hope he recovers quickly.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Heard you took in a boarder,” Elgin chimed in.

  Emma smiled. “I hired a housekeeper. How did you know?”

  “Skeeter told the guy who mows my lawn and—”

  With a rueful shake of her head, Emma held up her hand. “I get it.”

  “Also hear you didn’t come back from court alone.”

  She expelled a breath. Holy shit. Small towns. Everybody knew everybody’s business almost before it happened. “Our client is indigent.”

  “So call Social Services.” Hale leaned back in his seat and rubbed his bald head. “They’re on a first name basis with Maddox.”

  “Willis Maddox?” Bill Whitley scoffed. “He’s a career criminal.”

  She fixed her eyes on her colleague. “I read his rap sheet. No violence; almost everything is a simple trespass or a harmless misdemeanor. He just needs a little help.”

  Whitley rolled his eyes. “God save me, a true believer,” he moaned.

  Emma’s spine stiffened. “Is there something wrong with that?”

  “You’re setting yourself up for disappointment,” Bill warned.

  “Rather disappointed than complacent.”

  “You won’t get far if you’re going to be a bleeding heart around here, honey. By the way, congratulations on being two for two,” he told her, sounding far from complimentary.

  Asshole. “Thank you.” Emma kept her tone snark-free. “I just wanted to ask if it would be possible for me to take the rest of the day. I have furniture being delivered and I haven’t settled into my house and—”

  “Of course.” Elgin nodded as he spoke. “See you first thing in the morning for the staff meeting.”

  “Staff meeting?”

  “I thought someone would have told you,” Elgin said. “Seven a.m. every Wednesday. Miss it and you’re guaranteed to get all the crap cases.”

  “I’ll be here,” she promised before offering a tight farewell to Whitley. She made her way back to her small office.

  Maddox stood when she entered, but Emma waved him back into his seat. “Give me a minute to organize myself and we can be on our way.”

  He did as told but she felt his gaze follow her around the room, suspicion glinting in his dark eyes. She was still a tad pissed at Whitley for treating her like some naive fool. Then again, he didn’t know what she knew: that a trial shines light on the truth, even if that truth is ugly. And she wasn’t in any condition to lecture him, not unless she was prepared to tell him her secret.

  And that wasn’t going to happen.

  After completing some paperwork, Emma shut down her laptop and tucked it inside her briefcase. “Ready?” she asked Maddox.

  He nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

  Emma said good-bye to her small office, stopping only to tell the receptionist that she could be reached on her cellphone for the rest of the day. Emma checked her watch. It was just after eleven. “Karen?” she asked the receptionist. “Is there a same-day furniture store around here?”

  Karen gave her the name and directions for the furniture store as well as the closest Target. Maddox followed her to her Lexus, looking at the car like it was an alien spaceship. “Get in,” Emma instructed.

  Maddox folded his large frame into the passenger’s seat. Once she was behind the wheel, Emma explained her plan. Reaching into her wallet, she took out a hundred dollars and said, “This is for food and clothing. I’m taking you to the Salvation Army. You can sleep there and get some more clothing at their store. I want you at my house tomorrow morning at six a.m., understood?”

  “I don’t need no handout,” he said with a defiant lift of his chin.

  “Good, because this isn’t a handout, it’s an advance on your salary.” She thrust the money closer. “But if you buy so much as a can of beer with this the deal’s off and you’re on your own. Understand?”

  “Yeah. What kinda work I gotta do for a hundred a week?”

  “Everything,” Emma answered. “I need a handyman. Someone I can trust. Someone who can help maintain my house and the grounds. The lawn is in desperate need of mowing. And I’ll pay you an additional three hundred for the work once it is finished.”

  Maddox nodded. “I can spruce the place up real nice.”

  “I know you can,” Emma agreed. “You’ll also be getting meals, so all you really need to think about is finding someplace more appropriate
to sleep.”

  “I like it outdoors,” he insisted.

  “Unless you like getting arrested for trespassing again, I suggest you learn to like the outside during normal park hours.”

  After giving him her home address, she dropped Maddox off at the Salvation Army then headed to the furniture store. She needed a little magic. And she needed it delivered today.

  Furniture Barn was a huge warehouse-type building with a massive parking lot and one of those giant orange balloon people swaying on the roof holding a sign that read SALE. Money wasn’t as much an issue as immediate delivery. She wasn’t going to buy anything super expensive, but she had to furnish Jeanine and David’s rooms or they’d spend their first night in her home sleeping on the hardwood floor.

  As soon as she entered the building she was greeted by a perky saleswoman and the scent of leather.

  “I’m Kiki,” the woman introduced herself.

  “Emma,” she returned with a smile.

  “What are we looking for today, Emma?”

  “I need two bedroom suites and a kitchen table and chairs and I need them delivered today.”

  Kiki’s green eyes lit up. “Follow me,” she said. “Do you have any particular style in mind?”

  “Something appropriate for a young man for one room.” She thought back to when David was carrying in boxes. “And I’ll need some sort of computer desk to go with that bedroom set. The second bedroom—well, I don’t have a clue. Something white, maybe?”

  “What size beds are you wanting?”

  Emma did a little mental calculation. “Nothing bigger than a queen.”

  In spite of her pole dancer name, Kiki was very good at her job. She put together an ultra-modern suite for David’s room and a pretty craftsman style room for Jeanine. Then Emma selected lamps and area rugs and two small flat screens just in case they wanted to watch television. The upstairs apartment had a small kitchen, so on Kiki’s advice she picked a tall butcher block table with four backed stools.

  In a little over an hour, Emma was signing the credit card pad and taking her receipt with the guaranteed delivery window of five to seven p.m. that evening.

  Her next stop was Target. The super store would have everything she needed to outfit the apartment kitchen and get some linens and other staples for the apartment. Emma loved Target. Before her financial settlement with the New York law firm, it had been her go-to shopping spot. Now, even when money was absolutely no object, she fell back into that old pattern.

  She went to the kitchen section first and found some plates, utensils, a modest set of cookware, and a bunch of kitchen gadgets. She went with a blue-and-white color scheme because she liked the abstract pattern of the plates, so she built the rest of the kitchen around that one color.

  She used the same color palette for the bathroom, buying towels and bric-a-brac so the white bath wouldn’t seem so stark. Her final stop, even though she barely had any room left in her cart, was bedding. This would be a tad trickier. She had no idea what colors the Segans might like for their rooms, but she decided to go with her gut. David’s room would be aqua and Jeanine’s room would be coral.

  Finding the correct comforter and spread for David’s room was quick. Emma’s overflowing cart was now so full she had to peer around the side of the merchandise in order to navigate the aisles.

  She spotted a perfect spread up on a top shelf, but it was far too high for her to reach. She glanced around and noticed a tall ebony-haired girl at the end of the aisle. “Excuse me?” she asked.

  Nothing.

  “Excuse me?” Emma said, louder.

  This time the pretty girl turned around and flashed a beautiful smile. Emma guessed she was about seventeen-ish, so she asked, “Can you tell me what you think of this for a boy’s room?” She patted the comforter on top of her precarious pile.

  “It’s great,” she said, and her smile reached her clear blue eyes. “I’m more of a lavender person but I can see a guy liking on that spread.”

  “Good,” Emma breathed. “Could you do me a favor?”

  “Sure,” the girl said easily.

  “Can you get me down that coral bedspread on the top shelf? I don’t want to hang around waiting for a salesperson just because I’m too short to reach the frigging thing.”

  The much taller girl put her cellphone in her back pocket and easily retrieved the bedspread. “Here you go,” she said.

  Only it wouldn’t go. There simply wasn’t enough room in her cart. “Crap,” Emma muttered.

  “Let me try to stuff it underneath,” she offered.

  With a tug here and a shove there, they managed to get the spread under the cart. “Thank you so much.”

  “Not a prob,” she said.

  “Thanks to you,” Emma reached into her wallet. “Let me give you a little something for your assistance.”

  The girl held up her hand. “That isn’t necessary.”

  Emma tilted her head to one side and pursed her lips. “How old are you?”

  “Sixteen.”

  “When I was sixteen I always needed extra cash. And I really couldn’t have completed my shopping without you. Take this.”

  “Don’t you dare,” came a familiar male voice from behind Emma. She spun around and found Conner Kavanaugh glaring at her.

  “This girl helped me out. I’m just showing my appreciation.” She placed one hand on her hip. “What’s it to you?” she challenged.

  “She’s my daughter.”

  Wow. He doesn’t look old enough to have a teenager was her first thought, and the second—Holy shit, he was hitting on me and he’s married. “So that means she can’t accept a gratuity for a job well done?” Emma shot right back at him.

  “It’s okay,” the girl interrupted softly. “I really don’t need a tip.”

  “See what you did?” Emma glared up at Conner’s far too handsome face. “You embarrassed her.”

  “Sam’s supposed to be picking out a new bedspread,” Conner said. “Not acting as your gofer.”

  “I’m sure she can multi-task.”

  “Miss No Husband, No Children is giving me parenting advice?”

  “This is stupid,” Emma muttered then she reached out and tucked the twenty-dollar bill in the pocket of his uniform. Big mistake. Big, big mistake. In that flash of a second she felt rock solid muscle beneath her fingers. Her mind immediately went to a place that had nothing to do with spreads and cutlery, and a lot to do with a bed.

  She attempted to make a brisk, intentional departure, except that her cart practically outweighed her and she had to grunt in order to get the damned thing to move. Of course then she heard his deep chuckle and watched as his daughter attempted—badly—to keep a straight face.

  Emma couldn’t check out fast enough. She kept looking behind her, afraid she’d see Conner again and afraid she wouldn’t. Did he have to be so hot? And the daughter—was there a wife? Emma didn’t think so. Conner didn’t seem like the kind of guy who would cheat. He was too Law and Order for that sort of behavior. No, had to be divorced. Which had its own problems. As a rule, Emma didn’t date men with families. Too much potential for drama, and then there was always the secret she guarded.

  Her phone vibrated while the clerk was bagging the last of her purchases. Speaking of secrets…Emma looked down at the number, knew it was her sister, and let it go to voicemail. She’d call Amelia later, when she was at home and could give her sister her full attention. Translation: listen to her sister grouse about her being in Purdue.

  Though she was running out of steam, she made one final stop. She pulled into the Honda dealership and parked in a visitor’s spot. She pulled up Truecar.com on her phone and once she had a number in mind, walked inside.

  “I’m Jeremy. How can I help you?”

  “I want a Honda Civic. Automatic.” She paused and looked around the showroom. “In that color green if you have it.” She pointed to a light metallic she thought was pretty.

  “A woman who know
s her mind,” Jeremy said in a smarmy car salesman tone. “Let me check.”

  He was gone for about ten minutes and came back with an eager look on his face. “As it turns out, we do have that model in that color in stock. Come into my office so we can discuss price.”

  She followed him into a cubicle. He made a production out of taking a legal pad out of the drawer and writing a number at the top of the page. “Let’s talk about your trade-in and some financing options.”

  “I’m not trading my car in and I’m paying cash.” She reached for the legal pad and wrote her own number on it. “I can go twenty miles down the road and get the same car for that price. Match it or I won’t take up any more of your time.”

  “Let me get my general manager,” he said.

  It took Emma less than five minutes to make the deal at her price with the manager. “Would it be possible to have the car delivered?” she asked.

  “We can do that,” the manager said. “Around suppertime?”

  “That’s fine.”

  Emma needed a nap after all that shopping. By the time she headed back toward home, it was almost four-thirty.

  She was excited about her purchases and looked forward to sharing the bounty. That, she decided, was the best part of having money. She’d spent the vast majority of her young life struggling in a single-parent family, then she’d moved on to being a scholarship student at an ivy league school. Now, spreading around her wealth to others was satisfying.

  But the past was the past and she intended to keep it that way. Which probably meant she should stop antagonizing Conner Kavanaugh. She didn’t want him looking into her past. If he did, it wouldn’t take him too long to discover that Emma McKinley didn’t exist.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Emma arrived home to find a large moving van in her driveway. Finally, she’d have a real bed instead of the uncomfortable air mattress.