“You are not going to ruin my life, Celia. You could never ruin it.” He paused and muttered something that didn’t quite make sense.
“Did you say ‘Neil damned Price’?” she asked.
He met her eyes, his expression fierce. “I’ve known you for all of a day, but I can tell you right now that he did a number on you. I don’t want you to be sorry for making a decision and sticking to it. I don’t want you to be walking on eggshells because you’re worried that I’m going to get angry. And I think Neil Price is the reason behind the way you feel the need to do it. I’ll build you up. Support you. Cater to your whims—your words, not mine—if that’s what it takes.”
At the end of his speech, Celia drew in a breath. “I might not remember what happened with Neil, but I do know you’re not him, Remo. You’re a good man, and I don’t want to jeopardize the chance we have to become something good.”
“We are something good.” He paused. “And the reason I accommodated my sister is that I loved her more than anything. I’d do the same for you two.”
Celia’s cheeks burned as she realized what he was saying. And once again, she thought about how implausible it was to fall in love with someone in so short a span. Yet there Remo was, practically declaring that it was true. And she didn’t want to argue or tell him that it was unrealistic. She wanted to declare it back. Maybe she would have, if Xavier hadn’t called to her just then.
“Mom?”
He sounded just worried enough that she had to turn her attention his way. He was in a swing now, pumping his legs.
“What’s up, buddy?” Celia asked.
“Is that lady a stranger?” He pointed as he swung forward, and Celia turned her head to follow the direction of his finger.
A woman stood at the end of the short path that led from the enclosed play area to the apartment building. She was dressed in traditional Indian garb—a sari and a flowing scarf—and her long, mostly gray hair was wound into a thick braid that touched her waist. She had a long, puckered scar that ran from her left eye down to her lips, but it did nothing to mar her obvious beauty. And even from the ten-foot distance, it was easy to see the kindness in her eyes, which fixed on Celia for only another second before she swept forward over the concrete and enveloped her in a hug so hard it made her eyes water.
Chapter 20
As Rupinder Dhillon, the manager of Living Hope Shelter, refilled his mug of tea, Remo wondered if he should feel out of place. After Celia’s pink-cheeked introduction of him as her new “friend”—with the quotation marks as obvious as day—the Indian woman had made a point of telling him twice that the building was generally open to women only. She’d emphasized that exceptions were few and far between. Even male children were permitted only if they were under the age of sixteen. But for some reason, in spite of all that, he felt right at home.
Maybe his comfort stemmed from the fact that it had quickly become obvious that the outspoken woman had saved Celia’s life six years earlier. Or maybe because the shelter was the exact kind of place he would’ve loved for him and his mother to have found when they made their escape two decades earlier. Either way, he found himself relaxing, enjoying the tea and the company in spite of the circumstances. Xavier was happily reading a book in an overstuffed chair in the corner, while Rupinder and Celia reminisced about the good and the bad of the time she’d spent there.
From their conversation, Remo learned that Celia had met Rupinder by chance. After Teller shot her, she’d run straight out into the street and into the Indian woman’s car. Both women agreed that it was fate. Rupinder—who was a retired nurse and an abuse survivor herself—had nursed Celia back to health, and also delivered Xavier into the world. She’d also helped Celia establish a contact up north, in Prince George. At one point, Celia turned a pleased smile his way and told him she could remember all of it with fantastic clarity.
But a mug and a half of tea, plus one entire plate of cookies later, the building manager turned a shrewd eye toward Celia.
“Let’s not waste any more time with the bull c-r-a-p, shall we?” she said, her lightly accented English somehow managing to make the suggestion sound like a pleasant one. “Why don’t you tell me why you’re here?”
Remo set down his tea and watched as Celia licked her top lip nervously. One hand was tight on her own mug of hot steaming liquid; the other held the envelope she’d been carrying since they climbed into the taxi. Remo glanced toward the yellow item. She hadn’t yet said a word about what it contained, but the way she’d been gripping it made him sure it held something significant in spite of its innocuous appearance. She squeezed it once more, then set it on the counter and slid it toward Rupinder.
“This is my insurance,” she said softly.
The other woman didn’t blink before answering. “The photos.”
“Yes.”
“You didn’t burn them like you said.”
Celia shook her head. “I’m sorry for lying to you, Rupi. But how could I burn them?”
The gray-haired woman reached across the counter and placed her fingers on the back of Celia’s hand. “I always told you that you shouldn’t. It was your ticket out.”
“Only if I wanted to risk losing Xavier.”
“I would’ve helped keep you safe.”
“But I would’ve been under the microscope. It would’ve put you at risk, too. And all of the other women here.”
“That’s true enough,” Rupinder said with a sigh. “I don’t worry about myself so much, but I would hate to see any harm come to the shelter. So what will you do now?”
“Find a way to use it, I guess,” Celia replied, not sounding sure at all.
“So Neil has found you.”
“Yes. Or I found him for some reason that I don’t really understand.”
Remo cleared his throat. “Okay, not to be that guy...but does anyone want to tell me what’s in the envelope?”
Both women turned his way like they’d forgotten his presence altogether. Then Celia moved to pull the envelope closer again, but Rupinder stopped her.
“Why don’t you two take a breather in the apartment next door?” suggested the Indian woman. “It’s empty at the moment, and where Mr. Price is concerned, I have a feeling it’s better for me to know less rather than more. I can keep an eye on your son, if you and he both like.”
“I’m game if you are,” Remo offered.
“And I want to keep reading!” Xavier called out.
“I guess that settles it,” Celia said.
Rupinder stood and quickly retrieved a key ring from inside a cabinet beside the fridge, then ushered them out to the hall.
“Take as much time as you need,” she said, as she unlocked the door directly next to her own. “I’ve got plenty more books and plenty more cookies, too.”
Celia thanked the older woman, then stepped into the apartment. Remo followed, letting the door close softly behind them, taking a quick look around as they made their way from the small foyer into the living room. The space was small. Sparsely and impersonally decorated. It could’ve been sad or disheartening, but it mostly felt like a hopeful place. A chance at a new beginning. He could picture Celia—pregnant and scared, injured and traumatized—arriving here. Making it her own while she waited for her son to be born. The image unexpectedly overwhelmed Remo, and it compelled him to put his arms around Celia so he could draw her into a tight embrace. Her arms came up to circle around his waist, too, and she held him just as hard.
“So this was home when you made your break?” he murmured into her hair.
“It really feels like a lifetime ago,” she told him.
“But you remember it.”
“Every detail. It actually seems kind of bizarre to me that I would forget it at all.” She sighed and pulled away enough to look around, and her eyes hung on the closed door.
“
What’re you thinking?” Remo asked, pushing back a loose lock of blond hair and tucking it behind her ear. “Trying to make another escape?”
She swung her gaze back to him, a smile brightening her eyes. “From you? Never. You’re stuck with me. I was just considering that in the last day, I’ve left my son alone more times than I have in the last five years. Aside from school, that is.”
“Is that a bad thing?”
“I don’t know. Maybe it’s a more normal thing?”
Remo lifted an eyebrow. “Normal?”
“It’s a relative term,” she said.
“It would have to be,” he teased.
She made a face, then dropped her arms, wriggled free, and held out the envelope. “Are you ready to look?”
Her tone was light, but there was a telltale tremor in her voice, and Remo replied, “I am. Are you?”
She met his eyes. “I guess I have to be. I mean... I already know what’s in here. I’m just afraid that when I look at it, everything bad will hit me all over again.”
He took her hand and led her to the couch. “In the unlikely event that you can’t handle it, you can lean on me. I promise.”
She exhaled. “Okay. Let’s do this.”
He watched as she slid a finger under one corner of the envelope’s unsealed flap and lifted it open. He could see that her hands were shaking as she dumped out the contents—four standard-sized photographs.
“These are them,” she said, her voice laced with obvious nerves as she adjusted them on the table.
Remo leaned over to have a look. Each shot was of the same group of men—Neil Price, and three others. One of the three looked vaguely familiar, but the two others were complete unknowns. The pictures were all taken from a funny angle, and it was pretty clear that the men didn’t know they were being photographed.
“I took them with my cell phone,” Celia explained, reading his thoughts. “I wasn’t supposed to be there that day. In fact, we’d split up about two weeks before. Neil had gotten rough with me a couple of times, and I wasn’t interested in sticking around. But I’d just found out I was pregnant. I knew he wouldn’t be happy, but I also knew I had to tell him right away. I wasn’t expecting to walk in on the meeting. Neil shoved me into the room next door, and I don’t think he realized I could see and hear.”
“What was it about?” Remo asked.
Celia tapped the picture. “You already know who Neil is, obviously. The other three men are city officials. Gary White and Lewis Dieberman are the first two. And the other is—was—Raj Singh.”
Then the recognition hit him. “Raj Singh. He died during an overpass inspection.”
She swallowed. “Yes. It wasn’t an accident. Before Neil was on the city council, he worked in municipal planning. And there was something wrong with that overpass they were building. They knew it, and they argued about it on the night that I took those pictures.”
Remo snapped his fingers. “Right. There was a structural compromise. A piece of it collapsed last year. A dump truck driver was paralyzed. I think they actually blamed Singh for it.”
“They did. But it wasn’t him. Neil took bribes all over the place. Contractors, subcontractors, architects. The fight went on so long that I think Neil forgot I was there. I left. And I managed to avoid him for a good week. I saw the news about Raj Singh and I just knew that it was Neil.”
Her hands pulled away from the pictures and clenched into fists in her lap. Remo reached out and placed his fingers on top of hers.
“At the time, I thought I could’ve stopped it somehow. If I’d gone to the police or told someone else what I knew...” She shook her head. “But it wouldn’t have mattered, because Detective Teller would’ve intercepted anyway, just like he did later. So I just ran.”
“But Neil caught up to you,” he said.
“Yes.” She closed her eyes. “It was a nightmare. I was just about to run. Literally getting into a taxi, when one of his thugs grabbed me and dragged me back to my apartment. I think the only reason he didn’t just kill me then was because I screamed out that I was pregnant.”
“He told Neil,” he filled in.
She opened her eyes and met his gaze. “Yes. And things got worse. Neil came to the apartment. He ordered me to terminate the pregnancy, and when I said I wouldn’t, he got violent. I was terrified—for me and for my baby—and I said I had evidence of what he’d done, and that it would come out if I died. Like I said, he’d gotten a little rough a few times. But I had no idea who he really was until that moment. He said he’d find the evidence and make sure I never took another breath. After that, I did try to go to the police. Which put me in contact with Teller. And you know the rest.”
Remo tightened his grip. “I’m sorry he put you through that. But at least now you remember everything. And knowledge is power.”
“But there’s still one thing I don’t know—why I came back.” She sighed. “I’m ridiculously glad you’re here.”
“Me, too.”
He leaned over and brushed her mouth with a kiss. He meant it to be gentle. A bit of loving agreement. And it did start that way. But her lips were soft, warm, and tinged with a pleasant bit of residual spiced-tea flavor. Remo couldn’t help but linger for another second, enjoying it. Enjoying her. When he started to pull away, Celia’s fingers came up to the back of his neck, twining in his hair and deepening the kiss.
The fervor in her contact immediately ignited his own need. Want coursed through him. His body took over, the envelope and its contents momentarily forgotten.
His hands slid down her shoulders and down her back. They paused briefly at the curve of her hips, then slipped around to cup her rear end so he could lift her into his lap. A little moan escaped her lips, and a responding growl built up in Remo’s chest. His finger moved to the bottom of her shirt, then under it. Her skin was as soft as her lips, and just as inviting. He was losing control in the most pleasant way possible.
He pulled away. “Celia.”
“Yes, Remo?” She pushed his shoulders back against the couch to trail kisses down his jaw and throat.
He groaned. “I don’t know if this is what Rupinder had in mind when she gave us the space.”
“Two birds, one stone,” she breathed.
Her lips came back to his, and there was no way he could fight it. Even if he’d wanted to.
She arched against him, and the memory of how she’d felt lying underneath him the day before leaped to mind. He wanted her like that again. He kissed her harder, then grabbed hold of her waist and flipped her to her back. But he overshot a little, and together, they rolled off the couch. His spine hit the ground, and her side hit the coffee table. The impact sent the photos flying.
“Leave them,” Celia ordered, rolling over so that she was on top of him again.
“Had no intention of retrieving them,” Remo growled.
“Thank God for that.” But as she dipped her face toward his, a solid knock on the door stopped her, just shy of another kiss. “That’s probably Rupinder, checking to see if we fell down and cracked our heads open. And there are about a dozen curse words jumping around in my head right now.”
He couldn’t help but chuckle. “Ditto. But we should answer it.”
“I know. But I don’t have to like it.”
She sighed, kissed him far too quickly, then rolled off and stood up. He followed suit, but before they could make it to the door, Celia spun back.
“Promise me something,” she said.
“Anything,” he replied.
“As soon as we’re done with all this, we’ll go away for a weekend together. I don’t care if it’s just to a nice hotel here in town, or if you want to head up to Sechelt or over to Victoria.” Her words came out faster, her enthusiasm audible. “Or across the border? But maybe we can leave Xavier with your mom and ignore everything.”
>
Remo felt a grin build up, and she caught it—and herself—at the same time.
“What are you smiling ab—oh, God,” she groaned, pink creeping up under her freckles. “That was a complete runaway train of a suggestion, wasn’t it? I’m blaming the head injury.”
“I think it sounds good. Better than good. And my mom would love it.”
He grabbed her hand and pulled her in, but the kiss was once again cut short by a knock, this one more forceful than the first. Laughing, she tugged him along to the door, then flung it open, speaking as she did.
“Don’t worry, Rupi,” she said. “We’re—”
Her words cut off, and Remo knew exactly why. The Indian woman’s face was pinched with worry, and when she spoke, her tone matched her expression. “Come on. I think the two of you need to know something, and it’s better to just show you.”
* * *
Celia’s heart fluttered as she and Remo followed Rupinder back to her apartment. She was sure the other woman would’ve immediately said if something was wrong with Xavier. In fact, Celia was certain Rupinder would’ve explained just about anything dire. But knowing that did nothing to ease her nerves. The ten-second walk was still enough to make sweat break out on her upper lip, and by the time they got as far as the kitchen, her stomach was fully knotted up. She actually had to silently tell her feet not to go running for Xavier—who was still immersed in his stack of books—and to pay attention to the laptop Rupinder swung toward them.
“I keep the news feed going,” the older woman explained. “Paused and rewound the relevant bit for you. Subtitles on for the sake of little ears.”
Her fingers tapped the keyboard, and a moment later, Remo’s picture became the dominant thing on the screen.
Under the photo, words flickered, recapping the story they’d heard earlier. Of Celia’s accident and subsequent death in the hospital. No mention of her son. The so-called road rage incident. The manhunt for Remo.
“No need to tell me the how and why,” Rupinder murmured. “The first bit is obviously untrue, so I assume the rest is, too.”
First Responder on Call Page 21