Through Fire (Portland, ME #3)

by Freya Barker

  “We get it, baby. We get it. That’s enough,” I murmur in her hair. Over her head, my eyes meet my brother’s and he looks as torn up as I feel.

  “I dated a plastic surgeon last year,” Mark says suddenly. “We still talk from time to time, I can talk to her. See what it would take to get those damn brands removed. For both of you.”

  “No.” Ruby surprises me with her prompt answer, and even more so, when she slips from my hold and crosses over to sit next to my brother, leaning in to kiss his cheek. “Thank you so much for the offer. Maybe it’s something we can offer Nina one day, but I’m keeping mine.”

  “Whatever you want to do, babe,” I give in. “But why?”

  She tucks her arm in to Mark’s and looks from him back to me.

  “Because that mark was what made Nina open up. There may be more like her—like me—who need to see in order for them to trust.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Ruby

  “Can I have two Thursday specials?” Syd sticks her smiling face around the kitchen door.

  It’s been two weeks since we were cleared to return to Portland; that was after spending our third night in the luxury suite. Mike had shown up during breakfast again and seemed very pleased with himself when he told us he’d been able to pit Milano against Lima. The former police captain realized, very quickly, that unless he turned state’s evidence, he would not only be vulnerable to the general prison population as a cop, but as a sex offender too. The first could get him shivved, but the second, as he was well aware, could end much worse than a quick death. Mike had made sure he was very clear on that. He’d been singing like a canary since coming to that conclusion.

  He said the tying down of all of the evidence would be at least another few months, but that we were free to leave.

  I immediately thought of Nina, and the fact that I wouldn’t be able to visit with her anymore. Claudia had called in CPS. Although she was keeping Nina for observation for another few days, CPS now controlled who and how long Nina could receive visitors. If not for Claudia, I wouldn’t have been allowed back to see her. With her intervention, I’d been able to spend a few hours with her yesterday.

  “Can we visit Nina before we go?” My voice had a little wobble when I directed my question at Tim. Understanding immediately spread over his face.

  “Absolutely.”

  No hesitation at all. Just complete support, without any question. So damn beautiful, this man.

  There were tears. Mine and Nina’s for sure, but I suspect Claudia may have blinked away a few as well. I hugged Nina, who no longer was kept in restraints, something Claudia took care of right away. I handed Nina a box with a cell phone, one matching the one in my purse, that Tim had insisted on buying for us on the way here. “So you can stay in touch,” he’d said.

  “For real?” Nina said, sounding more like an American teenager than the little Mexican girl I met that first day. I smiled at her.

  “Tim bought each of us one,” I replied in English, as I showed her mine. Her eyes immediately went to the window where Tim was peeking in through the now opened blinds. Hesitantly she raised her hand and wiggled her fingers at him; his face cracked open in a wide smile.

  Tim had asked me to go home with him, but I wanted some time to myself. Mainly to try and process the whirlwind events. He’d driven me to Florence House, where I packed up my belongings and promised Pam I’d give her a call the next day. After that, he helped me carry my stuff up to the apartment and gave me a sweet kiss goodbye, before leaving me to fend for myself. I could tell he wasn’t happy, but other than demanding I call him before I go to sleep, he didn’t complain.

  Last week I’d started back to work and was just finding my feet again, after being off for about two months. The welcome I received had been heartwarming, with hugs from Dino, Gunnar, Matt, Ike, and even Arnie. There were emotional tears from Viv, whose belly had expanded impressively since I last saw her.

  Today was the first time working with Syd, who ended up escaping the winter cold by visiting Gunnar’s mother in Arizona with all three kids. She’d just gotten back the day before yesterday.

  “I’ll bring them out,” I offer to her with a smile. “We’re out of guac, I quickly have to make some more.”

  Today was my first hand at the Thursday Special. I’d spent most of last week practicing this easy recipe I found. Stacked nachos. It’s pretty easy, you brown some onions and ground beef. Add some salt and pepper to taste, find the best salsa you can buy, and add it to the pan to simmer with the beef. Place six-inch metal rings on a parchment paper-lined baking sheet, and sprinkle some grated Monterey Jack on the bottom. Then you press in a layer of nacho chips, top it with the beef mixture, followed with some chopped green onions, jalapeños and more grated cheese. You repeat until you have three layers, ending with the beef and cheese. Bake for twenty minutes in a hot oven, top with fresh-made guacamole and a dollop of sour cream. I was so excited when Dino tasted it and suggested we make it for Thursday. A good call, apparently, since they’ve been flying out the door all night.

  I make light work of the guacamole, pull two plates down and prepare the order. I’m rather pleased with myself. Dino is off again tonight, and so far I’ve managed the kitchen quite well. Orders had gone out smoothly and the evening rush had come and gone. I’d already started cleaning when this last order came through.

  The pub is oddly quiet when I walk in, toting the tray of food. Syd is leaning against the counter, her eyes on the TV screen above the bar. So are everyone else’s. No one seems to notice me, until I slide the order in front of Syd. She looks at me a bit startled before her eyes lift to the screen again, only to come back to me. I throw a look over my shoulder to see what has everyone glued to the screen and am shocked to see a picture of Carlos Delgado flash across the screen.

  “Turn it up,” I call to Matt, who’s manning the bar. He turns to me, but looks over my shoulder before doing as I asked. I feel an arm coming around my shoulders and a quick peek beside me finds Gunnar with a concerned look on his face.

  “...held in the murder of Carlos Delgado, almost a year ago, was found dead in his cell at the Nashua Street Jail earlier today, where he had been remanded until his upcoming trial. Lima, a former SAU detective for the Boston PD...” I don’t have to hear anymore and slip right from under Gunnar’s arm to the kitchen, where I sink down on a chair and drop my head on the table.

  Dead.

  I should feel horrified. Even shocked. But all I feel is a vague sense of relief—of justice. I remember what Mike had told us. How cops, and especially cops who were child molesters, were automatic targets in jail. I can’t say I’m proud of the thought, but I hope he suffered. For what he had obviously put Nina through, and God forbid, how many other girls. I’d rather see him rot in hell over that, than have him live out his life in jail for killing one of his own kind.

  I don’t know that I’ve been crying until Gunnar, who has apparently followed me, tosses a box of tissues in front of me. “How are you doing, Ruby?” he asks in his gravelly voice, filled with concern.

  “I’m good,” I answer him, finding myself able to even smile. “I’m not sure what that says about me, but I feel lighter.” Gunnar shoots me a crooked smile back.

  “I get that,” he simply says, before stepping around the table and leaning down to kiss my cheek. “Proud of you, girl,” he mumbles, turns around and disappears down the hall.

  I scramble to find my phone in my purse, suddenly feeling the need to talk to Tim. When I finally locate it, I see I have three missed calls from him. I quickly hit call.

  “I’m on my way.” Is the first thing out of his mouth when the call is answered after barely one ring.

  “Honey...”

  “Heard it on the news, baby. Hang in there, I’ll be there in five.” I hear a muttered conversation in the background and am only able to make out something about driving like a lunatic.

  “Tim, listen to me,” I hurry before he ha
ngs up. “I’m fine. I really am. Please drive careful.”

  All I hear is a deep sigh followed by a pregnant pause. “I promise,” he finally answers before a click announces he’s ended the call.

  I’m scouring the dirty baking sheets, lost in my thoughts, when familiar arms slip around my waist and pull me back into the hard wall of Tim’s chest. His chin lands on my shoulder, where he presses his cheek against mine. “I feel better now,” he says, making me snicker.

  Wiping my hands on my apron, I cross my arms on top of his and lean my head back on his shoulder. “I’m really okay,” I assure him. “I just wonder if someone will tell Nina before she accidentally sees the news or hears it on the radio.”

  Tim

  Mark and I had finally rescheduled that meeting with the real estate agent, to have a walk around the warehouse. I was frankly surprised the place hadn’t sold yet, until we did a walk through. To say it’s old and needs a few improvements would be optimistic. Thing is, the space itself is perfect, with lots of natural light from the huge windows along the entire front. There’s plenty of parking outside and would make for a fantastic workshop and showroom. That is, after I sink some serious money in it to replace half those windows, upgrade the wiring, have the plumbing fixed, get the roof repaired and call in an exterminator to deal with the rat problem. The last is not unusual, especially this close to the water, but I can’t risk having some damn rodents chew the shit out of my wood.

  The low price makes sense now too. Despite the broken windows, it eyes great from the outside, but you can’t really see the rest until you walk through.

  “I don’t know,” I say to Mark as we drive away, promising the agent we’ll give him a call, whatever we decide. I have some money from my severance pay, and I also have a pretty decent amount in savings, but taking this on would decimate my assets. Not exactly the way I’d envisioned starting a new life with a certain someone.

  “I do,” Mark says beside me. “Let’s pay Dad a visit and see what he has to say.”

  Not sure when my brother had become the voice of reason, but more often than not lately, he seemed to be. He’d come equipped with camera, measuring tape, and notebook, whereas I only had my half empty coffee cup. What happened to the buttoned up, borderline OCD, by the book Boy Scout I used to be? I can’t help the smile spreading over my face, because I know exactly what happened.

  “You’re thinking of Ruby, aren’t you?” Mark says, with no small measure of disgust in his tone. “You get that fucking goofy as hell smirk on your face. It’s pathetic.”

  “I know,” I say, now laughing out loud. “And I don’t care.”

  We bicker and tease until we pull into my parents driveway. As per usual, Mom has the door open before we even have a chance to get out. “How does she do that?” Mark mutters under his breath.

  “I think she either spends her days behind that curtain, waiting, or she has some secret alarm installed that goes off whenever someone comes within a hundred feet of the house.”

  “What are you kids talking about?” she asks, as we walk up to meet her at the door. Uncanny, the woman has a sixth sense.

  “Hey, Mom.” I lean down to kiss her cheek and quickly move past her, ignoring her question. Behind me, she greets Mark before closing the door behind us.

  “You guys are staying for dinner, right?” It’s not so much a question as it is an order.

  My father is sitting at the kitchen table, flipping the newspaper. Something he does at least a few times a day. “Might as well say yes,” he grumbles without looking up. “You know she’ll not take no for an answer anyway.”

  “Oh hush,” Mom scolds him, as she whacks a towel at him in passing.

  Mark disappears behind her into the kitchen, as I pull out a chair and sit across from Dad. He walks back in with three beers and plonks them on the table in front of us, before sitting down beside me. Dad looks up from his paper and folds it calmly, his eyes going back and forth between us. “Get on with it already,” he grouches, but the slight tilt of his mouth hints at amusement. “How was it?”

  “A mess,” I say.

  “Perfect,” Mark blurts out at the same time.

  “I see.” Dad smirks, folding his hands underneath his chin. “You first.” He nods to Mark.

  The next half hour, Mark and I take turns describing the warehouse with all its perks and downfalls. My father has grabbed a pen and pad and is making notes as we talk. When we’re done, he flips the pad over and leans back in his chair, staring at each of us in turn before focusing on Mark.

  “Tell me, what are the chances of you going back to law enforcement?” he asks him, and I turn to see Mark looking back at Dad without blinking.

  “None,” he says firmly.

  “Is that so?” Dad fires back immediately.

  “I’ve been offered early retirement. I’m taking it,” my brother sighs, lowering his eyes to his folded hands on the table. “The thought of having to go back out there, being confronted with the dark side of humanity day in and out...I lose sleep over it. I want something different.”

  My own exposure to humanity’s underbelly has been pretty sparse until recent months, but still I can understand how Mark feels.

  “I’m glad,” Dad directs at him. “Your damn shoulders were drooping lower and lower with the weight of the world piled on top. Your mother and I were getting worried.”

  “How about you?” This time, it’s me who has his attention.

  “Me?”

  “Yeah. What are your plans with that little cupcake you’re so hung up about?”

  Mark snorts beside me, knowing as well as I do, if Ruby ever heard herself referred to as a little cupcake, we’d likely have to hold her back. I smile thinking of her rare but lethal temper. “She’ll be part of my life, Dad.”

  “Don’t think that was ever in doubt, Son. How do you envision this? She’s avoided coming back here these past few weeks, despite your mother’s near begging.”

  “Not gonna push, Dad. She’ll come around, the woman needs a little breather,” I inform him, letting my irritation show. All he does is raise an eyebrow and I blurt out, “She has ’til next week.” Both other men at the table burst out laughing.

  “Finally!” Mom yells from the kitchen, apparently shamelessly eavesdropping on our conversation.

  “Okay,” Dad says, completely ignoring his wife’s outburst. “Now that we know where we’re all at, let’s put Vintage Veldman on the map.”

  He flips over his pad and starts firing off questions. It feels a bit like when we were young and he’d quiz us on our homework. Pretty soon, Dad has three pages full of calculations when he draws a thick line underneath the amount he feels is necessary to make this work. The number is a bit staunching, but Dad puts all three of our names down underneath, putting an amount next to each of them before lifting his eyes to me. “You tell me if you can do this, Son. I’m putting half the anticipated start up cost that includes the building next to your name, but that is only because you should have final say. The business starts and ends with your skills and designs. Mark and I each buy in for twenty-five percent, which will take some of the financial burden off you, so you’re not left completely tapped out. Besides, it gives each of us a chance to help build something we can collectively be proud of.” He tosses his pen on the table and folds his hands behind his head. “What say you?”

  I turn to Mark, who looks back with a smirk on his face. Much like the one on mine. We can do this.

  “Done,” we say, almost at the same time. To which my father slams his fist on the table.

  “Jane! Grab me that bottle of Dalwhinnie and a couple of tumblers, will ya?” The last word has barely left his mouth when Mom walks in, bottle in one hand and four tumblers in the other.

  “And don’t skimp on mine.” She points a finger at my Dad who sits there, shaking his head at her. “I’m grabbing a snack.”

  “Ears must be burnin’,” he teases her.

  “Bite me, Ar
thur,” she tosses over her shoulder.

  Dad chuckles as he watches her disappear into the kitchen. “Love that woman.”

  -

  Dinner, which had a celebratory feel to it, was enjoyed and cleared away when Dad flicks on the TV to watch the news.

  Both Mark and I shoot forward in our seats when the first thing we see is a mug shot of Eduardo Lima. “Turn it up, Dad,” Mark says urgently, while I pull out my phone and start dialing Ruby. With the fruitless ringing in one ear and the voice of the reporter outlining the events in the other, I finally get on my feet, and reach for my coat. Mom stops me with a hand on my arm.

  “Is that...” she starts. Before she has a chance to finish, I give her a big hug.

  “One of them, yes. I’ve got to get to Ruby.”

  “Of course,” she says, watching me walk out the door, Mark following closely behind me.

  I don’t question him when he jumps in the passenger seat of my truck and calmly buckles up. “Maybe she hasn’t seen it yet,” he suggests.

  “She’s not answering her phone,” I relay to him. Just then mine rings on the console beside me, Ruby’s name popping up on the screen.

  “I’m on my way,” I advise her before she has a chance to speak. I’m trying to ignore Mark, who is loudly complaining about my driving, but I only have ears for Ruby.

  Despite her assurances, I don’t relax until I walk into the kitchen and see her standing at the sink. I take in her efficient movements for a minute, letting my heart settle down in my chest, before I walk up behind her and wrap myself around her body.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Ruby

  I haven’t spoken to Nina since she left the hospital, about a week ago, to be placed in temporary care by CPS. I’ve tried, but each time was relegated to an automated message. I’d spent some time talking to Pam about the girl last week, and she suggested perhaps to give her some time to adjust. Said she may not be ready to be faced with what happened to her every time she’d clap eyes on me. I never considered that. I guess it makes sense in a way. What brought me to her, and provided our initial connection, was everything she was probably trying hard to forget.