by Freya Barker
Slowly my attention is drawn back to the conversation at the table and I just catch the last of what Britta says.
"...Charming man. I guess my reputation stretches over state lines because he called the firm and asked for me specifically. It'll definitely be rewarding to work with someone of such good standing." Britta babbles on and I notice how quiet Elaine has gotten when Arlene carries a large tray over to our table. The two women are served their respective drinks and Britta her salad, before Arlene sets two small, steaming oven dishes in front of Kim and I. Two small bowls of chunky applesauce are placed beside them and with a slightly sarcastic Bon Apetit, Arlene leaves.
This is the big test.
From the corner of my eye, I see Kim spread her napkin on her lap and pick up her fork. She scoops up a bite, brings it up to her mouth but stops before she turns to her mother. Elaine's eyes are slits as she watches every one of Kim's movements.
"And how did you like Durango, Mother?" she asks, right before closing her lips over the fork and closing her eyes at the rich taste of the food. She deserves a standing ovation.
My girl—she's a goddamn goddess, and she's holding her own. Actually, she's wiping the floor with them by not having said one untoward thing. The epitome of class.
"It was fine," Elaine says distractedly, watching every bite that disappears in Kim's mouth. Britta is just toying with her plain salad, not particularly interested in the conversation.
"Pretty drive isn't it? Did you guys see Mesa Verde? Gorgeous right? You should take some time and look around there. It's amazing." Kim babbles, trying to keep the rather awkwardly stilted exchange going. "I've been there several times. I think the last time was last summer, when my friend Kerry and I went for several hikes. There are some great trails to walk."
Her family may not be paying much attention to what she is saying, but I am. I'm taking her into the park this summer if it's the last thing I do, and I can think of a few more spots I'd love to show her.
"Refills?" Arlene stops at our booth, before leaning over and whispering to me, "Trouble coming in the door, I'll try to head her off."
My eyes immediately go to the front, but all I see is Arlene's back, blocking the view of whomever she's trying to warn me about. I have a gut feeling this 'family meal' is about to get a whole lot more uncomfortable.
Kim
Oh my God.
How messed up can one day get?
After my lovely MRI from hell, we'd come home to find Boo on the bed, chewing the styrofoam container that had held ground beef we cooked earlier in the week. He'd dug that container out of the garbage, which was now spread all over the kitchen. When he was a pup he'd sometimes get into the garbage. Usually when I would go back to work after a weekend. We've spoiled him and now he's regressing. I almost cried when I explained to Mal that this was Boo's version of a temper tantrum, but he calmly called Boo, clipped on his leash and took him for a walk, telling me to leave the mess for him. Of course I didn't and by the time he got back I'd cleaned it up.
And now, only two hours after scraping the garbage off the kitchen floor, I'm sitting here with a damn smile plastered on my face, struggling hard to stay polite. That's my plan, no matter what they throw my way, I'm ignoring what they say and staying friendly and polite. Not how I feel, let me tell you. I'm so riled up after this fucked up day that I'm itching to smack someone, but that would not help. I keep reminding myself of the saying 'you teach someone how to treat you.' I'm trying. My hair may go completely grey with the effort by tonight, but doggone it, I'm trying. Other than Mal's little intervention, which seems to have had some effect, it feels good to have him there. A warm glance, an acknowledging hand on my knee—he makes sure to let me know he's there with me.
Right up until I feel him tense up beside me and mutter something under his breath. When I follow his glance which seems to be focused on the entranceway, I notice Arlene talking to someone. A woman with long blonde hair, teased all the way out there, and a body much like my sister's. I don't know her, but when she moves past Arlene and starts walking toward our booth, the mumbled "Shit" from Mal tells me he sure does.
It's like watching a car wreck happen. You know it's coming, you know it's gonna get ugly, but there's not a damn thing you can do about it but brace for the impact. And boy, what an impact it is.
"Hey, honey!" The blonde twitters as she stops beside the table, leaning into Mal for... for what? A kiss?
"Not your honey, Serena," he says, holding a hand out to stop the progress of her pursed lips. "Made it clear to you months ago that was not gonna happen."
"Pfff, lover's spat, that's all." She waves it off with her hand before resting it on Mal’s chest.
I don't know if she's really conniving or simply that stupid when her eyes finally scan the rest of the booth. "Hi," she half waves to us with the hand Mal just resolutely removed from his chest. Or rather, she waves to my mother and sister who, by the looks of it, are frothing at the mouth for the inevitable drama. The moment her eyes hit mine, I can feel the negative energy rippling my way. Oh, she knows.
"And you are?" she directs at me, and only at me. Challenge accepted.
"I'm having a quiet dinner with my family. This is our table, and I believe you're the one who walked up and interrupted. That means you don't get to ask that question and frankly, I don't give a rat's ass who you are."
Whoops and hollers from the corner table where my new fan club sits and a deep chuckle from Mal beside me tell me I did good. But then I look back at her and I know she's ready to come back with a zinger.
"Oh honey, honestly? Look at me," she says, running her hands down her body like a two-bit hooker. "If I can give him this, and all you have on offer is...that." She waves her hand in my direction. "Do you really think it'll be a hard choice for him to make?"
"Hey! That's my sister you're talking about."
My eyes about bulge out of my head when I turn and see that indeed, Britta has her angry glare focussed on Blondie. But before the situation has a chance to deteriorate into a bawdy cat fight, Mal stands up and grabs the woman by the shoulders.
"Enough. Don't know what you thought you'd accomplish coming here, but you knew months ago there was no chance for anything between us. Not a chance, Serena. And you know why? Because I knew someone like her would come along one day and that kind of quality? A man goes down on his knees to get a shot at that." He drops his hands from her arms and I feel almost sorry for the woman as I watch her shock turn into embarrassment when her gaze darts around the diner, taking in every pair of eyes turned her way. But she walked in here with her head high, looking for a scene. She just didn't count on walking out with her tail between her legs after a public dressing down.
"He loves you," Mom whispers and my eyes find hers wet with emotion. And at that, the heavy fist that had been squeezing my heart painfully since her first call on Sunday, suddenly releases.
"Lucky bitch."
Britta's words are soft and filled with a longing I understand well. She actually smiles at me and a lump gets stuck in my throat. I'm so wrapped up in this unfamiliar feeling of warmth around me, that I don't even notice Mal marching Blondie to the door, or Arlene clearing away the plates from the table.
"Your mouth is hanging open, Nizhóní," Mal's voice rumbles right beside my ear, just before his lips press a kiss at my hairline. "Time to get you home."
I'm still a little stunned when I wave goodbye to a table full of smiling faces and follow my mother and sister into the small front lobby. Mal calls out to wait right there while he goes to take care of the bill.
"I'll be in touch," my sister says. Something I haven't heard her say in the longest time. Not quite a hug goodbye yet, but in comparison to the more familiar cold dismissal, it sure feels like one.
Mom turns to me and grabs my face. "I...I'm..." That's all she manages before shaking her head and turning to leave. The sudden shattering of the glass front door freezes everyone followed by the sound of Mal y
elling from behind me.
"Get down!! Get the fuck down!!"
I'm dazed, trying to grasp what is happening when my mother turns and throws both of us down on the ground. Mayhem ensues, yelling and screaming from somewhere behind me, but it all fades into the background the moment I look down to find my mother's eyes closed, her head resting on my chest.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
That was fucking brilliant.
Finding that file on Kimeo Lowe in that idiot Winter's car was a stroke of luck I hadn't counted on. The name of the law firm in Grand Junction, where her sister was an associate, stood out like a beacon and my plan started taking shape.
The woman had been so eager to land a big client, she'd not even questioned his need to keep their meeting under wraps. She'd been the one to bring up her sister, mentioning she thought she lived in or near Durango. I didn't correct her, but instead suggested perhaps she use the opportunity to look her up. Emphasized how important family is. The idiot woman fell for it.
Setting up the appointment for the Thursday gave me enough time to drive the back road and avoid being spotted. The sister didn't even question the back room in the restaurant I'd rented out for our 'meeting.' Staff left us alone—enough cash made sure of that. Money always talks.
With only a little prodding, she spilled that her sister was currently staying with friends—in some hick dive called Cedar Tree outside of Cortez, and that they were meeting her later for dinner. Bitch had been right under our noses the entire time.
My phone buzzes in my pocket. I turned the sound off to avoid being heard the moment I left the truck on the other side of a wooded area outside of the diner Ms. Lowe and her mother pulled into. Doesn't matter, I know who is calling and I'd call him back as soon as the job is done. As soon as I deal with Ms. Lowe, now squarely in my crosshairs.
It takes me a second to register the bullet that tears through my thigh, the impact enough to throw off the shot I had just aimed at my target's forehead.
Mal
I don't know why, but right as I walk Serena to the door, the hair on the back of my neck stands up. After watching her get in her car, I scan the parking lot, but it looks as it did earlier. Still, something tells me it's time to take Kim home. Time to put this fucked up day behind us.
I'm not sure what I was expecting when I get back to the table, but it certainly isn't the highly emotional charge hanging around the three women at the table. They barely notice my approach and it's only after I kiss Kim that she looks at me. The three of them get up without complaint and I have time for only a quick glance at my brother who's got his thumb up and is smiling, before I have to call to stop the three from walking right out the door. I turn to Arlene at the counter to pay, but she waves me off.
"You kidding? I couldn't buy the kind of entertainment you bring with you. People are gonna flock, waiting for round two."
I start to smile at her when something has me turn to the front door, just in time to see it shatter. I know I yell out for them to get down, but after that things become chaotic. The only thing I see is Elaine and Kim both going down. No.
It's Gus barking out orders that unglues me from my spot and, the next instant, I find myself on my knees beside Kim and her mother. Both are covered in glass but only Kim's eyes lift to meet mine. I expected Elaine's would be lifeless under her closed lids, after seeing the size of the hole between her shoulder blades.
-
"What the fuck happened out there?"
Gus is yelling, pacing back and forth in the parking lot of the hospital I just left a few hours ago. Seems ages ago already.
With the arrival of ambulances and law enforcement vehicles, there hadn't been time to go over details. I'd been too busy holding on to Kim and her sister, as first Naomi and then the EMTs worked hard to revive their mother. It had taken everything to get Kim in the second ambulance. She had lacerations all over from the flying glass, but thank God no bullet wounds. Thanks to her mother.
Britta, who had just stepped through the door when she'd heard it shatter behind her, came away without any injuries. I left them with a couple of Drew's deputies standing guard outside the room.
Leaning against Gus's Yukon, I wait for him to be done tearing a strip off whomever he has on the phone.
"Clusterfuck," he says when he finally stops in front of me. "Total clusterfuck. Shots came from the woodlot. Neil was on that side scanning the tree line when he was intercepted by the fucking feds. They'd picked up Hartnett's lead and fucking followed him, but with their heads up their assess that far, they didn't think to give a head's up. He managed to get off two shots before they took him down."
"He dead?"
"No. They wanted him alive. They want whoever is pulling Hartnett's strings. They whisked him off to 'an undisclosed location.' " Gus sits down on the curb and drops his head in his hands. "You know? This situation is exactly why I had to leave law enforcement. Agencies so focused on the big picture, they forget to do what they're here for—protect the individual." He seems dejected when he lifts his eyes. "Kim's mother?"
My headshake is enough of an answer. She'd been whisked away to an operating room by the time Kim was wheeled into the ER, and I'd frankly been surprised she'd survived the ambulance ride. They'd miraculously been able to get her heart going. Still, Kim seemed numb and Britta was pale and in shock. I chose my words carefully to explain the situation to Britta, who was at a complete loss as to what just happened. She wordlessly went to sit beside Kim on the bed and drew her into her arms. Feeling useless here and eager to get more information, I left them sitting side by side on the bed, staring into space. Hanging on to each other for dear life. Kim didn't even register my kiss and the promise I'd be right back.
The slow clip of heels on the parking lot pavement had both Gus and I turn our heads to see Britta hesitantly making her way toward us. Her face even paler than earlier.
"I...I'm not sure..." she starts nervously. Gus stands up and gives her shoulder a squeeze.
"Is Kim all right?" I want to know.
"That woman doctor is with her, Naomi?"
"A friend of ours."
"Right. So I'm not sure if this has any bearing on what you just told me in there, but that new client I met in Durango earlier? He's in oil." She shakes her head dismissively. "I'm sure it has nothing to do with what happened, but a few things occurred to me. His call came out of the blue and he seemed insistent to meet with me. He also insisted I mention nothing about our meeting to my firm yet. Claimed he needed time to get his business freed up from his current firm. It seemed...odd, at the time, but he appeared very interested in my family, my sister in particular. You don't think..." This woman, fiddling the edge of the elegant shawl draped around her neck is nothing like the fire-eating bitch I met a few hours ago. She's uncertain, an unspoken question in her eyes.
"Hartnett," Gus says. "Jacob Hartnett. He's responsible for at least two deaths, as far as we know."
The confirmation of what she obviously feared hits her hard, as she folds her arms around her waist and doubles over, as if punched in the gut. I know the feeling.
I leave Britta in Gus's care, who is trying to glean as much information from her as he can, although I doubt Hartnett would've discussed anything with her that would be of value to us. He'd had one objective in mind and that was finding Kim.
When I walk into the treatment room in the ER, Kim is lying curled up on her side, her back to the door. She doesn't even move when I walk up to the bed. Only when I lift her hair away from her face does she turn and lift her eyes to mine. They're dull. Devoid of any real emotion and that concerns me more than if I would've seen pain or confusion there. She looks like she's shut down. There's nothing I can say, so instead I toe off my boots and crawl into the narrow hospital bed behind her, scooping her body close. Initially she's stiff as a board, but after a few minutes I feel her sinking into me. When I feel her take in a shaky breath, I roll her body onto mine and she buries her face in my shoulder
as the first sob rips free. She cries until her tears must've dried up, before I notice Britta sitting on the single chair in the room.
"Hey," I greet her softly.
"Hey," she says back, a hitch in her voice.
Kim
"I'm sorry."
Boo's big head is on my lap, his big body splayed out over the couch I've tried for the past few weeks to keep him off, as the memory of my sister's parting words play through my head.
She's on her way back to Grand Junction where my mother was transported by helicopter this morning. Gus apparently offered to drive her, but she'd been adamant about needing time to process and thought that driving would be good for that. It's been two days since my mother was shot and although the surgical team at Cortez Memorial had managed to pull her back from the brink, they'd made it clear that her survival would take more than stopping the active bleeding and fixing her collapsed lung. The bullet had torn through Mom's spine, leaving her spinal cord almost severed. The surgeon enforced on us the importance of moving her as fast as possible to either Grand Junction or Denver where a specialized neurological team would be able to try and repair the damage. For now, they'd kept Mom in an induced coma, until the neurosurgeons have a chance to assess her. We opted for Grand Junction. The team there has a high success rate repairing damaged spinal cords as Britta discovered when she immediately researched our options. Of course it was also the more convenient option, although that was clearly a secondary factor.
I'd felt useless as Britta had spent most of yesterday making phone calls to Mom's friends. People I don't even know. It was hard for me to admit how little I have to offer my mother. I've been so far removed from their life for so long. I can't help wonder how many real friends she has. I can't really recall any from when I was growing up. Other 'society ladies' yes, but not the kind of friends you'd chat with for hours at a time over a cup of tea, or that you'd go hiking with. Not the ones who would laugh and cry with you through your ups and downs. I realize how fortunate I am to have that, and it makes me sad for her. Her carefully toned and honed body that she put so much value on is almost a shell now. For so long the memories she left me with were mostly painful. Not joyous, not sweet, but bitter and hurtful. Except in those last few moments before she was shot, the wonder in her eyes when she told me "He loves you," and the sacrifice she made, putting my life ahead of hers. I recognized her as a mother in those moments and I will treasure them.