He didn’t move. “You’re out of breath.”
Always the champion of fun conversation, her father didn’t disappoint this time either. “I just got home.”
She backed up so that he could pass in front of her. As usual, he glanced around her apartment with a look of confusion on his face. He had the whole furrowed-brow-sighing thing down. She never knew if it was the general look of just about to tip into chaos that upset him or the fact she rented, which he found financially irresponsible. Either way, him coming here only heightened an already tense situation.
His gaze fell on the stack of boxes. Her copies of all the material she could find about Tiffany’s case. “Is all this necessary?”
Emery sighed but somehow managed to keep the sound inside. “It’s easier to keep the material in boxes than spread it all over the floor.”
He sat down on the edge of the love seat. “You know what I’m talking about.”
“This topic got us into trouble just a few days ago.”
“That’s what I’m here to talk with you about.” He gestured toward the chair across from him. “Sit.”
Never mind that it was her chair and her apartment and she’d paid for everything in it without his help. Money led to strings, and she never wanted to be in the position of owing her father anything. The relationship was rocky enough without adding in that factor.
Still, she’d stomped away from him the last time they met. He deserved it, but she’d long ago figured out capitulation on the easy stuff made her feel less guilty about how frustrated she got with him about everything else. “I’m sorry I walked out on our dinner.”
He waved off her halfhearted apology. “I get that you’re emotional about this subject.”
“The subject of my cousin and best friend being missing for more than a decade? Yeah, it makes me cranky.” Like right now. Just a few sentences in and anxiety churned in her stomach.
“Cousin and childhood friend. The two of you were already moving apart, and I’m telling you her father was about to send her away to school.”
“That’s not—”
“Believe it or not, Emery. I’m not here to fight with you.”
Certainly sounded like he was. The talking-over-her thing was a big clue. And it sounded as if he’d come loaded with all the same arguments. The ones sure to send her anger spiking. But she would play along. He deserved that much respect. “Why are you here?”
“I think it’s time I stepped in.” He pulled a folded piece of paper out of his shirt pocket. “I am going to hire a specialist to come on board, take over all of this and provide us with a fresh look at Tiffany’s disappearance.”
Emery knew it killed him to say that last part. He was absolutely convinced Tiffany had run away and he blamed her for driving her own father to an early death. Her father had a habit of blaming the victim for not being careful enough, or in the wrong place, or with the wrong people. He did it while talking about things he’d heard on the news. He did it the few times she’d tried to talk about her work with him. She learned early not to do that again.
The only new thing here was the idea of an investigator of some sort. She knew she should feel grateful, even though the move was pretty clunky in light of how much time had passed and all the comments he’d made. Still, she couldn’t shake the sense that this was a way of scolding her.
“I’ve hired a professional who will study every one of your files and provide us with a report. We can finally have some objective comments and then put this matter to bed.”
“No.” There were reasons and arguments, but she didn’t bother with any of them. Didn’t take the paper either.
He dropped it on the coffee table in front of him. “What is that supposed to mean?”
She would not let him control this and shift the answer in the direction he wanted. Rather than question his version of “objectivity” she went with a more neutral explanation, one that happened to be true.
“There already is a private party investigating the entire matter. He’s talked with me and Detective Cryer. He has all the paperwork and files.” Hyperbole seemed to be called for here, so she went with it. Her father was not one to back down easily. He had to be whacked.
His scowl hit full force. “Who?”
“Someone Senator Dayton recommended.” Again, a partial truth, but Emery felt fine using it. “In fact, I met with her and the investigator. Everything has started. We have the best people looking into this.”
“What is the man’s name?”
Of course he assumed it would be a man. He just happened to be right this time. “That’s not important.”
“Of course it is. I need to talk with him.”
That was never going to happen. “You can’t until he asks to see you. He insisted on anonymity. That’s the way he works. It’s so he’s not improperly influenced and conducts a totally objective review.”
She kept skirting the truth, something that should make her feel guilty. She didn’t even experience a twinge. Her father planned to come in, take over under the guise of “relieving some of the burden” and then control it all. Well, she wasn’t in the mood for that game. When it came to Tiffany, Emery knew she couldn’t let her father’s demanding nature win.
“That’s ridiculous,” he said in a voice growing more agitated by the second. “I was there. A grown-up. You were only a child.”
“Then you’ll likely be interviewed.” She tried to imagine Wren interrogating her dad and her mind refused to go there. “Hey, he’s in charge, not me.”
“You can’t possibly afford the proper kind of review.” Her father looked around as he said the words, as if to drive home the fact she had limited resources.
“I’m not paying for it.” She’d finally said the first completely true thing . . . which got her wondering as to how Wren was going to get compensated. She doubted he ran his business and paid for those suits by performing tons of unplanned-for pro bono work.
“Who is?”
“The point is that you don’t need to worry about this issue.” She spied what she feared was the corner of her abandoned underwear tucked under the side of the couch. “It’s out of my hands. The investigator has started and will eventually go through all of this.” She got up and walked in the opposite direction of the underwear. “We should go.”
“What?”
She slipped her shoes back on, almost groaning at how the tops pinched her feet. “I thought we were having dinner.”
“This conversation is not over.” He didn’t even stand up.
“It actually is.” She grabbed her keys and walked to the door, keeping her back to him and not watching to see if he followed. She turned around at the last minute. “You can use the meal to tell me everything else I’m doing wrong with my life. That should be fun for you.”
“Emery.”
“I can tell you about the attempted break-in.” She knew that would get his attention.
He stood up slowly. “Here?”
She didn’t intend to explain about her round-the-clock bodyguards, so she just answered the question he asked. “Yes.”
“And yet you continue to sleep here by yourself?” He shook his head. “Absolutely not. You need to come home and stay with me.”
“I’m staying with Caroline.” What was one more lie in a series of many? And this one saved her from being pulled back to her father’s house, the absolutely last place she wanted to stay. “I was just stopping here to check the place and meet you.”
“That is not good enough. Your safety comes first.”
She opened the door. “No, food does.”
CHAPTER 18
His private line rang a little after ten that night. Wren was still in the office because the morning coffee runs and evenings spent digging around in Tiffany’s case meant he had to put in extra hours on his company’s cases. If the result turned out to be another night like the last one, sprawled across Emery’s bed, he’d go without sleep for a month. That wo
man was absolutely worth the overtime.
He picked up on the first ring. No need to play games when he knew the identity of the caller. Could almost smell her just from seeing her name come across his cell screen.
“Are you home?” Because he could swing by for a few minutes, or hours.
Emery laughed on the other end of the line. “Almost.”
The answer didn’t make much sense. He glanced at his watch. “That was a long dinner.”
“Dad dropped me off at Caroline’s house after because that’s where I told him I was staying. I’ve been visiting with her for an hour or so.” When Wren started to question, Emery talked right over him. “Don’t ask about the staying-over thing. It’s a long story.”
“We’ll come back to that. How was dinner with Dad?” Wren couldn’t imagine having more than three words for his father—go to hell. No need for a long, drawn-out meal. Wren doubted he could choke down food if he ever saw the man again or had to sit across from him at a table.
No, watching from a distance was good enough. So long as his father followed the rules and didn’t stray outside of a hundred mile area in Belize, exactly where Wren dumped him all those years ago with little money and under the threat of killing him if he tried to come back to the US. There, he got to live his broken life. All alone. It killed Wren to let his father live, but he promised Quint he would stick to this plan. Something about how it was a better solution because it punished his father and saved Wren’s soul.
“I would describe the night as trying,” she said.
Keys jingled in the background and the thump of footsteps echoed on the line. The woman never stopped moving. He smiled as he leaned back in his chair and balanced his shoes on the edge of his desk. “What exactly are you doing?”
“Is that a modified version of asking me what I’m wearing?”
The lightness in her voice eased the tension of his long day. “You should feel free to answer that question first.”
“Nice try.” Her voice faded out as a sound that suggested she was fumbling with the phone came over the line. “Walking into my building.”
She called before she was even home. He didn’t hate that. “Are Keith and Stan with you?”
“I would have to know who those two people are to be able to answer the question.”
Now she was just playing with him. No way did she keep from asking her unwanted shadows their names. Hell, she probably knew before he did because he hadn’t bothered to ask Garrett until two nights ago. “The men stationed outside your house.”
She’d refused to accept the bodyguards. Wouldn’t even talk about it when he called this afternoon and told her they’d continue to follow at a comfortable distance. Also told her good luck losing them. She’d hung up on him.
“Ah, yes. Them.”
He could almost hear her roll her eyes. “I told you I was keeping them on duty.”
“That’s not heavy-handed at all.”
Her spirit reeled him in and drove him mad. He couldn’t remember the last time a woman had him spinning and changing his schedule and offering up his name. Then there was the following-her-around thing. That one was downright embarrassing. “I thought I was being fairly thoughtful in not insisting they come inside and sleep on your couch.”
She snorted. “Never going to happen, but good thing they sort of blend into the neighborhood with that impressive dark sedan because I have no idea how I would have explained their presence to my dad.”
Since she wasn’t exactly fighting him about protection, Wren took it as a sign she didn’t hate the idea. She might be independent and strong, but she was also smart. Someone got too close to her place the other night. He’d been prepared to press his point and argue about this, but he wasn’t sure he had to.
But there was an issue he did want to discuss. “How about saying, ‘Dad, the guy I’m sleeping with assigned bodyguards to me’? Or is that too much?”
“Sure, that sounds like something I’d say to my father.” The laughter moved back into her voice. “And, as you pointed out, we haven’t actually slept together yet.”
Speaking of things he’d rather talk about . . . “You mean haven’t had sex, because we did actually nod off for about an hour after the oral.”
She sighed loud enough to blow out his eardrums. “Yes, Levi. Sex.”
“I can come over right now and fix that for us.” If she said yes he’d break the sound barrier getting to her.
“Subtle.”
Not exactly the answer he wanted. “You need to stop thinking I intend to be subtle.” They’d get back to the idea of sex and a visit, but first he needed one issue settled for the night. “Are you inside the apartment yet?”
“In a second.” The keys jangling grew louder. “Keep your pants on.”
Not the phrase any man longed to hear. “Do you mean that?”
“Not even a little.”
“I can be there in—”
“Oh, my God!” Her voice broke into his then choked off. For that second, fear vibrated in her tone. A thud and then something like racing footsteps sounded in the background. “Not again.”
“Emery?” Wren jackknifed and his feet hit the floor. “What is it?”
“My apartment . . . I don’t . . .” Her words stammered and her breathing came out in short staccato puffs.
“Inhale.” His hand curled around the cell and tightened until the plastic dug into his palm. Panic flooded through him. He hadn’t felt the sensation in so long that he barely recognized it. “Talk to me.”
“Someone’s been here.”
He stood up, dragging the phone and the file on his lap with him. “Where are the guards?”
Hearing the quickfire of her words and the gulping in of air touched off something inside him. A harsh breath hiccupped in his chest. That giant, churning ball of anxiety in his gut did not ease. He couldn’t stay neutral and disconnected. She was not just a job.
“Right behind me.” Her voice faded then started up again. “In the hall.”
He walked around the side of the desk, knocking a stack of paperwork to the floor. Documents crunched under his shoes as he doubled back and opened his top drawer to find his keys and wallet.
He had to get to her. Now. “You do not leave them. I’ll be there in a second.”
“Okay.” She exhaled into the phone, loud and shaky. “Just hurry.”
Wren blew through a red light and took more than one corner too fast. The wild ride matched the pumping inside him. Anxiety rolled over him as he drove, roaring past the speed limit and earning both stares and honking.
Finding a spot to park on her street proved impossible, so he stopped in the middle and called for Stan to come down and take care of the car while he checked on Emery. He threw open the door and bolted for the front of her building. He didn’t miss a step as he crossed paths with his man and passed the keys before heading for her door.
She stood in the entry. Seeing her there, with her arms crossed in front of her while she gnawed on her bottom lip, had him rushing down the hall.
“Emery?” He didn’t realize he’d said her name out loud until she spun around.
Her face crumpled as she pushed away from the doorframe and lurched toward him. “You’re here.”
“Of course.” He caught her and wrapped his arms around her. Inhaled the familiar scent of her shampoo. She was safe, but he still had no idea what happened.
He maneuvered their joined bodies until her back faced the inside of her apartment and he could peek in. His mind spun as he looked around. One of his men stood in the center of the room, taking pictures. The rest of the room waited in shambles. Ripped papers and crumpled files. The boxes of information she kept on Tiffany’s case were overturned and emptied out. He hadn’t looked inside those, but if her collection mirrored his then most of it was gone.
Slowly he came back to the present. Held her until his muscles ached, but there was no way he’d let go. Not when he could feel the material of
his jacket bunched in her fists and puffs of air against his neck from her labored breathing. His mind flashed to comfort and he fought for the right words to say. When nothing came to him, he went with smoothing his hand up and down her back while the other one kept her locked against him.
Wren glanced at the bodyguard in charge, Keith. “Anything missing?”
The man stood up, all six-foot-four retired marine of him. “I checked the entire apartment. I can’t speak as to personal items, but these boxes took a hit.”
“He’s back.” She mumbled the words against Wren’s shirt.
He still heard them. Lifted her head. “Who?”
“The person who took Tiffany.” After gulping in a huge intake of breath she stood back with her hand still resting on his arm. “That’s the only thing that makes sense, right? I asked around about you, bugged the senator. Made someone nervous.”
“That suggests Tiffany knew her attacker. That it wasn’t a random act by someone passing through.” Which was exactly what Wren feared after the first break-in. A second could not be considered a coincidence.
“I know.” A shiver had Emery pulling her body in tighter.
“Do we call the detective?” the bodyguard asked.
“No.” Emery almost screamed the reply.
Wren wasn’t sure that was the wrong answer for right now, but he doubted they had the same reasoning on that. “Because?”
She pulled back, not the whole way but enough to put some space between their bodies. She took one step then another, all while holding on to Wren’s jacket and the arm underneath. “I just want to go through what’s here and what’s missing.”
“There could be prints,” the bodyguard pointed out.
“Did you . . .” Before Wren got the rest of the question out about having filmed, photographed and gotten the supplies to check for prints, Keith nodded. Wren looked at Emery again. “He’s handled it.”
She swayed a bit but stayed still. “I don’t know what that means.”
“We should leave.”
The Fixer Page 16