by T. L. Haddix
A blur of motion passed by Sydney and Danny, tackling Ted and taking him to the floor. Archer. The woman screamed as the men slid across the slick marble tile of the foyer, pure chaos erupting. Emma was there, pulling Sydney and Danny away from the fight as Sawyer and the Hughes’ butler worked to separate the two men. Given that Archer’s hands were clamped around Ted’s throat, the task wasn’t easy.
“Archer, let him go,” Sawyer said, his voice calm even as he forced his way between them. “He’s not worth it. Let him go.”
“I’ll kill him for what he said about them,” Archer growled.
“And then where will that leave us?” Emma cried. “Let him go. They’re safe, Archer. Please, let him go.”
With a mighty growl, Archer shoved Ted as hard as he could, nearly pushing him into a marble statue.
“Leave now or I’ll call the police,” Ted’s wife, Julianne, had warned as she hurried to her husband. “Just go and get out of here, leave us alone.”
Sometimes in the dream, they left. Sometimes, Archer killed Ted and ended up going to prison for the rest of his life. And sometimes, he turned to Sydney and Emma with hatred in his eyes.
“I never should have gotten involved with you people. You can have them,” he’d say before walking away. Those were the worst endings to the dream by far, and that was what Sydney had tonight.
In real life, they hadn’t wasted any time leaving the house. As soon as they were outside, Sydney was running to Archer, sobbing. “Daddy! I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”
“Hush, baby. I’m here. I’m here, Sydney. It’s okay.” He picked her up in his arms, lifting her off the ground completely as he held her close. She’d been nearly hysterical by that point, and Sawyer, who’d come along in case law enforcement had been needed to intervene, had to drive the Camaro while Emma drove her SUV, Sydney in the backseat with Archer, to a nearby motel.
It had taken weeks for things to return to anything approaching normal within the family. Sydney had been grounded for months, and Danny’s mother had flat refused to let him have anything to do with her outside school. And even though Sydney and Archer had worked hard on rebuilding their relationship, she always felt like she’d broken off a part of his heart that night, a part that she’d never be able to replace.
The guilt over that hurt had driven her to walk the line, and aside from a few small things, she’d not gotten into trouble again until she was nineteen. She hadn’t wanted to give him any reason in the world to question her, to doubt her love and affection. And she hadn’t wanted to ever disappoint him again.
With the whiskey gone, some of the tension was leaving her system. Fatigue was starting to set in, and with a tired sigh, she headed back inside.
“I doubt sleep will come, but I have to try,” she said into the quiet emptiness of the bedroom. As much as she was happy not to still be married to a lying, womanizing cheat, the need and longing to have someone she could crawl into bed with just so she could be held on nights like this was almost overwhelming.
“Maybe I’ll get a cat or something,” she said around a yawn. “Or several cats.”
As she dozed off, the notion of what it might be like to have Sawyer to lean on through the night drifted through her mind. It would never happen, she knew, but of all the solid, dependable men in the world, if anyone could make a girl feel like things were going to be okay, he’d be the man to do it.
Chapter Fourteen
“Do you think she’s okay?” Archer asked Emma. It was early Monday morning, not quite six, and they’d just hit snooze on the alarm clock.
Emma snuggled back into his warmth, loving the way he pulled her into him even tighter. “I think so. This hasn’t been an easy weekend for her, for any of us, but I think it’s turned out really well, all things considered. I mean, it could have gone in a completely different direction. You know?”
“Mm. I do.” He buried his face in her neck with a sigh. “Do you think she’s curious about him still?”
“About Ted? No. I don’t think she’s been curious about him for several years now. I do believe she’s worried to death that you still feel like you’re second best or just a substitute. She never has forgiven herself for what she said that night.”
Archer raised up on his elbow. “But I’ve told her a hundred times I understood. That I forgave her almost as soon as it happened.”
Emma turned over, resting her hands on his chest. “She hurt you that night. You know how she is—she can’t stand to see people in pain. It’s part of her abilities. She’s a born nurturer. So the pain she inflicted on you, it came back to her. And she’ll never forget that.”
He traced her eyebrow, then let his hand rest alongside her face. “You still think she’s a healer, don’t you?”
“I do. Unintentional, unknowing. She can’t control it, but if she wants someone to be better strongly enough, something happens. I just hope she never figures it out.”
From the time Sydney was little, she’d had the ability to touch some people and tell things about their health. She’d known Zanny was pregnant with Molly, known Ainsley was pregnant with Lily, and had known Archer and Logan were cats inside. She’d also known Archer’s cat had gone to sleep, while Logan’s hadn’t, a revelation that had come during a wedding planning session at Owen and Sarah’s when she was just five years old.
“I can still see the look on her face when she felt that Zanny was sick,” Emma said softly. “I think it was the first time she realized the people around her could get sick, and that they could possibly die.”
Archer kissed her forehead. “I know. She was terrified.”
When she was sixteen, Sydney had hugged Zanny after she and John had returned home from a month-long vacation. As soon as she’d touched Zanny, Sydney had stiffened. She’d pulled back, staring at her aunt with befuddled fear.
“I need to do something,” she said. “I need to touch you.”
Zanny, puzzled, had laughed. “Okay. Go ahead.”
Sydney put her hand flat over Zanny’s chest on the right side on the curve of her breast. As Emma watched, every bit of color faded from Sydney’s cheeks.
“You need to go to the doctor as soon as you can. Something’s here… something’s wrong,” Sydney whispered. “Promise me you’ll go.”
The three of them had been alone in the studio, thankfully. Sydney’s words had shaken them all.
Zanny, to her credit, never hesitated.
“Okay. I’ll call right now.” She’d crossed to her desk, made the call, and gotten an appointment for the next day. A week later, the breast cancer diagnosis was made.
“There’s no other way to explain it, you know,” Emma told Archer now. “When they did those initial scans, that tumor had metastasized to her lung. We never told the kids. But Sydney wouldn’t let go of her that weekend after she’d had the scan. She stuck to her side like glue. When Zanny had the second scan, the mets were gone. Then there’s Ainsley and her inability to have kids. Sydney spent a lot of time around her right before she got pregnant. And Mom’s doctor still doesn’t know what to think about the fact that her hip, which needed replacement three years ago, is in better shape now than it was when she was sixty.”
In a family whose abilities included shape-shifting, extreme pattern recognition, and botanical enhancement, Sydney was still a bit unusual. Her paranormal skills, as well as Noah’s ability to communicate with the dead, stood out. Noah’s skills came through Zanny’s mother. Owen, who was the family expert on such things, theorized Sydney’s gift came from a recessive gene.
“Does it make me an awful mother to say that I’m glad Graydon and Carter are just cats?” she asked Archer.
He smiled. “No. That has its own burdens, but they’re minor compared to what Sydney and Noah have to deal with. Do you think she’s happy?”
“I think she’s working on it. And I think the job has helped a lot. Archer… Sawyer looks at her.”
“I hope he does. Otherwise he might run into her or something,” he joked. Emma goosed him, and he jumped. “What? He might. He’s almost as tall as I am. He could hurt her.”
“I mean he looks at her. Like she’s a woman.”
That got his attention. He sat up and turned the lamp on beside the bed. “No. He wouldn’t. Would he?” He frowned.
Emma sat up, placing a kiss on his bare shoulder. “I think… I don’t know. Maybe all it is, is looking. But she looks back.”
Archer stared at her for a long minute. “I should go have lunch with her today. Just to make sure she’s okay.” When she laughed, he scowled. “What?”
“I love you. Do you know that? Overprotective daddy.”
His lips twitched, even though he tried to maintain a stern face. “She’s my baby girl. And he’s old enough to know better.”
“He’s a good man, and you know it. Besides, you’re the one who ‘gave’ her to him. You said as much yesterday.”
When she went to get out of bed, he caught her and pulled her back, rolling on top of her. “I didn’t mean he could have her like that!”
Emma laughed softly as she ran her hands down his sides, enjoying the weight of him. “No, but that might be what ends up happening. She could do worse.”
“I guess so. But he’s not a long-term commitment guy. He makes Logan before Amelia look like a homemaker.”
“I know that. However, our daughter is a grown woman. And she’s as aware of Sawyer’s commitment issues as we are. I’d like to see her have fun, even if it means she has a fling with him and that’s all it is.”
“I really don’t want to talk about this,” he muttered, letting his head fall to her shoulder. “I realize she’s an adult but there are some things I’d prefer to leave in that gray area of the unknown.”
“Then we won’t talk about it. I love you, husband.”
When Emma bit down lightly on his shoulder, he sucked in a breath and raised his head.
“Yeah?”
“Oh, yeah. Maybe you’d better hit the snooze button again,” she told him as her hands became bolder in their explorations. “Your luscious body has distracted me, and I think you’re going to have to do something about it before we get ready for work.”
The smile that she loved so much spread across his face, slightly wicked, completely endearing. “My pleasure.”
Chapter Fifteen
They’d not been open long Tuesday morning when Sydney heard footsteps on the stairs outside. A few seconds later, the door opened, admitting an older gentleman. Dressed in a snazzy sports jacket, dress shirt, and dress slacks, he wore a plaid golf cap and carried a cane. He looked to be around the same age as Owen, maybe a little younger. When he saw Sydney, he removed the hat, nodding a greeting.
“Hi. Can I help you?” she asked.
“I hope so, young lady,” he replied, lifting his chin to study her through his glasses. “Are you Sydney?”
“I am.”
“Hmmm. You’re awfully young.”
She smiled. “Time will take care of that if I’m lucky.”
He gave a bark of laughter, acknowledging Sawyer with another nod when he came to the door of the office. “Depends on your perspective, I suppose. I ran into a man at the library, said he was your grandfather. Said you might could help me out.”
Sydney gestured to the chair in front of her desk. “I’ll do my best. What sort of help do you need?”
“My name’s Leslie Grainger. My wife, Zelda, is from here originally. Grew up over on Big Creek. She grew up hearing how her great-great-grandfather was in the Revolution, and she wanted to trace that lineage, join the DAR,” he said, referring to the Daughters of the American Revolution. “And I’m trying to achieve that goal for her. I need someone to do the genealogical research. I’m a retired pharmacist, and I don’t have the patience to sit down and learn about computers. So I drove down here from Lexington to see if I could find someone who could do it.” He punctuated his sentence with a thump of the cane. “Ran into your grandfather, and he sent me to you.”
“Um, well… Sawyer?” She knew they handled insurance fraud investigation, background searches, and other personal information-gathering tasks, but Sawyer had never said anything about genealogy.
“We don’t really offer genealogy services, sir,” he told the man with some regret. “I’m assuming your wife isn’t able to do the work?”
A stillness came over Mr. Grainger very briefly. “No. She’s in an assisted care facility. Alzheimer’s. She only was ever able to complete the basic information needed before she… couldn’t do anymore.”
Sydney swallowed hard against the lump that rose into her throat. Her great-grandmother, Eliza, had developed stroke-related dementia during the last few years of her life. The disease was insidious, evil, and Sydney couldn’t think of a crueler fate for the patient or their loved ones.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Grainger. What sort of research exactly are you needing?” she asked, ignoring Sawyer’s raised eyebrow.
“She was only able to trace her lines back three or four generations, depending on which side we’re talking about,” he said. He handed Sydney a folder. “That’s all I have right there.”
“So they weren’t able to help you at the library?” Sawyer asked. “I thought they had a list of people who offered this sort of thing.”
“Well, I didn’t get that far, you see. I ran into Owen Campbell and we got to chatting before I could talk to the girl at the desk. He said that for what I’m after, his granddaughter might be my best bet. But it doesn’t sound like that’s the case.”
Sydney looked at Sawyer. “I know you’re booked up solid, but I could do this. I tagged along after Grandpa enough growing up when he was doing genealogy, and I do have a history degree.”
He rested an arm on top of one of the filing cabinets. “How long would something like this take? I wouldn’t even begin to know how to bill for the services.”
She glanced back through the file, biting her lip. “As long as I can do most of the research locally… probably no more than fifteen or twenty hours. I might have to go over to Virginia, though, for some of it. That’s where some of these names appear to come from if this information is correct, but luckily, the places I’d need to go to access the records are only an hour or so from here. And the DAR has pretty strict regulations on what they’ll accept for proof of lineage, so I would have to find the actual court records, deeds, probated wills, that sort of thing.”
“If it makes any difference, money is no object,” Mr. Grainger put in.
“It isn’t about the money so much,” Sawyer said. “It’s more about whether or not we can adequately meet your needs.”
“How about this,” Sydney suggested. “Let me do some digging, see what I can find out. Are you planning to be in Hazard long, Mr. Grainger?”
He waggled his hand. “I’d thought to head home this afternoon sometime. Even though I’m not from here, I have a couple of friends we’ve made over the years I’d like to stop in and see.”
“Then why don’t you let me make a copy of this,” she said, holding the file up, “and I’ll do some rudimentary research. I can do that from here. I can get a better idea of how easy or difficult this project would be, as well as an estimate of how much it would cost. You can come back this afternoon on your way out of town, and we’ll see if we can come to an agreement.”
“I have no problem with that. Do you, sir?” he asked Sawyer.
Sawyer studied her closely for a moment. “Okay. But no promises.”
“I appreciate your honesty,” Mr. Grainger said as he stood with a grunt. “You could easily have taken me for a ride. You still m
ight, for all I know. But I don’t think so.” He held his hand out, and Sawyer shook with him. “You can keep those papers, young lady. That’s a copy of what I have at home.”
“Okay. Thank you. About what time do you think you’ll be back by?”
He glanced at his watch. “Oh, I’d say around three. Is that all right?”
She nodded. “That’s plenty of time for me to do what I need to.”
“Then I’ll see you two then. Good day.” He donned his cap, tipping the brim, and left. Sawyer followed him to the door, watching as he went down the steps.
“Thanks for letting me do this,” she told him. She could tell he wasn’t thrilled with the turn of events.
“I want to go over what you find before he comes back.”
“Sure. I should be able to get a report pulled together in about three hours, maybe less. I’d like to call Grandpa first, see what he thinks. He is something of an expert in genealogy in this area.”
“He is. And that’s the only reason I’m letting you do this,” Sawyer told her. “I know you have backup if you get into trouble. See what Owen says, and we’ll go from there.”
“You don’t think I can do this on my own?” she asked, trying to mask her hurt.
“I didn’t say that. You’ve proven ten times over how competent you are at running this place, and I don’t see that your doing genealogy research would be much different. But what little I do know about the field, the research can be tricky. It’s a whole ‘nother world. And if Evans Investigations’ name is going to be on this project, it has to be done well and done quickly. That’s nothing personal against you.”
That made her feel better, went a long way toward smoothing her hackles. “I’ll do my best not to let you down.”