My stomach sank when it hit me; he had a girlfriend. He was riddled with guilt and, worst of all, he regretted our kiss. Under normal circumstances, he would’ve never allowed it to happen. He wasn’t the cheating kind. It was a pity kiss. A good-bye kiss and nothing more. But what about the way he held me and took care of my hand and carried me to his bed? Okay, so I had slept alone, but…
What was wrong with me? I would be the worst thing ever for Justice, and I cared about him way too much to drag him down to my level. Besides, after what happened with Logan, I’d promised myself I’d never fall in love again, and I had every intention of keeping that promise.
After depositing last night’s wet clothes in the washer, I closed the lid and followed the smell of food to the kitchen. I walked up behind Justice as he stood in front of the stove. “What do we have here?” I tried to sound as casual as always.
“I’m making you a ham and cheese omelet—protein. I thought you needed a good breakfast today.” He flipped the omelet and then turned to face me, his cheeks blushing to a nice shade of pink this time.
“I should…” I nodded toward the bathroom, “put on those jeans of Billi Jo’s.”
He grabbed a glass of water off the counter and took a swig. “No,” he gulped, “you’re fine. I’m just not used to seeing you in…my clothes, I guess.” He focused on his omelet making again.
I pulled at the bottom of the flannel shirt as if I could stretch it and racked my brain for a change of topic.
After he motioned for me to sit down at the kitchen table, I picked up a glass of his famous fresh-squeezed lemonade and took a slow drink. “So tell me,” I smirked as I prepared to ask a question I really didn’t want to know the answer to, “do you do all this for all your overnight guests?”
“Nope.” He turned his head enough for me to see his grin, but he didn’t divulge any information. He was like a steel trap. I would never get any information out of him.
“I mean, your parents are both out of town and all,” I prodded.
He laughed. “I try not to make a habit of letting strange girls sleep in my bed.” That didn’t exactly satisfy the answer to the question that had been burning in my head.
“Strange?”
He stared at me as he set our plates on the table. “Yeah, strange; you’re a burglar, storm chaser, and police stalker…just to name a few.”
“Okay, maybe a little strange.” I stabbed a chunk of omelet.
Sitting down across from me, he watched me take the first bite.
I closed my eyes for a couple seconds. “Mm, it’s really good.”
He smiled his crooked smile. “I thought it was about time somebody started feedin’ you.”
I pushed a fork full of omelet around my plate. “Guess I haven’t really had much of an appetite…the last few months.”
“Well, it looks like things are startin’ to look up a little.”
Relieved he left it at that and hadn’t pushed for answers about my leave of absence, I took a big bite to make him happy.
“So, how do you feel about riding all the way to Holten with…your dad?”
“I haven’t really had time to think about it.” My sole focus was to get Rachel Banard to talk, and if the only way to get her to do that was to share my story, then I would. My interaction with Carl on the trip to Holten had to be a normal cop-to-victim relationship. I would state the facts, Rachel Banard would confess, the chief would compare notes and do what cops do, end of story. I had no illusions of father-daughter bonding—especially not during something as uncomfortable as what I might have to divulge.
“I’m off today, I could go with—”
“No,” I choked. “Thank you, though.” I didn’t exactly want to be alone with Bio-Dad, but I definitely didn’t want Justice sitting in on any more of my conversations with him. I couldn’t let him hear the details of what Logan did to me. And I couldn’t confess the reason I left the field party with him. I knew Justice well enough to know he would blame himself if he knew I did it to protect him. And I’d already put him through enough.
Justice nodded like he understood, but there’s no way he could’ve.
I strategically changed the subject, and after about an hour of talking horses, Justice looked up at the clock. “The chief said he’d be here about eleven, so you’d better go change.”
My shoulders slumped. “Damn. I forgot to put my clothes in the dryer. Now I’ll have to wear Billi Jo’s giraffe jeans.” I got up to take my plate to the sink, and Justice followed.
“You could always try a pair of my shorts.” He smirked. “They might be pants-length on you.”
“Hey, I’m not that short. I’m almost five-seven.”
“Well, I’m almost six-two. The shorts might not be a bad idea.” He grabbed the dishtowel off of the counter and snapped it at my bare legs.
“Watch it, Braden, I don’t want to have to take you down right here in the kitchen.”
He stood up straighter. “You might have been able to take me down when we were eight, but I’m taller than you now. And stronger,” he added, flexing his muscles. He was referring to the only physical fight we’d ever had. I was an inch taller than him then and a whole lot tougher. We were fighting over ownership rights of a puppy we found. Justice got a bloody nose—and I got a puppy.
“You may have won Hank physically, but I won his heart.”
“You won his stomach. You and all your table-scrap bribing.” I pointed at him, “And stop trying to redirect the focus here. The point is; I could still take you down if I wanted to.”
“Yeah, but you don’t want to.” He moved to stand in front of me, and after a few seconds his smile faded. “Hey, kidding aside, I really hope this works out for you today.” He brought his hand up toward my face, and I involuntarily flinched. My reaction surprised us both. “What? I was just gonna move this strand of hair out of your eyes.”
“I know,” I agreed too quickly.
“What is it, then?” When he caught the look in my eyes, he realized why I’d flinched. “I would never hurt you, River,” he said softly.
“I know.” I shrugged and looked away. “I know.”
Uncomfortable now, he eased his hands back to his sides while I tried to figure out what to do with mine. Stupid reflexes. It had been a long time since Logan hurt me. Wasn’t it long enough?
“Guess I’d better go get dressed.” I pointed toward the bathroom.
“Whoa, wait a minute.” He reached for my wrist.
“My hand’s fine. It just started bleeding a little after my shower.”
“A little?” He pulled back my sleeve to reveal the saturated toilet paper mess stuck to my hand. “Here, sit down. You’re not goin’ anywhere until I fix this for you.” He directed me to the kitchen table while he grabbed the first aid kit off the counter, then sat down across from me and started unraveling the mummy hand. “You managed to get into more trouble,” he grumbled as he cleaned and started re-bandaging my hand.
“Speaking of trouble,” I drummed my moveable set of fingers on the table, “I’m sure you’d be in some trouble of your own if your girlfriend finds out you’ve been sneaking me around like this, with me wearing your clothes, sleeping in your bed…”
His tone was serious. “River, it’s not like we did anything wrong. I slept on the couch.”
“But you kissed me,” I blurted out before I could stop myself.
“No,” his eyebrows creased and confusion clouded his eyes, “I didn’t. I didn’t kiss you back, and I know you didn’t mean to kiss me, either. You thought you were leaving—saying good-bye. It was a mistake.”
A thickness formed in my throat and threatened to strangle me. How many times was he going to have to reject me for me to get it?
He forced a smile. “Hey, it doesn’t change anything; we’re friends, same as always.”
“Yep, friends, same as always,” I lied. If it was same as always my heart wouldn’t beat all weird when I was around him, and
I wouldn’t be so jumpy all of a sudden. And it wouldn’t bug me so damn much that he had a girlfriend.
Despite the crushing pain in my chest, I couldn’t let it go. “Mistake or no mistake, what would your girlfriend think about our friendship?”
“I’m allowed to have friends. You and I have always been friends, and I’m not gonna give that up just because I’m dating someone. It’s not like it was with you and…”
I bit my lip in the same spot I’d been gnawing on last night and tasted blood.
His eyes filled with regret. “I didn’t mean…”
I stared down at the hand he still held. “It’s okay, you’re right. I deserved that.” I hated myself for pushing Justice away when I dated Logan. I should’ve known better.
He brushed his thumb across the top of my hand before releasing it. “Now go get dressed,” he said, letting me off the hook. “We don’t want to get on the chief’s bad side already.”
The way he said we, like we were a team, made my insides glow—but only for a second. It didn’t really count because I wasn’t his first pick. I wasn’t his pick at all.
“T-shirts are in the second drawer. It’s gonna be hot later,” he called after me.
Sitting on top of the dresser was a shiny silver frame with a picture of Justice and his girlfriend. They both had bright smiles on their faces. I picked it up and ran my fingers across the embossed words scrawled across the top: You + Me = Forever.
Gag. It was obviously a gift from her because Justice would never pick out something so cheesy or hideously shiny. He would also never talk about forever with some random girl he’d only known a few months. A sharp pain stabbed at my heart. Would he?
I set the frame back down and pulled out Justice’s top dresser drawer. Beside his wallet and coins was another frame—a wooden one—with a picture of him and me. It was taken on a trail ride at Wide Ridge last summer when we’d gone with a bunch of friends. Justice and I were sitting in front of the campfire with our arms around each other, grinning like we were the only two in on a life-altering secret. Wetness formed at the corners of my eyes when I remembered how we stayed up all night burning the last of the firewood just so we could watch the flames dance themselves to sleep.
“It can be like that again, ya know,” Justice said as he stopped in the open doorway.
“Sure,” I lied. Nothing in my life would ever really be the same. Even if I didn’t end up in prison.
“Hey. T-shirts, second drawer,” he reminded me before continuing down the hallway.
“Right, sorry. Guess I wasn’t paying attention.” I put our picture back where I’d found it, then scooped the silver frame off the dresser again to take one last tortuous peek at the photo of the happy couple. A burst of anger rushed through me, and I struggled to push it away. What was wrong with me? It’s not like Justice had never had girlfriends before. She wasn’t his type, was all, I reminded myself, then set the picture back down—face first.
After I dressed, I walked out with an oversized t-shirt under his flannel shirt and two pounds of blue jean cuffs. I twirled around like a model—a bad one.
He put his hand under his chin, judging me. “I vote for my flannel shirt only.”
Butterflies tried to take flight in my stomach, but I chased them away. Our kiss—my kiss—was a mistake. I punched him in the arm because it was easier than crying.
“Ouch,” he grabbed his shoulder, pretending to be in pain.
The hum of a car engine got my attention, and I reached out to Justice. “Guess it’s time…”
He pulled me in for a good-bye hug and breathed in the top of my hair. “Mmm, you smell good.”
“Thanks to you.”
“I remembered how you loved honeysuckle.”
He did pick out that scent on purpose—for me. The realization lifted my heart and made it burn like he’d taken a saw blade to it at the same time. Blocking out the bittersweet pain, I closed my eyes and tried to memorize the feeling of his arms around me. There was a good possibility this would be the last moment I shared with him.
He brushed his thumb along my cheekbone and gazed down at me, his eyes heavy with worry. “Good luck today,” he breathed against my forehead, then allowed his lips to rest against it.
I needed more than luck—I needed a miracle.
26
ANSWERS
Uneasiness gripped me as I slid into the front seat of the chief’s police cruiser; I had a four-hour drive ahead with a complete stranger.
Since I didn’t feel up to a conversation about my heritage, I decided to go with detective strategies. “So,” I started, “how did you know to look for me at Justice’s house last night?”
“I did my homework while you were on the run. I found out where you worked, where you lived, and who your friends were.”
Obvious answer. Now to the bigger question I’d been dying to ask. “How did you get involved in my case, anyway?”
“I mentioned that I had to do it in secret because your case was out of my jurisdiction. Winston Police and some P.I.s hired by the Westfields were in charge from the beginning. I didn’t think things were moving along fast enough, so I started my own investigation.”
“Because Logan was your godson. And how, by the way?”
He put both hands on the steering wheel. “When I was in my first year of college, I rented a nearby house with four other guys. Logan Senior was my landlord, and he was also a cop. When he realized my interest in law, he sort of took me under his wing. He even hired me to help him fix up the old rental and do other odd jobs. Despite our fifteen-year age difference, we became pretty close.
“One night after I’d had dinner with him and his wife, he was dropping me off and there was a big commotion out on the porch with my roommates and some guys I didn’t know. I didn’t think twice before I jumped out of the car to help my buddies. One of the guys had pulled a gun on my friends, but I didn’t know it. I guess when he saw the police car and me running toward him, he panicked. Logan Senior was trying to back me up when he got shot. But it was too late.” He shook his head slowly. “His wife was pregnant, and he never got to meet his son…”
The newspaper clipping I’d found in my mother’s things flashed in my mind. The veteran cop leaving behind his pregnant wife, the college student he tried to save critically injured. “Logan Westfield was his son,” I choked.
“I took it upon myself to watch over his wife and newborn son. I guess I was around so much that Sylvia ended up asking me to be Logan Junior’s godfather. After college, I even stayed nearby so I could help out with Logan. But everything changed when he was about seven. That’s when Sylvia met Richard Westfield and moved to Winston. After they married, Westfield adopted Logan and made it clear that my services were no longer needed.
“I tried to keep seeing Logan at first, but Richard Westfield made it really difficult. He convinced me that the kid wouldn’t bond with him if I was always around. The last few times I’d seen Logan as a teenager, he had become so self-centered and spoiled. He didn’t want to have anything to do with me.” The chief’s knuckles turned white as he squeezed the steering wheel. “I should have never given up on him.”
It was hard to believe that once upon a time Logan and I had very similar lifestyles. We both came from regular, middle class families, and we both lost a parent. Our lives took different paths until fate intertwined them.
The chief struggled with his next line. “When Logan Junior was killed, I felt like I owed it to Logan and my old friend to find…”
“Me,” I whispered.
The chief and I were quiet for a few miles, and then I asked a lighter question. “How did you figure out we were in Vegas?”
“After the Westfields’ P.I.s got bored trailing your sister, I moved in.”
I gnawed on the edge of my thumbnail. “You were following Jamie?”
He shook his head. “The closest family members usually lead us to the criminal. Late one night, I saw her sneak into yo
ur friend Kat’s house. I guess something spooked her because she left quickly, leaving the computer open to an e-mail she was writing to you. She made the mistake of mentioning Charlie’s bar, so I ran a search on bars named Charlie’s”.
My stomach felt like I’d been kicked by a horse. Shit. That had to be my fault. When we were in Vegas, I slipped off to the library early one morning while my friends were sleeping. I took Kat’s library card and used one of the computers to e-mail Jamie. In my stupid fog, I must have mentioned Charlie’s by name.
“It all made sense once I found out you girls were getting help from the inside.” He glanced over at me, and then continued, “I guess you didn’t know Charlie used to be a top-notch homicide detective in his day.”
I’d always thought we were really sneaky, really lucky, or the cops were really stupid. “He was a cop?” I had always assumed he was in the mob, or something on the other side.
“That’s putting it mildly. He was at the top of his game in law enforcement when his daughter ran away. In his search, he began taking drug dealers off the streets one by one. But the longer his search went on without a trace of his daughter, the more reckless he became. He stopped going by the books. At first, law enforcement looked the other way—everybody wanted those creeps behind bars.
“Finally, there was a big sting operation they’d spent months planning. Charlie got impatient and blew the whole thing, sending one of the dealers into a shooting spree. Turns out the District Attorney’s grandson, a small-time dealer, got caught in the crossfire and was killed. The DA made sure Charlie would never work in law enforcement again.”
“Wow,” was all I could manage to say.
“I guess he kept a few contacts from his detective days because he had a little help throwing the police off your trail. And apparently, he had a little fun doing it.” The chief smirked.
“What do you mean by fun?”
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