Kaleidoscope (30 page)

Three weeks later…

Deck, working at his computer at home, stared at his monitor.

He was close to something on the robbery case. He just couldn’t put his finger on what it was.

Their mystery man who met with McFarland months ago, a man named Jon Prosky, had not come back from seeing to his mom who was sick with MS. Now he’d lost his job because of it, but he was current with all payments on mortgage, credit cards and utilities.

The red flag was that he was paying from accounts in his mother’s name. Accounts that held hefty amounts, made that way by cash deposits made relatively recently.

If that cash could be connected to robberies in the county, they’d nail him. But when local cops in Denver paid him a visit, he’d provided a trail from “friends and family” who gave cash gifts to help out with his mother’s care.

Dead end.

And there was another red flag. When asked by the Denver police, Prosky stated he had no recollection of meeting with McFarland that night. When shown the surveillance photos Chace took that were dark but clearly showed his truck was there, even if the photos of him were indistinct, he’d said he’d loaned his truck to a guy from work.

That had been followed up, the man who supposedly borrowed the truck said this was untrue but he had no one to corroborate that he hadn’t met with McFarland. Possibly substantiating Prosky’s story, his coworker was getting rides to work at the time because his ride was in the shop.

One man’s word against another.

Another dead end.

Deck further could not find any connections, outside of Prosky’s now-alleged meet with McFarland. He had not worked with any of the crew who’d been tagged. He didn’t go to school with any of them. He had no record so he didn’t share a cell with the dealer. He had not been seen anywhere in the company of any of them. And he had no phone records that connected him with any of that crew. He also had no wife or relative who were associated with any of them.

Another dead end.

But Deck had gone to Denver on a variety of business, and some of that business was to spend time watching him.

McFarland was no boss. The dealer they hooked to that crew was a maybe.

This guy had what it took.

In photos, you wouldn’t see anything but he was a decent-looking guy, tall and relatively well built.

In person, he was compelling. An easy smile he flashed often. An open manner that hid something someone not paying close attention, or a high school student not experienced enough to know, would miss.

This was that his manner and smile were surface. His smile didn’t reach his eyes, his manner didn’t expose openly that every movement he made made him seem like he was protecting something.

He was also pathologically social, like a con man on the lookout for his next mark. In the time Deck followed him, he watched Prosky befriend everyone he came into contact with from a gas station attendant, to the waitress at a café, to hooking up in record time with a woman in a bar so far out of his league, that score was downright chilling.

But with nothing to link to him, Deck had nowhere to take his investigation.

So he was looking into every known associate of this mystery man. Boss, coworkers, relatives, friends and especially those friends who “donated” to his mother’s care.

The problem was, Deck’s gut was telling him the key to breaking this was the kids. However, they had nothing at all on the kids and couldn’t question them or follow them.

Clicking through credit reports, Facebook pages and any other thread he could pick up for the last two hours, he was relieved when his cell on the desk rang.

The display said “Emmanuelle calling.”

He took the call.

“You need a ride?” he asked, knowing this call meant his purgatory in computer hell was ending, which in turn meant Deck’s lips curved up.

“Yeah, honey,” she answered.

“Am I bringing Buford?”

“Yeah,” she repeated.

“Be there, twenty, twenty-five.”

“Okay, Jacob.”

“Later, babe.”

“ ’Bye, honey.”

He hung up and turned his attention to shutting down his computer.

Emme was at The Dog, a bar in Gnaw Bone. Girl’s Night Out with Nina, Krys, Lauren, Lexie, Faye and Zara.

This was the third time they’d gone out since her breakthrough. Deck was her ride home though she was probably not inebriated. Emme didn’t lose control like that, he’d noticed. Not back when, not now. But she would be tipsy.

Girls Nights Out were happening because Deck had talked to Chace. Chace had then talked to Faye. Faye had done her thing with the girls and the girls jumped right on it. Then Deck had talked to Emme.

Connecting. Girl’s Night Out, once a week. Form bonds. Build a life. Establish a crew to provide an ear, advice, support, but mostly fun.

Settle.

Find happiness.

Emme had agreed and even done it enthusiastically.

So now she was out tossing them back with some of the finest women he’d ever met.

All good.

Tonight, The Dog was on the rotation. Seeing as Krys and Lauren owned Bubba’s bar in Carnal and Zara’s man Reece managed The Dog in Gnaw Bone, there was friction about where the women would meet.

Zara had some legal case finish up that now made her a millionaire. But Reece was not the type of man who didn’t work for his living. And Zara was the kind of woman, sudden millionaire or not, she looked after her man. Apparently, he got a bonus if he sold a shitload of booze, so Zara pushed for The Dog.

Krys and Laurie were not millionaires so they pushed for Bubba’s.

Nina, Lexie and Faye stepped in and suggested the rotation.

So tonight it was The Dog.

Emme wanting Deck to bring Buford meant they were headed to her house. As both Bubba’s and The Dog were a haul from his place in Chantelle, that meant she wanted to be home—and in bed with him—soon.

Emme, in bed, naked and tipsy.

Time to go.

After his computer shut down, Deck muttered to Buford, who was lying on the floor by his side. “Let’s go, pal,”

He did this smiling.

And he smiled all the way to his truck.

*    *    *

One and a half hours later…

Emme was lying full on top of him, knees bent, straddling his hips.

She’d cleaned up after they were done, wandered back while pulling on some panties and a camisole, hit the bed, which meant hit Deck, then settled in just like that.

A new thing for Emme.

They usually fell asleep with Emme tucked to his side, parts of her draped over him.

But after her breakthrough, she didn’t claim the lion’s share of Deck.

She just claimed Deck.

He was not complaining. After she fell asleep, he would slide her to his side. But while she was falling, he stroked her back and hair, enjoying the fact his girl’s demonstration said she was done disconnecting. Now she wanted to stay as connected as she could get, as often as she could get it, for as long as she could have it.

So he gave it to her.

Trailing the fingertips of his hand along her spine, gliding the fingers of his other hand through her hair, he felt her body relax into his and knew she was close to sleep.

That meant Buford was going to have to adjust. He was flat out on his side, his back pressed to Deck and Emme.

This was also the new norm and when this happened, Buford protested with halfhearted groan when Deck slid Emme into his space.

But he adjusted.

Then again, Deck’s dog had bonded with his girl and she’d done the same with his dog.

Another connection

Deck grinned at the dark ceiling.

“I didn’t scream.”

Deck blinked as his hands stilled when her soft words hit the room.

“What, baby?”

“I didn’t scream,” she repeated, her voice sleepy and quiet.

He fought against his body tightening.

There was something else new happening with Emme.

She went to see a therapist twice a week, and after her sessions, she would be quiet, reflective and sometimes distant. This would not last long, and she’d quickly come back to Emme.

But she’d also have moments that had nothing to do with her therapy schedule where she’d wince or appear in pain, both for what seemed no reason. These moments didn’t happen when they were talking, instead while they were watching TV, eating or lounging around reading.

But when this happened, she didn’t share.

Deck also didn’t push.

When she went into therapy, Deck had thoroughly researched post-traumatic stress disorder, and none of these symptoms was unusual.

As for how a loved one dealt: patience, understanding and listening were key. However, after her first few appointments and interviewing Barry and Maeve, Emme’s therapist had suggested family therapy. The primary goal for that was to guide all of them to a better place as apparently Emme held some guilt for the fact her parents were still dealing with the trauma.

Barry and Maeve agreed. They were starting next week.

But now it was clearly time for her to share whatever was on her mind, something she hadn’t done in any real way in three weeks. And Deck needed to be patient, understanding and listen.

The problem was, he didn’t know what else he needed to be. And if it was time for her to share, he needed to be what she needed him to be.

“You didn’t scream,” he prompted softly when she said no more.

“When Harvey took me,” she stated and stopped talking.

Deck closed his eyes.

Then he opened them and replied encouragingly, “Okay.”

They lay there in the dark, his girl as close as she could be, her cheek planted in the middle of his chest, her face aimed to the windows.

She didn’t move or speak.

Then he felt her heave a heavy sigh and she said, “If I had screamed, fought and screamed, a teacher would have heard. Or someone would have seen. Someone would have done something and it never would have happened. I could have stopped it if I just screamed.”

It took a lot for Deck not to interrupt, to let her verbalize her feelings and not try to shut down her guilt.

He accomplished this and when she went silent, he remarked, “You know he was on the edge.”

Another sigh then, “I know.”

“Sometimes,” he started carefully, “in certain situations, it’s good not to fight and scream. It could be worse if you did.”

“Harvey would never hurt me.”

He clenched his teeth to bite back his retort, forced his jaw to relax, and when he had it together, pointed out again, “Baby, he was on the edge. Men driven to the edge are unpredictable.”

At that, she lifted her head, put her hands to his chest and he looked at her face in the moonlight.

“Really,” she said quietly. “I know he’s not your favorite person, but Harvey would never hurt me.”

Deck lifted a hand, brushed her bangs from her eyes and tucked her hair behind her ear, leaving his hand curled around her neck. “I know that’s the man you grew to know. And that man you grew to know is Harvey Feldman. But the man who snatched you was not the man you know. The man who took you was a man driven to extreme behavior due to his grief. You can’t know how that man would react if you didn’t do what you were told.”

Emme said nothing, but even in the shadows, he could see her face working as she thought this through.

Then she whispered, “He said, ‘You scream, you’ll never see your mother and father again.’ ”

Fuck, how could she spend time with that fucking guy? It may have been grief he couldn’t control guiding his actions, but he still fucked up a young girl.

And that fuck-up started with those words.

In that moment, Deck would give up everything he’d worked for to have the ability to erase those words from her memory.

But he didn’t have that ability.

The only thing he could do was whisper in reply, “You made the right choice, Emme.”

“That was… what I’m saying is, that was not him. To say that. To threaten me like that. I think in some deep part of him he knew that he was going to return me to Mom and Dad. But he said it and he said it in a way that I knew he meant it.”

“So you made the right choice,” Deck stated.

“I have… I was…” She shook her head slightly then he heard her draw breath in through her nose. “I wish I’d screamed.”

He lifted his other hand to curl around her neck. “Everyone, every person on this earth with enough age to have lived a life, has regrets. They look back and wish they’d done something differently. You aren’t alone in that, honey.”

“But what I wished I’d done differently would have saved Mom and Dad three days of terror, decades of fear and a man from spending five years in prison.”

Oh yeah, she was holding guilt.

Fuck.

His fingers reflexively flexed into her neck, he forced them to relax and noted, “You were twelve, taken from a playground. This was not your choice. Your choices were taken away. You hold no guilt for what happened in the aftermath for everyone involved in dealing with one man’s choice.”

“I understand that logically, Jacob. But it’s hard to piece that together in my head. Now that the floodgates have opened, it keeps coming at me.”

“How do I help you get to piecing that together?” he asked instantly and watched her eyes close.

Then she dropped her head so her forehead was resting on his mouth.

This was another thing Emme now did. In ways that were unusual and sweet, she sought his affection and she did it when she needed him to balm some hurt she was feeling. After he’d see her wince for no reason, she’d come to him, wrap her arms around him, get up on her toes and press her face in his neck. They’d be lazing around watching TV, her face would hold pain, she’d turn her head and press her forehead to his lips.

And all he had to do was hold her or kiss her, she’d move slightly away but not pull away, look at him and the pain would be gone.

It was a gift she gave him, allowing him to take away her pain.

So that was exactly what he did. He moved to take away her pain and kissed her forehead.