Imperfect Justice

by Cara Putman

  “Always?”

  She quirked an eyebrow. “Usually.” She set her cup down. “What’s your superpower?”

  He laughed. Superpowers were for the Avengers, not mere mortals. “Those are reserved for exceptional people.”

  “You don’t think you’re one?”

  Her words wrapped around him, fitting much better than he cared to admit.

  CHAPTER 18

  Should she snatch those words back, erase them from the space between them? No man wanted to be told he didn’t see himself as amazing and light-years beyond competent. Justin, her law school boyfriend, had taught her that principle. It was his guiding light: she existed to stroke his ego and remind him how incredibly amazing he was. When she hadn’t done that, he’d made sure she suffered.

  Their lives had been so intertwined that to this day Emilie struggled to have normal interactions with men. Justin had made sure she would always be an idiot around men who intrigued her.

  “I’m sorry. You can ignore what I said.”

  “No.” The word shot from him. “It’s hard to imagine I’m anything but average when I think about where I’ve come from.”

  “Where are you from?”

  “Baltimore.”

  “That’s a fine place to grow up.”

  “Sure. But it’s the events of my childhood that I was thinking about.”

  “Okay.” Everyone had things they didn’t love about their growing-up years, but as she watched his jaw clench and release, she realized his might be deeper than she would have guessed. “I really need to get back to work, so forget I asked anything.”

  He put a hand on her wrist, freezing her in place. “Maybe this will help you understand Kaylene. We were abandoned when I was about five. Mom left us with our grandparents, but they weren’t thrilled to have a teen and a youngster around the house. Their idea of retirement had been long trips in their Winnebago.”

  “That must have been hard for all of you.” She tried to imagine her grandparents raising her. They were wonderful, but they weren’t her parents.

  “We worked it out. Kaylene took care of me a lot, even after we settled into a rhythm with Grandma and Grandpa. They did the best they could, but she still took a lot on herself while trying to finish high school. The fact that Mom bopped in and out of our lives didn’t help.”

  “And their vision of retirement didn’t fit with kids who needed to be in school.”

  He shook his head. “After a few months they adapted. It might have taken me longer. While many kids talk about what they want to be when they grow up, I was focused on making it through the day. Grandma insisted on college, so I went. It was there that I realized I intuited the way numbers and ratios work.” He shrugged. “I guess I was hardwired to manage money.”

  “That’s definitely not my skill set.”

  He took a sip of his drink. “I’m afraid it’s not much of one.”

  “You should see my checkbook.”

  “You still have one of those?”

  “If I didn’t I’d never know whether I had money.” She didn’t tell him that her trust fund ensured she’d never run out. That was information she didn’t lead with. Ever. It was better, more real, if guys never realized she was one of those Wesleys.

  “There’s a story there.” He arched a look at her.

  She couldn’t help smiling. This could be extremely dangerous. She should get up and leave. Before she could decide he was as wonderful as he seemed. But somehow she couldn’t manage to leverage herself out of her chair and away from this conversation.

  “Did I mention I’m a reporter? Couple that with my legal skills, and it’s all about the words. You’re the numbers wizard.”

  He laughed, a sound rich and real that rolled over her. “I like that. I’m pretty sure no one’s ever called me a wizard of anything.”

  “I’m glad to be the first.”

  He smiled at her, and it threatened to vacuum the air from her lungs. Yet instead of feeling terrified, she was drawn into the deli-ciousness of the moment. Tonight could be trouble if a few minutes over coffee could do this. She blew out what was left of her oxygen and then drew it in slowly, forced a small smile, and lurched to her feet. “I really have to get going. Put that superpower to work.”

  He stood, but the look in his eyes telegraphed he wasn’t the least bit thrown off by her words. He knew she was running.

  “All right.” His gaze locked on hers, and she felt warmth fill her. “Let me know if you think of anything else. Otherwise I’ll see you tonight.”

  “I will.” He took a half step closer and reached toward her, then stopped. What had he been about to do? “Italian good?”

  “Surprise me.”

  He nodded, but seemed to see through her into her heart. “You don’t need to hide, Emilie.”

  She bit her lower lip and nodded, then turned abruptly away. She’d slipped out of Common Grounds before she realized she’d left her half-finished cup of white chocolate decadence behind. Reid had rattled her with his ability to see through her defenses. The question was, what did he see?

  Emilie had left the all-staff meeting the week before with an unsettled feeling, a feeling that had been needling her ever since. She’d been out of town Monday, in and out of the office Tuesday, and Wednesday had evaporated. It wasn’t until this moment, driving back to the office after her unexpected encounter with Reid, that it hit her.

  Even if Shannon had told Kaylene about guns, that didn’t explain where her client had obtained one. Emilie needed to talk to Shannon and learn more when Rhoda wasn’t there to manhandle the conversation.

  She’d need ammunition of her own to get Shannon to talk, so she stopped at Sugar Shack Donuts. With an apple cake doughnut for Shannon and a mixed selection for the rest of the staff, she’d have the perfect excuse to head to Shannon’s desk for a late-morning coffee break. She’d also ask her for background on Nadine Hunter.

  But first, doughnuts . . .

  When Emilie reached Shannon’s office, the young woman was seated at her desk, a massive Styrofoam cup of soda on her desk.

  Emilie rapped on her doorframe and then held up the bag with its lone apple cake doughnut. “I got something for you.”

  Shannon looked up from her computer screen, a dazed expression on her face. She reached for the bag. “You think the Mountain Dew doesn’t give me enough of a sugar buzz?” She tugged the doughnut free. “Thanks! I haven’t had one of these in a while.” She set it on top of the bag on her desk and then licked her fingers. “What can I do for you?”

  “Do you have a minute to talk about Kaylene? Then I need to connect about another client.”

  “Nadine?” At Emilie’s nod, Shannon sighed and her mouth drooped. “There’s not much to say there other than good luck. But what I can tell you about Kaylene?”

  “There’s something about the way everything unfolded that doesn’t make sense.”

  “You can’t sleep either?” Shannon leaned back, the doughnut forgotten on her desk.

  “Kaylene loved her daughters.”

  Shannon nodded. “They were her life.” She paused and broke a crumb from the side of the doughnut. “But she was changing in those last months.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “She’d started to lose hope. Her whole tone shifted from When I get out of here to How do I get the girls free? I had hoped she’d escape when she started working with you, but then she quit coming.”

  “It was hard for her to get here.”

  “No, it was impossible. But she’d done it for a while, tying her appointments to the girls’ piano lessons.” Shannon shook her head. “Something changed, and she wouldn’t explain. It was almost like she could sniff freedom, and it scared her.”

  “But she asked you about guns?”

  “In a way.” Shannon reached for a photo on the credenza behind her desk that showed her holding a ribbon and a rifle. “She saw this and asked me if shooting was hard. I joked if I could do it a
nyone could.” She frowned at the image. “I had no idea she’d actually buy a gun and get good enough to hurt someone.”

  “What if she wasn’t the one who did the shooting?”

  “Then the video of her with the gun wouldn’t have been all over the Internet.” Shannon leaned across her desk, and Emilie sank to a seat. “I’ve gone on a few crime video sites to see if I could find anything else. So far nothing.”

  “There are such sites?” The thought sickened Emilie.

  “Sure. Everyone has a cell phone and thinks they should share.” Shannon leaned back with a shrug. “There are some twisted individuals who believe the whole world should know what they’ve done.”

  “Robert Adams wouldn’t do something like that.”

  “I don’t know. If he was as controlling as Kaylene indicated, he might have posted something if he was part of the killing. Think about it . . . controlling whether someone lives or dies is the ultimate act of authority.” Shannon paused, and Emilie felt horror rush through her.

  “He could do something like that.” The question was how to find it if he did. “Have you watched the outside video?”

  “Yeah. The images are so jerky and chaotic. I felt like I was on a roller coaster.” She clicked a few keys and pulled it up. Together the women watched the jerky images of grass, trees, cars.

  Then a body, a young woman’s. Slouched on her side. Face away from the camera. A red stain spreading.

  A woman stumbled down the stairs, holding something. A gun. A man followed her out, baseball cap pulled low, and she stumbled as he yanked her arm. Then she folded to the ground as sirens roared closer.

  Then lights, blue and red. Swirling around.

  Adding to the insanity.

  “Can you believe she was shot inside and made her way outside where she died?” Shannon’s shoulders slumped, and she fingered the napkin she’d set the doughnut on. “If Kaylene wasn’t the shooter, somehow she got the gun in her hand.”

  Emilie nodded, the information backing up what she knew. Like everything else, she’d begun to doubt her perceptions were true.

  The image jerked again, and the camera went up, catching the side image of a hand mirroring the motion.

  “So whoever shot the video had to cooperate with the police when they arrived.” Emilie mulled that over. “A neighbor would do that, right?”

  “Maybe. But I got the sense they weren’t close to their neighbors.”

  “Well, I need to find this neighbor and talk to them.” It wouldn’t be a bad idea to spend an afternoon doing exactly that.

  “Would you run into the middle of gunfire?”

  “I don’t know. I’d want to be brave enough to stop it.”

  “But you’re not good friends with these people. You wave when you see each other, but don’t cross the street with cookies at Christmas or share cookouts in the summer. Robert kept Kaylene and the girls isolated and unknown.” Shannon crumbled more of the doughnut where it sat on its napkin. “In that kind of environment, would you run into the chaos, or would you call 911 and tell yourself you’d done your civic duty?”

  “That’s really disturbing. Yet entirely possible.” In law school they’d studied the case of Kitty Genovese. No one had helped her in the sixties in a busy New York City neighborhood, no matter how much she called out. Everyone safe in their apartments had relied on someone else to call the police or intervene. And the woman had bled to death on her stoop. Scholars had studied the situation to learn why so many people ignored her pleas and learned there were too many people around. Everyone assumed someone else would act.

  “Too possible. We deal with those situations every day. People know abuse is happening, but rarely intervene. It’s a sad reality.” Shannon’s eyes widened as she glanced behind Emilie, and she quickly turned the screen back toward her.

  Emilie shifted to look over her shoulder.

  Rhoda stood there, a tight smile pasted on.

  “Do you need me?” Emilie asked.

  “No, just checking in with everyone. What are you two working on?”

  Shannon sputtered, but Emilie hurried to speak over her. “I was asking Shannon for more information about Nadine Hunter. I want to make sure I’m taking the right steps to help her.”

  “You haven’t filed the motion for a PO?”

  “Not yet. The draft is complete, but Nadine hasn’t returned our call to schedule a time to meet at court. She may not be ready to file.”

  “See what you can do to encourage her. We need to get her little family to safety.”

  Emilie nodded, glad it was Rhoda’s responsibility to find them a place to live. Her job was to get them the order the police could enforce when her ex showed up.

  Rhoda turned her attention to Shannon. “Don’t forget we have the case conference for Tina at one.”

  “Got it on my calendar.”

  “See you then.” Rhoda stood in the door another minute before nodding and stepping away.

  Emilie rubbed her neck and met Shannon’s troubled gaze. “What am I missing?”

  “I’m not sure.” Shannon shifted and scooted her chair across the mat. She grabbed a thin file and slid it across the desk. “Here’s everything I have on Nadine. She doesn’t talk a lot, since her self-worth is in the basement. Good luck.”

  “One last question. Any idea where Kaylene would have bought a gun?”

  “None.” Shannon pressed her lips together as if to keep words from escaping.

  Emilie took the file and stood. “Thanks. If you think of anything . . .”

  “I’ll let you know. But, Emilie . . . you can’t get your hopes up. The reality is Kaylene and Kaydence are gone. Kinley’s all that’s left.”

  The remnant of the doughnut was now a pile of shredded crumbs. They might taste as good as when it had been a doughnut, but the form had been forever changed.

  Just like the Adams family.

  One event had shredded it, completely changing its character even if it still bore the same name.

  CHAPTER 19

  Emilie left the rest of the doughnuts in the staff room for whoever wanted a sweet treat. Her own appetite had evaporated to the point the yeasty aroma left her feeling sick.

  She found Taylor waiting outside her office. Emilie flopped into her chair. “Can I see the Hunter PO?”

  “Sorry I couldn’t reach her yesterday. After you left, Rhoda had an emergency for me, so I could only call once.”

  “That’s okay.” Emilie handed Taylor the file Shannon had given her. “Here’s Shannon’s file. See if there’s anything useable in it. We might as well add it while I talk Nadine into filing.”

  Taylor took the Hunter folder, then slipped another envelope across the desk toward her.

  “This came for you this morning. It’s marked personal.”

  “Thanks.” It was all Emilie could do to force out the word. “Let me know when the PO’s ready.”

  As Taylor left the room, Emilie stared at the familiar handwriting. Her stalker hadn’t forgotten her. As if the notes slipped into her purse and briefcase weren’t enough, he had decided to mail her a letter.

  She opened the envelope and read the words, written as usual in block letters:

  YOU ARE MORE MYSELF THAN I AM. WHATEVER OUR SOULS ARE MADE OF, YOURS AND MINE ARE THE SAME.

  Emilie read it again. The message sounded old-fashioned and almost poetic even as it disturbed her. Was it a quotation? She typed the words into Google . . . Wuthering Heights? Whoever was stalking her read the classics?

  Who was this person, and what did he want from her? The quote was more than weird, it was frightening.

  She picked up the phone and placed another call to Detective Gaines. Maybe he could help her connect with an officer who’d take these threats seriously. As she left a voicemail, she didn’t feel much hope. She slid the letter into a folder and tried to work, but when she’d read a statute four times without the words making sense, she gave up. Maybe moving would help. She stood up,
twisted a few times, then plopped back down. She pulled up a different file and tried to focus on where this client was in the process. Soon the morning had disappeared, followed by lunch. She settled back to work, but fifteen minutes later she was still staring into space, so she pulled up the draft of her article. The very rough draft that was more white space than words.

  What she’d bragged was her superpower now seemed dimmed by some form of kryptonite, one that left her paralyzed.

  The right words eluded her.

  She was writing with the sophistication of a second grader. Her editor would spew the article back at her in an instant if she submitted it.

  Would her words disappear in the courtroom as well as at her computer?

  It had been false bravado to promise Reid this was who she was, because right now her gift had all but abandoned her, leaving her stripped and empty. She groaned and leaned against her chair, grateful Rhoda had told her she could work on her writing when she had no pressing items at the Haven.

  Who was she without words?

  Did she want to find out?

  Could she afford to learn the truth?

  Her phone jolted to life on the desk, and Emilie scrabbled to grab it as it danced across the clear surface.

  “This is Emilie.”

  “Hi.” The voice was young and hesitant. “I’m Alaina Jotter. You messaged me.”

  Emilie lurched forward in her chair and then reached in a drawer for a pen and pad of paper. “Thank you so much for calling me. This won’t take long, but I really need your help. More important, Kinley Adams needs your help.”

  “What do you mean?” Her voice was small, like an unsure little girl.

  “I need information on Kaydence.”

  “You and everyone else. She’s dead, and now everyone wants to know how wonderful she was. What good does it do?”

  Was it bitterness or grief Emilie heard in the girl’s voice?

  She took a breath. “What I’m wondering, Alaina, is how things were at Kaydence’s home. Really were, not some perfect social media version.”