Save Her Child: A completely gripping and suspenseful crime thriller (Jericho and Wright Thrillers Book 3)

by CJ Lyons

  “Sorry, Mom. No.”

  “Naomi Harper, I expect you to grow up and stop being so rebellious. We are your only family and we deserve—”

  “I can’t. Please don’t ask me—I can’t.” Harper hung up before Rachel could make her feel more of a traitor than she already did.

  Seventeen

  Luka glanced over to see Leah blinking back tears after Emily’s outburst. Emily’s words had hurt her more than the little girl could ever know. The grief of missing her husband was obvious—as was the even deeper pain that she might have failed her daughter.

  He searched for words but found none. When he checked the sideview mirror, he saw that Nate had buried his face in his phone, although he occasionally flicked a glance at Emily, waiting for her to calm down. Once her sobbing eased, Nate put his phone down and took her hand in his, saying something in a voice too quiet for Luka to hear, but which made Emily nod and seemed to soothe her.

  By the time they reached Jericho Fields the car was filled to bursting with a silence wrought with grief and guilt. Nate tumbled out of his seat and ran around to Emily’s side of the car to help her out of her booster seat. Rex, the scraggly mongrel that Nate had saved from an abusive home several months ago, came galloping up to greet the kids, ignoring the adults as unworthy of his attention.

  As the children played with Rex, Leah sat still in the driver’s seat, both hands clenching the steering wheel as if it was taking all her strength not to let go of her emotions. After a long moment, she sniffed, then finally turned to face Luka.

  “I’m sorry about that,” she said. “But you should know, Ruby said that Nate won a special honor with his photo of Pops. Plus, she said one of the judges teaches art and gave Nate her card, said you should call her.”

  Despite his sadness over Leah’s pain, Luka couldn’t help the pride that swelled his chest. “He won?” he stammered, not realizing until that moment how worried he’d been that the rest of the world wouldn’t see Nate’s talent and potential like he did.

  “Ruby said the judge wants to invite Nate to her classes or something. Anyway, I’m sorry I wasn’t there to see it myself—and that Emily is acting out.”

  “I guess that’s normal at her age.” He tried to sound as if he actually knew anything at all about seven-year-old girls. He glanced at Emily and Nate, the dog between them. Nate was on his knees while Emily stood, their foreheads practically touching as they spoke. She was so petite and Nate was so tall that Luka marveled at the study in contrast the two supplied. So very different and yet also both children of violence and grief, struggling to find their place in a suddenly uncertain and frightful world. It was good they’d found each other.

  “I’m not sure we’ll ever find our new normal, not since Ian…” Leah’s voice drifted off. “Every time I think she’s doing better, making progress, something else sets her off. Anyway, I’m sorry. Nate should be proud of his accomplishments and I know, once she’s calmed down, Emily will tell him that and apologize.”

  Luka imagined how proud Pops and Janine would be when they heard that Nate won a prize. And a teacher was interested in his work. First time putting himself out there and the kid hit a home run—how amazing was that? But then he looked more closely at Leah, saw the dark smudges below her eyes and the rigid tautness of her neck muscles. It’d been six months since her husband was murdered and he’d thought she was doing okay, despite the challenges of juggling a new job with single parenthood. But clearly, she was still struggling. “Everything okay?”

  “Me?” Her shrug was a study in nonchalance. Luka wasn’t fooled, but also knew she wouldn’t talk until she was ready. Nate was the same way, always needed time to mull things over for himself before he could share anything with the outside world. “I’m fine.” She left to retrieve his crutches. Together, they joined the kids.

  “Emily, I think you have something to say to your friend before we go,” Leah said in a firm, parental tone.

  Emily instantly appeared chagrined and remorseful. She touched Nate’s cheek with her palm and gazed directly into his eyes. “I’m glad you won. Your pictures were very good—I would have given you the blue ribbon instead of the white one.”

  “And—” Leah prompted.

  “And… I’m sorry I didn’t win like I told my daddy I would.” Emily leaned back, crossing her arms over her chest, daring Leah to try to get anything more out of her, such as admitting that her tantrum was uncalled for.

  Leah’s spine grew rigid. “How about apologizing to Nate for screaming in the car when you should have been celebrating with him?”

  Emily frowned at Leah, her lower lip protruding in a stubborn pout. “I won’t. And you can’t make me.”

  Leah’s lips tightened and her face flushed. Luka realized that as hard as he had to work to help Nate, what he faced was nothing compared to what Leah was dealing with after the trauma Emily had been through.

  Nate saved the day by hoisting his bag and hugging Emily goodbye. “See you tomorrow, right?”

  “Yes, sir,” Emily said with a smile. “We only have a week left before school!”

  Emily hopped back into the car while Nate walked toward the house, leaving Luka leaning awkwardly on his crutches. “Thanks for the ride,” he said.

  Leah bit her lip, her expression blanking—the same way Nate’s did when he was overwhelmed. “Good night.” She secured Emily in her booster seat, then climbed back into the car and drove down the lane.

  Luka hobbled inside. Pops and Janine were so thrilled by Nate’s tales of the day at the fair, including the lady with the baby and winning his prizes, that no one asked for any details about Luka’s injury after he said he fell onto a piece of glass, allowing him a respite.

  Nate gave him the card from the photography judge. Viola Reed, Fine Art Photography, it read. He flipped it over to where she’d written a note: Your nephew shows promise, I’d love to teach him. Please call me.

  Curious, Luka left the others as they celebrated Nate’s victory and went out to the back porch to call the photographer. He leaned his crutches against the wall and sat on the porch swing, hoping to catch any hint of a breeze.

  “Ms. Reed?” he said when she answered the phone. “This is Luka Jericho. I’m Nate Jericho’s uncle. You sent him home from the fair with—”

  “Mr. Jericho, I’m so excited that you called.” Her voice was warm, her accent local, reflecting the hills and valleys surrounding them. “Nate shows such promise.”

  “I’m sorry I wasn’t there at the fair. I had to work.” He felt the need to explain, to make sure she knew Nate had his family’s support.

  “Of course. Well, I won’t keep you from your family or Sunday dinner. I only wanted to extend an offer—but you’ll need to decide fairly quickly.”

  “Offer?”

  “In addition to my freelance photography business I also teach art at the Cambria Preparatory Academy. You’ve heard of it?”

  He rolled his eyes. The exclusive private school boasted of its rich and powerful alumni. “Yes. Actually, I was thinking of it earlier today.” He didn’t explain that it was because the kids responsible for his first murder case were students at Cambria Prep.

  “Well, I’m on our fine arts scholarship committee and one of our elementary school pupils had to relinquish their spot in the fall class. I’d love to offer their scholarship to Nate.”

  Luka stared at the phone, certain he’d heard wrong. “Nate? But you don’t know anything about him.”

  “I know he’s a promising young artist and I believe his talent could flourish here. Give me your email and I’ll send you all the pertinent information. And then we could schedule a tour for this week? I really do hope you’ll consider allowing us to have some part in shaping Nate’s future.”

  He gave her his contact information and she hung up. When Luka glanced up, he saw Nate standing in the doorway, Rex at his side. He was staring at him with that all-too-grown-up expression that said he saw and understood more tha
n Luka wanted him to.

  “I’m sorry Emily yelled at you earlier,” Luka said. The phone weighed heavy in his hand. This wasn’t his decision alone. Nate’s life had been much too tumultuous and chaotic; he deserved some say in his future. He patted to the seat beside him and Nate joined him on the porch swing, while Rex curled up at their feet. “What would you say if you weren’t in her class this year? You’d still be friends, see each other, but—”

  Nate shook his head, cutting him off. “Emily isn’t mad at me. That’s not why she was yelling.”

  “It’s okay, Nate. Emily will get over how she feels. You don’t need to make excuses or blame yourself.”

  “No, you don’t understand.” He balled his fists in frustration as he searched for words. “She’s not mad.” He pulled out his phone, shoved it at Luka. “Here. Look. Can you see it now?”

  Luka studied the image, a candid shot taken of Emily during her meltdown in the car. “You’re right. She’s not angry—”

  “She’s sad.” Nate sighed in sympathy with his friend. “It wasn’t me she’s yelling at. She wanted to win first prize. Because she’s always won first prize. At school with tests, when she did stuff with her dad. So she just, just…” He faltered, his vocabulary not keeping up with the complex emotions he was attempting to describe. “She wanted that feeling again. Like she had with her dad. Like he wasn’t gone.”

  Not for the first time, Nate’s perception stunned Luka. The boy saw and understood more than most adults. “She misses him.” Luka took another, closer look at the photo. He recognized Emily’s expression as the same one he’d caught on Leah’s face whenever she dropped her guard or thought no one was looking. “She wants things to go back the way they were.” He turned to Nate. “Is that how you feel?”

  Nate seemed startled, unused to any adult asking about his feelings. “I miss my mom. But I don’t feel the same as Emily does about her dad. It’s… different, because I never really knew my mom—every time I got close to her, she’d be gone and I’d be back in foster. So maybe it hurt like Emily hurts but a long time ago when I was only a kid. Not now.”

  “So, you’re not sad like Emily?” Luka hoped he was mirroring Nate’s feelings correctly. After six months seeing a grief counselor, this was the first time Nate had opened up. Luka didn’t want to say or do anything that might close him back down.

  “No, sir.” Nate sounded hesitant and Luka kicked himself for pushing too hard.

  “That’s okay,” Luka tried again. “Maybe you feel a little mad—like you did when I didn’t call you about getting hurt like I should have?”

  Nate jerked his chin in what could have been a reluctant nod.

  “Growing up,” Luka continued, “I was the big brother and it wasn’t cool being friends with girls back then, especially not your little sister. So your mom and me, we were the kind of brothers and sisters who fought all the time. Know what I mean? We still loved each other but we were always yelling and arguing. And when she died, I felt really bad because we had another fight that same day.”

  Nate’s head still hung low but his gaze crept up, almost meeting Luka’s. “You loved Mom, right?”

  “I still do. Love her with all my heart.”

  “But you’re mad at her, too?”

  “Yep. Furious. That she’s gone, that she left without saying goodbye to me or Pops or you.” He blew his breath out. “I miss her so much, but some days that only makes me even more angry with her for making me feel this way.” He paused. “You ever feel like that?”

  Nate bit his lip and nodded.

  “Guess we’re in this together, then. Think Emily kinda feels the same? Like she’s sad, so sad the only way to let her feelings out is by acting mad? Even at her best friend?”

  Another nod. Nate flicked the phone’s photo stream, and this time Leah’s face filled the frame. “I think Dr. Wright feels like that sometimes too. But she never lets it out, keeps it bottled up inside.” He met Luka’s gaze. “She’s like me that way.”

  “What helps you to feel better?” Luka asked. “Does talking with Dr. Hannah help?”

  A shrug. “I guess. Maybe. Talking to you, too. But mostly I guess what makes me feel good is taking my pictures—like I’m saving memories for Mom, you know? Playing with Rex, teaching him stuff so he can be a good dog and forget where he came from, I like that, too. And I like helping Emily when she’s sad. Making her laugh again, that feels good.” He turned his face up, searching Luka’s. “Is that okay?”

  Luka couldn’t resist hugging him. “It’s more than okay. Remember how you saved Rex from those men who were abusing him? You were his hero.”

  Nate pushed him away and rolled his eyes. “Nah. I’m no hero, not like you. But maybe. Someday. Someday I can grow up to be like you.”

  Warmth flooded Luka’s chest and he found himself blinking fast. “Know what? You’re gonna be a hero—in your own way. I’m sure of it.”

  “But—can a hero ever feel afraid? Cuz I do. All the time.”

  Luka flashed to the expression on Nate’s face when he’d seen Luka in the ER. “Can I tell you a secret? So do I. But that’s a good thing, because no one is born brave or a hero. We learn how to face our fear; that’s how heroes are born.”

  “But how? How do you do that?”

  Luka considered. “I think of the people I love. You, Pops, my parents, your mother.” And Cherise, his first love, lost so many years ago. “I think all courage comes from love. So if you start out loving people, letting them in your heart, then you’re already most of the way there. Does that make sense?”

  “I guess.” Nate yawned, not bothering to cover it. Rex, ever vigilant, saw it and ambled over, ready for his before-bed walk around the house. The scruffy mutt rubbed his head against Nate’s leg, nudging him toward the porch steps.

  “Get some sleep.” Luka gave Nate another quick hug. He pocketed Ms. Reed’s card. “We’ll talk more tomorrow.” After he had checked out Cambria Prep. And broken the news to Leah that Nate might be going there without Emily.

  He grabbed his crutches, his leg screaming for him to go lie down. One step at a time, he thought as he limped inside. One step at a time. It was the best he could do.

  Eighteen

  Emily was silent during the few minutes it took Leah to drive them from Jericho Fields to Nellie’s farm. Leah didn’t mind. She was so embarrassed, angry, guilty, worried—she was so many things that she needed time to sort through her own emotions that Emily’s outburst had wrought. Every time she thought things were finally getting better, that life was approaching some semblance of normality despite Ian’s absence, every time, despite Leah’s best efforts, something like this would happen. She was exhausted by constantly trying to act normal, by watching Emily like a hawk, trying to protect her, to do the work of two parents.

  But now it was clear. Leah was failing her daughter. And Ian.

  Tears blurring her vision, she parked the car in front of Nellie’s house. No matter how long Leah lived here, this would always be her great-aunt Nellie’s house. Even now, as the sun set behind it, painting the sky above the mountain a gentle lavender that clung to the treetops like a downy quilt, the large white farmhouse anchored its surroundings. As if whispering to anyone who needed to hear: I’m here, I’m not going anywhere, you’re safe here.

  The summer night echoed the words—although, somehow to Leah’s ears they were in Ian’s voice, not Nellie’s—and Leah knew what she had to do: she had to make Emily hear and understand them as well. Fumbling her seatbelt, Leah climbed out of the Subaru, grabbed a tarp from the back, then finally gathered Emily from her car seat. She carried Emily on one hip, like she had when Emily was a baby, tossed the tarp onto the lawn with her other hand and sat down, Emily in her lap.

  Emily was crying again, rocking and flailing her arms as if attempting to exorcise all the emotions that so overwhelmed her. Leah wrapped her arms around her daughter and rocked along with her, saying nothing, simply providing a secure an
chor.

  Finally, Emily went limp in her arms. Stars showered the sky above them. Leah lay back, nestling Emily beside her. “I’m sorry you didn’t get a ribbon,” Leah started. “You worked very hard and should be proud—”

  “I did get one,” Emily snapped. She sat up, dug something from her pocket and thrust it at Leah. “See. It’s fake.” And cheap, Leah saw as she uncrumpled the nylon streamer that was fraying along its edges. “It’s not like the real ones. Miss Ruby gave a judge money to give it to me. I saw.” Her voice broke. “That’s what made me so mad. Then Miss Ruby made me thank the judge, like I’m stupid or something!” She wailed at the heavens.

  “You know Miss Ruby loves you, right?” Leah said in a tone that she hoped hid her own fury and frustration at Ruby’s misguided attempt to make Emily feel like a winner. Ruby would never understand the power of real accomplishment—to her the ribbon would always be the point, what the rest of the world saw and used to judge you. Ruby could never understand that real winning was the work, achieving your vision. And that it didn’t matter if a judge saw it or not. But how to explain that to a seven-year-old?

  Emily sighed. “Miss Ruby loves me. I love her. But sometimes, she treats me… Not only her, Ms. Driscoll, the teachers and kids at school—why does everyone treat me like I’m different, Mommy? They either treat me like a baby because I’m small or tell me ‘you’re acting too big for your britches, Emily,’ like Ms. Driscoll, or say I’m weird or strange or they can’t play with me or…” Her voice edged into tears again, but this time she intertwined her arm in Leah’s, squeezing tight, and was able to control them. “I wish Daddy were here. He made me feel smart. We learned things—together. And it was fun. Not like school.”

  “Even with Nate there?” Leah asked. The vice-principal, Ms. Driscoll, had left her two voicemails demanding a meeting to discuss separating Nate and Emily in an effort to “curb Emily’s rambunctious, disruptive behavior.” So far, Leah had ignored them. But she only had a week left of summer vacation—and the only thing making school at all tolerable for Emily was Nate’s presence in her class. Which meant Leah had to prepare to battle Ms. Driscoll—in her mind, Cambria City’s equivalent of the Wicked Witch of the West.