by Freya Barker
“That’s a good explanation.”
That’s how we fall asleep, our fingers laced, lying side by side. A few things cleared up, but the big elephant in the room as yet untouched, and I don’t know how she’ll react when she finds out there is a far bigger, more damaging secret I’ve kept from her.
I HAVE NO CLUE WHAT time it is when little hands shake my arm, waking me up, but it’s still pitch dark.
“What’s up, pumpkin?” I whisper when I recognize Becca’s red hair. “You have a bad dream?” She shakes her head, her red curls bouncing around her face.
“Mak is crying.”
I swing my legs over the side and am on my feet immediately. I lift Becca up on the bed, covering her with the sheets.
“You snuggle up with Stacie, okay? I’ll go check on Mak.”
The moment I walk out of our room, I can hear her whimpers. I walk in the girls’ room and Mak is rolling from side to side, her face wet with tears, muttering unintelligibly. Rather than wake her, I crawl into the bed and gather her in my arms. The moment my arms close around her she starts to struggle.
“No, I don’t want to go. No...”
“Wake up, Makenna,” I encourage her, sitting her up with me. Trying to calm her down without waking her is obviously not working. “Come on, sweetheart. Wake up.”
Her body still struggling, she slowly opens her eyes, looking at me with the ghosts of her dreams lingering in her gaze.
“Hey, you,” I start, but I don’t get any further.
“I don’t want to go with him,” she whispers; fear stark on her features.
“Go with who, Mak?”
“That man. He was mean.”
“Yes, he was, which is why the sheriff put him in jail. And you’re not going anywhere, sweetheart,” I reassure her, curling her against my chest. “I’ll make sure of it.”
Some time passes and I wonder if she’s drifted off again, when she suddenly speaks up.
“Will you stay?”
Somehow I get the feeling she’s not only talking about just now.
“You bet.”
“Why don’t you bring her to our bed?” My head shoots up to find Stacie leaning against the doorway. “It’s big enough for all of us. I think we could all use some comfort.”
I get up and lift a very pliable and tired Mak in my arms. I lean in to press a kiss on Stacie’s lips as I pass her. I put Mak in the center of the bed beside Becca, who is already fast asleep.
“Do you have a minute?” Stacie whispers behind me and I follow her back out into the hall. She reaches around me and pulls the door halfway shut before she turns to face me. “Does she know?”
“Sorry?”
“Ben told me what you did in that alley. What you said.”
“Fucking hell,” I hiss, tilting my head back and staring at the ceiling, trying to keep my cool. “I wanted to tell you myself.”
“I knew,” she says, putting a hand on my chest as she completely blows me away.
“How?”
“The tattoo on his back. It’s the only thing I remember from that night.”
I pull her into my arms and look down in her face.
“I’m sorry.”
“Not your fault. None of it is your fault,” she says, trying to smile but I can see it costs her. “But I need to know if Mak knows.” I shake my head firmly before answering her.
“No. She has no idea. Trust me,” I try to convince her. I’m not saying she won’t clue in at some point, when she’s older, but right now I really don’t think she would’ve picked up on that.
“I trust you,” she says, leaning her forehead against my chest.
After the roller coaster ride we’ve had—not to mention our earlier argument—those words anchor deep in my heart.
CHAPTER 29
Stacie
Settling into some kind of routine has been hard for all of us these past few days.
The only one who seems to take everything in his stride, is Henry.
Despite the cast on his leg, he’s been out feeding the horses every morning; sometimes, taking one or both of the girls to help him out.
Since Monday night, Mak has had more nightmares, so the girls have ended up in our bed, just about every night. I don’t mind. I feel better keeping them close anyway, and wouldn’t even bother putting them to bed in their own room, but both Nick and his pops insist that might not be smart. The argument, which eventually convinced me to agree with them, was something Henry brought up. He suggested that being the independent woman I am, he figured I’d want the girls to grow up self-sufficient as well, clearly implying that coddling them too much might not be conducive to that.
Manipulative old coot. Too bad he’s right.
Nick, very wisely, kept silent, although he had a hard time hiding the smug smile on his face. Needless to say, I was not in the best of moods after that discussion. Even the kids stayed out of my way.
Nick has been back at work since Wednesday, and I’ve picked up on schoolwork with the girls, so they won’t be too far behind when they go back after the weekend. It was actually their teacher who suggested giving them some time to let life settle down around them, in a way they can trust, when I called to update her. It made sense.
Even Ben, since the return of his wife and child, seems to be finding his stride again.
The only person who still walks around, waiting for the next shoe to drop, is me.
That’s why, when Drew called earlier this morning, asking if I could possibly come into Cortez to sign my statement, I jumped at the chance. Killing two birds with one stone, I checked with the hospital to see if I could possibly pop in today, instead of tomorrow, to get my stitches removed. Since Nick had to be in court this morning, Henry agreed to keep an eye on the girls.
I’m ridiculously excited to be doing something by myself. Don’t get me wrong, I love having the kids, and Nick and Henry close, but I haven’t been out of this house since Monday and I am getting a little cabin-fevered.
The best news I got though is that I was allowed to wash my hair. The prospect of heading into town with the dirty mop I’ve been sporting for almost a week now, wasn’t exactly an appealing prospect, but the nurse I spoke to at the hospital gave me the green light.
Swelling on my face has gone down, and what is left of the bruising is easily covered with some concealer. Looking in the mirror, I’m shocked at how pleased I am with my appearance. The scarring, although better after the surgery, is nevertheless still present, but after the way I looked this past week, I’m struck at how welcome my reflection is this morning. A far cry from a few months ago; when I avoided the mirror or any other reflective surfaces.
The face in the mirror has become comfortably familiar. The face is me.
“YOU’RE ALONE?” DREW says, looking past me when I’m shown into his office. “Would’ve expected Nick, if not Ben, to tag along.”
“Nick is in court and Ben doesn’t know I’m here, which is fine by me,” I snip, a little irritated he so easily deflates my balloon of independence. “Everyone seems to have forgotten that for many years I’ve worked on the legal side of law enforcement, and been a single mother to my daughter, without the benefit of a man to look out for me.” I almost spit out the word benefit.
“Whoa,” Drew responds, his hands up defensively. “I intended that to reflect on those two chest-pounding gorillas—not on you.”
Embarrassed for overreacting, I still can’t help chuckling at the comparison of Nick to a ape. The man has different sides to him, as I’ve come to discover. The Ferragamo and Bosch wearing side, and then the one wearing Wranglers and Henley. Add to that a sensitivity I can’t quite place with either the confident corporate or the rugged rancher side of him, but it is as much a part of him.
“Who are you calling a primate?”
I swing around at the deep voice to find a smiling Nick walking in the room. Ignoring Drew, he closes the distance between us, wraps an arm around my waist, and pulls me
close, before covering my slack mouth with his in a very thorough kiss. When he finally lifts his head, he immediately lifts his eyes to Drew, behind us, a big shit-eating grin on his face.
Ticked off, I shove both my hands hard in his chest, which sadly barely moves him.
“Did you just piss on me? Marking your claim? What are you even doing here?”
Drew’s chuckle behind me, and Nick’s fake look of innocence only incites me more. I growl my displeasure through clenched teeth, and plop down in one of the seats facing Drew’s desk. From the corner of my eye, I watch Nick sit down in the chair beside me.
“Court recessed for lunch. Called home to check in and Pops mentioned you were coming here. It’s around the corner, so I thought I’d drop in.”
“Right,” Drew says, amusement still clear on his face. “I need you to read through this and make sure it accurately reflects what you told me. If it does, I need you to sign it.”
I take the papers he hands me and start reading. Scanning the written statement, I mark a few inconsistencies, while listening with half an ear to the guys making small talk. It isn’t until I hear Nick mention Kevin Borland’s name, that I start paying attention.
“He’s just down the street in county jail,” I hear Drew answer.
“Does he have representation?” I interject, drawing a growl from Nick’s side.
“Please tell me you’re not thinking of offering up as his defense lawyer,” he grumbles.
“No.” My answer is firm, but that doesn’t mean the possibility didn’t flash through my mind for a moment. “I want to put him away, not clear him, but given his connection to my daughter, you can’t blame me for checking.”
“He retained his own counsel, actually,” Drew says, surprising me. “A Durango firm. Turns out Mr. Borland is not without means. Apparently money that he and his fiancée had saved up in a joint bank account for their wedding, and a down payment on a house for their expanding family.”
A surge of guilt threatens to turn my stomach at the mention of his wife-to-be and their child, and I draw in deep air through my clenched teeth. Nick’s large hand rubs up my spine and lands loosely around the back of my neck, calming me.
“He’s talking some, though. Facing a combined sentence for his list of charges, including second-degree murder, first-degree kidnapping times two, and the probation violation, which would carry weight against him in court, can do that. Never seeing the light of day again is a distinct possibility, so perhaps he is trying to clear a path toward a possible settlement, should the DA be willing to consider.” The former ADA in me immediately considers the benefits and pitfalls.
“I would offer to waive the probation violation and the smaller charges, drop the second-degree murder charge to manslaughter, in return for a guilty plea to all remaining charges, avoiding the need for a lengthy, painful trial,” I muse, thinking over all the possible scenarios. “The girls would both be spared testifying, and he’d still get no less than thirty to thirty-five years in total.”
“Want me to suggest that to the DA?” Drew jokes, a smile on his face.
“You could,” I concede, shrugging. “He might even listen; I offer the added benefit of a victim’s perspective on all of this. But be sure to mention the savings of a settlement versus trial as well. Money always talks.”
“That it does.”
Nick’s been quiet throughout that exchange and during the time it takes me to initial my handwritten changes and sign my statement, but when I put my pen down, he finally says something.
“Can I take you out for lunch?”
“Excellent, I’m hungry,” Drew quips, pretending to get up. “Mexican sounds good.”
“Not you, you moron,” Nick fires back; rolling his eyes. “Although I could go for some Mexican.”
“Tequila’s?” I suggest, that being the spot he took me to the first time he invited me.
“Where else?”
NICK
“I’m coming into the office on Monday.”
We’ve just finished our tamales and are sitting back, letting the food settle. The waitress stops by to collect our plates and asks if we want to see the dessert menu. Both of us opt for a coffee instead.
“You sure you don’t want more time?” I propose, but Stacie shakes her head.
“If this morning showed me anything, it’s that I do much better on the move than when I’m sitting still, but that’s not the only reason,” she confesses, leaning over the table and taking my hand. “I want to find out exactly what is involved in adopting Becca. Pick Doug Grant’s brain a little; I’m sure he knows more than I do.”
I suppress a smile. Absolutely, Doug knows more, and what he didn’t know before, he’s fast finding out, since I already asked him to look into it. He also knows Rita Mayers, the social worker from the CPS, having dealt with her before, and offered to connect with her to find out how to proceed with a possible adoption.
“I’m sure he does,” I agree, making a mental note to warn Doug not to let anything slip on the second part of my inquiries, since I want to find a good moment and the right time to bring that idea to Stacie’s attention, but with only fifteen minutes to get back to the courthouse, now is not it. “I’ve already put a bug in his ear about the possibility, and he says he’s happy to help.”
The rewarding smile she gives me is open, happy, and untainted by shadows. I’m about to tell her how beautiful she is when my phone rings.
“Pops,” I answer, after a quick glance at the screen. Across from me Stacie’s attention is immediately piqued. “What’s up?”
“Did you know that little girl’s birthday is on Sunday?” Pops sounds gruff, almost accusatory.
“Becca?”
“Yup. I’d made them mac and cheese for lunch, and they both mentioned wanting it for their birthday dinners. She about blew me over when I asked when their birthdays were, and she said Sunday.”
“Shit. Okay, I’m actually just finishing up lunch with Stacie. I’ll fill her in. We’ll handle it,” I assure him, looking over at Stacie who is almost bouncing in her seat. “Thanks for the heads-up.”
“Kid should have a birthday,” he grumbles indignantly.
“We’ll handle it, Pops,” I repeat, before adding, “I’ve gotta go. See you later.”
“What?”
Stacie almost launches out of her seat when I end the call, and I quickly fill her in.
“How did I not know that? Already I’m a horrible mother to that girl.” I bust out laughing at the dramatic look on her face, which promptly changes to an angry scowl.
“Come on,” I cajole. “We’ve had a thing or two on our minds, Anastasia. Surely that gives us a pass on perfect parenting.” But my words fall on deaf ears, since Stacie already has her phone to her ear, tapping her nails impatiently on the table.
“I’ve got to go,” I tell her, getting out of the booth and leaning over the table, but before I can kiss her goodbye, she presses the fingers of her left hand to my lips and turns her head slightly.
“Jen, it’s Stacie,” she says in the phone. “I have an emergency cake order for Sunday, I’ll be there in about twenty minute to give you details. Be ready.” Without waiting for a goodbye, she ends the call, gives me a peck on the lips and slides out of the booth. “I’m walking out with you.”
I risk getting slapped with a contempt of court charge for being late, when I press Stacie against the side of her car and kiss her like I mean it. Call it payback for making me wait for it, although based on the little sounds she makes in the back of her throat this is not exactly punishment.
Her ass in my hands, her taste on my tongue; it’s fucking worth every penny the judge will charge me.
A SLAP ON THE WRIST, I got off easy.
It’s four o’clock when I walk out of the building where Doug is waiting for me.
“Do you have it?”
He holds out a manila envelope to me and I take a quick peek at the papers inside.
“Did
Stacie call you?”
“No? Was she supposed to?” He seems surprised and I mentally count my blessings at the distraction Becca’s birthday apparently provides. It gives me time to do what I set in motion when I asked Doug to draft this document.
“She might. She wants to talk to you about the possible adoption of Becca, which is fine, but in case she calls you before the weekend, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t mention this other matter.
“Gotcha. Hey, need me to come along?” he offers, even though I know he’s eager to get home to his wife and kids. I clap him on the shoulder.
“No. I can take it from here. Appreciate the help with this.”
“No problem. Good luck.”
My next stop is the sheriff’s office, for the second time today. In truth, I’d already been on my way to talk to Drew when I found out Stacie would be there. It was informative all the same, since I discovered the asswipe had retained a shark lawyer from Durango, and that drove urgency to the forefront.
Drew is just leaving the building when I pull in the parking lot. For all his posturing and teasing, Drew is a good man, who’s instantly on board without needing much of an explanation. I end up following his cruiser just down the street, to the county jail.
“Why the fuck would I sign this?” Kevin Borland scowls as he shoves the papers I put in front of him off the table.
Keeping my cool, I calmly pick them up off the dirty floor and make a production of brushing them off.
“That’s a good question,” I tell him evenly, setting the papers back on the table but keeping my hand on them as I leaned in, invading his space. “One I’m happy to answer. It has come to my attention you are hoping to make a deal with the district attorney’s office to avoid getting life.”
“Yeah?” he scoffs. “What does that have to do with anything? With this?” He brushes at the papers again, but this time they’re safely pinned under my hand.
“The DA and I go way back. I wouldn’t say we’re bosom buddies, but I’m comfortable declaring him a friend.” I watch as anger drains from his face and is replaced by concern, with no small measure of satisfaction. “I see you are clueing in, but let me spell it out; I can put in a good word for you, and make that deal happen, or, I could put a bug in his ear about the danger you pose to the population at large. It’s your choice in which direction you want to take this.”
