by Dale Mayer
Paris slumped on her bed and flopped backwards. “It’s too hard to do all of this.”
“Sure it is. That’s why it’s a good idea to bring Jenna on board so that you have the support you need. Think about it, Paris. I know you went with other intentions, but this could be a huge gift. Deal with the cop. See him as the adult you are and not the traumatized young girl you’d been. He won’t be the ogre you remember now because you are older and wiser.”
“But it wasn’t him as much as the power of the law that terrifies me,” she reminded him.
“And that’s just wrong,” his voice rose in anger. “I’ve told you before. It’s not your fault.”
Her hand trembled as she brushed her hair off her forehead. Tears once again welled up at the corner of her eyes. “I know you say that…”
“I mean that. Anyone would tell you the same thing. Hell, dozens of people have told you the same thing,” he said. “It’s that asshole sitting at the damn hotel that’s to blame for putting that doubt in your head.” He made a half-strangled roar in the background. “I’m of a half mind to come down there and beat the crap out of him for what he did to you.”
“No,” she cried, “you can’t.”
Sobs broke free, and she couldn’t hold them back anymore. “Besides, he didn’t do anything other than his job.”
“He was a hard ass to you and you didn’t deserve it. You were traumatized. You needed support and counseling, not his heavy-handed warnings.”
“But he was right. I started down a path and my actions have followed me ever since.”
“Damn it, Paris. You escaped your past. You got an education, you got a life. We are both surviving and now I’m thriving. It’s your turn.”
Sniffling through the tears, she wished he was there to give her a hug. And then unexpectedly, an image of Weaver holding her close crept in, and she pushed it down. “I hope so,” she whispered. “But I’m afraid it won’t be in time.”
“In time for what?” he asked, alarm making his voice rise.
“Before they haul me away.”
There was an odd silence. “Why would they do that?” he asked in a low, controlled voice.
“Because he was right,” she said, breaking down into heart-wrenching sobs. “I’d do it all over again.”
She hung up the phone then threw herself across the bed, lost in the horrible memories of the night she’d killed her father.
*
The coffee shop was mostly empty except for a few cops sitting in the far corner. Jenna wasn’t here yet. He took a chair by the window with his back to the wall so he could watch for her. After ordering coffee for two, he waited, unsure if he was doing the right thing.
More cops came in and took a second table a few feet away from them. One was the man who’d knocked on Paris’s door. Weaver frowned, wondering if he’d be able to overhear the conversation about to happen with Jenna.
As he looked up, Jenna walked toward him, smiling. As she approached, that one cop stood up and stopped her.
Curious, he tried to listen in, only to realize their voices were so low he couldn’t hear what was being said. But they knew each other.
Suspicion settled inside. Had Jenna set this up?
He wouldn’t put it past her.
Neither did he believe in coincidences.
These two were up to something. Jenna motioned toward Weaver and the cop nodded. He sat down again and Jenna continued on.
Now he didn’t know what to do.
After she’d settled and her beautiful smiling face turned his way, the words spilled out. “Did you plan this?”
She raised an eyebrow. “Plan what?”
He nodded to the cop now busy joking with his friends. “Him.”
Turning, she glanced back at the cop then turned to face him.
If he hadn’t been watching so closely, he didn’t know that he’d have caught it. Confusion, surprise, and maybe a little fear. But not the guilt he was expecting.
She shook her head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
After taking a sip of her coffee, her gaze never leaving his face, she asked, “Explain, please.”
Stretching his long legs out in front of him under the table, Weaver sighed. “Paris has gone off the rails because of that man.”
“What?” She stared at him, lowered the cup, and leaned forward. “What happened?”
Quickly he explained about finding this man knocking on Paris’s door and her refusing to open it. About her crying jag. The escape to the pizza place followed by the little bits and pieces he’d managed to get out of Paris. “She’s devastated over this,” he finished. “I was hoping she could deal with it now that it’s here in front of her, but she’s adamant about not going in that direction.”
“Of course. It’s the shock. The sudden change in plans. When one is afraid, opportunity looks very scary.”
She turned to look behind her. Weaver realized the group of men was getting up to leave.
“How do you know him?” Weaver asked.
“Through Child Services. I am working on a difficult case right now. He’s part of it.”
That made sense. “Maybe that’s how he knows Paris.”
“Yes, most likely.”
“But why would he want to talk to Paris?”
She smiled. “He’s seen a lot. If he can, he likes to check in on his old cases and see how they are doing.”
“Paris?”
“I don’t know.” She shrugged and sipped from her steaming mug. “Given her reaction, I’m going to say yes. However, her reaction is not one I’ve seen or would have expected to see.” Her voice lowered as she added, “But in a way… it makes complete sense.” She glanced at her watch. “I wonder if she’s asleep.”
“I doubt she’ll sleep again.”
Her gaze sharp, assessing, she asked, “Really?”
He nodded “She looked to be heading for a crying jag after we split up.”
“That’s not a bad thing.”
“No, but not an easy one either.”
“So what do you want to do?” she asked. “And how is this impacting you?”
Of course she’d turn it around to him. Leaning forward, his eyes narrowed. “I want you to fix this. Especially if you had something to do with bringing the cop here.”
“I didn’t,” she interrupted.
“Good,” he said, accepting that for the moment. “Then help her deal with this. This man is a huge issue in her life. Probably the biggest. If she could find a way to see him, talk to him, see that there’s no reason to be afraid…”
Jenna nodded. “Did you consider that there might be a good reason she’s afraid?”
No, he hadn’t. Sitting back, he stared at her, Paris’s weird reactions and her words – had she ever mentioned a reason for her fear? No, he didn’t think so.
Still, he just couldn’t believe she’d be guilty of anything. He shook his head. She so wasn’t the kind.
“Remember,” she said, her gaze gentle, her voice serious. “Under duress, each and every one of us is capable of doing the most horrible things.”
Chapter 15
The next morning, Paris dragged herself from bed and straight into the shower. She didn’t look in the mirror. She already knew how her face was going to look. The heat and tightness said volumes on their own. She stood under the pounding water and let it sluice down her face.
She’d barely gotten any sleep. Nightmare after nightmare dragged her up from the depths, only for her to fall under again from exhaustion. Now there was just exhaustion. This must be what it was like to live in hell. No. She already knew what hell was like.
There was another text from her brother waiting for her when she got out.
Did you think about it?
“Think about what?” she wondered aloud. But she knew. And she had thought about it. About the pain that cop had caused her. The fear she’d carried since forever. The nightmares he alone was responsible for.<
br />
Why would she be willing to talk to him?
Especially now.
As she looked at her first days at the workshop, she couldn’t believe how much time had gone by and how little progress she’d made. The reason she’d come was to see something measurable. Something she could look back on and see the progress. She needed to see progress. Healing.
Inside it felt like she was doing the opposite.
That made her mad.
Why should this man pop into her life and destroy her like this? It wasn’t fair. She’d been doing her best. Crossing her t’s, dotting her i’s for a long time, making sure there was never a reason for anyone in law enforcement to doubt her straight and narrow path.
And look what she got. The return of the one cop who’d destroyed her peace of mind since that lousy night. Before that night, there’d been a lot of lousy nights. A continuous stream of them. They’d been the norm.
She was an adult now. Not a child. Not a teen. Not a destroyed girl waiting for the good things in life to show up. For years she’d believed they would, then she grew older and she’d given up on them showing up. Now as an adult, she realized they were all there. One just had to look for them. And one couldn’t focus on what was there before or else the bad things completely eclipsed the good things and redefined what ‘good’ things meant.
Like now.
Dry-eyed and tired, she sat wrapped in a towel on the end of her bed and wondered how she was going to get through the rest of this week.
She’d wanted to come since forever. Now she couldn’t wait to go home to the point of considering that she should leave early.
Sad, drained of hope, she realized she wasn’t going to find her miracle here.
*
Weaver knocked on Paris’s door, hoping to coax her down to the restaurant for breakfast. No answer. Feeling foolish, he knocked several more times. But she either wasn’t there or wasn’t planning on getting up anytime soon.
“Paris,” he called out gently, “I’m going to the restaurant. Why don’t you meet me down there?”
And he left. As he walked to the elevator, he turned to check to make sure she didn’t open the door. But it stayed closed. After his talk with Jenna last night, he’d been feeling a little guilty. He was suspicious by nature, and Jenna’s words had kept him up for hours last night.
Had Paris done something wrong? Was that why she was so afraid? He couldn’t see it himself, but who knew what someone did? Especially a long time ago. She’d been abused. That much he knew. How long and how badly were details he could wish for but didn’t see himself getting.
Taking the stairs helped him clear his mind before walking into the restaurant. As it had been busy last night, he half expected to see it the same way this morning. No, of course not. It was empty. He was early.
Maybe that’s why Paris wasn’t up. He took his usual seat and ordered coffee and opened his menu. Pancakes and eggs would be a great way to start the day. Closing the menu, he stared out the window. As he watched the few people rush by, he realized a long lean woman sat on a bench at the tiny corner garden. Damn it. That was Paris.
She sat so still, like a stone, he wondered how long she’d been there. She had to be cold. She wore a long gray sweater and had it wrapped around her, her fingers clutching the material together at the front as she stared at the flowers in front of her. He doubted she saw any of the beauty. Finally, she moved, standing up to stretch. Holding his breath, he waited, hoping she’d turn so he could wave at her. Instead, she sat back down in a different position.
Damn. His coffee arrived just then. He stared at it. Then at her.
Making a sudden decision, he called the waitress over and asked for a takeout cup for his coffee and a second one to go for Paris. Within minutes, he was striding out to the tiny city lot and the kaleidoscope of colors growing in the rough environment. Kinda like Paris.
She never heard him coming.
“Paris?”
Her back straightened and then slowly, as if afraid of who called her, she turned around. As her gaze landed on him, she smiled.
He grinned back, relief washing through him, his heart warming. At least it wasn’t him she’d been trying to avoid. That it mattered should have worried him. Instead, he brushed it off as just concern for her. It was just part of the workshop, he told himself. She was struggling and he could help.
That he admired and respected her was normal. She was valiantly trying to find her way on a road that had shown her more rocks than flowers so far.
That she might help him never occurred to him – or rather it slipped in and out of his mind just as fast. This was not about him. He’d come out here to see if there was something he could do to help her.
“Here, you look like you could use this.”
Her smile brightened as she accepted the cup. “Thanks.”
“You’re up early.”
“Couldn’t sleep.”
“I hear you there.” He sat down on the stone bench beside her. “It’s another day, whether good or bad.”
She snorted. “I spent my life saying bright and happy things to cheer myself up. They weren’t working this morning.”
Weaver nodded, studying her. “Understandable. It takes time after a shock.”
“Yeah, that’s true. Time. Like lots of it.”
There was an odd note in her voice.
“You don’t sound like you’re doing all that well this morning.”
“Sure I am. Just had a difficult decision to make.”
He waited, then curiosity got the better of him. “Oh? What decision?”
“Whether I stay and finish the week or check out this morning.”
Chapter 16
So much for keeping that decision to herself. Telling him would just give him a chance to talk her out of it. Then again, maybe that’s what she wanted. To be talked out of her decision. She didn’t know anymore. She’d cried buckets this last day and she was so done with that. She’d never been a milksop, and just the thought of someone thinking of her as weak made her mad.
Waiting for him to tell her not to, she stiffened her back and her resolve. This was the right thing to do. Crawl away and come back another day. Sure, Jenna might not do a different workshop, and that would have to be okay, too. There were other people that could help her. Other people were skilled and caring. Jenna was right the first time when she let Sean in and not Paris. Paris wasn’t ready. Not back then and maybe not now. Sad but true.
She realized that Weaver hadn’t said a word. She slid a sideways glance his way, studying him as he studied his coffee. She traced his strong features visually before closing her eyes with a sigh. There was an urgency boiling up inside her, and in this confused state, she did not know how or why it involved him, but it was there. Waiting for her…
“You haven’t said anything.”
He looked up in surprise. “No. It’s your choice. But I just realized I’m going to miss you.”
His words shocked her. From the look on his face, his words shocked him, too. And that surprised her even more. Caring was something he obviously guarded against, and he hadn’t recognized the sensation for what it was.
For her, the problem was she often cared too much and had been hoping to knock some of that back. Everyone at work always confided in her, told her their problems, looking for help in finding a way forward.
Here, she’d been the one with the problems. Weaver had helped her through the days. Only she didn’t want to mistake gratitude for something else. He mattered too.
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” she said.
He was still staring at her in surprise. So much surprise it was almost insulting. “Am I that bad that you’re so shocked to be missing me?” Her attempt at a light tone failed, her voice cracking with emotion.
Damn it. He could take that look off his face any time.
“No.” He shook his head, a lopsided grin sliding out. “Not at all. But I didn’t expect to get
to know anyone here, and certainly not someone that fascinated me.”
“Right, that damn report.” She frowned. “Another reason to leave. I won’t be in your report.”
“You weren’t going to be in it anyway,” he said absently. Her breath sucked in. The shock and surprise he expressed had changed to an internal contemplation, or at least that’s what she thought the distant inward look in his eyes meant. Hell, she didn’t know anything about this man, so she shouldn’t be making any assumptions where he was concerned. Still, he was a nice guy. Nicer now than at the beginning of the seminar. And warm, and sexy, and she so shouldn’t be noticing. Except there was something appealing about that self-confidence. That hidden vulnerability she wasn’t sure he was even aware of. But it was there. That he cared was a bonus. Hell, what was she talking about – it was a huge bonus. She liked him – a lot.
Before she went any further, she stood up and said, “I need food.”
“About time.” He bounded to his feet. “I was in the restaurant when I saw you out here.”
“Ah,” she teased. “So you’re just trying to get me to go inside so you can eat.”
“I could have eaten before,” he said with a smile. “Still, it’s much nicer to eat with someone else.” He reached out a hand for her to take. “Like you.”
She stared at it. It was likely the first time a man had done that. Why had he? Why now? And if she took his hand, was it a commitment? Because it sure felt like it.
*
Weaver reached out and clasped her hand. She’d taken so long to decide he took the choice away from her. His ego could only stand so much. No one had ever called him an expert in women by any means, but he knew enough to know she was interested, or would be if this whole mess hadn’t blown up in their faces. They’d had a rough beginning and then a rough middle. But when they touched, he could feel their warmth mingling into something new, something exciting. He figured if he could get her to stay for the rest of the week, they might have something worth trying to connect with after that.
