Scales: Of Justice (Broken But ... Mending Book 3)

by Dale Mayer

  But in order for that to happen, she had to take a few steps towards him. And he wasn’t sure she could do that on her own.

  Holding his hand could be construed as one of those and proved his point.

  Together, they walked back to the restaurant. Every once in a while, he caught her looking at their joined hands. Smiling, he used his other hand to push a strand of hair behind her ear. “Never held hands with a man before?”

  When she didn’t answer, he glanced over at her to see a rising tide of color on her neck and face.

  “Actually, no,” she replied, the honest pain evident in her quiet words. And still she held on.

  Chapter 17

  Paris felt the fool. Her own innate sense of honesty said she had to answer the question, but it felt odd. Just as odd as holding his hand. The heat from his much larger one surprised her. The firm, muscled pad. Large, lean fingers that dwarfed her own much smaller ones. Even his body radiated a warmth she hadn’t expected. She was always cold. Inside and out. She thought it was that she was so skinny. And maybe it was, but he obviously had no problems there. Then, he too was lean, muscled.

  She sighed.

  “And more heavy sighs.” He laughed, and damn if the sound wasn’t carefree and young.

  “Glad you’re in a good mood.” She looked at his laughing mouth and slid a little closer to him, wishing that sense of freedom would rub off.

  “Hey, I’m walking with a pretty girl and heading for breakfast, my favorite meal of the day,” he said with a lazy smile. “What’s not to be happy about?”

  “Men are so simple,” she said, but she felt better. Lighter. Just a few words of acceptance. Of being wanted. Nice.

  At the restaurant, he led her back to the same table where they’d sat before. “Order what you want,” he said, “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

  As he headed to the men’s room, she watched his long easy strides. She’d have bet money that he was smiling. The waitress arrived with menus, so she ordered coffee for both of them.

  “He’s a cutie,” the waitress said with a big grin. “As soon as he saw you outside this morning, he hopped up and grabbed the coffees and went right over.”

  The waitress left, but the envy in her voice had Paris smiling. Nice to think someone was jealous of her. Her own feelings toward Weaver were mixed. And confused. But definitely interested.

  Maybe she didn’t understand what she was feeling. This was new and it was something she hadn’t ever felt it before…

  Weaver represented something she didn’t comprehend as she’d never been down this pathway before. He was also something she wanted. It was nice he was interested, but would he still be if he knew everything? Probably not. How could he? He’d said he was friends with a lot of cops. That meant he was okay with law enforcement and all they symbolize.

  But he was also waiting for Justice.

  Another sigh escaped her lips. She was too in many ways.

  And she had nothing against cops in general. It was just this one.

  The waitress walked back and deposited two cups of coffee on the table before walking away again. Paris barely noticed, lost as she was in her thoughts.

  Weaver was right. This cop was the huge problem in her world. She stirred her coffee, staring in the depths, realizing something else she’d forgotten. Sean had been good at reminding her of small truths. Something he’d said a week ago stuck with her. He said, Giving away your power made you powerless in the face of adversity. Call back your power so at least you are on equal footing.

  She had given away her power to this man.

  He was just a man. He’d only ever been just a man.

  She was the one who’d given him the elevated status of being the bogeyman.

  Having the force of the law behind him added to the effect. What she’d been through lent more power to it. She’d already been victimized. Thinking back, she realized she let herself be victimized ever since.

  Not fair.

  Weaver sat down in front of her. He reached over and clasped his hand over hers. That was when she realized she’d been stirring her black coffee – something that didn’t need stirring – with enough force to make it slop up the sides of the cup. In fact, the saucer was full, too.

  She sat back and stared at him. “I gave away my power.”

  His gaze widened, but he stayed quiet as if giving her comment due thought. Then he gave a clipped nod. “In a way, yes.”

  She dropped her gaze to the table. “It’s a weird feeling looking back.”

  “Hindsight always is.”

  She laughed, but there was no humor in the sound. “It’s also painful.”

  The waitress arrived to take their orders, but the mood had been broken. Paris didn’t want to bring up the subject again. Though maybe she should speak to Jenna about it.

  “Do me a favor,” Weaver asked when the waitress left. “Before you check out, talk to Jenna first.”

  “Oh.” She frowned. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

  “She gave you a spot in the workshop, handpicked you for this, I suppose you might say. I think she’d appreciate the respect of hearing it from you firsthand.”

  Paris grimaced. That wouldn’t go down well. Still, she’d subconsciously made the decision to stay but hadn’t realized it until he brought it up.

  “That would be the right thing to do.”

  “Yeah, it would,” she said. “I will speak with her.”

  Satisfied, he sat back, looking pleased with himself. As if he believed Jenna would be able to talk her out of leaving, and true enough, she likely would. “I already decided to not leave the workshop.”

  Delight lit up his face, and damn it if that didn’t warm her heart, filled some of the cold empty places inside. Maybe he really did care. She grinned, the weight on her chest easing. It was time for something good to happen in her life. Maybe he was the right one after all. Did she dare hope?

  “Why?” he asked. “What made you change your mind?”

  “You for one. It’s nice to know I’m not totally alone in this. That you’d miss me. Thanks for that. My intuitive flash about having given away my power. Jenna – there’s no way I’d want to have to tell her I wasn’t strong enough to stay,” she say wryly. “That woman is something else.”

  Weaver laughed and laughed. “Good reasons.” He leaned forward, holding her hand firmly but gently in his. “Honestly, I wouldn’t want to tell her either.”

  Just then their food arrived and they dug in, having moved on to a new step in their relationship.

  *

  Weaver wondered at the lightness inside. That sense of relief at her words. Why should he care so much? She was a stranger, really. But a fascinating one. And he was intrigued and attracted. Sure, some of it was professional, but a lot of it wasn’t. It was like seeing an animal in pain and he might just be able to help her. She might hate him for it. This could end with her moving on like his wife had done. Afterwards, she might want nothing to do with him, seeing him only as a painful reminder. He’d helped his wife through a very difficult time and she’d been grateful – but then he’d become part of her negative memories and she needed to move past that.

  He sighed. That was his garbage. Not hers and not Paris’s.

  “And here I thought you were happy. Instead, you’re sounding depressed all of a sudden,” she said, her gaze intense.

  Their eyes met. He wondered if she felt insecure inside and afraid of having read a person wrong. If so…well, it was something he could relate to. Leaning back against the bench seat in a relaxed slump, she looked more at peace. Weaver pondered how far they had come. There were bags under her eyes and her skin missed that wonderful vitality of a good night’s sleep, and yet she wasn’t self-conscious. Or wary. It all seemed to have melted away.

  He smiled gently at her. “I’m very happy. And I am proud of you,” he admitted, seeing the flash of surprise in her eyes before she had a chance to cover it up.

  “Wow,
you’re easily impressed,” she mocked. “I was in the process of running away.”

  “But you didn’t,” he reminded her. “And that’s huge.”

  Her laughter was light and genuine. Then she glanced at her watch and said, “We’re going to be late if we don’t get moving.”

  They stood up, paid the bill, and walked over toward the conference room. As they walked past the elevator, the doors opened to let half a dozen men exit. Law enforcement officers.

  She gasped, averted her face, and picked up the pace.

  They were going in the opposite direction so the men passed them without even seeing her. Weaver couldn’t see the man she was trying to avoid.

  Still, she didn’t run. Reaching up, he put a comforting hand on her shoulder and squeezed. Leaning into his touch, she tossed him a thankful grin back.

  And damn if he didn’t seem to need that as much as she did.

  Chapter 18

  Paris walked into the seminar and took her seat. Her insides were still shaking but as the incident had come and gone so fast without any kerfuffle, she felt like she’d just been spared a major confrontation. Now if her breathing would just calm down, she’d be fine.

  Jenna arrived within minutes, and boy did she have a stack of paperwork in front of her. She smiled at the group at large.

  “Homework,” she said, holding the stack up amidst the outcry of groans. “Not hard, but thought-provoking. I want you to spend much of this evening thinking about your life, your past. Especially your future. Remember the questionnaire you answered on the first day? This moves forward based on the answers you gave back then. I’m going to hand those back to you, and you’re going to use that one to help you fill out the second one.”

  Jenna ignored the groans erupting from the room. “Both are due back first thing in the morning.”

  One person piped up in the front, “That’s a lot of homework, are we going to be given any time to work on it during the seminar?”

  “No.” Jenna shook her head. “But we will be doing intense thought-provoking workshops to help you start the process. It’s important that you drop all the baggage you can from your life so that you can start as fresh and as powerful as possible as you move on to the next stage.”

  “What next stage?”

  Paris didn’t see who spoke. She was still remembering the paper she’d ripped to shreds and the piece she’d actually eaten. Lord, she wasn’t going there. Yet, already her stomach heaved at the thought of someone seeing it.

  “And are these answers going to be made public?”

  Jenna shook her head. “They will be given to me only. This is, as always, confidential. Everything that happens in these seminars, the work you do, the stuff I see – it belongs between us – and only us.”

  There were a few nods, a couple of heavy sighs. And then silence as people waited for her to continue.

  “So I’m going to hand these out later. Break into groups and get started.”

  Paris hated the group work, knowing it often triggered deep stuff publicly. So far it hadn’t been that way, but the further they got into the workshop, the more likely it was to happen. Already she felt like she’d been through the spin cycle of a washing machine this morning. That meant her defenses were already low. Being tired made her more vulnerable than ever. Then there was the reminder of her first worksheet too.

  It didn’t forecast much good about the coming morning.

  In fact, the morning was even worse than she feared. By the time the lunch break rolled around, Paris was exhausted. Dragging her tired, worn-out body upstairs, she headed for her hotel room. This day could not end fast enough. The delightful breakfast she had shared with Weaver seemed like ages ago. It wasn’t that the exercises had been hard. Or that they had been intense. But it was difficult to listen to so many people deal with their own garbage. And in this scenario, the exercise amplified everyone’s problems. There had been a lot of tears. A lot of breakdowns. A lot of hugs.

  The surprise for Paris had been that there was no breakdown for her. But she was so weary. She needed some downtime – especially after no sleep last night – some time to distance from the emotional waves of energy.

  Unlocking her door, Paris stepped into her hotel room. Without thinking about it, she set her keys on the desk and flattened out on her bed. She was asleep within minutes.

  When she woke, disoriented, she had no concept of time. A knock sounded on her door. Weaver’s voice called from the other side of the door. “Paris, are you okay? It’s late. The afternoon session is due to start in a few minutes.”

  “Sorry, I fell asleep.” She opened the door while still rubbing the sleep out of her eyes.

  “Don’t be sorry. You were exhausted.” Weaver hesitated at the doorway.

  Her heart still pounded, her skin clammy. She reached over and flicked on the light, blinking at the brightness. “I’ll be just a few minutes. Go on ahead without me.”

  “Are you sure?” he asked.

  She nodded firmly as she closed the door.

  In the bathroom she washed her face, taking only a quick glance at the mirror. No change. Still the same tired, flat Paris that arrived here days ago.

  A few minutes later, she walked into the restaurant and asked for a coffee to go. There were muffins on the back wall. Thinking of her own stomach and Weaver’s, she ordered two to take with her. The waitress grinned and said, “Your boyfriend was just here. He ordered the same, only he had two coffees to go with it.”

  Boyfriend? Nice thought. A long ways from the truth, but a nice thought.

  Paris thanked her and walked away with her goodies, feeling ashamed. Had Weaver bought her a coffee and a muffin? She could share her muffins, had in fact, planned on it, but she hadn’t thought to buy him a coffee. Thinking in twos had never before been necessary before.

  In the seminar room, sure enough, he waited with a coffee for her. She sat down beside him and shook her bag of muffins. “Sorry, I didn’t bring you a coffee.”

  He laughed. “Not an issue. I could use a second muffin, and I’m sure you can use a second coffee.”

  With a big grin, she replied. “True enough.”

  “Class,” Jenna said, walking in just then. “We have a long hard afternoon as we’re going to do the prep work on the worksheets now. So get into the groups you started with this morning and we’re going to mix things up a bit.”

  Paris groaned but obediently shifted to the table on the far side. Jenna didn’t like anyone working with the same group of people all the time. Her theory was that the comfort level became a hindrance. Paris didn’t agree, but it didn’t matter what she was thinking here. Jenna was the boss.

  Still, it was rough. In the middle of the afternoon, Jenna walked by, handing out the worksheets. The ones they’d already filled out was stapled to the back so no one could see the answers but the owner of the papers. Paris did a quick check and winced. Yeah, that was hers all right. It had a big rip in the page and multiple folds from Weaver’s origami. She hastily folded the paper and tucked it into her purse. If it was homework, then she’d do it later tonight. There was no way she was going to answer any questions on her old sheet’s condition. As she glanced at the new homework sheet, she realized it had nothing to do with the old torn set of questions.

  Weaver stared at her, one eyebrow raised.

  “It’s all good.” She gave him a bright smile. He hadn’t said anything, and she appreciated it. At the same time, she doubted he’d let her off the hook completely.

  Just as the afternoon appeared endless from an emotional session where several people in her latest group had broken down and Paris knew she was on the verge of tears herself – the subject matter this afternoon being mothers – as if that wasn’t enough to trigger something for everyone, there was a knock at the door. Expecting to see a hotel employee, she couldn’t hold back the shocked gasp at the sight of Constable Barry Delaney.

  Immediately, she hunkered down in her chair, her panicked
gaze darting around the room looking for an escape. But there was only one way in or out. Unless she used the window. Panicked, she actually considered it for a long moment.

  “Jenna,” the constable asked, “Can I have a few minutes of your time?”

  Jenna walked closer. “Sure. This session is almost done, then I have about an hour free.”

  “Perfect.”

  Jenna turned to the group. “You have your homework, so you’re good to go for the evening. Those of you that are scheduled to meet with me tonight, please be prompt. The schedule is tight. The first appointment is in an hour, so please don’t be late. There is time for dinner if you don’t mind eating early. Other than that, I’ll see you all tomorrow. Remember, worksheets are due first thing in the morning.”

  She walked to her desk and started to sort papers.

  Chaos ensued throughout the room as everyone stood up to leave. Several small groups of people stood around discussing the latest of the projects while others formed, making plans for the evening.

  Paris froze, her mind scrambling for an escape.

  Weaver stood up and walked around so he was between the cop and her. “Come on.”

  In a blind panic, she shook her head vigorously. “He’ll see me,” she hissed, darting a look toward the doorway.

  The constable wasn’t looking her way, but he was gazing at the attendees as they packed up. Shit. He’d see her in a few minutes. There was no way he wouldn’t.

  “Not if you sneak out in the middle of the group,” Weaver said calmly. “He hasn’t seen you yet, so chances are he won’t if we keep people between you and him.”

  “I’m scared,” she whispered, clutching her purse against her chest, her fingers white as they gripped the leather.

  “I know, but you’re going to have to face him sooner or later. Better sooner.”

  “Better never,” she muttered.

  “Come on, let me help you out of here.”

  She stared at him, uncomprehending. Then got it. He was going to help her escape. Quickly scrambling to her feet, and seeing a half dozen people heading for the door, she realized that now was her chance. Keeping her head down, with Weaver between her and the cop, she raced toward the doorway.