A Daughter's Story

by Tara Taylor Quinn

  “I believe he’s hiding something, as well,” Hayes said. “I just don’t like involving Emma in this.”

  “I’m the only one he’s interested in. Who else could do this but me?” Emma focused on the female detective. “Like you posing as a wealthy infertile woman for the Buckley case.”

  Emma wasn’t backing down. Chris admired her bravery—and didn’t like it one bit.

  She’d gone from the best one-night stand of his life to a regular fixture.

  And the more he tried to get her out of his life, the more deeply entangled they became.

  Sara would make a mountain out of this one. Which was why he was never, ever going to be stupid enough to tell her about Emma.

  “We can keep a watch on him, wait for something to turn up, hope that he makes a mistake, turns his hand—”

  “—but that could take months. Or never happen,” Emma broke in, her beautiful face lined with a mixture of concern, frustration, fear. “I don’t think Rob would hurt me, or anyone, really, but after what he said to Chris, I just don’t know anymore. I’d rather find out what’s going on than to have to spend days and weeks worrying about what he might be up to. Or to have him stalking me. I can’t leave town, or afford a bodyguard. And if there’s any chance that what he’s doing has any connection to Claire, then…”

  Chris wasn’t going to win this one.

  “I’m in,” he said.

  * * *

  “I WANT TO get this over with as quickly as possible,” Emma said. Sharing her couch with Chris Talbot was getting to be a habit, she thought. And that had to end as quickly as possible, too. “It seems to me that having Chris openly around is the way to do it. I can approach Rob myself, try to draw him out, but he’s not going to open up to me. I lived with the man for two years and I can’t imagine what he thinks I have that would be worth anything to him.”

  “You’re worth far more than anything he could ever have.”

  Emma stared at Chris. Had he really just said what she’d thought he’d said? If so, he gave no indication of that fact. “Like I told you last night, I’m pretty certain that the guy was feeling threatened by a possible loss of something substantial,” Chris said to the detectives. “I wish I could remember his exact words, but it was something about having put in almost five years of his life and not letting someone else waltz in and get what he’d earned.”

  What a fool she’d been. What a fool fear had made her. “He was always so supportive…” she said aloud. She’d made a mess of things. She looked to Lucy. “I’m a bit of a worrywart,” she said, and was grateful when the female detective’s gaze softened, though she’d have continued either way. “Rob was very patient with me. He never criticized me for being so careful. And he was just as supportive of my mother. He never complained about her clinginess. It’s hard for me to believe that was all an act.”

  “Could be that’s what he meant by putting in his time,” Ramsey Miller said.

  Lucy frowned. “But what would he ‘earn’? What could he possibly think he’d lost?”

  “Are you due to inherit any money? Or come into some kind of settlement? Something to do with Claire, maybe?”

  “No.” Emma would have laughed if the situation wasn’t so tragic. Laughed without humor. “Mom had to file bankruptcy a few years ago because of all the debt she’d accrued. Rob knew about it. There’s no money in our family.”

  Lucy sat forward in her chair. “What about your grandfather in Florida?”

  “He lives on social security.”

  “So maybe Evert knows something you don’t know,” Miller said. “Or thinks he does.”

  “I can’t imagine what it would be. Our whole lives, other than work, revolve around Claire. This has something to do with her. There’s simply nothing else.”

  “I was on my way back to Indiana tomorrow, but I can ask for a couple of extra days and stay here with Emma,” Lucy said.

  “Too obvious.” Miller shook his head, looking at Lucy. “Evert saw you last night.”

  “I’ll stay.” Chris’s words came from beside her.

  Emma heard him clear down to her toes.

  “We want the guy to believe I ignored his warning. To think that Emma and I are getting hot and heavy…”

  “Which, for the record, we’re not,” Emma stated emphatically to the detectives. She didn’t want them to get the wrong idea.

  “Which we’re not,” Chris agreed, and then said, “but if we want him to think we are, then it makes sense that I stay here for a few days. Or nights, rather. I have to work during the day.”

  “Right.” Emma glanced over at him and then back to Lucy and Miller. “He’s self-employed. He has to work.”

  Miller nodded and pinned Emma with a stare that would have scared her if she didn’t know he was on her side. “I’m going to have specific rules for you to follow,” he said. “If I hear that you are not following them to the letter, I will call an end to the operation.”

  She nodded. “You have nothing to worry about on that score, Detective,” she said with a self-deprecating chuckle. “Rules are the one thing I’ve lived successfully with my entire life.”

  After Emma and Chris agreed to the plan the department had already approved, the detectives assured them that plain-clothes officers would be watching Emma, and regular duty officers would do random drive-bys past her house. For the next few days she wasn’t to leave her house without checking in. And she wasn’t to be without a recording device at any time. They would be putting a tap on her phone.

  “My captain has given us the go-ahead from the cold case budget,” Miller said. “With the missing evidence box, Evert’s uncharacteristic threats, his insistence that he’s earned something from you, his stalking—we need to know what he’s up to. And since he’s unwilling to cooperate…”

  “And—” Lucy Hayes reached over for Emma’s hand “—you have to be prepared here, Emma. We could be dealing with murder and we just don’t know it yet. Someone could be covering up your sister’s murder.”

  “That’s right,” Miller jumped in. “Rob clearly wants something. And whoever stole that evidence is trying very hard to keep us from finding something. Something they might be willing to spend a lot of money to keep quiet. Maybe they’re paying Rob. Maybe not. Kidnapping is a serious charge. Murder even more so. Could be that the kidnapper is afraid of being discovered and will do whatever it takes to stay out of jail. We’re only supposing here, but Detective Hayes and I have a lot of collective experience between us and this looks serious.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  THE PLAN WAS FOR CHRIS and Emma to spend that night together, to meet up again after Chris finished work on Sunday and then regroup with Ramsey on Monday. Hayes was heading back to Indiana tomorrow as planned.

  In the meantime police personnel were running a full check on Evert’s phone records and contacts, and canvassing the accounting firm where he worked, as well as his known hangouts, for anything that might shed light on their investigation.

  The whole thing left Chris uneasy. He didn’t like the idea of exposing Emma to whatever Evert might have in store. The guy knew her well, knew her vulnerabilities. And felt no shame in using them to manipulate her. Chris also didn’t put it past the guy to harm her physically, if doing so would serve his end.

  Clearly Chris had seen a different side to the man. A side Emma had never seen.

  Emma locked the door behind the detectives.

  He
had to ask.

  “Did you get your period?”

  “No.”

  She explained that she wanted to see her own doctor. And while the wait wasn’t easy, he understood.

  Chris needed a shower.

  They could shower together. He pictured her firm breasts with beads of water on them. And got hard.

  Like some horny teenager.

  “I invited my mother for dinner tonight.” She stood in the foyer, looking as uncomfortable as he felt.

  “And you don’t want her to meet me.”

  Her eyes shadowed, but she said, “It wouldn’t be a good idea.”

  He understood. “I’ll leave. Come back later tonight.”

  Emma wrapped her arms around the breasts he’d just been fantasizing about. “I don’t think that would be a good idea. If Rob’s watching he’d know two things. First, that you aren’t spending time with Mom when I am, and that would tell him that I’m not serious about you. And second, that Mom and I are here, alone, and he might see that as his opportunity to try to get back in with us. I don’t want Mom involved in this at all. I’ll call her and cancel.”

  “You aren’t going to tell her what we’re up to?”

  “Absolutely not.”

  “Don’t you think you should? What if she stops by?”

  “She doesn’t ever stop here without calling first. It’s her way of giving me space. And, believe me, it’s best not to tell her. She’d be worried sick and there’s nothing she can do. Which wouldn’t stop her from coming up with her own plan and acting on it.”

  “Maybe it would help you to share some of the stress with her.”

  “No,” she said adamantly. “All I’d be doing is opening myself to weeks, possibly months, of her paranoia where I’m concerned. Constantly checking on me to see that I’m okay. Repeatedly warning me about every dire possibility.”

  “Is it really that extreme?”

  “It really is.”

  Chris had the impression that things were even worse than Emma was portraying them.

  He wanted to make them better.

  Which was ludicrous.

  As was handling her with kid gloves. Emma was a strong, capable woman.

  So they were going to spend this time together. And then they’d part ways. He couldn’t go on pretending to be something he was not.

  “I need a shower.”

  “There are fresh towels in my bathroom. Or you can use the spare bathroom upstairs.”

  “I was thinking more along the lines of using my own. We could drive to my place and then have dinner out before heading back here for the night.”

  He knew he was making a mistake even as he said the words. That didn’t stifle them. He didn’t take people to his house. Ever. A sick feeling came over him as she agreed to the plan.

  Which was partially why he said what he said next.

  “And tomorrow, I think you should come out on the boat with me.” He didn’t like leaving her alone—even with police protection. And he had to get her into his world, to see and understand her distaste for it so they could get past whatever this thing was between them. “I don’t like the idea of you here all by yourself until we find out exactly what Evert’s doing.”

  “What if I get seasick?”

  “Then you hang your head overboard. The fish won’t care. I have plenty of towels. And believe me, nothing is noticeable over the smell of the catch.”

  “You ever been sick out there before?”

  It took him a second to realize she wasn’t saying no. She wasn’t backing away.

  He smiled. “Hell, yeah, I’ve been sick. More than once. And not just as a kid, although I had my share of miserable moments back when I first started going out with my dad.”

  “So you speak from experience.”

  “Yep.”

  “I’m not sure I have the proper attire, but I’m game,” she said before he could rethink the wisdom of taking her out on the water with him.

  “I’ll rustle up some small coveralls,” he said, remembering Sara. Her whole future had rested on her liking it out on the water. She’d wanted to like it more than anything.

  She’d had nothing against the docks. And she’d loved the ocean.

  She’d hated lobstering. Hated it enough to leave him over it. She didn’t want to stay onshore alone and she didn’t want to go out with him, either.

  And he couldn’t give it up.

  Emma said something about collecting her purse and keys. They were going to ride together in his truck.

  He eyed her backside as she left the room.

  And, remembering Sara’s reaction to the haul, he figured he was going to be just fine.

  * * *

  OF COURSE THEY’D had sex again that night, too. It didn’t mean anything. They’d used a condom. There was always the possibility that having sex would make her start her period. And as soon as Rob’s intentions were revealed, which she hoped would be soon, and Emma started her period, which would also be soon, they would say their goodbyes and Chris Talbot would be nothing more than a sweet memory.

  A man she’d remember every time she heard piano music.

  Feeling bulky and unattractive in the gold-colored, stained coveralls he’d borrowed for her, she stood on the dock before dawn Sunday morning watching as he readied his bait—herring that he’d brought down from Manny’s in a large plastic tray—and made a quick check of the Son Catcher before they headed out. She was putting off for as long as possible the moment when she’d have to climb aboard.

  And thinking about last night only so that she didn’t panic and chicken out.

  Going to bed with Chris just got better and better. The night before, she’d fallen asleep in his arms knowing full well that she’d be waking in them, as well. The fact that she’d had a nightmare-free slumber might or might not have had anything to do with him.

  But it didn’t matter either way.

  Chris was a fisherman. Even with her new outlook, her determination to change the way she lived, she knew better than to think she could take on a life that encompassed real danger every day.

  Danger aside, Chris was forty years old. And he didn’t want a family.

  “You ready?” He squinted up at her, the dock light putting his face in stark relief.

  Her heart tripped. Because of what she was about to do? Or because of who she was about to do it with?

  “Crazy that getting on this boat with you seems more wrong than going back to your hotel room to get naked.” She was nervous. Babbling.

  “Give me your hand.” She took the palm he offered. And when she felt his slight tug, she stepped down into the boat.

  * * *

  FIVE MINUTES INTO the ride Emma would have given everything she owned to be back at Chris’s house instead.

  She’d never have pictured him to live in a place like that quaint, glorious cottage on the cliff, where he’d taken her the night before. Not that she’d seen much of it. He’d sat her in the kitchen, at the bay window overlooking the ocean, and picked her up there less than ten minutes later, walking her right back out the door they’d come through.

  She’d loved the view from up on the cliff. Out on the ocean, she still loved the view. But she was going to throw up.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  “HOLD ON TO THE SIDE rail.” Chris gripped the trap’s rope with one hand and Emma’s wrist with the other, knowing that if he let go of either one, someone could
die.

  He’d already pulled up the buoy and had the trap halfway up when Emma had hurled herself to the side of the boat again, retching so violently she lost her balance. He’d turned to catch her before she pitched overboard and got his left ankle caught in the trap’s rope. If he let go, he was going back down with the trap.

  “Easy,” he said, his right arm burning with the effort it was taking to hold on to his trap. “You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

  She’d already thrown up twice. For her sake he hoped this was the last time. Her ribs had to be bruised, though she’d yet to complain. “It’ll just be dry heaves soon,” he said. “You can’t have that much more in your stomach.”

  They’d had toast and coffee for breakfast. Dry toast, in case of this eventuality. It hadn’t helped. Nor had the ear patch he’d given her—a sometime remedy for seasickness. He should have insisted she take the antinausea pill, but he’d been unsure what effect it would have on a fetus if she was pregnant.

  “Uh.” Emma hung her upper body over the side of the vessel as though she didn’t have enough energy to right herself.

  “Deep breaths,” he told her. “It’ll be better soon.”

  He hoped. Unless she was pregnant and what they were seeing was a horrible combination of sea and morning sicknesses.

  “I’m so sorry,” she said, and glanced sideways. “Oh, no, you’re in the middle of hauling up a trap!” Emma stood and reached for the rope. “I didn’t realize you’d pulled up the buoy! The rope’s around your ankle.”

  Before he could react she’d freed herself from his grasp and was down on the deck of the boat, helping to untangle him from the rope that could have taken him overboard.

  The catch was good—worth a burning arm—and Chris worked swiftly, measuring the carapace of the lobsters with his steel gauge, throwing back the ones that were too small or too large, and then rebaiting the trap before sending it back down.