by Devney Perry
“Ms. Robertson!”
My plan for this confrontation was simple. Get inside, use the camera on my phone to sneak some video footage of the house, and, if I was really lucky, trick Kira into admitting her care for Mason was lacking.
Having dated a lawyer for years, I knew that recorded conversations fell into a gray area where admissible evidence was concerned. But I was willing to risk it, figuring a judge would be lenient since this was about a child’s survival.
“Hello? Ms. Robertson!” I shouted. “This is Ms. Austin. Mason’s teacher. Do you have a moment?”
When the door finally swung open, I expected Kira. Instead, a greasy man wearing a dirty white tank top and gray sweatpants answered the door. “Who the fuck are you?”
“Oh. I’m sorry. I’m looking for Kira Robertson? Am I at the wrong house?”
“She’s busy,” he said, trying to shut the door in my face.
Thrusting my foot into the doorjamb, I yelled, “Wait! I just want to talk to her about Mason. I’m his teacher.”
This guy had at least fifty pounds and six inches on me. With minimal force, he could have shoved my foot aside and shut the door on me.
But he didn’t push me away.
He reached behind his back and pulled out a black handgun, pressing the barrel right into my forehead.
Consumed with pure fear, I froze. “Please don’t. I’m just Mason’s teacher,” I whispered.
My plea evoked a menacing grin. This man was completely devoid of goodness or compassion. His glassy stare was nothing but evil. He was a psychopath. All he had to do was squeeze his finger and I was dead.
But I didn’t want this to be the end. I wanted to go to my mother’s wedding. I wanted to see Mason’s dimple again. I wanted to kiss Nick and fall asleep in his arms. I wasn’t done living my life.
“Please,” I pleaded again. Tears flooded my eyes.
He pressed the gun further into my skin, forcing my head back an inch. “Get the fuck outta here.”
The instant I had permission to leave, I scrambled backward. My heel caught on the cracked cement step and I flew to the ground, landing on my ass. While the man laughed and sneered, I fumbled back to my feet and ran to my Jeep.
Clutching the steering wheel with white knuckles, I made good on my promise to Maisy and drove immediately to the police station.
“You and Georgia both need to calm the fuck down and let me do my job. Christ, you women are difficult,” Jess said.
“What? Gigi isn’t going over there, is she?” I gasped.
“No,” he said. “Georgia knows I’d lose my shit if she pulled a stunt like you did. She’s threatening to make me sleep in the garage if I don’t bring Mason home with me tonight. Rowen told her on the drive home today that she needed two lunches tomorrow so Mason could eat. I hung up the phone with her two minutes before you came running in.”
“Oh good,” I sighed. The last place I wanted Gigi was at Kira Robertson’s trailer.
When I had arrived at the sheriff’s department, the dispatcher had taken one look at my ashen face and shuffled me into a conference room. Minutes later, Jess and Sam had huddled around me, listening intently as I’d reported the incident. Sam left not long after I had finished to collect Mason from the motel.
“I’m sorry.” It was all I could think to say. I’d known that I was stepping on Jess’s toes before I’d gotten to Kira’s trailer, but my temper had gotten the best of me and beat out my common sense. Besides, how was I to know that a crazed, gun-wielding man would be living with Mason’s aunt?
“I get where you were coming from, Emmeline,” Jess said. “Your timing sucks though. Mason was getting pulled from that house tomorrow morning.”
“He was?” I asked with wide eyes.
“Yeah. I had a deputy staked out at her neighbor’s, watching Kira’s place every night for a week. Last night he saw the boyfriend sell drugs to a couple of known users. Busted the users this morning and they gave up the boyfriend as their dealer.”
My stomach felt nauseous and my muscles weak. Closing my eyes, I took a few long breaths, trying to keep my emotions together. But it was all too much. I was relieved that Mason was getting out of that place and I was elated that I had survived the afternoon.
Tears started streaming down my face.
Jess slid his chair next to me and pulled me into his shoulder, using his free arm to dig his phone from his jeans pocket. “Slater. Brick. Better come to the station. Emmeline’s here.”
Jess’s shoulder was soon replaced with Nick’s, and as he held me tight, Jess gave him a recap of my afternoon. The more Jess talked, the tighter Nick’s grip became.
And I was grateful that Jess could explain the ordeal to Nick. I didn’t think I could recount the story again.
“What’s next?” Nick asked Jess.
“Need to have Emmeline sign a few papers to officially press charges. We’ll add that to the possession and distribution counts and bring the boyfriend in. He’s fucked. With his existing record and this added on top, he’ll be sent down for a few years.”
Nick let me go and stood from his chair, pacing along the window and raking a hand through his hair.
“Fuck!” he yelled and I winced. “How the fuck did the social worker not see any of this, Brick?”
Jess shook his head. “After we got the boyfriend nailed dead to rights on the drug charges, I started digging into who he was. Moved here a couple years ago. Got family in town. Guess who his little sister works for?”
“Greenfield,” Nick said.
“Yeah. She’s one of the secretaries at town hall. Bryant brought her in a couple hours ago. He’s still got her in interrogation writing up her statement. Admitted to tipping off Kira when Greenfield was coming over. Said her brother was taking the state money the aunt was getting for Mason.”
“Who’s Greenfield?” I asked.
“The social worker,” Nick answered.
So that’s why Kira’s house was always clean and the boyfriend was never there. And probably why neither of them ever answered the door when Jess stopped by.
“What’s going to happen to the kid?” Nick asked.
“Called Jack and Annie Drummond. They’re on their way down. We’ll see how Mason does around them,” Jess said. “Hope to send him to their farm tonight.”
“Good place for him,” Nick said.
“Emmeline, if you could stick around and help that introduction go smoothly, I’d appreciate it,” Jess said.
“Sure,” I said. “Who are the Drummonds?” The name was familiar and normally I would have been able to place it. But less than an hour ago, a gun had been pressed against my forehead, so I was a bit off.
“I’ll let Nick fill you in,” Jess said. “Give me a few to get papers together for you to sign. That way when we’re done with Mason, you two can go home.”
When Jess left, I turned my attention to Nick. He was still standing at the room’s large glass window, staring into the station with his back to me. “Jack and Annie Drummond have a farm outside of town. Their son, Wes, was killed last year.”
Now I remembered. Wes Drummond was the drug dealer who had been murdered by the same people that had kidnapped Gigi and Maisy. Were his parents really the best people to take care of a little boy who was likely scared out of his mind?
“Is that the best choice of foster families?”
“They’re good people, Emmeline,” Nick snapped.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m not trying to be judgmental. I just want Mason in the best possible place he can be.”
He blew out a loud breath and turned to face me. “Jack and Annie were good parents, Emmy. Wes just chose a dark path. They did everything they could to pull Wes out of that life. He just didn’t want to let go. They’ve been through a lot but there’s not a lot of better places for Mason than on their farm.”
Not long after I’d signed my statement, the conference room filled with people.
Sam came i
n with a very freaked out Mason. Jess had called the social worker, Mrs. Greenfield, and she arrived to facilitate the meeting. She shook my hand but did it scowling. I guess she wasn’t too happy that I’d inserted myself into her case. Jack and Annie Drummond rushed in last, looking both nervous and excited.
Nick had finally stopped pacing and sat down next to me, but he had stayed quiet, not speaking to me or anyone else in the room. My attempts to visit with him while we’d waited had gone unreciprocated.
A horrible sick feeling had settled in my stomach. I hated that he was mad and I wanted nothing more than to hash it out but I reminded myself to be patient.
First we needed to deal with Mason’s living arrangements.
June Greenfield did her best to talk to Mason but he was firmly shutting her out. We all watched for thirty minutes while she spoke to him without a single word muttered in response.
I’d finally had enough and decided to jump in. The social worker already disliked me for my interference this afternoon. I could live with angering her even more. Especially if that meant Mason came out ahead.
“Mason, can you look at me?” I asked, swiveling his chair so he was facing me instead of Mrs. Greenfield.
He ignored me and continued staring at his feet.
“You’re not in trouble, Mason. We’re not here to send you to jail. Okay?”
His big brown eyes shot up to mine and he looked hopeful for the first time all day.
“We were all thinking that you might like to have a little vacation. Mr. and Mrs. Drummond over there,” I said, pointing to the couple, “they have a farm and they’d like you to come and check it out. Doesn’t that sound like fun?”
He nodded and for a second I thought we were getting somewhere. But then his eyes returned to his shoes. “Is Aunt Kira in trouble?”
“Yes,” I told him. “She was supposed to take good care of you and she didn’t.”
His eyes flooded and his chin quivered.
“What is it?” I asked. “What’s wrong? Did you like living there?”
He shook his head violently.
“Then what is it?”
“What happens when my vacation is over? I don’t want to go back to Aunt Kira or Mommy!” he cried and flung his little body at mine.
Pulling him into my lap, I pressed my cheek into his dirty hair and held him close.
“You don’t have to go back to your aunt or mother’s houses ever again, Mason,” June Greenfield said.
I smiled and mouthed a thank-you. I had assumed he wouldn’t go back but it was nice to hear her say it.
Holding Mason, I spun my chair so I could look at Jack and Annie Drummond. “Mr. and Mrs. Drummond, do you have animals on your farm?”
“Jack and Annie,” Jack said. “And yes we do. We’ve got a few horses. One milk cow and her calf. And Annie has a chicken house full of hens.”
“And we have a dog. Boxer,” Annie said.
“What kind of dog?” Mason asked quietly.
“He’s a black lab. His favorite thing to do is lick your face,” Annie told him.
“Do you think you want to go check out their farm? Meet those animals?” I asked Mason.
“Okay,” he muttered.
“I’m going for a run.”
We had just gotten back to his house and the first thing Nick had done was go upstairs to change. He’d come down wearing black track pants and a skintight gray T-shirt with bright red tennis shoes on his feet.
“Is it safe to run in the dark?” I asked.
He scoffed as he crossed the main room. He didn’t bother looking at me before he walked right through the front door and slammed it shut.
Shit.
I needed wine. And candy.
Two bottles of wine, a bag of Skittles and three-quarters of a Milky Way bar later, I was livid with Nick.
And drunk.
And my stomach wasn’t feeling so hot.
How could I possibly have predicted all this? That a visit to Mason’s home would end with a gun to my forehead, a sworn declaration of criminal threat and an evening spent at the sheriff’s station?
Nick was acting like I did this on purpose. That I had knowingly put myself in harm’s way. How dare he be mad at me? And how dare he leave me?
He was mad and his first instinct was to leave.
The sound of footsteps on the porch had me staring at the door as Nick strode inside. His T-shirt was covered in wet splotches and his hair was dripping sweat. He came to me on the couch and bent to kiss the top of my head.
“I’m going to grab a quick shower,” he said gently. His anger must have burnt out while he was running. Too bad for him I was furious.
He was delusional if he thought we were going to have a rational discussion now that he was settled. The time for that was earlier. He should have stuck around when we got back to the cabin and not left me alone.
The fight we were about to have was his fault. And if I had a hangover tomorrow, that was going to be his fault too.
I was steaming on the couch when his bare feet padded across the wood floor. I kept my eyes pointed straight ahead toward the fire because he was likely wearing only a pair of flannel pajama pants. The way they hung from his hips. Seeing his naked chest. If I looked at him, my resolve would weaken. Sometimes he was just too sexy.
“Emmy,” he said, sinking into the couch next to me.
“Nick,” I snapped.
“You’re pissed.”
“You’re right.”
“Why?”
“Why?” I said, jumping up from the couch as fast as my drunk ass could move. As in, not fast at all because I stumbled and almost face-planted into the coffee table.
“Easy,” he said, reaching out to steady me. “Are you drunk?”
“Yes!” I shouted. “I had to get drunk. How else am I supposed to cope with all this? It’s not like I could talk to you. You left me to go running.”
“I needed the air.”
“What the hell do you think I’ve been breathing for the last hour? There’s air in here!” He bit his lower lip. “Don’t you dare laugh at me.”
My threat made it worse. The room filled with the sound of Nick’s rich laughter.
“Urrrgh!” I growled, clenching my fists by my sides. Apparently, that was funny too because his laughter got so loud, my ears started to hurt.
“Sleep on the couch!” I shouted, stomping across the room and up the stairs. Of course he didn’t listen to me. When I stepped out of his master bathroom five minutes later, he had shed his pants on the floor and was propped up in bed.
My upper lip snarled at the arrogant grin on his face. The bastard knew I wouldn’t evict him out of his own room.
“We’re going to start sleeping at my house,” I said, throwing back the covers. “Then I won’t feel bad for kicking you out of bed.”
“Not happening,” he said. “You’re wearing pajamas.”
“And you’re observant.” I huffed and flopped on the mattress until I was comfortably resting on my stomach with my face turned away from Nick.
“Don’t go to sleep mad, Emmy.” His fingers reached across the bed and started tracing light patterns on my shoulder.
“You got angry with me for doing the right thing. For trying to help a child. Then when you had your chance to talk to me about it, you left. Someone pointed a gun at me today. The metal was touching my skin, right here,” I said, touching my forehead. “There was thirty seconds today when I thought I was going to die. And you left me.”
My voice cracked as a fresh batch of sobs tore through my chest.
Nick pulled me into his lap and cradled me while I cried. And even though I was mad, I clung to his neck. The reality of the situation settled in and I was scared. My body shook with suppressed terror as my chest heaved. But safe in Nick’s arms, I let the emotions out and gave my fears to him. It took a while but when my sobs turned into soft whimpers, he started talking.
“I got angry because I was fucking
scared, Emmy. When Jess told me that fucker had held a gun to your head, I wanted him dead. But I couldn’t drive to that trailer and kill the motherfucker, so I got pissed. And I took it out on you. I’m sorry.”
“I didn’t know that would happen. I just went there to talk to Mason’s aunt. He was starving today. He was digging through my trash to find food. I had to do something.”
“I get it. Why you went there,” he said. “I shouldn’t have left when we got back but I needed to let off some steam. It wasn’t about you. Forgive me?”
“You can’t leave me when things are bad, Nick,” I said. “It brings back too many old feelings. Maybe someday we can get in a fight and you can run through the woods to cool off. But not right now. You have to talk to me first so I know you’ll come back.”
“I’ll always come back. But I won’t leave again when we’re fighting.”
“Promise?”
“Promise,” he said. “Just don’t pull a stunt like that again.”
“Okay.” I nodded.
He could rest assured that I would never go to a student’s house unannounced again. And I wouldn’t be meddling in Child Protective Services’ business either.
“And we don’t wear pajamas in this bed.”
I smiled against his chest. “Okay.”
Nick
“Come on, Emmy. Put your back into it. Quit fucking around.”
Keeping a straight face while I watched her was nearly impossible. Her feet were sliding backward over Costco’s concrete floor as she tried to push a flatbed cart loaded with over three hundred pounds of pancake mix, syrup, chocolate chips and peanut butter. Her face turned nearly as red as her hair every time she held her breath and pushed against the handle bar. The cart would rock an inch but move no further.
“Fine! You were right. I can’t do it,” she huffed. “I’m too small.”
Pouting with her arms crossed, she looked more like one of her kindergarteners than a thirty-two-year-old woman.
It was adorable as hell.
If we had a daughter one day, I wished she would get her mother’s redheaded temper. Emmy usually kept it in check, but when she let that fire go, I was hard within seconds. Even when I was pissed at her.
