by Stacy Green
“I was in the Las Vegas tunnels the other day.”
“In the drains?” Sean grimaced. “What the hell for?”
“Helping the FBI agent on the case. Looking for a possible witness.”
“Lucky you. Can’t imagine that particular ring of hell.”
“There was a woman, her name was Angel. Obvious long-time drug user.”
“She tell you anything?”
“Plenty.” Nathan looked his father in the eye for the first time since arriving. Once a vibrant blue like his own, Sean’s eyes had faded with age and heartbreak. He wore the look of a man resigned to continue on with life whether he liked it or not.
Sean shifted, turning his shoulder toward Nathan.
“Angel’s like Emilie in a way. That’s the woman Creepy’s after. Her family doesn’t want her either.”
His father took another drink of Coke. He glanced between Nathan and the floor and drummed his fingers on the counter.
“Angel’s brother was killed because she owed drug money. She saw it happen. Her family cast her out.” Nathan stared down at the floor. He didn’t dare look at Sean. He heard the crunch of the plastic bottle as his father squeezed it hard. This was the closest they’d come to talking about Jimmy in years.
“That happens with families.” The bottle thudded as he tossed it into the trash.
“Yeah. I guess I should go.” Nathan fought the lump swelling up in his throat. What had he expected? He had no right to his father’s forgiveness.
“Good seeing you,” Sean said as they left the kitchen.
“You too.”
“You should stop by the house more, you know. Your aunt worries.”
Just Aunt Kay. Not his father. Apparently he’d lost his son when Nathan led Jimmy to his death.
“I will.”
“Gotta get this friggin’ toilet out.” His father began climbing the stairs.
“Right.” Nathan opened the door. “See you later.”
“That don’t make it right, you know,” Sean suddenly said.
“What?”
“Her family casting her out. You stick by your family, no matter how badly they screw up.”
Is that what his father had done? Enduring Nathan because it was the right thing to do?
His phone beeped. A text flashed on the screen. Emilie.
Sean cleared his throat. “Anyway, see you later.”
Nathan waved goodbye, the content of Emilie’s message overriding the pain over his father.
Two words scared the hell out of him: “Come quick.”
* * * *
EMILIE HADN’T BEEN inside a bar in years. That had never been her scene. Then again, she’d never really had a scene. Happy hour was well underway. Businessmen in rolled-up sleeves and loosened ties lined the chrome bar. The tables were occupied by more of the same, although the occasional tourist had taken up residence as well.
She sat in a booth near the back and faced the front door. She’d scrutinized every male that had entered. None fit Creepy’s description.
“Bring him on.” She finished off her third rum and Diet Coke. “I’ll slam this glass in his face and haul his ass in myself.”
She giggled at the idea. That would be a sight, the quiet redhead in the corner going ape-shit on her stalker.
“I could do it. I got away from him once, didn’t I? I’m not a total waste of space.”
She chewed on a chunk of ice, savoring its liquor-soaked surface. Jeremy had begged her not to leave the bank by herself, so she’d conceded to allowing him to walk her the five blocks to the bar. Then she’d threatened castration if he attempted to come in with her.
“I’ll take a cab home, Jeremy. I don’t want to talk right now. I just want to be alone.”
“Don’t let what your mother said get to you. She’s not worth it.”
A hysterical laugh bubbled through her. “Jeremy, if you only knew.” But she didn’t know how to explain the person she’d once thought of as her biggest enemy had sort of been an ally all along, and the person she revered was a thief who’d indirectly stuck Emilie in Creepy’s path.
No energy for that talk right now.
A fourth rum and Coke was placed in front of her. Emilie smiled up at the young bartender. He couldn’t have been more than twenty-two. He grinned back, his sandy-colored hair falling just above his eyes.
“Thanks for taking care of me.”
“Anytime.” He sauntered away, his jeans conforming to his lanky body in just the right way.
Emilie flushed. Maybe she just needed to get laid. It had been so long…
Sudden movement across the table startled her, and she almost sent her drink flying. Nathan’s face came into focus, his jet-black hair windswept and his eyes bright with concern.
She watched as his lush lips moved and wondered what it would be like to kiss them, to be held in his strong arms. Was Nathan a good lover? Of course he is. Reading people was his job. Her needs would be instinctual to him.
“Emilie, do you hear me?”
She raised her glass and teetered to the left. Nathan caught her by the arm just before she slid out of the booth.
“Give me that.” He set the glass aside. “How many have you had?”
“One. No, two.” She smiled and reached across the table to clasp his hands. “I’m so glad you could make it. I wasn’t sure if my second text went through.”
“It didn’t. I stopped at the bank and banged on the door until your boss answered. He sent me here.”
“He was still there?”
“Waiting for you even though you told him not to. I told him I’d see that you got home.”
“Good.” She clapped her hands together. “Now I won’t have him trying to make it all better.”
“He told me what happened.”
“Didn’t tell you everything, cause he doesn’t know it.”
“What else is there to tell?” Nathan sounded like he was talking through a funnel. Or maybe that was her.
“Oh, just that my grandparents were criminals and Creepy is after me because of them.”
She laughed at his shocked silence. “Yep.” Emilie shoved the folder across the table and then launched into Claire’s entire story.
Nathan listened in silence until she was finished. “How do you know she wasn’t lying?”
Emilie tapped the envelope. “My grandmother kept excellent records. Except for Jay’s name. And I know my mother. She wasn’t lying.” It would have been so much easier if she was. Then Emilie wouldn’t have to figure out how to accept her concern. She reached for her drink. Nathan grasped her arm.
“You’re not drinking anymore.”
“I want to.”
“I don’t care. You almost fell out of the booth.”
She yanked her hands away, pouting. Nathan was supposed to be here to make her feel better, not guilty.
“Drinking the pain away isn’t going to help.”
“I’m celebrating.” Emilie threw out her hands. “I have the truth at last.” Her right elbow slammed down hard on the table. “Ouch. Can you believe it? Turns out my mother actually gave a damn about me.” Her voice caught, and she reached again for her drink. “How am I supposed to deal with that?”
Nathan blocked her hand. “With time. It’s a good thing.”
“I was her mistake, you know,” Emilie said. “I didn’t find out until I was eighteen. I just thought Claire hated me because she was a monster. When we had our big fight over Evan, the truth came out. She hated me because she cheated and got pregnant with me. I cost her the love of her life.”
“No, you didn’t,” Nathan said. “Her bad choices did.”
“But I was never a mistake in Mémé’s eyes. I was her greatest gift—she said so—and made the last years of her life worth living.”
“Emilie.”
“So how am I supposed to reconcile who my grandmother really was,” wetness ran down her cheeks, “when some freak is after me because of her mistakes
?”
She could barely see Nathan as he moved into the booth beside her. She felt the warmth of his strong arm around her waist and inhaled his now familiar scent as he pulled her close.
“People are complicated,” he whispered. “Your grandmother loved you. Her bad choices don’t change that.”
Emilie pressed her face into his chest as the sobs erupted. “I don’t know what to do. Am I supposed to thank Claire for finally telling me the truth? Try to have some kind of relationship with her?”
“You don’t have to decide any of that right now,” he said. “Give yourself time to get your head straight. Let me call Agent Ronson and tell her what we know, and then I’ll get you back to your place. You need to rest.”
She stared into his eyes, gratitude and desire spreading over her like fire. Her hands snaked up his chest. She rested them on his scruff-covered cheeks. “Nathan.” Her voice was filled with a longing she hadn’t realized existed until this very moment. “Take me home.”
* * * *
HE COULDN’T REFUSE. But he couldn’t say yes. Not like this—not when she was drunk and vulnerable. And certainly not when she was an open case. But God, he wanted to. He wanted to carry her to his car and then to his bed. He wanted to show her just how very much she was wanted.
He grasped her hands. “I’ll get you safely home. But I’m not going to take advantage of you. I’m not that guy.”
“No.” Her lip quivered, and for a moment he thought she would cry again. “You’re not. You’re better than that.”
He wasn’t so sure. Getting involved with Emilie after he’d protected her had all the earmarks of a disaster. What if she questioned the motivations behind his feelings? What if he did? Walking away would be the common sense thing to do. But the idea of never seeing her hurt almost as much as the memory of Jimmy. “When this is all over, I promise.”
“You don’t have to wait for me.”
“I want to.” His pulse raced as she traced his lower lip and jaw with her index finger.
“I’m scared.”
“I won’t let Creepy get to you.”
“Not of him. At least with him, I know what to expect.”
“Then what?”
“Of you.”
“Me?
“I’m starting to worry that you could hurt me far worse than anyone else. And that scares me.”
Emilie looked like a lost little girl hoping against all odds she would be offered shelter.
“I won’t hurt you. I swear.”
“You’re sincere now. But who knows what the future holds?”
He had no idea how to answer. Now was not the right time to tell Emilie she affected him like no other woman ever had—that he couldn’t get his mind off her, that just to be in her presence made him feel content. He’d just have to prove it to her. Eventually.
“You’ll see.” He brushed his lips across her forehead. “One day you’ll understand.”
She blinked, her eyelids moving so slowly he could see the flesh wrinkle as they moved. “You’re ready to pass out.” He took her hand. “Let’s get you home.”
24
JULIAN SAT IN his darkened study and stared out of the bay window into the garden. The distinct colors of the azaleas and gardenias were lost in the moonlight, but the wrought-iron pergola he’d spent years searching for stood out like a sentinel. Wisteria climbed up the structure’s iron legs, but the purple blooms were fading. In contrast, jasmine and rose bushes grew in abundance, their white blooms still beautiful under the moon. Two chairs sat beneath the pergola. In one lay a single white lily for the little girl he would never forget.
But even this peaceful view could not quell his anger tonight. A child should be nurtured and loved by the woman who gave birth to her—not treated like an abomination. And now, that worthless Claire Chambers, a woman who’d treated her daughter like garbage, swooped in with her version of the truth. Hidden in the alley, he’d barely been able to keep his anger in check.
It wasn’t about the money anymore. Or the necklace or the other pieces Emilie’s grandmother stole from him. Once he saw Emilie at the museum, once he realized who she had become, his quest for revenge died and a new desire was born.
Today, Julian was ready to whisk her away to their secret hideout. She would escape the torture of this life and be at peace with the new reality he’d created for her. But the opportunity never presented itself.
And then she drank her sorrows away. That was not his Emilie. In all the months he’d observed her, not once did he see her in such an establishment. She never purchased alcohol at the store, either.
His fury at Claire morphed into anxiety as Nathan Madigan appeared and entered the bar in a hurry. Had she called for him? What could he possibly have to offer her?
Julian waited for Emilie to exit. Would she and the negotiator be locked in a heated embrace? Was she dating Madigan behind his back?
His answer came soon enough. Madigan emerged, supporting a very inebriated Emilie. She drunkenly clung to him, but Madigan’s stance was gentlemanly. He handled her with care, easing her into the passenger seat of his car and fastening the seatbelt.
Emilie paid him no mind, leaning her head against the glass. Perhaps she hadn’t made a bad decision after all.
But how long would Madigan stay at her home? Going near Big Horn Condos was out of the question. Julian resolved to trust Emilie and left for home, praying her innocence was still intact.
A chiming brought him back to the present. After more than a hundred years, the English grandfather clock still told perfect time. Julian rose from his chair and poured himself a midnight brandy. Claire Davis had no doubt told Emilie the truth, and now the mother would be yet another distraction in the girl’s life.
Something had to be done.
25
A TEN-POUND WEIGHT had taken up residence inside Emilie’s head. Strange voices and annoyingly cheery music rang in her ears. She forced her sticky eyelids open to find herself watching a commercial for dog food. She’d slept with her mouth open, and slimy drool plastered her right cheek to the couch. At least her impromptu nap had lasted long enough for the room to stop spinning.
She smacked her lips together. Her tongue tasted like she’d spent the last hour licking a dirty sock. Emilie rolled off the couch and stumbled into the bathroom. She stuck her mouth under the faucet and slurped as much of the liquid as she could.
Otis sat on the toilet seat, his eyes narrowed in disapproval.
“Clearly I can’t handle my liquor.”
She had passed out seconds after Nathan deposited her in his car. He’d practically carried her to her condo and then insisted she eat something. Emilie grumbled in protest but sat obediently at the counter as Nathan set a bag of food in front of her.
“When did you get Subway?” she asked in confusion.
“While you were passed out. I wasn’t sure what you’d like, so it’s just turkey and cheese. Do you want me to put anything else on it?”
Emilie shook her head. “It’s all good.”
Nathan had offered to stay, but Emilie didn’t trust herself. The alcohol was still strumming her libido. She wasn’t going to put him in another compromising position.
“Lock this door behind me,” he said. “I’m standing on the other side until I hear it click.”
Emboldened by the rum, Emilie wrapped her arms around his neck. She wanted to be close to him one last time.
Nathan returned the embrace. She could feel the hammering of his heart against her ear.
“Call me tomorrow. I can take you to work if you want.”
“Don’t you have a shift?” Emilie inhaled the warm scent of his cologne.
“Tomorrow night.”
“I’ll call you. But I’d better take myself to work.”
“Please let me know you’re there safely.”
“Yes, Officer Madigan.” She grinned lazily. “Wait, is that your title?”
“Close enough.” He still held her
. “You’re going to be all right?”
“I’ll be fine.”
Nathan gazed down at her and ran his tongue over his lips. She could tell he wanted to kiss her. She didn’t think she had the strength to stop him.
A loud beeping shattered the intense moment.
“Shit.” Nathan yanked a pager from his pocket. “I have to go. SWAT just got called to help bring in a fugitive.”
A wave of sobriety washed over her. “Is it him?”
“No. A dealer Narcotics has been after for months. They’ve got him cornered.”
“Will you be negotiating with him?”
“No hostages. I’ll be going in, probably with Chris and Sarge. That’s usually how we run it.”
“Your job is dangerous,” she said, realizing that fact for the first time. “You could be killed.”
“We know what we’re doing.”
“Shit happens.”
“It won’t.” The pager sounded again. “Call me tomorrow. And lock this door.”
“Please, be careful.”
“Always.”
Now mostly awake and sober, Emilie sank down to the bathroom floor and ran her fingers over the chocolate brown rug. Nathan was a good man, the sort of person she’d always wanted but never thought she’d have a chance to be with.
He was also a cop. Until tonight, she’d only thought of him as the hot negotiator standing safely outside the danger zone. Nathan had promised he would never hurt her, but his job put him at high risk. His life could be taken at any time.
Then again, so could her own.
Otis hopped down from the toilet and stood on his hind legs to sniff her face. He blinked, trying to figure out why she was lounging on the bathroom floor.
Why had she gotten drunk?
The truth rushed back to her. The search could focus on New Orleans’s antique stores—several hundred of them.
Emilie didn’t see any light at the end. Only more confusion and fear.
* * * *
NATHAN DUMPED HIS Kevlar vest into the SWAT truck and took a long pull from a water bottle. Locals hung out on the fire escapes and sidewalks as the suspect was loaded into a waiting squad car. Nathan kept silent as the rest of the team celebrated the bust. His mind was on Emilie.
