by C. C. Hunter
Blood rolled down his brow where he’d hit his head when the kid slammed his car with the Jeep. He drew in air, trying to think what to do. His gut burned with the need to start the car and find them and take care of his problem once and for all.
He turned the key again. It started. Aching to finish this, Rodney was about to pull into the street, but then he heard sirens.
“Shit!” He gripped the Glock in his hand.
He wasn’t going back.
Then, much to his amazement, the two patrol cars hurled past.
He sat there another few seconds, his own blood stinging his eyes; then he realized he had to get the hell out of here.
* * *
I stand there, hearing what Cash just said, but praying it isn’t so.
“Cash?” I hear a woman yell from downstairs. “Cash, where are you?”
He looks as panicked as I feel. “What do I do?” he asks, and puts a hand to his head.
Footsteps tap up the stairs. “Cash!”
He rushes to the door. I stay there—my feet feel nailed to the floor.
“I’m here,” he says.
“What happened?” Panic echoes in her voice.
He clears his throat. “The police are on the way. George was supposed to call them.”
“They’ve been looking for you. Where have you been? Tony’s on his way. I’ve been calling you. Why didn’t you answer?”
“I cut my phone off. I can … explain,” Cash says.
“The police, they’ve been looking for you.”
“I know,” Cash says. “I told George at the security gate to call them.”
“What? No. They came to my work.”
“But I just called them.” Confusion sounds in his tone.
“Did you hurt … someone?” Mrs. Fuller asks.
I can see Cash standing in the hall. His shoulders are tense. He has the gun behind his back. “He was shooting at us,” Cash says. “I knocked him off the road.”
“The police think you shot her?”
“What?” Cash asks. “Shot who? I haven’t shot anyone. He was the one shooting.”
“Why aren’t you in school? Oh God, Cash. What have you done, son?”
“I haven’t done anything. What are they saying?”
I hear the panic in his voice, and then I see her move to stand closer to Cash.
I don’t move. I feel numb. My insides are quaking. I’m cold. So cold.
Cash looks back at me. I’m not breathing. I’m dizzy. I force myself to pull in air.
She sees me. Her eyes widen. She takes one step, then puts her trembling hands over her mouth. “Oh my God!”
She takes a step closer. I can’t breathe.
She takes another step, and I lurch back. I don’t know why, but I don’t want her to touch me. I’m afraid. Afraid of what I’ll feel. My vision is watery. I suddenly see black spots in my vision.
“How?” She looks at Cash. “I don’t understand.”
A phone rings. It’s hers. She’s holding it. Then a doorbell chimes.
She shakes her head. “Cash? How…?” She rushes me.
My knees give. She catches me.
A soft cry spills from my lips. She pulls me toward her. I’m surrounded by her scent.
I’m suddenly young. And she’s my mom. I’m Emily Fuller. I know her smell. I know her touch. I know she’s my mother.
Your mama and daddy don’t want you anymore.
I’m sitting on that dirty brown sofa. I want my mama. Yes they do! They do love me! I screamed.
I feel the hand across my face. Feel my jaw jerk back. Feel the sting. Feel myself fall against the sofa.
“Emily? Emily.” I hear her voice. I start sobbing on her shoulder. My knees completely give, and I crumple to the floor. She comes down beside me. “Oh, baby. It’s okay.”
The doorbell continues to chime. A phone continues to ring. I see Cash move to the window again.
“It’s the police,” I hear Cash say. “Mrs. Fuller, what is it they think I did?”
She looks up at Cash. “They think you shot Carmen Gonzales.”
33
“The nanny?” Cash asked staring at Mrs. Fuller. Everything happened so fast. The gunshots. The car spinning. Nothing was making sense.
Mrs. Fuller nodded. “How do you even know—?”
“I was trying to find out what she knew about Chloe. About Emily,” he said.
The doorbell rang again, followed by knocking. The knocking grew louder. “They found your number on her phone. Found messages. They wanted to know where you were yesterday. I told them you were at work. They called back and said you weren’t at work. Where were you?”
He stood there, feeling a thousand different emotions. “I was at the lake house.”
“With me,” Chloe said in a weak voice.
“Okay.” Mrs. Fuller stood up. He noticed her hands were still shaking. She reached down and offered Chloe a hand. “Let’s go open the door.”
He looked down at the gun he held and set it on the bedside table. Mrs. Fuller saw it and gasped.
Did she think he did it?
She turned and started down the stairs. He followed her. Chloe moved beside him, one step at a time. He reached for her in case she fell. She jerked back. And the look of terror on her face made him want to kick himself.
Damn it. I told you not to do it! Now look what happened. He recalled her anger at him earlier. And he knew he deserved it. He remembered seeing the guy holding up the gun. Remembered seeing it pointing right at Chloe.
He’d caused this. He almost got her killed.
When they got to the foot of the stairs, Mrs. Fuller stopped. “Go in the living room. Both of you.”
Cash led Chloe there; then he went back and stood in the entryway.
Mrs. Fuller looked back at him. “Go into the living room! I’ll talk to them. When Tony gets here, we’ll all go down to the station.”
Cash did what she asked.
When she opened the front door, her words carried into the living room. “We’ll take him down to the police station.”
“Sorry,” a deep voice said, “there are multiple things going on right now. There’s the issue about Carmen Gonzales. Then the security guard at your gate said your son pulled in, saying someone was shooting at him, and he had a girl curled up on the floorboard. If I can just see him, speak to him and the girl for one minute, I’ll leave and let you bring him down to the station. But I need to see them.”
Cash stepped out. The cop standing there was the same asswipe who’d accused him of stealing a car. The same guy who’d treated him like trash because he was a foster kid.
“I’m here,” Cash said.
The man’s frown found Cash. “Care to explain?”
“A man was shooting at us.” Cash squared his shoulders.
“Someone tried to shoot you?” Mrs. Fuller asked, panic in her voice.
“I’m fine,” Cash told her.
“And where did this alleged shooting take place?” the officer asked.
“‘Alleged’?” Cash spit out. “You’re a prick, you know that?”
“Cash,” Mrs. Fuller said.
Cash ignored her. “My Jeep’s in the garage. It has bullet holes in it. And is wrecked where I knocked him off the road. Go look, and then let’s talk ‘alleged.’”
The cop beside that man moved forward. “I’ll go check the garage.”
The first officer still stood there, staring. “What do you know about Carmen Gonzales?”
“I’ve never met the woman. I texted her and spoke with her niece.”
“About what?” the officer asked.
When Cash didn’t answer, the cop piled on another question. “Where were you yesterday?”
“I think you can wait and talk to him at the station,” Mrs. Fuller said.
“You think I hurt her?” Cash asked the officer. “Why? Because I’m my father’s son? You think I’m just like him? What do you want to do? Shoot me? It’s n
ot like it would be the first time a cop did that!”
“He’s telling the truth.” Chloe walked out of the living room. “I was with him all day.”
“What’s your name?” the officer asked Chloe, and looked at her as if her association with him somehow made her guilty. Made her trash. And, damn it, maybe it did. He’d almost gotten her killed. Just like his dad did with him.
“I said you can talk to them later!” Mrs. Fuller said again. “I’m getting both of them a lawyer.”
“I don’t need a lawyer!” Cash said. “I haven’t done anything. I don’t have anything to hide.”
The other officer walked back in. “The Jeep’s been shot up.”
* * *
I stand there as Cash starts trying to explain.
“Wait.” The officer with an attitude says, “Take her out of the room.” He motions to the other policeman.
I start to argue but realize it won’t help. I move into the kitchen. The officer motions for me to sit at the table. My knees nearly buckle before I sink into a chair.
“We didn’t do anything wrong,” I say. “We were together all day yesterday.”
Mrs. Fuller walks into the room. “You don’t have to talk to him.”
The officer’s gaze shifts to Mrs. Fuller. “Are you her mother?”
Mrs. Fuller hesitates—then her voice catches when she says, “Yes!”
Tears fill my eyes.
Mrs. Fuller moves to stand beside me. “It’s going to be okay.”
Right then, my phone rings. I pull it out. I swipe tears off my cheek and catch my breath. “It’s my dad. Can I answer it?”
* * *
Dad’s still an hour away. I tried to explain, but I know I just confused the hell out of him.
He made me promise him that I was okay six times. But nothing sounds okay when you end it with They’re taking me to the police station.
A door into the kitchen opens. Mr. Fuller walks in. When he sees me, he stops dead in his tracks.
I get a knot in my throat. I want to cry. Drop my head on the table and just sob.
Mrs. Fuller says, “She’s alive,” and she starts crying, and the two of them hug.
Mr. Fuller keeps staring at me, and I feel as if I’m about to fall apart. Then it’s time to go to the police station. The cops don’t want Cash and me together. Mrs. Fuller refuses to let them take me in a police car. She drives me, and Mr. Fuller is driving Cash. She also tells me Mr. Fuller is getting a lawyer to meet us there.
I start to remind her that we didn’t do anything, but I don’t have the strength. We get into her SUV.
She looks at me. “Can you explain anything?”
I swallow the panic still crowding my throat and tell her about meeting Cash. About how he thought I was trying to get money from them. “Then, when he learned I was adopted—”
“Adopted?” she asks.
I tell her about my parents. About the adoption agency.
She tears up some more. When she stops at a red light, she looks at me again. “You don’t remember me?”
I hesitate. I bite down on my lip. “Not … When we hugged, I recognized your smell.” I start crying again.
She reaches over and takes my hand. “It’s going to be okay. You’re home now.”
The way she says that one word, home, should make me feel good, but instead it sets a fear in my belly. I swipe at the tears on my face. “I love my parents.”
She looks almost offended and stares back at the road. “We’ll figure this out.”
When we walk into the police department, a man wearing a black suit is standing at the door. “Mrs. Fuller?”
“Yes. You must be Mr. Jordon.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He looks at me. “Miss Holden?”
I nod.
“I got a room for us to talk.” He motions us inside.
“Can you please get Mr. Carter here? He’s the detective who worked my daughter’s kidnapping.”
“I’ve already spoken with him,” Mr. Jordon says.
The room with only a table and chairs in it reminds me of the adoption agency, but instead of smelling like air freshener, it smells like sweat. Like fear. And it might be my own.
We sit down, and Mr. Jordon says, “I spoke with Mr. Fuller, but I’m still confused.”
“Where’s Cash?” I ask, remembering how the cop treated him. “Does he have a lawyer?”
“Of course,” Mrs. Fuller says, sitting beside me.
Mr. Jordon pulls out a pen and paper. He looks at me. “The police believe Cash, and possibly you, went to see Carmen Gonzales.”
“We didn’t,” I say. “I swear.”
He nods, then says, “I’m told your father is on his way. We should wait until he gets here to talk.”
“We didn’t do anything wrong,” I say and I repeat the story of how I met Cash.
He nods. “I think we need to wait until we can get Miss Holden’s adoptive parents here.”
“We’ll pay for representation,” Mrs. Fuller said.
The man frowns. “She’s a minor, and before I can look into her case, I need their permission.”
“She’s my daughter,” Mrs. Fuller says.
The door to the room opens, and my mom walks in. “Oh God. Chloe. Your dad called and said you were here. What’s going on?”
I stand up. She rushes past Mrs. Fuller and hugs me. I tear up again, and my insides start shaking like before.
Mom pulls back and says, “What happened?”
“Someone tried to shoot them,” Mrs. Fuller says.
“What?” Mom looks at her, then back at me. “Are you okay?” She runs her hands up and down my arms.
I nod.
Then Mom turns back to Mrs. Fuller. “Who are you?”
Mrs. Fuller’s shoulders stiffen, and she stands up. “I’m her mother.”
Mom doesn’t move. She just stands there as if the words need to soak in. “The hell you are,” Mom says, and looks at Mr. Jordon. “Who is she?”
The man stands up. “Let’s let Chloe and her mom have some time.”
Mrs. Fuller flinches, but she moves to the door. Then she stops, turns, and I see fire in her eyes. She stares at Mom. “If you are responsible for this, I’ll find out. And I won’t rest until you’re locked in jail!”
“What are you talking about?” Mom says.
Mr. Jordon moves in front of Mrs. Fuller. “We’ll be back in a few minutes.”
The door closes. Mom looks at me. “You have some explaining to do, young lady.”
I drop down in the chair, and for the third time, I start the story of meeting Cash.
“I knew I didn’t like that boy!” Mom snaps.
“Cash didn’t do anything wrong,” I insist. “But they think Cash, and maybe even I, shot a woman.”
“What?” She frowns and her hands are shaking. “This isn’t making sense.”
I try to explain about the nanny.
“You are not her! We adopted you.”
“We think the adoption agency did it.”
“You believe this?” She stares at me.
I want so bad to protect Mom, to close the floodgates, but it’s too late. It’s the truth; I know it. I feel like I’m drowning in it. And I might have to watch Mom drown, too.
“That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. We’ll get in touch with the adoption agency. They’ll put a stop to this.”
I swallow. “I’ve already been there.”
“To the adoption agency?”
I nod.
“And they told you it was a mistake, right?”
For the life of me, I don’t even know where to start.
“What did they tell you? They denied it, right?”
“They lied, Mom. To me and Cash and even Dad.”
Mom’s eyes round and then tighten into slits. “Your dad? He went with you?”
“I begged him to. You were depressed and—”
“He has no right to do that without consulting m
e! Where is he?”
Freaking great. I just started World War III! “He didn’t want to do it, I made him.”
“We’ll deal with that later,” Mom says, anger adding snap to her words. “How do you know they lied?”
“Because someone went to Cash and threatened him and me if we didn’t stop looking into it. Then they started shooting at us.” My heart goes back to pounding. “And I just know, Mom. I remember things.” Tears fill my eyes.
She puts a hand over her mouth and takes in some shaky breaths. “Did Cash shoot the woman?”
The anger simmering inside me spills over. “No!” I yell. “Have you heard anything I said, Mom? He was trying to help me. Someone shot at us.”
Right then, the door opens and Dad walks in.
“We need to talk!” Mom slaps her hand on the table.
“Who are you letting her hang out with?” Dad spits out.
“Stop!” I jump up so fast, my chair clatters to the floor. “I am not going to listen to you two argue. I have had a really bad day! This is about me now. I’m the kid here. And if you don’t want to act like my parents, then leave!” I put my hand over my mouth and sob.
Mom jumps up and hugs me. Dad shuts the door.
34
“Don’t worry about me,” Cash told Mr. Murphey, the lawyer the Fullers hired. “Worry about Chloe.”
“Emily,” Mrs. Fuller said. “Her name is Emily.”
Cash sat in an interview room, flanked by the Fullers. He couldn’t blame Mrs. Fuller for feeling like she does, but she couldn’t expect Chloe to forget about the last fifteen years of her life.
“She goes by Chloe,” he said. “She doesn’t remember—”
“Look,” Mr. Murphey said. “I don’t want to interrupt, but I need to get to the facts of what happened between Cash and Carmen Gonzales.”
“He’s right,” Mr. Fuller said.
Tears filled Mrs. Fuller’s eyes. “Those people kidnapped my baby.”
“They didn’t,” Cash said. “I’m telling you the agency is behind this. If you try to make her parents out to be the bad people, this won’t work. She loves them. They love her. She’s had birthday parties with clowns and jumping houses. They aren’t the ones who took her from you.”
