Chapter 15
Clay put his arm around Emily as they all walked back to their homes together. She’d been awfully quiet at the meeting. And lately she hadn’t been herself. Weepy one moment, manic the next. The sharp mood swings left him at a loss, especially because she was usually so even-keeled. Not like his late ex-wife, who was a shipwreck.
Clay had tried to discuss the behavior changes with Emily, but she’d dismissed his concerns, accusing him of imagining it.
It was a nice night: still light enough to see and not cool enough for anything more than a light jacket or sweater. When they got far away enough from Gia’s house, Lucky was the first to speak. “I understand your concern, Clay, I really do, but it sounds to me like Gia wants to do a good thing.”
“You and Rhys jumped all over her,” Maddy said. “You were openly hostile.”
“We didn’t jump on her, nor were we hostile,” Rhys replied. “It’s my job to look out for the town and that’s what I did.”
“Outside, I thought Flynn was gonna hit you,” Lucky told Clay.
Flynn had been so pissed Clay thought he’d seen steam coming out of his ears. “He’s my friend. But it’s clear she’s dragging him around by his di . . .”
“Clay!” Emily stopped short.
He held up his hands. “Sorry.” But it was the damned truth. What the hell was Flynn getting involved for? How would he like it if a halfway house went up next door to his folks’ property?
They continued walking until they came to the fork in the road that curved off to Lucky and Tawny’s cowboy camp.
“I don’t want to go against you guys,” Lucky said. “You’re my friends and my neighbors, but I’d like to know more about her program before I give a definitive no. My mother could’ve used the kind of help Gia’s talking about. And it wasn’t that long ago that Tawny struggled with being a single mom with a sick child while trying to hold her business together. So despite whatever Gia’s motives are, I’m sympathetic to the cause.” He looked at his wife and she smiled at him with pride.
Clay worried that Gia’s proposal might divide neighbors and he didn’t like that. They were a cohesive group who depended on each other in tough times. He didn’t want this to turn into a war between them, but he also didn’t want the tranquility of his bucolic community to be shaken.
“I say the six of us meet”—Lucky circled his hand around their small group—“and come up with a bunch of questions for her to address. Then we’ll see if we’re satisfied.”
“I have to think about more than just us,” Rhys reiterated. “I have to think about the whole community.”
Clay had already made up his mind. He didn’t want a damn women’s shelter anywhere in the vicinity, but he also didn’t want to brush off Lucky.
“We can meet at our house next weekend,” he said. “In the meantime, I’d like to research the zoning restrictions. What Gia’s talking about may not even be legal.”
“All she’d have to say is that these women are farmhands.” Rhys looked at Clay pointedly. “If that’s illegal both you and Lucky are in big trouble.”
Except Gia had already made it known that these women would be here specifically for her program. Clay had a lot of clout in this town and he wouldn’t shy away from using it.
“If push came to shove, she could certainly challenge my cowboy camp.” Lucky rubbed a hand over his chin. “You don’t know that my guests don’t have criminal backgrounds.”
“Not the same thing,” Rhys said. “Under the zoning you’re allowed to run an agritourism business. But like I said, there are a lot of ways she can manipulate this.”
“We on for next weekend, then?” Clay wanted to get Emily home. She seemed agitated. Maybe she didn’t feel well.
“Yes,” the group said in unison.
Lucky and Tawny took the fork to their ranch and the rest of them cut across Clay’s field and hiked to the house. Ordinarily, Emily would’ve invited the Shepards in, but there was nothing normal about her these days. Rhys and Maddy waved goodbye and took off toward their house, which was only a quarter mile away.
Both the boys were out—Cody at a sleepover and Justin on a date—and the house was eerily quiet. Clay turned on the lights, took Emily’s purse from her, put it on the hall table, and wrapped her in his arms.
“You okay?” he asked against her lips as he kissed her.
She pulled away and sighed. “You behaved abhorrently. We were guests in Gia’s home. She went to a lot of trouble to make us comfortable.. . . Oh, Clay.”
“You want a shelter next door? I want my family to be safe, Emily. I don’t know what kinds of people will be staying there.”
“You could’ve been more diplomatic about voicing those objections instead of accusing Gia of using this as a publicity stunt.” Emily walked into the living room, plopped onto the couch, and took off her shoes with a groan.
Clay sat next to her, pulled her feet into his lap, and began rubbing them. “I think it is a publicity stunt and I tell it like it is.”
“Well I found your telling it like it is embarrassing . . . and insulting. Lucky’s right. Who cares what her reasons are for doing it? If it helps women in trouble get back on their feet again . . . why would you be against something like that?”
“You can’t possibly want this thing?” He was getting angry. Emily of all people should be leery after the hell she’d been through with her daughter. It had been more than seven years and they still didn’t know who had abducted Hope or whether she was even still alive.
“I don’t know enough about it. She never got to finish after you went off the way you did. And Flynn . . . I’ve never seen him so angry.”
“Flynn will get over it. He’s a smart guy who’s spent most of his career in law enforcement. He should know better than to get involved with a woman like Gia Treadwell. Her lawyer?” He snorted. “He wants to get in her pants is what he wants.”
Emily shook her head. “You sound like a jackass when you say things like that.”
He supposed he did, but it was the truth. All he had to do was look at Flynn and see infatuation written on his friend’s face. The man had it bad. “I just don’t understand why he’s representing her, Em.”
“Probably because he thinks she’s innocent and thinks it’s awful that she’s being used as a scapegoat. I follow the news, Clay. If they’d had even an iota of evidence that Gia was involved in all those financial shenanigans, she would’ve been arrested by now. I know what it’s like to be her . . . to have everyone impugn your character.”
When Hope went missing the police immediately looked at Emily and her then-husband. They’d made Emily take a polygraph. Not only had she had to grapple with her daughter’s abduction but she’d had to deal with being the key suspect in the case.
“I’m not saying she’s guilty, Emily. But I don’t like her proposal. This is our home . . . Justin and Cody’s home. I don’t want it disrupted. I’m all for Gia’s Christmas tree farm and the hay she wants to grow, but I don’t want a rehab center next door.”
“Do you know how classist you sound?” Emily pulled her feet away and sat up. Her face had gone a little green.
“You okay?”
She jumped up and ran to the bathroom. Clay followed. Behind the door he could hear her throwing up and went in to hold her hair back. When she was finished he washed her face.
“Stomach flu?” he asked, tucking her head against his chest. “Want me to get you some ginger ale?”
“I’m okay. I just need to sit down.”
They went back into the living room and she cuddled next to him while he stroked her hair.
“You think it might’ve been something you ate?” He’d noticed she hadn’t had anything at Gia’s house.
“No,” she said. “Back to Gia’s residential program. I want you to give it more thought, Clay. If she can guarantee that all the participants have been fully vetted . . . no criminal history . . . I don’t see what the big deal is. Will you promise me that you won’t dismiss it out of hand?”
“I’ve got you and the boys to think about, Emily. If anything happened to you . . .”
“No one understands that better than I do. The boys may not be mine biologically, but I love them like my own. Just promise me.”
“Why’s this so important to you?”
“Because if it hadn’t been for you and this ranch, I’d be one of those women. There are all kinds of circumstances that can lay a person low, Clay.” He knew Hope’s kidnapping had left Emily an empty shell.
“I’ll promise on one condition,” he said and kissed the top of her head. “You have to tell me what’s been bothering you these last couple of weeks. I’ve never seen you so . . . emotional.” He hesitated to use the word, knowing women didn’t like it.
Emily looked up at him. “Will you also promise to apologize to Gia and Flynn?”
“I didn’t do anything to Flynn.”
She rolled her eyes. “You offended the woman he cares about. I don’t know if they’re romantic, but Flynn is clearly her friend . . . and her lawyer.”
“According to everyone in town, they’re doing it fifty ways to Sunday.”
“You believe everything you hear in town?” She smacked his arm.
Clay laughed and pulled her into his lap. “I can see you’re feeling better.”
“A little bit, but I could use that ginger ale.”
“At your service,” he said and lifted her up and put her back down so he could go to the kitchen. Before he left he fluffed a throw pillow and stuck it behind her head. “Sit tight and when I come back you’ll tell me what’s been upsetting you.”
In the kitchen he found a bottle in the pantry, filled a glass with ice, and took a second to admire the room. It used to be dated, with chipped tiles and old linoleum, but he’d kept it that way as an ode to his late parents. Emily had wanted to remodel it, but he’d fought her, fearing modern updates would erase the past. Because he’d give her the moon and the stars if she wanted them—and because she was the cook—she’d won. But she’d preserved some of the old, mixing it with the new, making the room the heart of the house. And it wasn’t just the kitchen. She’d brought love into every corner of their lives.
Whatever was going on with her . . . with them, he’d go to the ends of the earth to fix it. He’d promised himself that after Hope he would do his damnedest to never let anything hurt her again.
Grabbing the bottle of ginger ale and the glass, he returned to the living room to find Emily curled up on the couch, sound asleep. He put the soda on the table and tucked her in with a throw blanket from one of the chairs. Whatever she had must’ve hit her hard. If she still felt sick in the morning he’d take her to the clinic in Glory Junction.
In the meantime, he wanted to clean the bathroom before Emily woke up. He opened the window to air out the room. Under the sink he found cleaning supplies and scrubbed the toilet, sink, and floor where Emily had gotten sick. He was getting ready to empty the trash when something caught his eye. The tip of a toothbrush peeked out from under a wad of tissue. Clay had never seen one with a digital display before so he fished the plastic stick out of the garbage to take a closer look.
It wasn’t a toothbrush. The words on the display said, “Pregnant.”
Pregnant. He stared at the stick a few seconds, stunned.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” he muttered aloud, letting the news sink in.
But why the hell hadn’t his wife told him?
* * *
Flynn heard Gia moving around downstairs. For such a well-built house, noise traveled. Either that or he was hyper tuned in to her. More likely the later. He wondered if she was having trouble sleeping.
The meeting had gone piss-poor. No doubt that had made Gia restless. For him it was the goddamn dress and thong she’d had on. Just the thought of her firm ass cheek in his hand had made him hard. By now she’d probably changed into those pajama shorts and thin tank she wore to bed.
“Ah, Jesus,” he groaned and rolled over. At this rate it’d be a long night.
He shut his eyes, tried to sleep, even counted sheep. That was when he could’ve sworn he smelled Gia’s perfume wafting under his door and got up to check the hallway. Nothing. He got back in bed, shoved an extra pillow under his head, and stared up at the ceiling fan, hoping the whir of the blades would lull him into dreamland.
About four in the morning he bolted up from a half sleep. A noise came from outside the house, like a faint clanging of metal. He got up, went to the window, and pulled the drapes aside, but it was too dark to make anything out. Not even shadows. He was about to ignore it when he heard more noise coming from the direction of the garbage cans.
“Goddamn it.” He tugged on his pants, shirt, and boots.
It was probably just raccoons or a bear. Best to chase off whatever it was before it made a mess. He reached inside his duffel for his Glock. A mama bear could get mean if she traveled with a cub.
He went down the stairs—quiet as he could, not to wake up Gia—through the kitchen, switched on the outdoor lights, and exited through the mudroom door. Something rustled near the wooden trash-bin enclosure. Then two heads popped up, clearly startled by the sudden flood of light. One of them looked directly into the muzzle of Flynn’s pistol.
“Don’t shoot,” the other one said.
“Come out with your hands up.”
Flynn saw one of the men stuff something in his jacket pocket before he and his buddy walked out from the enclosure into the open.
“Get down on the ground, put your hands on your head, and spread your legs wide.”
Both men complied and Flynn had started to check them for weapons when he felt someone behind him.
“What’s going on?” Gia asked and blanched when she saw the gun in Flynn’s hand.
He continued frisking the men. “Gia, call the police, please.”
“Okay, but who are they and how did they get in here? The gate’s closed.”
Anyone determined enough could get around that gate on foot. But he didn’t have time to make conversation now. Without zip ties or handcuffs he had to hold his semiautomatic and search the men at the same time.
“Just call the police,” he said. “And open the gate.”
She padded across the lawn in her slippers and disappeared inside the house. While she was gone, Flynn searched both men’s pockets, dumping all the contents onto the ground. He wanted to go through it before Rhys or one of his officers came but had his hands full.
“You move and I’ll shoot,” he told his captives.
The smaller of the two had pissed his pants. Flynn didn’t think they would try to escape, but he wasn’t taking any chances, keeping the gun trained on them while he squatted down to sort through the flotsam from their pockets. He wanted to know what the big one had found so interesting. Damned if he could tell. The pile consisted of wallets—Flynn went through them looking for ID—a few loose bills, a ring of keys, a business card, chewing gum, and a memory stick.
Flynn pocketed the card and the memory stick just before Gia came back outside.
“They’re on their way,” she said.
He slid her a glance and nodded. “You should wait in the house. It’s cold.”
“Not really.” She pulled the robe tighter around her. “I want to know what they were doing here.”
“Evidently, going through your garbage.”
“Gia, where’s Evan Laughlin?” the big one asked.
Flynn stuck the toe of his boot in the man’s side. “Shut up.”
“Ah Jesus, you didn’t have to do that,” the man said, groaning.
Gia came closer and bent down to look at the guy. “Who are you?”
“I’m with Tattletale.”
Flynn had never heard of it, but he assumed it was a tabloid. Maybe one of those online pieces of shit.
“Why won’t you people leave me alone?” Gia said. After everything that had happened at the meeting last night, finding two yahoos in her garbage had to be the coup de grâce. “I don’t know where Evan—”
Flynn pulled Gia up and put his finger to her lips. “Hush.”
“Who’s the guy, Gia? Is he your bodyguard? Your lover?” Even on his belly, the jerk off was looking for a story.
Flynn nudged his boot into the guy’s flank. “What did I tell you?”
The third time in a month, the sound of a siren broke the air.
Gia closed her eyes. “I can’t believe this.”
Annie came marching across the grass in her nightgown, a denim jacket, cowboy boots, and scary hair. She took one look at the scene and her eyes got big as saucers.
“Were they trying to break in?
“Into my trash,” Gia said. “Apparently they thought they’d find the scoop of the century digging through my garbage.”
“Why would anyone do that? It’s disgusting.” Annie winced.
The siren got closer and stopped. A car door slammed and Flynn shouted, “Back here. All clear.”
Rhys came running around the house. Flynn assumed backup was ten minutes out because Rhys lived here and the station was at least fifteen minutes away.
“According to Connie, you’ve got prowlers,” Rhys said.
Flynn nodded and pointed at the two bozos on the ground. “I found them digging through Gia’s garbage bins.”
Rhys’s brows shot up. “The trash cans, huh?” He looked at Gia and Annie. “Everyone okay?”
“No, he kicked me.” The guy in the dirt started to get up and Rhys told him to stay down.
He pulled a pair of metal cuffs out of his back pocket, crouched, restrained the idiot, and read them both their Miranda rights.
Two more sirens came up the hill. Rhys used his radio to give the officers his location. “We’ve got the situation contained, but I need another set of cuffs.”
Sloane, followed by a young officer Flynn didn’t know, came rounding the clubhouse turn. It looked like the entire department had shown.
Sloane cuffed the other guy, got both men up, and escorted them to two Nugget PD SUVS parked in the driveway. The other officer—Wyatt, Rhys called him—went with her.
“I’ll meet you at the station in a few,” Rhys said, and turned to Flynn. “I need to take your statement.”
Annie, who hadn’t witnessed much, went back to her apartment, but Gia stayed. Flynn told Rhys how he’d heard a noise, went down to investigate, and found the two men in the garbage enclosure. Rhys took the stuff Flynn had confiscated from the men’s pockets, finished his report, and was on his way.
“I’m sorry you have to keep running off my trespassers,” Gia told Flynn as they went inside the house.
“You don’t have to apologize. I’m glad I was here and you didn’t have to handle it on your own.”
“Are you going back to bed?”
It wasn’t like he had gotten that much sleep in the first place. “I was thinking about it. Why?”
“I’m wide awake now.” Once they got in the kitchen she put up a pot of coffee. “I wonder if those guys would’ve tried to come in the house if you hadn’t caught them.”
“I doubt it. But make sure to keep your doors and windows locked.”
“Maybe I should put a dead bolt on the guest apartment . . . for Annie.”
“I’ll do it tomorrow . . . today. Hell, what time is it?” He looked at the clock over the stove. Six. Yeah, he wasn’t going back to bed.
He stuck his head in the fridge out of pure habit, not hunger, though this was when he usually ate breakfast at the ranch.
“I’ll make you bacon and eggs if you want,” Gia said.
“Yeah?” He scratched the scruff on his chin. “All right. Thanks.”
He sat at the center island and watched her prepare breakfast. The robe she had on was one of those kimono things—silky and very clingy. Flynn was trying not to look at the way it molded to her hips, ass, and breasts as she moved around the kitchen but was failing abysmally. The fact was, he liked morning sex. Always had. And visions of Gia on the granite counter with her legs spread . . . God, he was doomed.
“I don’t think those paparazzi guys helped my case with Rhys,” she said as the smell of frying bacon filled the kitchen. “I’m attracting too much trouble.”
“One thing doesn’t have anything to do with the other.” Although her program was likely to garner attention, bringing even more press to town.
She’d remembered that he liked his eggs sunny-side up, he noticed as she served them onto a plate with a couple of pieces of toast. Flynn dug in while she nibbled at hers.
“I thought they’d finally given up on me and had moved on to the next story,” she said.
He’d sort of thought so too, which raised the ugly question of why the slimy bastards were back again. Flynn had his suspicions and they weren’t good. There was no need to voice them at this point and get Gia unnecessarily worried. Not until he did some checking around and had Toad make some calls. But if he was right, they needed to have their ducks in order because things were about to get nasty.