Chapter Eight

CHRIS ENDED THE PHONE CALL with the equipment rental company and leaned against the side of his car. At the end of the street, the kids were still playing and racing in circles. The sun was starting its slow descent, and the afternoon breeze had picked up. He ran the numbers in his head. The cost of the camera he wanted was a bit more than he had planned, but he was still under budget, which was good. Between the money Ben invested and the significant withdrawal he’d made from his investments, he should have enough to film, edit, and score the documentary. He was going to have to trust God for the marketing and advertising campaign.

He tapped his cell phone against his leg. It was the distribution that had him worried. If he couldn’t get the film into theaters, it wouldn’t matter how good it was. People couldn’t see it if it wasn’t playing anywhere. He needed to get the film onto screens, and to do that, he needed a distributor. He didn’t have a plan, and there wasn’t much he could do without a finished film, so he shuffled that issue to the bottom of his “things to be worried about” list.

He was adding the pick-up date he’d scheduled with the rental company into the reminder app on his phone when the front door to the Sullivan house slammed behind him. He turned and braced for impact.

Kate stormed down the concrete walk, her high heels clicking like machine gun fire. She strode to the car, her face hard and her jaw clenched. He’d seen her mad before; he’d even seen her stand her ground against a dangerous criminal, but nothing like this. He raced around the car to open the passenger door before she could rip it off.

“Bad news?” he asked, knowing full well that whatever had happened in the house was worse than she had expected.

She aimed her gaze at him, and his breath caught. Pools of pain and unshed tears sparkled in her eyes. She crossed her arms over her chest like it was the only thing holding her together. He stepped forward and took her in his arms, pulling her against his chest and cradling her head on his shoulder. She stiffened in his arms as if she would pull away, but he held her tightly, running his hand over her back. Whispered prayers fell from his lips and tumbled into her hair. Resistance fled, and she sagged in his arms. Her jagged breathing rasped against his chest, and his heart ached. Confident, brash Kate, the woman who could reduce a man to a puddle with one look, cried like her world was ending.

They stood on the sidewalk in the shadow of her father’s house until her breathing evened out. She stepped back and ran her hands over her face, scrubbing away the tears. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” Chris touched her cheek and caught a stray tear. He wiped it away with his thumb as the breeze caught her hair and tangled it around his fingers. If he took a step closer, he could kiss every tear from her face. The thought raced through his body, and his hand stilled against her cheek.

Kate shook her head. “For this,” she said waving her hands at herself. “I just . . . ” She stopped as if she didn’t trust herself to say anymore, and the raw vulnerability he saw made him want to pull her against him again and never let her go. Kate wasn’t invincible, and for the first time, she was letting him see it. It was like being entrusted with a precious jewel, and he knew he could blow it with one careless word. “Can we go?” she asked, her voice ragged from the tears she had shed.

“Absolutely.” He stepped back and held the car door open for her, his heart pulsing in a wild gallop. Kate needed him.

She put one foot in the car and stopped, a curse flying from her lips. “I left my purse in the house.”

“Don’t worry,” he said. “I’ll get it.” She nodded weakly, sinking into the passenger seat, and the defeat in her shoulders wrecked him.

He closed the car door and walked back to the house. Detective Sullivan opened the front door before he finished knocking. “Is she okay?” His face was tense and sad as he looked over Chris’ shoulder, searching for his daughter, hoping for information Chris didn’t have. Was Kate okay? Definitely not, but judging by the weary sorrow that lined Detective Sullivan’s eyes, neither was he.

Chris struggled for words. “She’s upset.” That sounded like the biggest understatement he’d ever made, but Detective Sullivan didn’t press for more. Whatever had happened in the kitchen after he left had devastated them both. It was as if an earthquake had rattled through the house, upending everything and shattering their fragile relationship. “Kate left her purse here. I told her I’d get it.”

An older woman came to the door. Detective Sullivan stepped to the side, and she stood next to him. He recognized her from a few of the photos he’d seen on the walls. She had the same green eyes and square chin as Kate. In the photos, she and her daughters all had the same bright smile. Kate’s mother. She held out Kate’s black bag. “Here it is,” she said. It wasn’t sadness in her voice but resignation, as if she knew she had lost the battle before it even began.

“Thank you,” he said as he took the purse and tucked it against his side.

She smiled faintly and walked away, her back hunched and her head low, as if she carried a weight that had become too much to bear.

Chris looked at Detective Sullivan. The hardened police officer sighed and shook his head. “Take care of my Katie,” he said, and the unvarnished emotion of the words cut into Chris. “This isn’t going to be easy on her. Or any of us.”

He didn’t know what to say or do. It was like watching an accident happen right in front of his eyes and being helpless to stop it. “I will.”

Detective Sullivan nodded, and Chris turned away. He knew the detective was watching, keeping the door open, hoping his daughter would come back; but Kate sat in the passenger seat, her eyes staring straight ahead, refusing to acknowledge him.

Chris opened the driver’s side door and got in. He passed Kate’s purse to her, and she took it with a mumbled thanks. Her jaw was rigid as he started the car. As they drove away, Chris glanced in the rearview mirror. Detective Sullivan stood in the open door, waiting.

Kate never looked back.

*****

They drove in silence as Chris headed south, back into the hustle and bustle of LA. He didn’t want to push, but he felt the tension in the car, the tenuous grip Kate had on her emotions. He told Detective Sullivan he would take care of her, but he wasn’t sure how. Maybe he should take her straight to Lily and let her do the best friend thing.

Kate leaned against the passenger door and stared out the window at the passing cars while he drove and prayed. The radio played in the background, but neither of them paid any attention to it. Kate was lost in thought, closing off more with every mile, retreating into a place he wasn’t sure he could reach.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, an idea formed. He could have run it past Kate, but he decided surprise might be the best tactic. They passed the junction to the 101 freeway that would have taken them back to Hollywood, and Kate sat up. She turned to Chris. “Where are we going?”

Chris shrugged. He might be making a huge mistake. Kate probably hated the fact that he’d seen her cry. She probably wanted to go back to the mission, get her car, and drive as fast as she could straight to the airport and hop on a plane back to Boston. He wasn’t ready to let that happen. So, in the miles of silence, he’d hatched a plan.

“You’ve had a rotten day,” he said, and she snorted. “I happen to have a foolproof cure for rotten days. It is absolutely, one hundred percent effective.” He glanced at her. Shadows swathed the car, and she sank into the darkness. For once, she refused to fight or argue. That willingness to surrender was more worrisome than anything else. “Are you up for it?” he challenged, hoping for a spark, some remnant of the fire he was used to, but she was quiet.

“Does it involve a large amount of alcohol?” she asked. Her expression was tired and hollow, like she’d been emptied out and nothing remained but the shell.

“Nope.”

She turned her gaze back to the window. “Then it doesn’t sound very effective.”

He reached over and took her hand. It was small and cold in his, and he folded his fingers over hers, wrapping her hand tightly. She sucked in a breath, but she didn’t pull away. He squeezed until she looked at him. “Trust me, Kate.”

He saw the conflict in her eyes, the indecision and doubt. Trust did not come easily to her. He sensed the deep capacity for love and loyalty within her; he’d seen it in the fierce protectiveness she showed her friends. She would fight to the last breath for the people she cared about. He’d seen her stand up for her best friend, going toe to toe with a movie star to defend Lily. He’d watched her march up to a knife-wielding man to protect Hannah. Kate was bold and brave, and at that moment, she desperately needed someone who was willing to fight for her. He wanted to be that person—if she would let him.

He kept his eyes on the road and her hand in his as he waited.

“All right, I trust you.” It was little more than a whisper, barely louder than the heater that hummed in the car, but it was enough.