17
Emily hadn’t been expecting the safe house to be so nice. The two-story traditional home boasted a large screened-in porch attached to a wooden deck off the back. The yard sloped down to the covered dock that held a pontoon boat.
After dropping her bag and laptop on the bed in her room, she walked out onto the porch and settled in the swing. She had every intention of getting on the laptop soon, but for now, she needed to breathe—and probably pray—before digging into the mire of a human trafficker’s financial dirt. I don’t understand, God. Why did you take her? She swallowed and closed her eyes. Help me to not become bitter. I don’t want to hate. But I do right now . . . very much. I need you to hold on to me—
“How are you holding up?” Brady asked.
She looked up from her spot on the porch swing. Brady stood in the doorway leading into the den, leaning against the doorjamb.
“I’m all right,” she said.
“Liar.”
“I know.” She drew in a deep breath and looked out over the lake. “You love the water, don’t you?”
“I do. I try to spend as much time on—or in—it as I can. It’s good for my mental state.”
“I can see why. It’s so peaceful here, so calm. And yet, I can’t seem to settle my nerves. It’s just hard to believe someone killed Heather—and wants to kill me.”
He settled into the swing beside her and wrapped an arm around her. “I’m not going to let them get to you. I’ve called in a few favors. There are only a select few who know we’re using this place. I’ve asked for round-the-clock protection. There are security cameras all over the place that are being monitored 24/7.”
“I know you’ll do your best to protect me, but eventually, I’m going to have to stick my head up. I can’t hide forever and your two-week vacation will end and you’ll have to go back to work.” Without thinking about it, she let her head rest on his shoulder. When she realized what she’d done, she froze. And forced her muscles to relax. “You smell good.” Woodsy with a hint of soap and a little smoky from the fire inside. And uniquely him.
His chuckle rumbled in her ear. “Thank you.” A slight pause. “And you are my work,” he said. “Besides, I’ve got so much vacation time built up, I could take six weeks without hardly putting a dent in it.” He paused again. “Emily?”
“Hmm?” She could easily fall asleep right here.
“Will you tell me about your scars?”
Peace fled. For a moment she didn’t say anything as she debated the wisdom of opening that can of worms. The more she let him in, the more it was going to hurt when she had to say goodbye. Because once he knew about everything, he wouldn’t ever look at her in the same way. And she wouldn’t be able to bear the pity in his eyes. She hated pity. Sympathy, anger for what happened to her, outrage that her nemesis was never punished were all fine. But she couldn’t stand pity.
“Em?”
“I don’t know if I can.”
He fell silent for a moment. “I wish you would trust me, but it’s okay if you’re not there yet.”
Strangely enough, she found herself wishing she would trust him too. Maybe she should just tell him. Telling him now would be like ripping the bandage off fast. It would hurt, but would hurt less than if she continued to allow herself to care about him. Care what he thought about her. “There was an incident in high school that resulted in me getting pregnant.”
His swiftly indrawn breath said she might have been a little too blunt. “Rape?” he asked, his voice hoarse.
She drew away from his warmth, immediately missing it, but she couldn’t touch him and talk about it at the same time. “No. It was . . . consensual.”
“You don’t sound so sure.”
“It was, but it took him some time to wear me down to agree to it. Needless to say, he finally won the bet.”
“Bet?” His soft voice had a lethal edge to it.
She couldn’t look at him. “I’ll tell you, but it’s such a cliché story, you’ll wonder if I stole it from the plot of some stupid movie.”
“Tell me anyway.”
Tears gathered and she blinked them back. “I tell this story all the time to people who’ve been through lousy stuff,” she whispered. “I don’t know why it’s so hard to tell you.”
He lifted her chin and looked into her eyes. She studied him, seeing the concern there. The anger at what had happened to her.
“Is it real? Do you really care?”
He blinked and she realized she’d said the words out loud.
“It’s real,” he said softly. “I care about you, Emily.”
“Why? You don’t even know me.”
“Because . . . I just do. And I know enough.”
“Is it a savior complex? I mean, you’ve saved my life a few times. Not to offend you, but could it be you just feel responsible in your cop-ly, justice-for-all kind of thing?”
His eyes darkened, but he didn’t immediately deny the possibility. Then he looked away. “I’m not offended. The truth is, I thought about that, and I’ll admit, you’re different than the kind of woman I tend to be interested in.”
Wait a minute. Interested in how, exactly? She bit down on those words and instead asked, “Different how? Because I’m not a size 2 and blonde?”
He laughed, but the sound lacked humor. “Partly. I think they’re mostly size 6s, though. And I only know that because I have three sisters.”
“Yeah, I’m not even close to that one either.”
He shrugged. “Doesn’t matter.”
“Of course it matters. It’s always mattered.” She glanced down at her hands, wondering if she could really trust him with her deepest hurt.
A hand covered hers. “I’m not talking physical differences. I’m talking about what’s inside you. Your heart is different. There’s a depth to you that I’ve . . . avoided with other women.”
“Why?”
He cleared his throat. “Because if I don’t get too emotionally involved, I won’t get hurt . . .”
“I’m familiar with that one,” she murmured.
“. . . again.”
Oh. “Who hurt you?”
“Her name was Krystal. Well, technically, is Krystal. She’s not dead. She was someone I thought I could help and wound up wrong. Very, very wrong.”
“What happened to her?”
“She’s in prison.”
“For what?”
“Murder.”
“Whoa.” She stared up at him.
“I know. Tell me about you, please.”
He wasn’t going to let it go. Tension threaded her shoulders even tighter. “Why?” she cried. “Why do you want to hear about my shame?” She stood. His grip tightened, but not so tight she couldn’t pull away.
A heavy sigh left him. “It’s not that I want to know about your shame. It’s . . .”
“What?”
“Back at the cabin you asked me why I’m mad at God.”
She stilled. “Yes.”
“And it’s because I feel like he failed me. And because I actually believe he’s who he says he is, in my mind that means failure is not an option for him. It’s obvious you suffered some trauma—even after listening to Heather’s 911 call—and yet, you’ve managed to keep your faith. I want to know how you did that.”
“Oh.” She took her seat again and he settled her back against him. How did she explain it? “First, let me address pre–Heather’s call,” she said. “I never had faith until after the . . .” She paused. “Okay, trauma is a good word. Until after that.”
“I see.”
“My family was really dysfunctional. Abusive father, mother with no backbone who waffled between resenting my very existence and smothering me with rules because she ‘loved’ me.” She shrugged. “You can probably fill in the blanks. I’m an only child. I didn’t even have a sibling to love.”
“Wait, what about Sophia?”
She hesitated. “I left shortly after she came along.” With a shaky hand, she rubbed her eyes and pictured herself back at the center where she volunteered weekly and pulled the words from her soul. “I wasn’t exactly the popular girl in school. I was overweight—more so than I am now—and I had extreme self-confidence issues. However, my senior year, I managed to lose a good bit of weight and I was actually starting to feel good about myself. I wasn’t a size 2 or even a size 6, but I was eating better and exercising. Jeremy Hightower was one of the guys everyone liked—you know the type, the star athlete who had the eye of the college recruiters, pretty girls stumbling over themselves for his attention. He started paying attention to me, but I brushed him off, certain it was some kind of joke. I kept waiting for the other shoe to fall. And it never did. After two months, he was still being nice, still walking with me in the halls, still coming to my house to study, and still defending me to his friends when they made fun of me.” She swallowed. “Slowly, he gained my trust, and when he kissed me, I was lost. That teenager who felt ugly and unloved was being kissed by the guy every girl wanted. It wasn’t long after that, that I gave him what he asked for.”
“Sex?”
“Hmm.” She nodded. “One time in his parents’ barn. Literally, a roll in the hay.” She swallowed again, the remembered shame washing over her. “And when it was all said and done, he stood up, kicked me in the ribs, and ranted at the time and energy I’d made him waste getting to that point.” She watched him. Looking for signs of disgust or pity.
All she saw was an instant blazing rage that looked ready to be unleashed. On her behalf. The sight brought tears. Once again, she forced them back and looked away. “He made sure that I understood just how disgusted he was every time he had to hold my hand or be in my presence.” Tears dripped from her chin and a gentle hand swiped them away. She barely noticed. “His best friend stepped out from behind one of the stalls and congratulated him on his win.” At his sharply indrawn breath, she shuddered. “Every time I think about it, I remember how gullible and stupid I was.” She grimaced. “It’s not exactly a great feeling. I . . . uh . . . pretty much hated myself at that point. And that’s when I started eating everything in sight—and cutting.” She pushed her sleeves up and he ran a finger over the white scars crisscrossing one another. His touch eased something inside of her and the words came easier. “After a few years of therapy, we figured out that I fell in love with food at a young age because food never betrayed me, it made me feel happy and it was always there for me. In the end, it was one of the biggest betrayals of all. It made me fat and vulnerable to the cruelty of others. Although, now I realize I can’t blame food, I can only blame my choices.”
“I’m so, so sorry, Emily. I can’t imagine the strength it took to survive that.”
When she finally looked back at him, his red-rimmed eyes stilled her. Was he crying? For her? He looked away before she could decide for sure.
“I wasn’t strong. I thought about suicide every day, but in the end decided that was too easy.”
“Too easy?”
She nodded. “I deserved to suffer for being such an idiot. Thankfully, that was my senior year and I only had to walk those halls for a couple more months before graduation. Don’t get me wrong. Those two months were awful. I thought about quitting, but something inside me wouldn’t let him take that from me too. He’d taken everything, including what little self-respect I had. I was going to get my diploma no matter what. And I did.”
For a moment he was silent. Then he wrapped her in a hug. “He was a psychopath.”
“Maybe.” She leaned into his embrace, relishing the comfort, stunned he hadn’t run from her in disgust.
“I think you’re one of the bravest people I’ve ever met.”
“I’m not brave,” she said. “I’m just too stubborn to quit.”
“So, what turned you around? It’s obvious you’re a completely different person than the traumatized teenager you once were.” He tilted her chin, and wonder of wonders, there was no pity in his gaze. Her throat spasmed. Could she dare believe it was admiration?
“My aunt Lucy,” she said. “She’s an amazing woman. She’d been through some hard times herself, and when I called her in desperation to tell her what was going on, that I was pregnant, she stepped in, convinced me I could do this, and that she would be there for me.”
“Why didn’t you have an abortion?” She gaped and he held up a hand. “I’m not saying that I believe that’s what you should have done, I’m just asking why not?”
“Of course I thought about it.” She looked away for a moment. “But I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Having that baby was part of my punishment, I suppose, is the way I looked at it. Giving that baby up? Well, that almost killed me.”
“What do you mean?”
“Once the baby was born, I went a little crazy. I just couldn’t deal with the pain of giving my child away, but I also knew there was no way I could raise her. My father was livid, drinking more than ever, hitting anyone that got too close. He told me to get out, to take the kid and go, that he wasn’t raising another brat.” Emily drew in a deep breath. Should she go on?
“And?”
“For the first time, my mother stepped in and said she wasn’t giving up her grandchild. My father punched her and just started beating her. I was afraid he was going to kill her, so I called 911. There must have been a police car nearby because it was there in less than thirty seconds. By this point, my mother had run out of the house. I was holding the baby and my father was going after Mom. He had a gun and was screaming that he was going to kill everyone.”
“Let me guess. The cops shot him.”
Emily nodded. “He refused to put the weapon down. He turned the gun on me and they shot him. Three or four times. He died instantly, they said.”
“I’m sorry, Emily. I know I keep saying that, but I am.”
“I know. And I won’t say it’s okay, but I’ve healed a lot from that night. I don’t know that I’ll ever fully be able to put it out of my mind, but I’m better.” She smiled. “So much better.” And each time she helped a young girl see that her life wasn’t over because of a trauma, it healed another piece in Emily’s heart. “My dad made his choices. His death is no one’s responsibility but his own. My mother’s never forgiven me for that night, though.”
“She blames you for your father’s death.”
“Yes. But, honestly, I’d go back and do it all over again if I had to.”
“What happened after that?”
“I remember walking back into the house and looking down at that baby’s sweet little face and thinking how she deserved so much more than me.” She sighed. “So, when my mom told me to get out, I left. And wound up living on the streets. I was there for a little over a year before Aunt Lucy tracked me down and talked me into coming home with her. She got me back into counseling and convinced me that I could rebuild my life.” She paused. “She fought for me. For the first time in my life, someone made me feel like I was worth something. That God had a plan for me and I could walk tall and be proud of who he’d created me to be.”
“I love your aunt Lucy.”
A laugh escaped her and she marveled at it. “I do too.”
“Emily?”
“Yes?”
“Is Sophia really your sister?”
A hiccupping sound that was a cross between a sob and a laugh escaped her. “No.”
“I didn’t think so.”
They fell silent. “God seemed distant,” she finally said. “Like someone who only cared about good people but couldn’t be bothered with people who didn’t measure up. With people who messed up their lives so catastrophically. But Aunt Lucy was able to help me understand that everyone needs him. He’s not sitting up there waiting to crack the whip if we mess up, but rather he’s waiting for us to run into his arms and be comforted. I never had a dad like that, so it was really hard for me to wrap my head around the idea of it, even as much as I wanted to.”
“I can understand that.”
“But Aunt Lucy was like that, loving, accepting, and so eager to help me heal. When I finally put two and two together and realized her heart was like God’s, it was easier to accept that he truly cared about me and wanted to be the father I never really had.”
“She sounds extraordinary.”
“Where does she live?”
“Not too far from here. She’s in Franklin, Georgia. When she’s home. Right now, she’s on a twenty-eight-day cruise around Europe with some ladies from her church. They’ve been planning and saving for this for two years.”
He gave a low whistle. “Nice.”
“Indeed. And she’s safe. I don’t have to worry about someone trying to get her to get to me.”
“So, what do you do to decompress? When the memories crash in and you can’t sleep?”
“I work.”
He laughed. “We’re a lot alike, Emily Chastain.”
“Is that what you do? Work?”
“Yes. And dive.” He drew in a breath and leaned back, pulling her with him. “It’s so peaceful down there. Not exactly quiet, but sometimes you can hear your heartbeat in your ears and you can just be you. No obligations, no worries. Nothing.”
“Sounds lovely.”
“It is. Especially in the Caribbean. But the lake has its positives too.”
She tilted her head up to look at him from beneath her lashes. “I’ve always wanted to go diving. It looks so exotic.”
“It can be.”
“So let’s go sometime.”
Brady grinned. “I was hoping you’d feel that way. That was one of the reasons I requested this particular safe house. Fortunately, I have all the equipment in my truck.”
“Wait. What? Go diving? Here? Now?”
“Sure.”
“Is that safe? What if there’s a sniper or something out there?”
“Already thought about that. We’ll go down and come up under cover of the dock, the boathouse, or the boat. Inside the boathouse, there’s a shallow point near the entrance. It would be perfect for a lesson or two. Then from there we can go under the dock and out into the deeper part of the lake with no one knowing we’re under—or when we come up.”
She swallowed and frowned. “Uh . . . no . . . never mind. It was a stupid idea.”
“No, it’s a great idea.”
“I . . . I don’t have a bathing suit or anything. I can’t exactly wear my jeans. I’d freeze. And sink.”
“You don’t have to worry about that. I came prepared. I had Mary Beth bring a dry suit with her.”
“The Mary Beth who’s part of the security around here? Uh . . . no. I’ll pass, thanks.”
Her eyes slid away from his. Tension ran through every part of her body. What was the problem?
She stood. “I think I’m going to get my laptop and see if I can’t start gathering the information into some kind of coherent organization so we can share it with the investigative team ready to jump on whatever this is.”
He frowned. “Emily—”
She shot him a tight smile. “I’ll be in my bedroom. Thanks for not judging me.”
“I wouldn’t. What happened to you was horrible and . . . and . . . well, there aren’t words for it. And it was in no way your fault. But I don’t understand why you’re running away from me now.”
“I’m not running. I’m going to be productive. Sitting here whining about my past isn’t going to find Heather’s killer and stop a possible human trafficking ring. And that’s where I need my focus to be. Where we need our focus to be.”
“It is, I promise.”
“Good.” She walked away from him without looking back.
Mary Beth stepped out onto the porch, hands in the pockets of the hoodie she hadn’t taken off since she’d gotten there. “Everything okay?” she asked.
Brady studied the woman in front of him. Cheerleader pretty, tall, and built like a model. Realization hit him. He closed his eyes. “No, I’m an idiot.”
She lifted a brow. “You’re a man. That’s a given.”
“Ouch.”
“Aw, I’m just kidding. You’re one of the rare ones. You’re not an idiot, but I’m guessing you did something dumb. What was it?”
“You know how I told you to bring that dry suit?”
“Yeah.”
He grimaced. “Well, Emily shared some stuff with me.” No way was he saying what and betraying her confidence. “And she mentioned going diving. I told her I’d take her and said she could use the dry suit you brought. Only I didn’t say that it was a larger size than the one you wore. That the one you’d brought was an extra. And I think . . . well . . .” He cleared his throat. “I . . . um . . . guess that she thought I meant she could wear yours, and it embarrassed her because obviously you wear a smaller size than she would and . . .” He waved a hand and covered his eyes. “And I’m an idiot.”
“Wow.”
“Go ahead,” he muttered behind his hand. “Tell me what an insensitive louse I am. I can take it.”
“You’re not a louse, Brady. But I can see why she’d be offended if she’s at all sensitive about her weight. So just go apologize to her and tell her if she wants to dive with you, there’s a suit that will fit her. When you described her in your text, I couldn’t figure out exactly which size to bring, so I brought three. One will fit.”
He stood and hugged her. “You’re the best.”
“I know.” She gave him a light shove toward Emily’s door. “Now, go grovel.”
Brady mentally rehearsed his apology as he walked back into the house, down the hall, and to Emily’s door. He raised a hand to knock just as it swung inward.
Emily gasped and stepped back, placing a hand over her heart. “Oh goodness, you scared me.”
“Sorry.” He shifted, his mind blank, all of his rehearsing for naught. “I . . . uh . . . I came to apologize.”
She frowned. “For what?”
“For not explaining that there’s a dry suit that will fit you. Mary Beth brought three and said one of them will work for you.” He dipped his head and looked at her through his lashes. “That is, if you’ll still consider going.”
She swallowed and looked away. “I’m working, but thanks for clarifying that you didn’t expect me to squeeze into one of Mary Beth’s suits.” He sighed and she pinched the bridge of her nose. “I’m sorry I’m so touchy. Talking about my past always brings out the worst in me.”
“It’s okay. Why don’t you bring your computer into the kitchen and we’ll sit at the table and see what you’ve got from Heather?”
Her shoulders relaxed. “Sure, I can do that.” She grabbed the laptop off the bed and followed him into the kitchen. “I need a water. You want one?”
“That’d be great.”
She snagged two and settled herself at the table. “I was getting ready to work when I decided I needed something to drink—and found you outside my door.”
“I’m really sorry I was so thoughtless—in the effort to be thoughtful.” He sighed. “I’m not helping, am I?”
“Forget it. It’s fine. I need to learn not to be overly sensitive.” She opened the laptop and he dropped the subject even though her shoulders had tensed up again. “Okay,” she said, “before I was snatched, I was updating the list of deposits made, the branch it was made at, and the times they were—” She gasped.
“What is it?” he asked.
“Text messages from Heather. They just popped up when I opened my iMessages.”