Into the Dark (22 page)

“Sid, you promised me you’d have this toilet out today. I can’t get anything done in here if that thing is in the way.”

“I’m workin’ on it,” came the response. “Some douche-bag amateur—probably the previous homeowner lookin’ to spare a buck—installed the thing and the system’s all screwed up. Give me another half an hour and I’ll have it out.”

“You’d better.”

Sean Madigan stomped out of the bathroom. Seeing his father was always a glimpse into the future. Their physical features were so similar Nathan expected to inherit the same wrinkles and peppered hair one day.

“Dad?”

“Nathan? What are you doing here? Are Aunt Kay and Kelsi all right?”

“Everyone’s fine. I uh…I was in the neighborhood. It’s been a while so I figured I’d stop by and say hello.”

“Oh.” Thick wrinkles appeared on his father’s forehead. He took off his worn UNLV cap and ran his hand through his graying hair. “Well…how you been?”

“Good. Busy with work.”

“Yeah, me too.”

Sean shuffled his feet, stirring tile dust up from the drop cloth. “You want some water or something? Got a cooler in the kitchen.”

“Nice place.” Nathan followed Sean into the large room. The house had an open floor plan with the dining room blending effortlessly into the kitchen. The kitchen featured a large granite bar with plenty of space.

“Yeah. New owners want the bathroom redone. Cutting into the master-bedroom closet to make room for double sinks and a bigger shower.”

“Sounds like you’re having some trouble.”

“Just the usual bullshit.” Sean gave him a bottle of water. “We’ll get it done.”

Nathan took a long drink of his water, looking anywhere but at his father. He had no idea what to say. He never did.

“Heard about that bank job,” Sean said. “Crazy shit.”

“Yeah, it was. You would have loved it. The tunnel’s something right out of the prohibition era.”

“What’d they do with the distillery?”

“Still in evidence.”

“Heard you did a helluva job there.” His father cracked open a bottle of Coke.

“From who, Kelsi?”

“Maybe.” Sean’s lips hinted at a smile. “But I’m sure you did. You always were good at everything you did.”

Except when he’d gotten his uncle killed. His dad would never see past that.

“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 the Taker’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 what.”

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 the Taker’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.”

“You haven’t even seen her best performance.” Emilie tasted vomit at the words. “That was years ago, when she convinced Mark Chambers—the man I believed to be my father—she’d had a miscarriage and didn’t want to be married any more. Then she lied to her parents, claiming Mark abused her.”

“Are you serious?”

“Oh, it gets better. Mark discovered me two years later, and Claire
still
manipulated everyone into keeping him out of my life.”

“You never wanted to see him?”

“I never knew,” Emilie shouted, not caring who overheard. She dug into her bag. “I found out when I was eighteen.
Mémé
had a letter held in trust for me.” She thrust the envelope at Jeremy. “It’s all here. Read it and show it to Sarah. I don’t want to tell the story again.”

“That’s why you left Portland with Evan.”

“Yep.”

She snatched the letter back. “This is one of the few things I have from
Mémé
. You’ll just have to read it later.”

“Emilie, I don’t even know what to say.”

“There’s nothing to say. Now go home and leave me be.”

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.”

“Any time.” 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 was. 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.”

“Awesome. Did Jeremy tell you I’m really a bastard? That I’m the reason Claire’s life failed?”

“How do you know she wasn’t lying?”

“Birth certificate.” Emilie patted her bag. “Looks like the real thing. She’s not lying. I can’t believe that after all these years, Claire still got the last laugh.”

“She’s not laughing,” Nathan said. “You didn’t do what she wanted. That’s why she told you about your father.”

“The money? How do you know about that? Are you a mind reader, too?”

“You told the whole bank,” Nathan said. “You came back in after she left. They were all staring. You got pretty dramatic, telling everyone if they were going to overhear bits and pieces they might as well know your mother tried to pay you off.”

“Oh, yeah.” Emilie reached for her drink. Nathan grasped her arm. Warmth spread through Emilie.

“You’re not drinking any more.”

“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. “Free of that bitch Claire at last.” Her right elbow slammed down hard on the table. “Ouch. She might have gotten the last word, but I stood up to her, Nathan. I threw her out of the bank. She didn’t win.” Her voice caught. She reached again for her drink.

“No, she didn’t.” Nathan blocked her hand.

“I’m not a mistake, you know. Maybe in her eyes, but not in my
Mémé’s
. I was her greatest gift—she said so—and made the last years of her life worth living.”

“Emilie.”

“I’m not a mistake.” Wetness ran down her cheeks. “I’m a good person. People care about me.
Mémé
cared. Jeremy and Sarah care. They would miss me when I’m gone. Do you think that coldhearted woman could say the same? People will dance on her grave.” Her voice was loud in her ears.

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.

“You’re not a mistake,” he whispered. “Not by a mile. People do care about you.
I
care.”

Emilie pressed her face into his chest as the sobs erupted. “I hate her. Why didn’t she just give me to
Mémé
and stay out of my life? Why did she have to punish me for her actions?”

“Because blaming you made her feel better about herself. She’s a narcissist. None of this is your fault.”

“Doesn’t really matter, does it? I’m the one suffering and humiliated yet again.”

“No. You were the one who stood up to her.” Nathan seized her shoulders and pulled her back to look into her eyes. “You didn’t let her manipulate you this time. She’s the loser, Emilie. She always has been.”

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.”

“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 the Taker 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.”

Chapter Twenty-Four

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.