Kaleidoscope (4 page)

Her chin jerked back before she said in a tone that was an accusation. “I forgot how smart you are.”

“Glad you’re remembering.”

“I also forgot how annoying it can sometimes be.”

It was then he burst out laughing and when he was done, she no longer looked peeved but was grinning.

Their beers came. They both took a sip then set them aside.

“So, you got sick, why was a new look necessary?” he pushed, and she again shrugged.

“You’re exhausted like I was, you’re too exhausted to go out and get haircuts. Trust me, haircuts are the last thing on your mind when all you want to do is get to work, go home and go to sleep. And my hair grows fast, apparently. And I found I kinda liked it so I let it keep growing. Then, after it was done and I was getting better, but none of my clothes fit, my friend Erika… do you remember her?”

Deck nodded. Erika was one of her limited posse. Elsbeth didn’t like Erika either. This was because Erika was beautiful and intelligent, both scarily so, especially for someone like Elsbeth.

“Well, she wanted to make me feel better, and have clothes that actually fit,” Emme went on. “So she took me out on a day of beauty. She’s a personal shopper and she’d been dying to get ahold of me for years anyway. She took me to have my hair done, had a makeup artist teach me how to do my face, took me out and we tried on a bunch of clothes. Most of them don’t fit anymore because I put on twenty pounds since then but somehow, I got bit by the bug.” She leaned and whispered conspiratorially, “Don’t tell anyone in Denver. I put on my old clothes and wear a wig when I go home. I don’t want them to know I’ve turned into a fashionista.”

“Lips are sealed, baby,” he said through a smile but watched her blink again, surprise lighting her eyes before she cloaked it and sat back.

He let that go when she kept talking.

“Anyway. Now that super-smart, see-into-thoughts-with-the-power-of-his-mind Jacob Decker has made me think on it, I’m wondering if maybe being sick like that didn’t wake me up somehow. Teach me to stop and smell the roses. And by that I mean pampering myself with visits to excellent stylists, spending mega bucks on salon-quality products for my hair, regular facials and way too many trips back to Denver to drop a load on clothes.”

“Not a crime, Emme,” he noted.

She grinned and replied, “Luckily, no.”

“Elsbeth take your back?” he asked.

Another blink, this one more surprised, and she asked, “Pardon?”

“Elsbeth, through this shit, she take your back?”

She held his eyes and she did it a long time before, slowly, she said, “Jacob, honey, I haven’t spoken to Elsbeth in nine years.”

He felt that heat in his chest as he stared at her.

His voice was gruff when he asked, “What?”

“She, um… ended things with you, and I,” she shrugged, “ended things with her.”

“No shit?” he asked.

Her eyes unusually hit the table as she murmured, “I don’t like stupid people.”

Jesus Christ.

“Emme,” he called, and it took some time but she lifted her eyes to meet his. When she did, all he could get out was, “Babe, you two were tight.”

“She threw away something good. I know you know that, Jacob, because it was you she threw away so I don’t want to bring it up and hurt you but I… well, I knew why. And like I said, I don’t like stupid people. I don’t have time for them. So I haven’t seen her in years. She asked me to her wedding. I didn’t go. Mutual acquaintances used to tell me about her but I moved up here about three years ago. I go home often but just to see my folks and friends, none of whom was really close with Elsbeth so,” she shrugged again, “I have no idea what’s happening with her and she definitely has no idea what’s going on with me.”

The waitress came and slid the mozzarella sticks in front of Emme, Emme murmured, “Thanks, Sarah,” the waitress replied, “No probs,” and was off again.

Emme shoved the plate to the middle of the table and offered, “Help yourself.”

She took one.

Deck took one.

He ate it whole, swallowed and shared, “Elsbeth isn’t happy.”

Her head snapped up from looking at the sticks, she chewed, swallowed and asked, “You’ve talked with Elsbeth?”

“Fucked her in Denver last summer.”

Her mouth dropped open.

Deck didn’t know why he said it and he further wouldn’t know why he kept talking.

Then again, he’d talked open and honest to only three people in his thirty-seven years of life. His dad. Chace Keaton. And Emmanuelle Holmes.

“Did it before I knew she was still hitched. Found out she was still hitched when I heard her talkin’ on the phone to her husband even though she tried to hide it. Told her she was a piece of shit, walked out. Before I did that, I had to get dressed so I listened to her tell me how her life was in the toilet and her husband was an asshole. Still left. First time I saw her since back when, and, I’ll admit, babe, I looked her up, she took me up on a get-together, chatted me up until we hooked up. Now I hope it’s the last time I ever see her.”

Emme continued staring at him with lips parted. It was cute. It reminded him of the old Emme when they’d talk politics and he’d say something ridiculously conservative in response to something she’d said that was ludicrously liberal and he did it just to get a rise out of her.

She finally got over her surprise and stated, “Okay, her husband being an asshole, not a surprise. He was that before she married him. He’ll be that forever. He’s probably trying to find ways to be that from beyond the grave, working with gypsies to do it or something.”

Deck felt himself smile as Emme kept talking.

“But, she went for you?”

“Got played, Emme. She told me lettin’ me go was the worst mistake of her life.”

Her shoulders shot straight and she replied instantly, “It was. But cheating on her husband with you without you knowing you were doing it isn’t the way to rectify that mistake.”

And there she showed another something he forgot or buried.

Emme had fire.

It was cute. It had always been cute.

Women like her, it was hard to be cute. She was not small. Elsbeth had been five foot six but teetered around on high heels every day, even in jeans or shorts, so she could be five nine or ten. Emme was five nine; now with high heels she wore with more naturalness than Elsbeth who’d probably put on her first pair at age three, she was six foot at least.

Being tall, curvaceous, intelligent, women like that could be alluring, sexy, a lot of things, but not often cute.

Emme pissed, was cute. When she showed her fire, he always thought so. During a discussion. In defense of a friend.

Fucking adorable.

And no less now.

Shit.

“Got that right, baby,” he muttered through his grin, her eyes again got that weird light before she hid it, shook her head and reached for a stick.

“She’s whacked,” Emme declared.

“Reckon she always was.”

Her eyes lifted to his, held steady and she whispered, “She always was.”

Deck stared into her eyes and his chest seized at what he saw.

Just turn the dial.

Jesus.

She gave him that kaleidoscope and told him to turn the dial, find more beauty.

And fuck him, she was standing at his door the day after Elsbeth dumped him for a rich man who could give her the life she grew up having and Emme had offered herself to him as friend, or maybe even lover. All he had to do was turn the dial.

And he’d been so fucked up by Elsbeth, the promise of her, the beauty he thought he’d lost by not doing what she wanted and losing her, that he didn’t see it. He didn’t see he had something even more beautiful right in front of him.

Until nine years later.

Fuck.

Him.

Before he could capture that moment, she looked away, shoved more mozzarella stick in her mouth and grabbed her beer to wash it back.

She didn’t want that moment. Maybe back then. Now she had a man. Her mind might not be going there. He might be wrong and it might never have gone there. Not where Deck’s seemed to be going every other second, her sitting across from him. But she had a man and fucking him over like Elsbeth fucked over her husband by using Deck last summer would never enter her mind.

Which meant the next week would suck for her because, picture proof, McFarland was into her in a big way. He didn’t know how into McFarland she was, but in cases like this, she wouldn’t have a man on a string and keep casting her lures.

She’d be loyal.

But McFarland was also a dick, a moron and a criminal. And he was going down.

He just wasn’t going to take Emme with him.

“Babe,” he called, she put her beer down and looked at him. “You can’t drink too much beer because you gotta sink all your money in your house?”

Again, her eyes lit, this time with excitement. She leaned into her arms again and smiled so huge, her dimple pressed deep.

“Jacob, honey, I bought this house that… is… the…
absolute… bomb
!”

“Yeah?” he asked.

She nodded.

“Oh yeah. I’m fixing it up. Of course, I have no clue what I’m doing but I did manage to get broadband out there so I have YouTube and I work in a lumberyard… by the way, Dad bought the local lumberyard and I’m running it for him. Which proves what he always said. I could run a ship with a manual just as long as I can convince the men to go about their duties and that I know what I’m doing when I don’t.”

She grinned and the dimple came out. Deck was dealing with how much he liked that dimple when she went on.

“But, anyway, they also tend to know how to plumb stuff and fix stuff and other stuff so I pick their brains if I can’t learn on the Internet. It’s awesome. I’m having so much fun doing it. I can’t wait until it’s done. Which, if the current workload and schedule continue, should be sometime in the next decade and a half.”

She shot back in her seat and her eyes lit even more.

“You have to come up and see it,” she invited.

“I will, babe,” he told her. “Soon,” he promised, though she wouldn’t know just how soon that would be—in other words, that night.

“We’ll set it up,” she said, going for another stick.

He let her eat it and take another sip of beer before he went for it.

“Emme, that guy, McFarland, what’s up with him?”

She tipped her head to the side. “What’s up with him?”

“Where’d you meet him? How long you been seein’ him?”

“He works at the lumberyard so I met him three years ago. But we’ve only been seeing each other for about four months.”

That coincided with the reports.

“Why do you wanna know?” she asked.

He studied her before he asked back, “Straight up?”

He watched her face grow wary even though she answered, “Yeah.”

“Don’t got a good feelin’ about that guy.”

“Why?” she queried, her voice lower, softer but her eyes never leaving him.

He couldn’t tell her why.

All he could say was, “Got a feelin’ in my gut, Emme, I always follow it. He doesn’t give me good vibes. Four months, you must be into him. I’m sorry, babe. But I gotta tell it like it is.”

“We aren’t serious,” she shared.

At least there was that, and Deck didn’t allow himself to process how much relief he felt about it, and not just because of the investigation.

“You exclusive?” he asked.

“Well,” her eyes slid away, not embarrassed, evasive. She looked back to him. “He is. I’m unsure. Though, that said, that doesn’t mean he isn’t the only one. He is. It’s just that I’m not sure I want to make that official.”

And there was that. She was loyal but she was unsure.

More relief.

“Promise me, keep thinkin’ on him ’til you come up with the right answer.”

After that, she held his gaze and again did it direct and steady. “Okay, Jacob. I’ll keep thinking on him.”

He hated doing it, and she found out he was working this, she’d be pissed he did it but he had to do it. For her and for the job.

“Is there a reason you wanna share why you’re unsure?” he asked.

Her eyes again lit with activity. She was thinking on this.

Then she stated, “No. I… well,” she grinned, “I think it’s my gut too.”

Dead end with that, McFarland was giving her bad vibes but nothing to pinpoint. But at least, when they brought McFarland and his crew down, she hadn’t shared anything with him not knowing why he was asking and he hadn’t pressed her to do it.

Better, she was sensing the red flags and didn’t like them.

“Always listen to your gut, Emme,” he advised.

“Right, Jacob,” she said, still grinning.

“No joke. Can’t say this guy is bad news, not for sure. But can say, I don’t like him with my girl. He’s yours. I been in his presence not five minutes. You gotta make your choice and I hope, tonight, us findin’ out we’re near, this won’t end.”

He gestured between them and saw her eyes warm, her face get soft, the dimple come out even just through a grin so he knew, thank fuck, this wouldn’t end.

He kept talking.

“So you like the guy, your gut gets sure, he’ll never know I didn’t like him for you. That’s your choice. Just sayin’, careful.”

“I’m always careful, honey,” she told him, and what was done to her at the age it was done, she would be. Maybe too much.

He just hoped she stayed that way.

For at least another week.

“Good,” he murmured.

She dipped her head to the plate between them. “You gonna eat the last stick?”

“All yours,” he told her and she went for it.

When she was done chewing, swallowing and sipping more beer, he again went for it.

Leaning into his arms on the table, he grinned and demanded, “Now, Emmanuelle, tell me about this house you are no doubt totally fuckin’ up seein’ as you have no clue what you’re doin’.”

Her entire face lit with her low chuckle, she leaned toward him into her arms and she complied.

His flashlight lighting the way, Deck moved through the snow, dense pine and aspen. He had his gun at his hip, his flashlight in hand and a canister of Mace at his other hip.

There were bears in those woods and if he encountered one, he wouldn’t want to put bullets in it. Not because he didn’t want shots heard, but because it would be a crime against nature to bring down such a magnificent beast.

A bear would, however, survive a dose of Mace.

His phone vibrated at his ass, he pulled it out and looked at the display.

In place.

Chace was set.

He’d picked Chace up in town. Chace had dropped him at the road down from Emme’s place and taken off in Deck’s truck. They left Chace’s Yukon in town because they didn’t want to leave a vehicle on a road close to Emme’s house. If Chace managed to keep the tail, he’d send a car to pick up Deck when Deck finished his business.

Deck’s thumb moved over the screen and he sent back,
Copy.

He was about to put his phone back in his pocket when it vibrated in his hand and he saw the display said “Emmanuelle calling.”

Seeing her name on his phone sent warmth through his gut.

Seeing it on his phone after ten at night when he’d left her about half an hour ago and with all the shit going down around her made his warm gut tight.

Fuck.

He stopped, took the call and put the phone to his ear.

“You okay?” he asked as greeting.

“I forgot about Chace,” she replied.

At her words, his body got tight.

“What?” he asked.

“In all the talk about life, my house, your house, which, by the way, if I don’t get an invitation to see it and drink your homemade beer, and soon, I’ll be peeved, and you giving me stick about my Bronco, I forgot to ask about Chace.” Her voice dipped lower. “Been around these parts a while, honey. I heard what happened to him and his then girlfriend, now wife. Are they good?”

His body loosened.

“Since they’re good and the proof of that bein’ the fact that Faye’s heavily pregnant and Chace is actin’ like he’s the first man who’s ever gonna be a daddy on this earth—in other words, he’s over the goddamned moon he knocked up his wife—givin’ you stick about your desecration of God’s vehicular gift to all mankind, the operative part of that word bein’
man
, took precedence over discussing Chace and Faye.”

He heard her low, alluring chuckle, grinned at the phone and continued to make his way through the woods but did it slower, thus quieter. He didn’t want her to hear crunching snow or breaking twigs.

His focus on several things, with ease, he kept it and called up the recent memory of standing outside the opened driver-side door of her Bronco after walking her there when they’d left The Mark, teasing her and making her laugh.

He was not wrong in teasing her. A Ford Bronco was a man’s car, no doubt about it. The fact that her bronze 1995 Bronco had ponytail holders shoved down the gearshift, a glittery butterfly hanging from her rearview mirror that had the words “Free to Fly” in script under it and a marketing shot of Raylan Givens from the TV show
Justified
lounging back in a chair, one leg bent, one cowboy-booted foot stretched straight out, gun up, cowboy hat tipped low on his brow, this taped to the ceiling of the truck over the rearview mirror was Bronco Sacrilege. Not to mention, the truck was clean as a pin.

Some men, seeing that, might be moved to rip that shit out and take it four wheeling, getting it as muddy, dusty and dirty as humanly possible.

Some men, seeing Emme and knowing that was her truck, might be moved to do that either before or after they turned her over their knee for committing such blasphemy.

Deck was finding he was the latter.

Her words cut into thoughts that were making even Deck lose focus.

“Chace’s wife is pregnant?” she asked.

“Heavily,” he answered.

“That’s good,” she said softly. “I… well, after all that went down, you know, after she was rescued and it made the news she was buried alive and Chace was again in the papers, I went to the library to check her out.”

Chace’s wife, Faye, was the librarian at Carnal Library.

Deck said nothing. He still found it difficult to think about that night. A night he spent with a friend who had endured torture, knowing his woman was buried under dirt. So he held onto the fact that they pulled Faye out of that box breathing, a year later he watched her tie the knot with his boy and now they were building a family of more than them and two serious-as-fuck ugly cats that Faye adored.

“She’s really pretty,” Emme told him.

“Yeah,” Deck agreed, still moving.

“Perfect for Chace.”

“Yeah,” Deck repeated, this time with more feeling.

“Knowing he was around, I thought of, you know, doing an approach, letting him know I lived close. But I didn’t know, what with all that went down, if I should. I mean, not only with Elsbeth and how that might reflect on me but also with Chace.”

His boy had had it rough. And Deck was tight with his boy so Emme would know Elsbeth ending things would not make Elsbeth or anyone around her Chace’s favorite people.

It was again pure Emme she’d have a mind to that. All of it.

“Sure he’ll be glad to reconnect.”

“Good, then maybe he and Faye can come over to your house when I’m there drinking your homemade beer. Though Faye obviously can’t drink it.”

He again grinned at his phone as he saw light coming through the trees. He switched his flashlight off and kept up his approach to her house.

“I’ll arrange that. And soon,” he told her.

“Right, great,” she replied. “Then, I was so busy taking your guff about my girl I forgot to ask you over for dinner tomorrow night.”

Pleased she was asking him to dinner, still, Deck moved toward the light but addressed the more important part of what she said, “A Bronco is not a girl. A Bronco is definitely a guy.”

“Her name is Persephone.”

Jesus.

Deck bit back laughter and returned, “I’ve just re-anointed him Elrod.”

“Persephone,” she shot back.

“You don’t like Elrod, you can pick Cletus.”

“I’m not renaming Persephone!” she snapped, but there was humor in her tone.

“All right, baby,” he muttered, smiling at the phone, keeping to the shadows but moving toward the lit clearing he spied through the trees.

He got silence. Complete silence.

So he called, “Emme?”

There was another moment’s quiet then, “Are you coming over for dinner tomorrow night or what?”

He had work to do, that work important, work that would mean getting her clear of that asshole.

“Yes,” he replied.

“Good. The yard is open until six but I go in early and leave early. So I can have dinner on the table by six. But I’ll have beer available from five o’clock on.”

“Then my ass’ll be at your door at five o’clock,” he told her, stopped in the shadow of a tree and trained his eyes on her house.

His back shot straight and he stared.

Jesus.

Fuck.

It wasn’t a money pit.

It was what Chace described it as being.

A nightmare.

He could see under all that dilapidated mess that there was beauty. Amazing beauty.

But she had a long way to go before she got it back to that state. This wasn’t only because it was a nightmare. This was also because it was
huge.

As his eyes moved, he decided, first and foremost, his girl needed new insulation. They’d had sun that day, it was cold but Colorado sun could burn snow off a roof. But there were tall pines all around the house, short days in February, limited sun and the shade those trees would bring would mean the snow they had yesterday should still be on her roof—if her insulation was good.

The snow was gone.

Her insulation was shit and she was losing heat.

She was also probably losing heat through some of those boarded windows.

Fuck.

“Five o’clock,” she said in his ear, again taking his attention. “Now, I’ll expect you to get on your knees before going to bed tonight and pray my oven works tomorrow or we’re going to be reduced to ordering pizza.”

Looking at her house, if the inside was anything like the outside, Deck had no doubt every time she turned on her oven, it was a crapshoot.

“I’m multi-tasking, talking to God right now,” he told her and got another chuckle.

“Good, honey. I’ll see you tomorrow night.”

“See you then, babe.”

“ ’Bye.”

“Later.”

He disconnected, his eyes scanning her house, automatically prioritizing. Insulation. Inspection of the roof, probably reshingling. Definitely windows. Double-paned but wood framed so they would work with the look of the house but hold in the heat.

That was just a start.

And that would cost a small fortune.

Fuck.

The investigation notes said she’d been living there for near on three years. One of those years she’d been ill. Still, that left two others, and it looked like the place hadn’t been touched.

He set aside thoughts of her house, bent his head to his phone, texted Chace with
In position
, got back a
Copy
and he shoved his phone in his back pocket.

Five minutes later, he got a text that said
Incoming
, and a minute after that, the pimped-out Sierra made the approach, parked outside by Emme’s Bronco and McFarland climbed out.

Deck’s throat prickled as he watched the familiar way McFarland approached the house.

The prickle eased when he didn’t walk right in but knocked, waited, and Emme opened the door to him.

It came back when he watched McFarland round her waist with an arm, smile down at her and back her inside.

The door closed.

Deck instantly revised his schedule.

Emme would not be shot of this guy in a week.

He was thinking more like two days.

His phone vibrated and he got a text from Chace.

Man’s in.

Deck texted back,
Saw that. Doing a perimeter check.

Chace sent back
Copy
and Deck moved stealthily around Emme’s property.

As he did, he began to see it. Why she picked this place. He’d even consider it, but only if he viewed it on a day when he felt like taking on a challenge.

There was an outbuilding, built after the main house and not well, and it looked like it was meant to store cars at one point but with Emme’s Bronco out front, it was not used for that now and he could see why. It was in worse shape than the house.

The back had a remarkable garden, terraced up the mountain, incorporating the aspen and pine, this leading down to a patio made of flagstone arrayed in an extraordinary starburst design. All this had been cleared, patio furniture on the flagstone that was probably very nice since it was now covered for the winter. She’d done work here. The garden looked good covered in snow. He figured it’d look amazing in spring and summer.

As he moved around the house he saw there were bay windows, turrets, attractive stone carvings in the façade, even gargoyles in the corners. It had personality. It had been made with a mind to craftsmanship and no expense spared.

But it was over a century old, the last five or six decades not well tended and it showed.

He made it back to position and saw only one light through the windows not boarded. Three floors in the house, second story, left of the front door.

The prickle came back because Deck reckoned it was her bedroom. Usually masters were at the back of the house to avoid street noise. But here, this house being the only one up her lane, no street noise, so the master would be at the front. This was because the back had a view to close-up mountain and trees. The back might have a spectacular garden as well but the front had a panorama of Rockies, the valley and Gnaw Bone. Anyone in their right mind would want that view from their bedroom window.

So they were in her bedroom.

He waited, he watched. They stayed in her bedroom, the light on.

His throat burned.

The light went out.

Deck took in a deep breath through his mouth, letting the cold mountain air ease the burn.

Two days, he’d get her shot of him.

No more.

Definitely.

Ten minutes later, the front door opened. Deck went alert, pulled out his phone and watched McFarland move to his truck.

He texted
Man’s on the move
to Chace.

Got it,
Chace sent back.

McFarland drove through the circular forecourt of Emme’s house and away.

Deck’s eyes moved over the front of the house. No lights except the outside one. Not even a dim one coming from her bedroom.

He gave it time, not too much, that monstrosity, he’d need a lot of it to do a search and he had no idea if or when McFarland would be back.

The investigation notes said McFarland often took night trips to places unknown, leaving Emme but returning. This probably being one of those red flags Emme couldn’t quite put her finger on if McFarland was cagey about where he was going.

But Deck didn’t want to enter until he knew Emme was asleep.

He looked to his watch. She said she was at work early, left early. Which meant she’d go to sleep early. It was just past eleven.

Their dinner finished around ten. He was trekking up the mountain to her house after ten, talking to her on the phone. This meant McFarland came and left, the first probably in two ways, in under an hour.

Which made Deck wonder, even if he didn’t like wondering it, if McFarland had given himself enough time to give Emme what she needed.

That amount of time, he doubted it. A woman like Emme, unless you didn’t have the time and were forced to fuck fast, but good, you took your time.

And lots of it.

He pushed these thoughts aside, moved through the woods surrounding the house, made his approach and picked the lock at a back split farm door he figured would lead to the kitchen.

Turning his flashlight to low beam, he entered and was not surprised to find the kitchen an avocado nightmare. Clearly updated in the ’70s—poorly—it had been left that way, and even with the low beam, its sheer ugliness hurt his eyes.