Prince Charming Can Wait (Ever After) (27 page)

The silence was overwhelming. The tension brittle. The laughter gone. Even the sun had disappeared behind dark storm clouds that were encroaching upon the afternoon.

Emma squeezed her fists in her lap, fighting back the most incredible sense of desolation and betrayal.

"It's almost four o'clock," Dottie said, closing her notebook, watching Emma carefully. "I have only one more question for you."

Emma managed a smile. "What is it?"

The social worker's eyes were thoughtful, and far too astute. "In your opinion, why is it that your husband failed to make it to the home study today?"

He hadn't appeared. In four hours, Harlan had not called, texted, or walked in the door. He had simply blown it off. "This happens sometimes," Emma said, almost choking on the words. "As I said, sometimes he gets called to an emergency and he can't let me know until he's done."

"Not even a text?" Dottie leaned forward. "Not even for something as important as this?"

Emma bit her lip, fighting to keep her composure, when all she wanted to do was leap up and scream at him, at the world. "He has a sensitive job."

"Indeed." Dottie set her notebook in her briefcase. "It seems to me that a man whose job requires him to abandon his wife in critical moments without so much as a text might not be the best father for a child who has already suffered a great deal of loss."

"No!" Emma felt like her heart was going to crack. "It's not like that. He's a good man. And I love Mattie. She doesn't want to go to South Carolina. She'll be happy and loved here—"

"And abandoned regularly?"

"I would never abandon her—"

"Just you? Shouldn't you have said 'we' will never abandon her?" Dottie's eyes glittered sharply.

Tears stung her eyes, but she fought to control them. "Dottie, I know what it's like to be a child that no one cares about. I would never let Mattie feel that way—"

"I don't doubt that." Dottie shook her head. "But you aren't the only one in this house." She stood up, signaling the end of the interview.

"No." Emma lurched to her feet. "Please don't. It's not like that—" And suddenly the entire story came tumbling out, every bit of it, including why Harlan had married her and why she'd married him. "It's all just because I want to do what's right for Mattie—"

"You faked a marriage to get approved? Really?" Dottie shook her head. "I'll be honest. I like you, Emma. And I even liked Harlan when I met him." Sympathy flashed in her eyes. "And I even understand, on some level, what drove the two of you to get married. But neither of you, alone or individually, is in a place where you're ready to focus on Mattie, or any other child in need." She shut her briefcase, locking it down. "She may not like her grandparents, but based on my conversations with the social worker from South Carolina, they can provide a stable home for her, and they want to."

Emma's heart felt like it was breaking. "No, please—"

"There are always children who need to be fostered," Dottie said. "In a year or two, when you're in a better place, give me a call. I think you could be good for kids when the time is right, but for now, I am not going to be able to approve you as a foster parent, or recommend you to adopt her or anyone else."

"Dottie." Emma followed her to the door, desperately trying to think of what to say. All she could think of was Mattie's desperate face when she'd said that she didn't want to go to her grandparents. "But Mattie needs me—" Dottie paused with her hand on the doorknob. "Mattie will survive. Children always do."

"Do they?" Emma challenged, no longer able to contain her frustration and anger with Harlan, with a system that erected barriers between families that were supposed to be together, like she and Mattie. "What about Mattie's brother, who ran away? Has anyone found him yet? How well did he do without a home?"

Dottie raised her brows. "They did find him."

Emma blanched. "What? When?"

"In California. The police arrested him, but by the time we found out, they'd already released him. Actually, he escaped from the hospital."

Emma stared at her, a vice tightening in her chest for the boy she'd never met, the one Mattie had told her so much about. "The hospital? What was wrong with him?"

"He'd been stabbed in some sort of street fight."

Emma's stomach turned, and she clutched the doorframe. "Is he okay?"

Dottie's gaze flicked to Emma's fingers, where they were clenched around the wood. "They don't know. He escaped before he could be evaluated."

Emma felt sick. "So, he's out there somewhere, injured? He's only fourteen!"

"Yes, he is." Dottie studied her. "There's one more question I have for you, Ms. Larson."

Hope leapt through Emma. Was all not lost? "What is it?"

"If you were to adopt Mattie and her brother was subsequently located, are you willing to also adopt him? A fourteen year old boy who was recently arrested for drug possession and fighting?"

Emma blinked, startled by the question. "I hadn't thought—"

"Of him. Of the fact that maybe you alone aren't enough for Mattie, and she would want her brother with her? Her grandparents want them both. Family matters, Ms. Larson, and we try to keep them together whenever possible." Sympathy flickered in Dottie's eyes. "I know you tried, but children aren't a game. Good day."

Then she was gone, leaving Emma standing in her empty cabin, the world seeming to crash in around her. She couldn't breathe. She'd failed Mattie.
Failed her
. "Oh, God." Numbly, she sank down onto the couch, her hands starting to shake violently. Tears started to pour down her cheeks, and they wouldn't stop. Anger roared through her, fury at Harlan for not showing up. She grabbed her phone and scrolled down to her recently made calls. She found the one she wanted.

It rang twice and then the voicemail came on for Renée, the woman who had called her to report Harlan had gone missing. Emma fought back sobs as she waited for the beep, then spoke into the phone. "This is Emma Larson, Harlan Shea's wife." She swallowed, trying to catch her breath. "Tell him that we failed the home study because of his complete failure to appear, and—" A fresh sob caught her, and she pressed the phone to her forehead, needing a desperate minute to compose herself before she could even speak. "Mattie's going to South Carolina," she finally said. "Tell him I will no longer cry for him. I take back my promise, just like he took back his."

Words then failed her, and she hung up the phone, throwing it on the carpet as sobs caught her.

"Come on!" Harlan shouted at the inert figure in his arms, rain pouring off them both as he fell to his knees, clutching the woman he'd just rescued from a cement hellhole that had made his stomach turn.

"Stay here," Blue commanded him as he jerked his chin toward Harlan's left. "There's another cabin over there. I want to check it out before everyone gets back." They'd timed their retrieval for the time of day when no one bothered to be on duty. The kidnappers had had the victims for long enough that they'd gotten too relaxed, a mistake they would pay for.

"You've got one minute." Harlan couldn't take his gaze off the woman. She was young, maybe twenty, and so thin, hidden away in a hellhole for two months until his team had been called in. "Don't die," he growled to her, not sure what to say. Blue was the one who'd always done the pretty talk with the victims, but the bastard was already sprinting away. "We're here for you. Don't give up."

Her eyes flickered open, hopeless pits of weariness. Her eyes were pale green, almost the same color as Emma's, making his stomach clench. "Too late," she said quietly. "It's too late."

"It's not too late." He held her closer to his chest, using his body to protect her from the driving rain. "We're on our way out. All you have to do is hang on for a few more minutes."

"No." Her eyes fluttered closed. "He's gone. I have to go with him."

"Who's gone?"

"Ricardo. My husband. They took him. They killed him." Her body went limp. "There's no point."

Shit. She was giving up. He could feel her despair, like a thick coat of anguish on his flesh. "Come on," he urged. "You can't give up. Ricardo wouldn't have wanted you to." But even as he said it, it felt like a lie. Who the hell knew what Ricardo would have wanted her to do?

"I got another one!" Blue shouted, tearing across the clearing with a man tossed over his shoulder. "But I can hear their trucks returning. We gotta go!"

Harlan lurched to his feet, holding the woman in his arms. "Don't give up," he ordered her. "There's a lot to live for." She didn't answer, her breath becoming even shallower. "Shit!"

Blue caught up to him. "Let's go—"

"Maria?" A raspy hoarse voice seemed to grind out of the chest of the man Blue was carrying. His thin hand reached for the woman in Harlan's arms as Blue raced past.

Harlan swore. "Blue! Stop!"

"We don't have time—"

"Stop!"

Blue whirled around, his face streaked with dirt and mud, his eyes hollow from their three-day stakeout without enough food or sleep "What?"

Harlan sprinted over to Blue and positioned the woman so she could see the man on Blue's shoulder. Tears filled the man's bloodshot eyes, and he rested a hand on hers. "Maria," he croaked.

Her eyes fluttered open. She saw him through half-mast eyes. "Ricardo?"

"You're alive," he whispered, tears streaming down his cheeks. "They told me you were dead, but I knew you weren't. I stayed alive because I knew you needed me. I'm here, Maria. I'm here for you." He grabbed her hand, and Maria's thin hand clutched his.

"They said you died," she whispered. "I thought you were dead."

"No, no, no," Ricardo said. "I would never die on you." His body was bruised and bleeding. He was so thin that the bones on his wrists seemed to strain his skin, but his voice was fierce. "I never gave up."

"Ricardo," Maria whispered, a single tear sliding down her parched cheek.

"We gotta go," Blue said. "Now!"

Harlan directed his command to the two people holding hands. "We're going to get you both out of here. Do you understand?"

This time, the woman in his arms nodded, keeping her gaze fixed on Ricardo. "Hurry," she whispered.

Hurry. The woman who had been surrendering to death was now ordering him to hurry? Shit, yeah. Harlan broke into a dead sprint for their truck, hidden almost a hundred yards away, keeping pace with Blue.

They reached it quickly. Harlan grabbed the wheel, and Blue took care of the victims, as was their tradition. A split second later, they were on the road, hauling ass to the helicopter waiting for them. Harlan had just pulled off the road beside it when he heard the howl of agony explode from the backseat.

Blue swore as Harlan slammed the truck to a stop beside their ride. He shoved the door open and leapt out, shouting for the medic. But when he opened the rear door to extract the victims, he froze. Ricardo was holding his wife, but her head was lolled back, her eyes closed. The man was sobbing, his face pressed to his wife's chest, his arms holding her so tightly.

Blue looked at him grimly. "She didn't make it."

"No!" Harlan tore Maria out of Ricardo's grasp. "We have a medic on board. Come on!" He sprinted across the grass and almost threw her into the medic's arms, shouting at him to help her. The next few minutes were a frenzied whirlwind of agonizing sobs from Ricardo, quick and desperate action by their medic, and the roar of the helicopter as they got airborne.

But when Harlan saw the medic shake his head, he knew it was too late. Ricardo let out a keening wail of agony, pulling his wife into his arms as he broke down. All the dirt, all the bruises, all the hell he had suffered…had all been for naught. He'd survived for his wife, and she had not survived for him. The depth of loss wracking his body was devastating.

Son of a bitch. They'd failed. They'd been too late.

Blue looked at Harlan, his face grim and exhausted, then turned away, staring out at the treetops.

But Harlan couldn't look away as he watched Ricardo rock back and forth, holding his wife in his arms, howling with grief for the woman he loved. The woman who had loved him enough to try to come back from the edge of death for him, but couldn't, because she had given up too soon.

Son of a bitch.

He'd never hated his job before, until now. Until it hurt.

Harlan sprinted up the stairs to his hotel room, his boots thudding on the cracked cement stairs. He was still filthy, covered in mud and Maria's blood. He couldn't get the sound of Ricardo's grief out of his mind, couldn't stop seeing the image of him holding his wife as if he could somehow bring her back to life by the sheer strength of his love.

He shoved open the door to his hotel room and grabbed his phone. His hands still filthy and grimy, he wasted no time. He just hit send on his favorites. The phone went right into Emma's voice mail, and Harlan tightened his grip as he listened to her voice. Ricardo would never hear his wife's voice again. Never. They had been too late.

He sat down heavily on the lumpy bed, resting his head on his palm as he waited for the message to end. He didn't even know what to say. He just had to say something. The recording ended. "Emma," he started, but his phone beeped.

He quickly took the phone away from his ear to look at who was calling, hoping it was Emma. It wasn't. It was Renée. Shit. She would want to know about the mission. Swearing, he switched over. "Hey—"

It was a recording that she had forwarded a voicemail to him. He ground his jaw and let the forwarded message play, but for the first time in his life, he didn't really give a shit about work. He didn't want to know about the next person in crisis. He just wanted to talk to Emma.

Then Emma's voice came on the line, and he froze, gripping the phone tighter. "This is Emma Larson, Harlan Shea's wife." Harlan's chest tightened.
His wife.
There was a pause, a sound almost as if she was breathing heavily.