Scales: Of Justice (Broken But ... Mending Book 3) (25 page)

“I know,” Paris whispered, “But it’s not easy to look at yourself and realize that you are capable of killing.”

“We are all capable of killing,” Jenna said, her voice a steady beacon in the storm. “And it’s that much easier if you are trying to save loved ones. You aren’t guilty of murder. You know that in the eyes of the law. But you are still afraid, aren’t you.”

Paris nodded. “What if they made a mistake?”

“They didn’t,” Delaney said. “The law was very clear in your case. You weren’t let off the hook because you were
never
on the hook.”

“And the things you said,” she asked, getting more backbone into her voice. She glared at the man whose words had tormented her since forever. “You believed them.”

“I did at the time – at least, I worried that they might be true.” He hesitated then plunged in. “I’d just come off a particularly difficult case where a young man had murdered his entire family, including an eighteen-month-old sister. In that case, he had enjoyed it. He’d enjoyed killing each and every one of them.”

At her gasp, he nodded. “So when I saw you, having just killed your own father, I was afraid it was a similar situation, just that side of you hadn’t been developed as much as this other kid. I didn’t want it to be true. I could see something in there, inside of you, but didn’t know what I was seeing. I warned you to be careful and not let that feeling be something you chased. Because once you start killing for your highs in life, there’s no way to stop.”

She shook her head violently. “There was no high. I was sick for days. I couldn’t keep food down and I couldn’t stop shaking.”

“Shock,” Jenna said, “and to be expected. And before we gloss over this, it’s important to understand that at that moment in time when you were saving Sean, you did enjoy it. You enjoyed finally being able to take control. Finally, you could do something about the pain and torment.”

“I didn’t enjoy it as much as I was so damn glad that I’d done it. That I’d picked up that knife and stopped him. I didn’t think, honestly. I just reacted.” Tears started pouring down her cheeks. “I kept telling him to stop, that he was killing him. He answered, ‘Perfect. Good riddance to another one.’”

“Another?” asked Delaney. “Don’t you see? In all likelihood, he killed your mother before you. You’d have been dead next.”

She stared at him, hating the words, the concept, but realizing that he might be right. Relief bloomed ever so lightly inside. Like a tiny unfurling bit of hope. Maybe her mother hadn’t abandoned her. “Maybe that’s why she never came back for me.”

Weaver squeezed her shoulder, making her aware for the first time that she’d spoken out loud. “She’d have come back if she could, you know that.”

“I want to know that,” she corrected. “But chances are, we’ll never know for sure.”

“I’d have to check out the files back then. See if a missing person’s report was filed.”

“He wouldn’t have filed it,” Paris said. “He wanted her gone. At least, he often made comments afterwards.” Rubbing her pounding temple, she couldn’t remember anything clearly anymore.

“I always knew she was gone for good.” She was exhausted and worn out, but she realized what she’d always known inside. Her mother wasn’t
ever
coming back. She couldn’t. She was dead. Her childhood dreams of her mother escaping to a better life, maybe coming back to save her and Sean, were just that – dreams. Happier stories to help her get through the days.

“He killed her.” She crumpled into a chair, her legs too weak to let her stand. “I think I always knew inside.”

“Most likely he did. It would fit the pattern,” Delaney said. “And given that, knowing he killed your mother, do you still think you did wrong? That you’d kill heedlessly in the future?”

Dazed, she stared at him, trying to assimilate what she knew now to her life, her thoughts, and her pain. Her future.

She shook her head. “Never.” She held up a hand. “Unless someone was hurting those I love.”

Weaver, the constable, and Jenna all spoke up at the same time and said the same word.

“Exactly.”

Her gaze went from one to the other, hoping, searching, wanting to see the truth of their words.

And saw what she needed to see – her heart exploded with relief.

And she burst into tears.

*

Weaver snagged her
up and squeezed her tight. That she went into his arms so easily bruised his heart. She’d been through so much. Her and her brother. He closed his eyes and held her close, breathing deeply at all he had just learned. In the background, he could hear the cop speaking with Jenna. There was something about checking when the cop got back to the office. Weaver doubted that they’d find anything about Paris’s mother after all this time. After all, look at his father’s case. It was still open. However, she could now open a missing person’s file on her mother and they’d learn what there was to learn. It was something.

If it wasn’t enough, then he could help her deal with that.

That was a truth he’d been living for a long time.

If they did find out the truth, good or bad, he could help her deal with those issues too. In fact, he’d just like to be there to help her in whatever way he could. She’d helped him. He’d moved past many issues. Just from being around her, seeing her perspective.

And updating his own. That had been his problem – hanging onto the hurt. Paris had been badly hurt and had made it her goal to stuff it deep inside and go on in spite of it. In his case, he’d let the hurt stop him. He could have had relationships since his wife walked out. But he hadn’t. It was easier not to. He had a tough childhood, but even his mother had been working on cleaning up her act.

He hadn’t.

He didn’t know if he believed it or not, but that was his past conditioning judging her. It was time to release that. Let it go and let her go. She was trying – that was all anyone could wish for.

Maybe he could check in on her. See if she wanted to see him. See if she wanted the connection. See if there was a connection to build on.

If not, nothing changed. But if there was, then like Paris said, he’d done without a mother for a long time.

Maybe it was time to change that.

P
aris stood in
the circle of Weaver’s arms. The stuffing was gone from her insides. If he hadn’t been holding her up, she’d have slid to the floor a long time ago.

She didn’t know where to go from here. Her history, her interpretation of events, the hurts, the pain, the sense of abandonment. Everything had changed. All of this information rolled around inside her head. Think about things – or maybe not think, just let sensations rise and fall. Let the lies fall away. The emotions rise and dissipate. Her life was changing from this point forward.

Thank heavens.

As if understanding, Weaver tightened his grip around her. Had he been a part of this? She figured he had. Was she upset about that? She had been earlier. Now… now she understood… maybe. Except her mind couldn’t reconcile betrayal and helping. When did one become the other?

Then she heard voices in the background. Constable Delaney.

Should she let
him
off the hook? She understood now what he’d gone through. Where he’d been at in his life when he’d spoken to her. What his mental process had been coming in.

She’d been terrified back then. Had been looking for bogeymen in her world and with her father gone, she’d placed Delaney in his spot. Especially with the power of the law he wielded firmly behind him.

He hadn’t deserved it. He’d been trying to warn her, to keep her on the straight and narrow. To be good for the rest of her life. He hadn’t meant to terrify her. Okay, maybe he had, but not to panic her.

Not to have her question everything she did in light of his warning. But she had.

If he hadn’t warned her, what would she have done differently? She’d still be afraid that she was too much like her own father. She’d still be worried that she wouldn’t be a good parent. The conflict over not being able to have children would remain.

As if he heard the mess in her head, Constable Delaney said to Jenna, “She’d been badly hurt for years. But a month or two prior to the final blow, she’d been hospitalized with internal injuries.”

Those memories washed through her. The pain. The shock. The dismay at learning she’d never have children.

The conversation still threaded through the air around them, and she knew she had to finish this. Gathering up her courage, she stepped back from Weaver’s arms and turned to face the cop. Her hand entwined with Weaver’s, a reassuring contact that she wasn’t alone.

“I don’t blame you for what you said that day.” Her tone was harsher than she wanted it to be. Her words sharper.

With a sigh, she tried again. “I was so traumatized back then that your words just added to the rest of the nightmare in my life,” she said. “I survived that childhood by learning to hold everything inside. So on the outside I looked calm and in control, cold even, whereas on the inside I was waiting for my world to blow up.” She paused, adding, “I knew I’d done something horribly wrong in the eyes of society, so even though everyone at the time said I’d done what I needed to do and wouldn’t be charged, I couldn’t believe them. Your words aligned closer to the fears inside and meant you were more likely to be right than the others.”

Weaver squeezed her hand. She smiled, staring down at their linked fingers, “So your words were the ones I remembered the most.”

Delaney nodded. “It was that calm that worried me.” He waited then added, “And I’m sorry for adding to your pain back then. You’d been through enough already. If I had a chance to do it all over again, I’d have approached the case very differently,” he said, his tone apologetic yet sincere. “You’ve been on my mind since. I worried about you. When I saw you here…well, I’d hoped to clear the air.”

For the first time, a natural smile crossed her lips. “And you did. Thank you for being persistent enough to push this. I wouldn’t have done it without that.” She slid a sideways look at Weaver. “I caught sight of you and Weaver speaking together this morning. I got quite a jolt.”

She felt Weaver start, and then he squeezed her hand again.

“Has he been plotting this meeting then?” she asked.

“No,” Delaney said. “I’d been trying to convince him to talk you into seeing me.” The older man smiled. “He refused to do anything out of your comfort zone and wouldn’t do anything to hurt you. He’s been very protective.”

“But I did know they’d be here tonight,” Weaver said heavily. “I’m sorry, but this was something you had to do. An opportunity to deal with a huge issue.”

She nodded absently, remembering the sadness in his voice, the sense of finality she remembered. As if the workshop was coming to an end, and so was their relationship.

Maybe it was at that. She was confused and overwhelmed, as if her past had been rewritten. But along with that crazy array of emotions was a lot of confusion over her feelings for him and his involvement.

Last night was too special. Today’s ups and downs – traumatic.

So much had happened in such a short time she didn’t know what she should feel no matter what she
did
feel. And could she trust any of it given the tumultuous events?

“As much as I don’t appreciate the collaborative effort – I do appreciate it,” she said quietly. “I wasn’t strong enough to get here on my own.”

“I didn’t want to deceive you.”

“But you had to.” She nodded. “Got it.”

But she dropped his hand, unable to reconcile the issue. She stared down at the floor, confusion and heartache twisting her up inside. Was it a good thing what he’d done? It was time to let this all go. But could she? Was it a betrayal? Yes. Did she want to forgive him? Hell yes. Could she? She had no idea.

The whole mess was exhausting. From the bad day, now the evening. She’d planned on dinner with Weaver and spending the night with him but had no idea where all of this left her. Left them.

Did he want to move forward, or was this over for him? Was this his goodbye? Not that it made any sense, but then nothing did right now.