Chapter 21
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
“Have I told you how much I despise Mackenzie Archer?” I groused as I took in the rolling hills on either side of the two-way street that could use repaving.
“Seven times in the last five minutes,” Tucker returned.
“This is going to suck,” I mumbled.
“Yup.”
“How long do you think it’ll take Dylan to get a workup on Melanie?”
Tucker quickly glanced at me and grinned before his eyes went back to the road.
“Why are you smiling at me like that?” I asked when he didn’t answer my question.
“Just find it amusing you called Dylan instead of your people.”
“My people have rules and a chain of command to follow,” I reminded him. “Yours don’t. Plus it helps Dylan worked for the NSA before Triple Canopy got their hands on him.”
“Ah, so you did your research.”
“No. I asked him where he learned his hacking skills.”
Tucker’s grin faded into a frown I didn’t understand.
“I wasn’t coming onto the man,” I huffed. “He’s fast. I was curious where he learned how to get in and get out of places he shouldn’t be undetected.”
Tucker gave me the side-eye without his gaze leaving the now winding road in front of him. A trick I would’ve found impressive and amusing if I wasn’t annoyed.
“Did he tell you why he left the NSA?”
“We didn’t have a heart to heart, Tucker. I asked him about his previous employer.”
“Lose the attitude, Lizzy.”
Lose the attitude?
I whipped my head in his direction, made big eyes, and warned, “You’re cruising for our first marital fight that will end with you sleeping on Allyson’s couch.”
“First, there will never be a time when either of us sleeps on the couch. Second, I was asking because he left the NSA after his wife died. It’s not a secret, neither is him working at the NSA, but he doesn’t talk about that time. As in, ever. It’s like those years don’t exist. So I was surprised he mentioned it to you.”
Dylan’s wife died?
Oh no.
“No, he didn’t tell me,” I softly confirmed. “And his answer was succinct, just that he worked there straight out of college.”
There was a long stretch of silence as Tucker continued to drive. The deeper we got into the valley the more spread out the houses became. Lots of pastureland, dilapidated barns, farmhouses in various states of disrepair, but no animals that I could see. And there were no crops, just meadowed grassland. Had we not thoroughly mapped out how to get to the compound I would’ve thought Allyson was lost—that’s how deep into nowhere we were.
The silence was broken by my phone ringing. I reached between my feet and dug through my purse, grabbed my cell, and looked at the screen.
“Dylan,” I begrudgingly announced, and answered the call on speaker. “Hey, Dylan.”
“I see you’re almost there so I’ll make this quick. So far, Melanie Stevens is coming up clean. No priors. No run-ins with the law. Filed for divorce fifteen years ago when her husband ran off. The divorce was granted six months later. The ex-husband lives in Florida. Five evictions on his credit. A 2002 Dodge Ram registered in his name. No mortgage. No savings. No property. Taxes filed on time and according to his 1040 filing he makes thirty-six K a year. The guy’s a deadbeat, never paid child support, and from what I could find never went back to Tennessee to see his daughter, Jennifer. The daughter’s clean, too. Lives in Chattanooga, like Sarah told you. She works at a catering company as the head pastry chef. Makes decent money but she’s not rolling in it. Has a car loan she pays on time. Rent is current. No record. Now, Melanie’s not rolling in it either, but a year ago her income significantly increased.”
“How significantly?” I asked.
“Tripled. And that’s her personal income. The coffee shop’s finances improved after Mackenzie invested, but not enough to support Melanie’s salary increase.”
“So, Mackenzie’s dealing drugs behind the coffee shop, paying Melanie to look the other way, and the woman is claiming her hush money on her taxes.” Tucker chuckled.
“There are stupid criminals, then there are stupid criminals. Melanie probably thinks she’s doing the right thing paying taxes on the payoff. It helps ease the moral dilemma,” Dylan stated then added, “You’re coming up on the turnoff. I just wanted to give you the preliminary on Melanie.” Dylan cleared his throat and went on. “Also, Liza, I got your mother’s hospital records.”
“And?” I quickly asked.
“Two days ago she went to the emergency room with flu-like symptoms. An X-ray showed pneumonia. Her pulse ox was low, she was admitted, given IV antibiotics and breathing treatments. Her doctor’s notes indicate she’s improving. She’s due to be released tomorrow. As a precaution, her doctor prescribed her home oxygen for the next seven days or until she follows up with her primary care physician.”
“So she’s fine.”
My statement was just that—a statement, but still Dylan answered, “I’m not a doctor so I can’t say, but according to her chart, she was admitted and treated for the flu and pneumonia. The antibiotics and steroids did what they’re supposed to do, now she’s going home with the advice of taking it easy for a few days and using the portable oxygen.”
My father had made it sound like my mom needed around-the-clock care when she absolutely did not. Actually, my mother wouldn’t be best pleased to have someone fussing over her. She was the fuss er , not the fuss ee . I didn’t understand the purpose of my father’s call. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to know my mom was ill, but the demand to come home was over-the-top, considering. He was not a caregiver, not to my mom, and certainly not to me, but the man could go to the grocery store and heat his wife up some soup after he got home from work.
“Thanks for checking on that for me, Dylan. I’ll touch base with her tomorrow when I know my father’s at work.”
“Hate to tell you this, but your father’s got a flight to New Jersey scheduled for tomorrow morning.”
And there it was.
The asshole didn’t want to cancel a trip to Atlantic City to care for his wife.
God, he was such a dick.
“Wouldn’t want to miss the NBA finals,” I muttered.
Allyson slowed. Tucker followed her lead and turned off to a gravel road that was surprisingly well kept.
“We’re here, brother. Gotta go. Thanks for the update.”
“I’ll let you know when I have more.”
Dylan rang off.
I stared at my phone, pondering the merits of calling my father. I was a woman well past the age of being ordered around by her father. I was also a woman who was beyond an age where her father should scold his child for working . I wasn’t out boiling bunnies or hatching a diabolical scheme to take down the internet. I was working. I was also thinking perhaps it was time I told my father what a monumental prick he was, always had been, and how his shitty parenting had left me with issues I was too screwed up to deal with. Though, my father would turn that last part around on me and use it as proof positive I was weak and needed to toughen up. Proof I was unworthy of his love and respect.
He was a Monroe, and Monroes were successful and feared in the boardroom.
I was an Army Vet and in law enforcement. Neither of those were good enough.
“Lizzy, maybe you should put down your phone before you break it.”
Sure enough, I had a death grip on the stupid thing.
“He’s such an asshole,” I whispered.
Tucker grunted what I took as his agreement.
“He wants me to come take care of his wife so he doesn’t have to cancel his trip. Not that he’ll cancel. It won’t matter if I’m there or not, he never misses playing the sportsbook in AC during the NBA finals, or the World Series, or the Super Bowl. And then there’s tennis. He’d swing a trip for the ATP finals if nothing important was happening at work. He didn’t give a shit if the finals were in December and they’d been invited to Christmas parties. She’d be expected to attend, give his apologies for not being there, and play dutiful wife to her perfect can-do-no-wrong husband.”
Another grunt.
“You know, I’ve never told him to fuck off.”
“Lizzy—”
“I think maybe it’s time I stop cowing and start crowing.”
“I don’t disagree with you. But maybe you save that until we have time for you to give him a proper dressing down. And a time when after you’re done I can see to you and not when we’re on an assignment.”
We.
After you’re done I can see to you.
Mine.
“Okay.”
“Okay,” he repeated, and put his hand on my knee.
My gaze went from my phone to Tucker’s hand.
All I had to do was take that hand and I knew he’d show me the way. All I had to do was trust him to take care of me and he would.
In theory it was simple.
Putting it into practice scared the hell out of me.
“When I make that call don’t let me forget to tell my father I’ll be sending him the electroshock therapy bills I’m going to encounter when I go in to exercise his damage.”
“Baby,” he quietly muttered, and squeezed my thigh.
Just take his hand, Liza.
“I’m joking but I’m not,” I told him. “Intellectually, I know why I am the way I am. Logically, I understand his neglect is the cause of my commitment issues. But fear isn’t logical. I can’t just rationalize my way out of it when it hits.”
“You know I understand that fear.”
Yes, I knew he did. When he’d shared his father’s infidelity he’d been open about his fear he’d one day follow in his father’s footsteps. That growing up with a father who had repeatedly cheated and carried on relationships with other women outside of his marriage would inherently make him a cheater. That was why Tucker had never had a girlfriend in high school, nor a long-term, serious relationship as an adult.
“Do you think I’d ever cheat on you?”
Tucker’s question had me turning his way, or maybe it was his sharp tone that had me shifting in my seat to look at him.
“What?”
“Do you, think I’d, ever cheat on you?” he asked again, slowly this time.
“No. Why?”
“But you’re afraid if I love you I’ll neglect you.”
I wasn’t sure if that was a question or if he was simply stating my fear.
“I guess. I don’t know. It’s all twisted in my head. I don’t know why me loving you doesn’t scare me, but the thought of you loving me back has me wanting to crawl out of my skin.”
As soon as I admitted the truth, shared the crux of my issue, I wanted to pull the words back.
“Sweetheart.”
I heard his pain in that one gut-punch word.
“I know it sounds crazy?—”
“It doesn’t. What it was, was honest. That’s the part that’s twisted. That’s the part I’m going to detangle. The same way I had to undo the damage my father inflicted, you have to do the same. Now that I understand where your head’s at, I’m going to see to doing just that. And I won’t stop until you can accept I love you and hear me say those words to you without retreating and running. While I’m working that out, I’m going to hold onto the knowledge you love me. And just so you get the full scope of what’s happening here, the next time you try to push me away, I’m gonna tear that scar wide open and bleed it out until the poison he left you with is purged.”
That sounded scary and painful.
Mine.
So scary, I shoved it to the back of my mind as we approached the first house on the compound. A modest-sized, red barn-style home, with a gabled front porch complete with a cute cartoonish bear with a welcome sign around its neck.
“Mackenzie’s house,” I noted.
“Lizzy,” Tucker growled. “Did you hear me?”
Mine.
“Loud and clear, Tucker.”
This time when he grunted, I could cipher the sound so I pretended I didn’t hear it.
What I couldn’t pretend was that I didn’t feel something so big I felt like I was going to fly apart; my chest heaved with it and my stomach clenched. But mostly my heart filled with so much hope I knew I’d lost the battle.
Tucker had won.
It was then I covered his hand on my thigh.
He immediately pulled his hand away, twisted it so we were palm to palm, and laced his fingers through mine.
The rest of the drive was done in silence—the heavy kind that left me unsettled. Thankfully, the drive to Allyson’s cute cottage was quick. If I’d been in a better state of mind I would’ve appreciated the cherry yellow batten board siding and red tin roof. But I was too lost in my head to give more than a passing thought. By the time Tucker parked behind Allyson in a makeshift driveway, I was ready to jump out of the car. Unfortunately, Tucker halted my mad dash for fresh air by tugging my hand in his direction, before he kissed the inside of my wrist.
“Everything’s going to work out.”
“Okay.”
“Lizzy, baby, I promise you, everything is going to work out.”
I knew two things: Tucker was not the kind of man who made promises he couldn’t keep. Neither was he the type of man who would purposefully break my heart. But this was one of those times when logic and fear warred.
“I believe you,” I begrudgingly told him. “Just don’t be mad if I need you to keep reminding me.”
Another kiss, this one a brush of his lips over my fingers.
“I’ll remind you every day for the rest of your life if that’s what it takes.”
Then for the first time in my life I realized how very wrong my mother was. Love wasn’t supposed to be hard, it wasn’t supposed to come with conditions, it wasn’t built around time, it wasn’t something you fit into your schedule, and it certainly wasn’t selfish.
Love was easy. It was freeing and nourishing and self-sacrificing.
Either my mother didn’t understand the meaning of love and taught her daughter love was conditional and came with pain and disappointment, or she loved my father unconditionally and in doing so didn’t see the damage her excuses had caused.
Neither were acceptable.
And as I stared into Tucker’s beautiful gray eyes, I was thinking he was just the man to teach me the right way to love. And I hoped to God it would take the rest of my days to learn.