30. Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty
D eclan
The look on Emma’s face is nothing short of comical.
Her jaw drops open and her entire face turns white, before rapidly reddening. Then she slaps her hand over her mouth, as horror bleeds into her eyes.
"I’m so sorry," she exclaims. "I didn’t know…"
She turns an accusatory look at me as if this is all my fault.
I shrug, taking a sip of coffee from the mug in my hands. "I didn’t know she would show up today either. She surprised me too."
"That’s because every time I warn you before I visit, you try your very best to be unavailable" Rachel answers with an eye roll that reminds me so much of Amelia. "This time, I decided to just show up. Amelia told me already what hotel you were staying in and since I needed a vacation anyway, after that disaster of a fashion week, I figured why not do it here?" Her gaze darts around the room, and she frowns. "Although this isn’t one of the nicer Marriotts I’ve been in."
"It’s the nicest thing they have in Laketown."
"Ah, right, this place is called Laketown. How quaint." Her eyes shift back to Emma with that last sentence, and she seems to scan her from head to toe. Emma reddens even more.
"I’ll go change," she practically squeaks and spins around.
"Oh no, please don’t," Rachel says, holding out a placating hand. "I think that shirt actually looks good on you. More than good actually. Your curves do it justice and give the shirt a nice silhouette." She gestures to her slender physique. "I never understood the point of wearing your boyfriend’s shirt before, because it always just swam around my frame. But I think I get it now." She peers at her even closer, rubbing her chin. "In fact, you’re giving me an idea for a new collection."
"And who gave you permission to use my girlfriend as your muse?" I ask and Emma turns shocked eyes to me at the word 'girlfriend'. I don't take it back though. I’ve sort of accepted the term now. Even though it’s not a perfect descriptor for our relationship, it’s all anybody else needs to know about us.
But she won't be my girlfriend for much longer.
God, even just thinking about it drags me down like a weight, so I put it out of my mind for now.
"I don’t need permission," Rachel replies. "It's the twenty-first century. A woman can admire another woman’s body without being condemned to the gallows."
It’s my turn to roll my eyes. "That’s not what I meant, and you know it."
She smirks and then sticks out her hand to Emma. "I’m sorry. We’re being rude. My name is Rachel by the way, I’m Amelia’s mom. After my daughter told me about her father’s fun new girlfriend, I had to come check you out myself. Forgive my nosiness."
"Um…hi," Emma says with a tentative smile. She takes her hand albeit awkwardly. "I'm Emma. And don't worry about it. Everyone down here is kinda nosy too."
I go to stand at her side, drawing her against me for support. My ex can be a force of nature when she wants to be and I don’t want Emma to feel intimidated by her.
Rachel doesn’t miss the move and the tiniest of smiles appears at the corner of her lips.
"I have to admit, you’re not what I was expecting," she says. "I don’t think my imagination stretches as far as I thought. But you just might be better than what I imagined."
"Thanks," Emma says and her smile turns genuine, lighting up the whole room. "I think you’re exactly what I thought though. You’re gorgeous."
"Oh, honey." Rachel expertly throws her perfectly curled brown locks over her shoulders. "This is on two hours of sleep and a sangria. You should see me at my best, after a retreat to Bali or something."
Emma chuckles but before she can respond to that, Amelia's bedroom door opens and my daughter slowly emerges.
"Why are you guys so loud?" She's grumbling under her breath, as she rubs her eyes. Then finally, she pauses and then squints at us.
"Mom?"
"Hey, sweetie." Rachel waves at her. "I came to visit."
Amelia blinks at her, then at me, and finally at Emma.
"This isn’t some kind of family meeting, right?" she says. "Is there bad news? Is grandpa dead?"
"No, honey, both your grandfathers are alive and well. I really only came to visit. And to check out your dad’s new girlfriend of course."
"Oh." Amelia relaxes a little and shuffles over groggily to give her mother a hug around the waist. "Emma’s cool. Don’t worry."
"Yes, I can see that," Rachel says and her eyes glint with amusement, which drops to a frown as she analyzes her daughter’s face. "Is that a pimple?" She pinches Amelia’s cheeks between her perfectly manicured fingers and continues. "It is a pimple. Amelia Rose, have you not been using those face masks I gave you?"
"I have mom, I’m just prone to pimples."
"So was I when I was your age, that’s why I gave you those face masks. You have to use them religiously hon, because you don’t want to be on Accutane when you’re older. Trust me it’s a nightmare."
"Ok, I get it. Ugh, let go already, you’re being a freak."
I'm entertained by their quibbling and then I meet Emma’s gaze. She gives me a bemused look, a cross between amused and overwhelmed.
I raise an eyebrow. Are you okay?
She nods and then gives me one of her pretty smiles that shows the dimple on her cheek.
I want to kiss her right there and then, and I would have had it not been for the promise I made to Amelia. Instead, I settle for just admiring her lips.
I don't think I do a good job of hiding my intent either, which is proven when Amelia says, "Ugh, they’re making kissy faces at each other again." I glance back in time to catch my daughter’s expression of disgust. "They do that all the time."
"Do they?" Rachel has a look on her face like she’s in on a joke that no one else can decipher. This means she's probably about to start her interrogation. It's time to make my escape.
"Alright." I put down my cup of coffee and say, "I think it's time to head out to work now. Sandy should be here any moment."
"I don’t think she needs her nanny when she has me," Rachel says.
"Noted." I turn to Emma. "You wanna come with me? I can give you time to get changed."
She considers it for more than a few seconds before she shakes her head. "No, it’s fine. I think I’ll just stay here."
I raise my eyebrow. "Are you sure?’
"Yeah," she says with a flashing smile. "I wanna hang out with Rachel and Amelia."
That really surprises me. I try to search for a hidden meaning behind her words but find nothing.
"Oh relax," Rachel says. "We’re not going to bite her. We can just have a girl’s day. Correct?"
Emma nods.
I sigh, resigned.
"Yeah, just make sure you stay with the bodyguards." The team of two bodyguards that I hired just arrived from New York and were waiting downstairs in the lobby. They're from an agency I use all the time in New York and I was assured of their efficacy.
I briefed them yesterday about everything that happened. Our conversation gave me confidence they would do what needed to be done to protect my daughter and Emma.
"Bodyguards?" Emma asks.
"Yes," I say. "I’ll introduce you to them before I leave."
"Are bodyguards necessary? It was just a break-in."
"Someone tore apart your house Emma," I say. "It wasn’t just a break-in. It looked personal and I’m not taking any chances when it comes to you, whether you like it or not." I drop a kiss on her forehead in lieu of her lips and say, "Now get ready so I can call them in and introduce you."
Emma is stunned, blinking for a few moments before she finally agrees with a husky whisper. "Okay."
The introduction to the bodyguards goes smoothly. One of them, Monty, is a large, hulking man who used to guard a senator’s daughter. He is very gentle with Amelia and tries his best not to intimidate her despite his size. He also doesn't seem offended when she comments on his baldness and even laughs when she remarks, "I can see my reflection on it."
The other one, Cross, is a lean, quieter man who seems curious when Emma begins telling him about the town and its lore. He stares at her in an almost eerie, unblinking way. And if I didn't already know he was gay, I would have been worried.
All in all, I leave them comfortably and head out to begin my day.
I first drive toward the hotel to make sure construction is continuing as planned. The PI, Frederick, arrived yesterday and dusted off the area for whatever prints he could find. He also spent most of the day walking around looking for clues.
I'm wondering if it's too early for him to have something for me, when I get a call.
"Hello," I answer.
"Hey, bud." It's the elderly cop, Officer Jensen. "Hope you’re having a good morning. I just wanted to let you know that we’ve solved the case about what happened with your office."
"What do you mean?"
"We caught the culprit. His name is Nate Huntley. Ring a bell"
"No. Should it?"
"Nate has been in the pound a few times for petty theft. One of your men saw him around the area looking fishy, and I took him in for questioning. Got him to slip up and eventually he admitted to everything."
"Really?"
"Yeah. You can come down here and see for yourself."
"I’m on my way." I drift into the shoulder of the road and then make a U back towards the center of town.
Nate Huntley turns out to be a short, dark-haired man with beady eyes and gritty stubble who fidgets in his seat and twitches like an addict.
"He got ants on his ass or something?" I ask the officer as we enter the cold, grey interrogation room. It smells faintly of cigarettes.
"Or something," The officer responds wryly.
Nate looks up as we walk in.
"I heard you were the one who broke into my office," I ask as I stand over him.
"Yeah?" He responds antagonistically. "And what about it?"
"Why did you do it?"
"He said he needed money and thought you would have some cash there." The officer answers. "Once he realized nothing was there, he got pissed and trashed the whole place."
"Ah. Is that why you wrecked the wheel loader too?"
There's a flicker of a pause before he answers, "Yeah. That one was for a friend. You have no right coming into town and looking down on us poorer folk, doing whatever you want."
It almost sounds convincing. Almost. But there's a little twitch and eye flicker when he speaks that makes me doubt it. I try again.
"So what did you do with the transmission?" I ask. "After you took it out?"
"I sold it for some cash," he says, grinning, far too happy about his crime.
Except I doubt now that he even committed the crime.
The transmission wasn't missing from the machines, only damaged.
He would know that if he actually damaged it. But he didn't. Which means he's taking credit for a crime he never committed.
Why?
I have no clue, but something strange is definitely going on.