Chapter Forty
Elise
Glasses clinked among the low buzz of chatter in the upmarket hotel bar in LoDo Denver. I’d been here three hours, knocked back five martinis, and had also knocked back three offers from men asking to ‘join me.’
My mom had passed ten days before, but I’d stayed to arrange and attend her funeral, which had been held the day before.
It was small but beautiful, exactly what she would’ve wanted. Mom and Dad were together. They’d transcended, and I couldn’t help thinking she’d wanted that too.
It was crazy how death had become such a big part of my life. Dad, John, Connie, Stevie, now Mom. So many people who were so pivotal were now just a memory.
And I was officially an orphan, though I couldn’t be mad about it because at least my folks experienced love, laughter, and a happy marriage, unlike me.
Robert was never home, and I didn’t give one ounce of a fuck. The only downside was that mine and Dave’s investigation had stalled. If Robert wasn’t home to leave threads of evidence, I had nothing to hand over to be analyzed. We’d gotten a lead on Constance about six months before. Dave had gone to Las Vegas to check it out, but the address we had didn’t turn out to be correct.
But I’d never stop looking.
I startled slightly as a bulky figure slid onto the barstool beside me. I’d been so deep in my thoughts I hadn’t even sensed anyone approach.
“Evening,” a deep, husky voice greeted. “Can I get you another one of those?”
He was big and masculine, and he wore jeans and cowboy boots with a button-down. It shouldn’t have worked, but it did for him. But then I guessed most things did. He was very handsome.
I drained my martini and placed the glass back on the bar. “You know what? Thank you. I think I’d like that.”
He motioned to the bartender, then turned on his stool to face me head-on. A large, strong, work-calloused hand came toward me. “Tucker.”
My eyes raised and met warm, brown ones. He was good-looking, in an earthy, country, cowboy way. He reminded me of Gerard Butler but with more salt and pepper in his hair. There were no frills with this man, no airs or graces. What you saw was what you got, and he made no apologies for it.
Tucker’s hand engulfed mine, its warmth seeping through my skin, and I murmured, “Elise.”
“Pretty,” he said, the huskiness in his tone almost making the word a growl. The way his gaze flicked across my features indicated he wasn’t talking about my name. “You here alone?”
The bartender placed my drink in front of me and I smiled my thanks to him. “Yes. You?”
He nodded. “Here on business, stayin’ until Friday.” He reached for his beer bottle, slugging some back. “You married?”
“Yes,” I replied. “My husband is an asshole. I buried my mother yesterday, and he didn’t come to the funeral. Usually, he’s all about keeping up appearances, but these days, he cares less than I do, and believe me when I say I really don’t care.”
A soft laugh escaped his throat. “I like your honesty, Elise. My wife was the same. She said exactly what was on her mind, and it was usually inappropriate.”
“Was?” I questioned.
“Two years ago,” he murmured. “Brain tumor.”
My hand automatically covered his, resting on the bar. “I’m sorry, Tucker.”
His fingers lifted and touched mine, arranging them until they laced together. “Thank you. Miss her every day.” His eyes met mine. “You ever been in love?”
Involuntary tears sprang to my eyes, and I nodded. “Yes. I’ve been in love. Deep, soul-ripping, heart-shredding love. And it was beautiful.”
“It was like that for me,” Tucker rasped. “Sometimes, I still feel her.”
“Because love like that knows no bounds.” I smiled. “And that’s beautiful, too.”
“Wasn’t gonna come in here tonight,” he stated. “Had a day full of meetings. Plus, a business dinner and drinks. Was dog-tired. Got as far as the elevator, and something turned me back around. Walked in, saw you straight away.”
I wondered who guided him to me. His wife? My mom? Stevie? Connie? It wouldn’t have been my dad. He probably still looked down at me like I was twelve.
The thought made my lips twitch.
“You’ve gotta great smile,” he muttered. “But I get the feeling you don’t do it enough.”
I lifted one shoulder nonchalantly. “You’d be right.” I took a sip of my martini. “What do you do?”
“Ranch owner.”
“You look like a ranch owner.”
He took a swig of his beer. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“Good. It was meant as one.” I studied his fingers, still connected to mine on the bar.
Robert didn’t touch me anymore. He hadn’t for years. It was common knowledge he had girlfriends and mistresses. I was grateful for those women because they stopped him from coming to me. Though he told me often I was terrible in bed, and I lay there like a dead fish.
He wasn’t wrong.
Even so, I’d never strayed outside my marriage, not because I felt any loyalty to it, but because it was always John. My Stone was all I ever wanted.
But sitting at that bar, it dawned on me that I didn’t want to die, and Robert Henderson be the last man who touched me. I wanted somebody to take the memory of him away and replace it with something clean. It could never be John; he belonged to another woman. And even attempting something closer to home was a risk, not only to myself but also to the other person involved.
Maybe I could take this and feel clean again.
My eyebrows pulled together, and I whispered, “Would you like to spend the night with me, Tucker?”
His eyes met mine. “You feel it, too?”
I nodded.
“I haven’t since Marie…” He sighed. “I mean, you would be the first since her.”
My frown deepened. “I’d be honored.”
“The honor’s all mine, Elise.” He drained his bottle, rose from the stool, and helped me down. Then, he tucked my purse under one arm, me under the other, and walked us out to the elevators. The doors opened, and we stepped inside. His kiss, when it came, was soft, and I almost cried because the last man to touch me with such care and reverence was my John.
And in its own sweet way, it was beautiful.
The following day, when I awoke, a note was folded on the pillow beside me.
I got up, donned my robe, and brushed my teeth before settling down to read.
Thank you, Elise.
For helping me begin to heal.
I’ll never forget.
Leave the asshole.
Be happy.
Tucker.
Motioning to the maid to grab my carry-on, I moved through the hallway, taking my mail from the antique mahogany side table, and began to flick through. The echo of my designer spike heels tapped from the tiles as I went.
“Elise,” Robert called from his study. “Here, please.”
I swerved right and walked inside. “Yes, Robert?”
He studied me from behind his desk. “Condolences for your mother. I apologize I couldn’t attend her funeral, but I had a lot going on. Work has been hectic.”
Lifting an eyebrow, I looked at him expectantly. “Anything else?”
“We have that charity function on Saturday. Please be available.”
“Of course,” I murmured, giving him a cool nod.
He gestured to the chair across the desk from his. “Take a seat.”
Without missing a beat, I sat, folded my hands in my lap while crossing my legs to one side, and waited.
“How are you?” he asked.
“Fine,” I clipped out. “I would be a darn sight better if you would give me back the daughter you stole from my womb years ago and allowed me to leave your sorry ass in the rearview, but we both know that won’t happen.” I smiled. “You?”
His eyes hardened. “Never known a woman as cold. It’s been like touching a block of ice all these years.” The corner of his mouth hitched. “I should’ve married Monica Barrington. At least she has a soul.”
His jibe was meant to cut and settle deep, but it was nothing to me. “For once, dear husband, we can one hundred percent agree.” I cocked an eyebrow. “Anything else? I find I’m suddenly famished.”
He jerked his chin toward the door.
I stood, smoothed down my tight skirt, and glided to the door.
“She’s been well looked after, Elise,” Robert called after me.
My steps faltered, but I didn’t turn around. I didn’t want the bastard to see how his words shredded me.
“I’ve kept my promise all these years,” he went on. “I kept her healthy and happy. I know you hate me for it, but I couldn’t raise her, not when she was his. In my own way, I loved you, Elise. I fell in love with you when you were just a young girl, and I waited. Then you chose him. I had to find a way, Elise. I had to keep you.”
I squeezed my eyes shut against the onslaught of emotions because it suddenly occurred to me that maybe he did love me once—as much as a psychopath could love anyone. It was a sick love, obsessive, and dark. But that was Robert Henderson all over, and one day, I swore it would be his downfall.
If he didn’t kill me first.
Approaching the door, I reached out to touch the handle when he said, “Just a piece of fruit, Elise. You’re getting fat. I’ll let the cook know to lower your calorie intake again.”
Rolling my eyes, I sailed through the door, thinking about how my next coffee shop visit would include a massive slice of cake and maybe a Danish. When I saw it, my steps faltered again.
The local newspaper rested on the side table, the front page showing a picture of Dave. My heart began to race, and with trembling fingers, I picked up the paper, and my hand flew to my mouth.
Dave smiled out at me, wearing a cop’s uniform. The photograph was obviously old and taken back when he was in the force, but I could clearly see it was my friend.
My eyes went to the headlines, screaming about how he’d been robbed at gunpoint. The police had the assailant in custody, and they’d closed the case.
My breath hitched at the same time the newspaper thwacked noisily onto the floor.
“Clumsy,” Robert cut out from behind.
I whirled around, eyes stricken.
“Everything okay?” he asked innocently, nodding to the newspaper. “Ahh yes, what a sad business. Decorated policeman and FBI agent. That’s the problem with law enforcement. They stick their noses in things they should leave alone, and it doesn’t end well for them. Seems he was using his position to search for his sister, who disappeared years ago. Such a shame how easily people,” he looked at me pointedly, “daughters, can disappear just like that.” He raised a hand to his ear and snapped his fingers.
All the warmth that Tucker left in my bones, the night before, drained away, leaving ice in its wake.
My eyes met Robert’s cold voids, and I clipped out, “Yes. Such a shame.” Then, turning on my heel, I glided over to the sweeping staircase and ascended them.
That day was a turning point for me because it was when I realized Robert knew that I knew. Funnily enough, he seemed to think I accepted it. He had all the power, and he knew it, so there wasn’t much need to hide his business dealings.
His complacency was the first mistake he made because, like I said…
I would never give up on my Constance.
Hoots and hollers went up, along with a loud roar of cheers! And I wondered how somebody as fucked-up as Don ‘Bandit’ Stone could inspire such love and respect.
John had buried his dad earlier that day and thrown the party to end all parties back at the clubhouse.
It felt like the end of an era because that was precisely what it was.
The big C got him in the end, which was crazy to me. I always imagined the old coot would go out in a blaze of glory like Doc Holliday and Billy the Kid. He was a gun-toting, chain-smoking, ass-ripping bastard.
In a nutshell, Don ‘Bandit’ Stone was a legend.
We’d grown closer in his last months, even struck up a tentative friendship. He spent a lot of time over at Baines Memorial getting treatment. However, it was more palliative, seeing as he told the doctors not to waste the chemo on him. What nobody knew was that he took the chemo and all the drugs, paid for everything, and gave it to a seven-year-old boy from Rock Springs whose parents had no medical insurance.
The boy got the all-clear the day before Bandit passed.
I still volunteered at the hospital and sat talking with Bandit while he received treatment. Later, when he was admitted, I sat by his bedside, usually bossing him around.
Balls of steel, he used to mutter. My boy had a lucky escape, except he’d send me a wink as he spoke, along with a sad smile.
He got sicker, and on his last day on Earth, when he was unconscious, waiting for the Reaper to take him, I sat, softly stroking his hair, whispering in his ear, and I told him everything.
I purged my soul, told him about Constance, Robert, Scalp, Dave, Tucker… Everything. I begged him to send me help, to guide our girl to us, and to bring her into the fold. Lastly, I pleaded with him for one last act of vengeance and to ensure Robert fucking Henderson died screaming in agony.
Although he was filled with pain-relieving drugs and probably wasn’t even aware I was there, his finger twitched three times, and for the first time in a long time, it gave me back a little hope.
The Stone family turned up at the hospital, and I left them to say goodbye to their patriarch.
Four hours later, Bandit went to his Queenie.
And in its own way, it was beautiful.
I was pulled away from my thoughts by a sweet, husky voice asking, “Are you okay?”
My gaze slid to meet dancing, blue eyes, and I nodded.
Hambleton’s rumor mill had been hard at work recently. I’d heard John and Adele were having problems in their marriage. The affection was still there—their connection was plain for all to see—but I also recognized a sadness in Adele that hadn’t been there before. She never confided in me, and I hardly saw John, so he didn’t either. It was a relief. Their marriage was their business, and I didn’t want a bar of it. The fact was, I knew I’d always been a complication for them, and I wanted to give them the respect and the space to work out their next steps together.
Things were changing, the world turned, and we had to let the chips fall where they needed to.
Picking up my glass, I drained it, placing it back on the table.
“You leaving already?” Iris asked.
“Yes.” I picked up my purse, rose to my feet, and smoothed my tight, black skirt over my thighs. “I’m volunteering at the hospital tonight. I just wanted to pay my respects.”
“I’ll get John,” Adele said, getting to her feet.
“No,” I replied, leaning over and giving her a hug goodbye. “Leave him be.” Sending them both a smile, I turned and walked through the clubhouse. As I glided through the vast room, a memory hit me.
‘What do you think, baby?’
‘I think you should do whatever makes you happy, John. I’ll stand by you, whatever you decide.’
‘If I go ahead, I’ll have to sink every cent I have into the place. It may all go to damned hell, Leesy. I could lose everything.’
‘I don’t believe that. I know you, John Stone. You’ll work your fingers to the bone to make this a success. I believe in you.’
‘I’ll be dirt poor for a few years, baby. Are you sure you’re ready for what that entails? We’ll have to live with my folks when we first get married. I won’t be able to build your dream house for at least a few years.’
‘I don’t care. I’d live in a cardboard box as long as you lived in it with me.’
My heart wrenched because I would’ve done it, I would’ve lived in a cardboard box with John Stone if God had seen fit to make it that way, and I would’ve been the happiest girl in the world.
But it wasn’t meant to be for us.
Pulling my shoulders back, I jutted my chin and caught a golden-eyed gaze on me.
John stood with his brothers at the bar, tall, proud, and beautiful. The air around them was easy, and their connection was a flow chart. All the different colored lines meandering, crossing, and passing each other. They curved up and dipped down. There were no limits, no bounds. John had added so many lines and was loved by so many people, all at the same time and in different colors and different ways.
And I was so fucking grateful that, for a time, I’d had the honor of being a color on John’s flow chart and he on mine.
I’m sorry, I mouthed.
He gave me a chin lift and mouthed back, thank you.
My soul cried out for him, but I plastered a smile across my face and secured my purse over my shoulder. Then, turning my back on the love of my life, I walked away.
For evermore.
Three Years Ago
Glasses clinked among the low buzz of chatter in the upmarket hotel bar in LoDo Denver. I’d been here an hour, knocked back two martinis, and had also knocked back an offer from a stranger asking to ‘join me.’
But I wasn’t here for that. After Tucker, there had been nobody else, and there would never be another. My life was about something more, the one thing that had kept me putting one foot in front of the other for all those years.
Vengeance.
Two days before, I’d been approached in the parking lot of Baines Memorial by an FBI agent who’d asked me for a meeting to discuss something important.
Robert was away on business slash vacationing in the Bahamas with his latest mistress. My husband stopped bothering to track my whereabouts a while ago, so I felt it was safe enough. With the excuse of visiting my mother’s place of rest, I flew down to Denver and checked into the same hotel where I met Tucker. That morning, I’d laid a dozen pink roses on my mother’s grave, but it was Bandit I spoke to…
Better late than never, you ornery old bastard.
Just as I was about to suck back a mouthful of my martini, a bulky figure slid onto the barstool beside me. I’d been so deep inside my thoughts I hadn’t even sensed anyone approach.
“Mrs. Henderson,” a deep, raspy voice greeted me. “I’m Special Agent Pete Hannigan. Thank you for meeting with me.”
My gaze flicked over the forty-something, handsome, well-dressed agent, and I decided immediately that I liked him. Holding my hand out for him to shake, I murmured, “Please call me Elise. Every time somebody calls me Mrs. Henderson, they may as well be scraping their nails down a chalkboard.”
Pete grinned broadly. “I get it. Do you know why I’m here?”
“Yes,” I replied. “Did you know Dave Sears?”
Pete’s eyes hardened. “He was my mentor back in the day.”
“Robert killed him,” I breathed. “Not by his own hand, but he was involved.”
Pete nodded thoughtfully, his hazel eyes darting across my face. Then he said three words that, for the first time in a long time, filled me with hope.
“I believe you.”
“Good.” I picked up my glass, took a sip, and jerked my chin toward the bartender. “Are you going to do the honors, Pete, or shall I? It’s going to be a long night, and we’ll need liquid refreshment.”
He dug into his pocket and brought out a cell phone. “Is it okay if I call my colleague? Believe me, Elise, we’re gonna have a drink, but first, I’m gonna take your arm, lead you to the elevator, and take you into a hotel room. Then we’re gonna order room service, sit down, and talk. While we do that, my boss and one of our computer geniuses will be on Facetime, checking shit out as we go. Before we do that, I need to ask you something, and it’s crucial you think about what I’m asking and what it could mean for you… Are you sure?”
My mouth twisted into an ice-cold smirk, and I cocked an ice-cold eyebrow.
“For over twenty years, I’ve been gathering evidence, taking notes, jotting down names, places, events, and times. I’m not sure it’s enough, Pete, but if you can help me and you have the Bureau behind you, I think we can make a difference. Thirty years ago, that monster took my daughter, and he’s used her as leverage ever since. I want her back. Can you help me?”
His eyes bored into mine. “If your daughter’s still alive, we’ll do everything we can to find her. That’s my vow to you.”
I dug deep into every cell inside my body, looking for my old, battered, shredded soul. It was faint, but it was there. A spark. My Constance was alive somewhere. I could feel her. And I was about to burn the world down to find her.
“I want a code name,” I told him.
His eyebrows snapped together. “Huh?”
My lips twitched. “You know, like the TV shows. I want a code name, A monicker, which you can use when you refer to me or talk about me with your team.”
Understanding washed over his face, and one corner of his mouth hitched. “Okay. What code name do you have in mind?”
Picking up my martini, I drained the contents and placed the glass back on the bar. Then, leaning toward Pete, I murmured one solitary word…
“Duchess.”
The End