48. Like Walking into a Firing Squad
LIKE WALKING INTO A FIRING SQUAD
EMBERLEIGH
I’ve been working since eight thirty. Way later than I usually get online, but after the Toffee crisis and sleeping in, it’s needed.
The hours of work this morning have helped me focus on Toffee and do some proactive work with other clients who have POS systems. I produce and send them messaging to share regarding data breaches in general and the best security practices for their customers.
So little of my client base is retail, but it doesn’t hurt to provide them with additional content. It’s always easier to promote than to spin out of crisis.
I’d be lying to say the knock on the door doesn’t surprise me.
I figured the phone delivery would be later in the morning, and they’d be buzzed into the gates from the main office, but I’ll take it.
I need to be able to call my clients and hear the tenor of their voices, what they’re communicating, to better isolate concerns to address.
I slip out of the bedroom and see Pop letting himself into the house, turning to arm the security system. That’s unusual, but old habits must die hard. We rarely have that set when we’re home except to sleep.
He turns to walk to the kitchen “Morning, Emberleigh. Got coffee?”
“Always. We’re not cavemen.”
He smiles and wanders that way, asking if I want a cup while he pours.
“Let me grab my mug,” I offer and head to my room where the dregs of my last one have gone cold.
When I return, he extends the pot. “Room for cream?”
“Yes, thanks! I thought maybe you were my new phone being delivered.”
“Wouldn’t you know it? I get that a lot.” He tries to do a sassy hip thing. It doesn’t work. At all. But I can see the charm he had back in the day and how easy it would’ve been to fall for him. He and Emilia were very lucky for the time they had.
“You’re wonderful, Kimpton. You know that?”
“Hey, now. What’s this Kimpton stuff?” He turns to replace the pot and the movement highlights a pistol on his hip
“You know what I mean.” I tip my cup to his belt. “Was I in trouble if we didn’t have a fresh pot?”
“Nah. But there’s no reason to not always have a fresh pot.” He winks, but the smile doesn’t reach his eyes.
I grab cream and doctor my coffee.
“What’s going on, Pop?”
“Don’t know, darlin’. Brax asked me to come stay with you a while and make sure you’re okay. Didn’t have to twist my arm. You’re good company.”
“Right back at you.” I lift my mug in a toast, but my mind is elsewhere. I got here in June. It’s early October. Not once has Braxton ever sent anyone to make sure I’m okay. It’s sweet. I won’t argue that. But it’s also fishy.
He grabs his phone as it dings in his pocket and swipes. His eyes meet mine before bouncing back to the phone. He sets his mug down and uses both hands as he types back his message.
I look at him questioningly.
“Stupid voice recognition doesn’t understand Texas twang. Or it didn’t. I had a series of embarrassing messages and now I just type it all out.”
“Try it again, sometime. Things have gotten smarter.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
“You sound like Braxton.”
“Where do you think he got it from?” He winks before going on. “Go get ready. Or don’t. But the sheriff is here and Elias just pulled up. Brax would like us at the office when we can get there.”
My blood runs cold. My skin vibrates. My legs quake like they’re suspended in Jell-O.
It was all a setup, and I fell for it hook, line, and sinker.
Here’s the thing about being me. I feel it all—the betrayal, the loss, the fear. A Carrington will never let it show though.
So I lift my chin, faking confidence that’s hollow and turn on my Jell-O legs and march down the hall.
“Give me ten,” I call over my shoulder.
I wish I had armor. I wish I could encase my heart in concrete to prevent whatever is coming. I don’t and I can’t, but a decent outfit and red lipstick will have to do.
As we walk to the office, Kimpton’s tone is light. It’s falsely light, but he tries all the same.
“Did I ever tell you how I met Emilia?”
I pull myself to a stop, turning to face him in disbelief. “No, Pop. How’d that happen?”
He gently turns me by my elbow, and we continue our trek. He gestures with his coffee mug to the grounds.
“My grandfather found this land. Now, we know it wasn’t lost and surely it was owned many times over prior, but when he saw it, he sought out the owner and made an offer.
It was low. He wasn’t a wealthy man, but the owner had no children and working the property isn’t in the cards at a certain age. ”
He pulls to a stop and turns to me. “I am not at that age.” He flexes the bicep of the arm not holding a mug. His long sleeve shirt conceals anything underneath, but I relax nonetheless.
We walk as he continues.
“The owner split off the property to what my grandfather could afford and deeded the rest to what is now a conservation easement. The other slice is permanently and legally land that can’t be developed due to preservation efforts.
“It makes our ranch all the more valuable. No manufacturing will be set up next door. It won’t become a residential neighborhood. No oil drilling. It was designed to keep Texas wild and free–much like stallions on the northern plains.”
“I didn’t know you could do that.”
“You can. And he did. My grandfather promised the man he would respect the land, both sections, and do what he could to keep the ranch as much in the spirit of the original owner’s intent as possible.
Would that old Spanish man and my old German grandfather have foreseen modern conveniences that we use day in and day out here?
Never. Could they imagine the trucks we drive or how we figure out irrigation?
Maybe, but it was in their wildest dreams alone, not in any reality they knew. ”
We walk up the steps to the office, where Elias opens the door and we’re assaulted by a blast of cold air and the gazes of four men.
“Like walking into a firing squad,” I mumble, before turning to Pop. “You never got to the good part.”
“She was the best part, and I’ll get to it. Let’s do this first.” He squeezes my shoulder and holds my gaze. “You better now?”
I exhale. His distraction worked, and I no longer have my guard up. As I leave his gaze and meet Braxton’s, I regret dropping my defenses.
This is worse than I suspected.
Braxton
“Baby, come here.” I extend my hand to Emberleigh and hate the fear I see in her face. She’s got those shields up again, dammit.
She hesitates but comes to me, her back ramrod straight, and takes my outstretched palm.
I twist her onto my lap. We haven’t been this way in front of anyone, and I’d be lying to say she melts into my body.
She doesn’t. She holds herself away from me until I snake my other hand to rest around her hip.
It’s not sexual. It’s protective. And that isn’t communicated, at least, by her body language.
“I need to show you something, and you’re not going to like it.” My voice is quiet and tender. Her body stiffens, and I use my hand on her to hold her to me as she tries to escape. “I haven’t shown the men here, because I wanted you to know first.”
“I— How bad is it?”
I wake my computer screen, and her gasp sucks the air from the room. She freezes for a moment before I feel her fierce protectiveness rises up.
On the screen before us are pictures. Way too many pictures. I forwarded them from my cell because I wanted a better look. I wish I hadn’t.
There are pictures of Emberleigh running. There are pictures of Colt in the barn. There are pictures of me in my truck. Pictures of us returning home from the hospital in her Tesla.
There are pictures of us entwined in each other last night in the field. It would be sexy as fuck if someone hadn’t been watching and taking fucking pictures while in a private moment with Emberleigh.
I show her pictures of Bright with the horses and Pop on his front porch.
But it’s the last ones that do me in. It’s Colt on the ranch. Always with someone. With me or Emberleigh. With Bright or Pop. All private moments. Moments where his innocence is obvious, just as his vulnerability is evident. Moments where his safety should never be in question.
My seething has gone from raging boil to simmer back to a full boil. I hang on the precipice—on the verge of losing my sanity—while controlling my mind enough that I don’t hurt anyone or put anyone in jeopardy.
“There was a message,” I say over the gravel in my throat before I click away from the pictures.
You stole what is mine. I will steal everything of yours—one by one—until he is returned.
Emberleigh gasps and swivels on my lap. The panic on her face couldn’t be more real. “Where is he?”
“He’s asleep, baby.” I point to the store room adjacent to the lobby that we use as offices. “No windows. No doors. And the sheriff is here.”
At that moment, Ralph stands and walks forward, hand extended. “Sheriff Ralph Gonzales, nice to meet you, ma’am. Wish it weren’t under these circumstances.” He turns over his shoulder. “This is Deputy Sam Brenner.”
Emberleigh greets them politely, before acknowledging Finchley. “Morning, Elias.”
He returns the greeting.
“Emberleigh.” I can feel the sigh I release. “I haven’t shown anyone here any of this. I wanted you to see it first. I’m going to file a report, but needed you to know and be in the loop.” I squeeze her waist. “I can offer or omit any or all of these, but together they make a hell of a case.”
Her voice is quiet but steely when she says. “I trust you. Do what you think is best for us, but…” She pauses, looking around the room before turning fully to hold my eyes. “But I’d prefer the pictures of last night be seen by as few people as possible.”
I squeeze her and hold her gaze, unbreaking until someone clears a throat.
“You want to stay?”
She thinks for a minute, before shaking her head. “It’s enough to know. I don’t really want to watch other people’s faces as they find out too.”
I nod and look at her mouth. Her lips tip ever so slightly. “So we’re into PDA now?” It comes out as a whisper only I can hear.
“Nothing to hide. Want Pop to walk you back?”
She nods before giving me a quick, chaste peck and sliding off my lap.
“Pop?” I call, though I don’t need to. His eyes haven’t left us. “You’ll stay with her a while?”
“Nothing I’d rather do.” He opens the door to allow her to exit but turns back. “But you’re looping me into this shit as soon as the men leave.”
Turning to the room, he nods as he calls out each of their names.
They reply in turn before looking back to me.
“At eight o’clock exactly, I was sent a text with several pictures and a message.
I’ll get those to you electronically.” I turn to Eli.
“Only two pictures the sheriff will have that you won’t see, because they’re compromising.
If it comes up—and they’re absolutely necessary—I’ll get you copies.
But let’s just say you’re not interested in seeing me in that way. ”
He scrunches his face, as unprofessional as it is, and I feel my first smile since waking up this morning with Emberleigh.
“For the record,” Ralph starts. “Sam and I aren’t interested either, but we assume it’s like any other train wreck someone would goggle.”
“Not happy you’re seeing them either, Sheriff. But since someone was on my property and threatening my family, we’re all in this position.” I stand, pushing the chair back and open the pictures, allowing the three men to gather around the monitor.
I know when they get to the most recent ones. Eli turns his face, but mutters to no one in particular, “Attorney-client privilege can’t fix what I just saw.” He shakes his head as if he can fling the image from his memory. “Happy for you, but I can’t unsee that.”
I’d smile if we weren’t in the fucked-up situation we are.
Sam clears his throat. “Not to state the obvious, but you know that isn’t a telephoto lens, right? You can see the reticle. This was seen through and taken using a rifle scope.”