8. Chapter Eight
Chapter Eight
Emily
I stared at my mother's name on the phone screen, my stomach clenching with familiar dread. I considered letting it go to voicemail but knew that would only make things worse. My mother had an uncanny ability to sense when I was at my most vulnerable, and she always chose those moments to call.
It had been a long sleepless night, and I'd been terrified of every noise. I'd finally dozed off around six a.m. and it was nearly eleven.
"Hello, Mother," I answered, trying to inject some normalcy into my voice.
"Emily, finally. I've been calling for days." Her tone was already sharp with disapproval. "Your father and I were beginning to think something had happened to you."
"I've been... busy with work," I said lamely, sinking onto my couch and adjusting Barnaby in my lap.
"Well, of course you have. That's all you ever do." There was a pause, and I could practically hear her gearing up for whatever criticism she'd been saving. "Speaking of which, we heard the most disturbing rumor at the club yesterday."
My blood ran cold. "What kind of rumor?"
"Margaret Martin mentioned that her daughter Susan is concerned about you. Something about you calling in sick?"
Susan Martin. Of course, my mother would know Susan's mother.
The wealthy elite of their community formed a tight circle, and apparently that circle included people involved in trafficking children.
But the fact that she was talking about me was incredibly unprofessional, and bordered on misconduct.
Not that I had any room to talk after sharing confidential files.
"Mother, I thought I was getting the flu—"
"I’m not surprised. As if I haven’t told you countless times the number of germs you’re likely to pick up handling those unsuitable children." My blood boiled but I needed to keep my temper checked. "Really, Emily, your father and I are embarrassed."
Of course they were. Everything I did was a source of embarrassment to them—my career choice, my apartment, my lack of a suitable husband, my refusal to join their social circle.
"I need to see you," Mother continued, her tone brooking no argument.
"I'm rather busy at the moment, Mother," I said, trying to keep my voice steady.
"Nonsense. I'm already in the area. I'll be at your apartment in fifteen minutes." Before I could protest, she had hung up.
I stared at the phone in horror. Fifteen minutes. My mother was coming here, to my small, shabby apartment, while I was clutching a stuffed bear and my face was puffy from crying. Perfect.
I jumped up and began frantically tidying, gathering scattered papers. What would she say if she saw Barnaby? Nothing good, certainly. I reluctantly placed him in my bedroom closet, whispering an apology as I closed the door.
I was just fixing my hair and dragging on a pair of jeans when the imperious knock came at my door. Taking a deep breath, I opened it to find my mother standing there in her designer skirt suit, pearls gleaming at her throat, her critical gaze already sweeping over me.
"Emily," she said, air-kissing near my cheek. "You look dreadful."
"Come in, Mother," I said, stepping aside reluctantly.
She swept into my living room, her eyes taking in every detail with obvious distaste. I watched her catalog the secondhand furniture, the modest space, the stack of books on my coffee table.
"Honestly, Emily, I don't understand why you insist on living like this when your father and I could easily help you find something more... appropriate."
"This suits me fine," I replied, crossing my arms defensively. Her apartment would come with strings…tight ones.
Mother settled herself delicately on the edge of my couch as if afraid it might contaminate her outfit. "Now then, of course Susan wouldn’t reveal any confidential information to anyone else, but reading between the lines I believe she’s concerned you’re simply too sensitive for this type of work.”
No how are you ? No how are you coping after being kidnapped ?
My stomach dropped. "What exactly did she say?"
"Oh, nothing specific," Mother said with a wave of her manicured hand, but her eyes were sharp.
"Just that she believed Susan would be seeing you on Tuesday morning to discuss something concerning.” Her eyes narrowed.
“You know how important reputation is in this city, Emily.
" I wasn’t surprised. I think I was numb to her constant criticism at this point, having received it all my life.
There was no point expecting anything different.
"I think my job is my reputation," I shot back before I could stop myself.
Mother's expression hardened. "Don't take that tone with me, young lady. I didn't raise you to be so... combative."
"I'm good at my job, Mother."
"Your job," she repeated with distaste. "Yes, well, that's part of what I wanted to discuss. Your father has been speaking with some colleagues, and there's an excellent opportunity at Carter & Associates. Administrative work, of course, but it would get you away from all this... unpleasantness."
"You want me to quit my job?" I stared at her in disbelief.
"I want you to be sensible. This social work nonsense was fine as a phase, but you're twenty-eight years old, Emily. It's time to think about your future. A proper future."
"Helping vulnerable children is my proper future," I said firmly.
Mother sighed dramatically. "And look where it's gotten you. Sick, stressed, apparently causing problems at work. Margaret mentioned something about you being... unstable lately."
The word hit me like a slap. Unstable. Just like they'd always made me feel growing up—too emotional, too sensitive, too much .
"I'm not unstable," I said quietly. “And it’s grossly unprofessional to speak of any employee like that to an outsider.”
Mother just waved her hand as if it didn’t matter. "But perception is everything. And if certain people are talking..." She let the implication hang in the air.
I felt something inside me crumble. Here I was, fighting to save children from a trafficking ring, and my own mother was more concerned about what her social circle thought than my safety or the children's lives.
"I should go," Mother said, standing and smoothing her skirt. "Think about what I've said, Emily. Your father and I only want what's best for you, and Melanie expects you to call her."
Over my dead body.
I barely knew my sister, as she'd gone to boarding school, and during holidays she wasn't interested in a child seven years younger than her.
Not that I hadn't tried, and I had a flash of memory of handing her a birthday card I'd made at school for her.
She'd tossed it on the counter and scowled because she'd gotten glitter on her hands.
Our only interaction now was when Mom or Dad held her up as an example I should be following.
Mom moved toward the door, then paused, turning back with that particular expression she wore when delivering her most cutting observations.
"Oh, and Emily? Whatever this... situation is that has people talking, I do hope you'll handle it with some discretion.
Your father's practice can't afford any scandal, and frankly, neither can you.
A woman your age, unmarried, in a job that already raises eyebrows.
.." She let the sentence trail off meaningfully.
My chest tightened. "What are you implying, Mother?"
"I'm simply saying that when one's professional conduct comes into question, it's wise to be extra careful about one's personal conduct as well." Her smile was arctic. "You know how quickly rumors spread in our circles."
The threat was subtle but unmistakable. Whatever Susan had said—or hinted at—had clearly painted me as someone whose judgment was compromised.
And my mother, rather than defending me or showing concern, was already positioning herself to distance the family from any potential fallout.
Not one of them had cared about the kidnapping.
They'd just made sure I was schooled on what I could or couldn't say.
After three days in their house, I'd simply left and gone home.
"I understand perfectly," I said quietly, just wanting her to leave.
"Good. I knew you would." She air-kissed near my cheek again. "Do think about the position at your father's firm. It really would solve so many problems."
After she left, I stood in my empty apartment, feeling more alone than I had in years. The silence pressed in around me, broken only by the muffled sounds of traffic outside. I retrieved Barnaby from the closet, clutching him against my chest as I sank back onto the couch.
I buried my face in Barnaby's soft fur and cried—great, heaving sobs that shook my entire body. I cried for the children I couldn't save, for the trust I'd broken with Dion, for the safety I'd thrown away in a moment of wounded pride.
But mostly, I cried because for the first time in my adult life, I had found someone who made me feel truly safe, truly cared for—and I had driven him away.
Dion
I'd left the dogs with Abby after Walker had taken Emily and spent the rest of the night in the monitoring room at Salvation, checking the external security feeds about every twenty minutes.
We had men watching the property because we still didn't know if anyone had been in her apartment.
Hell, even if they hadn't there was no way she would have been left unprotected.
The camera I'd had Eric install across from Emily's apartment building showed nothing unusual—just normal comings and goings, including Walker's departure.
"She's still inside," Eric confirmed from his workstation, not looking up from his screens. "No movement detected at any entrance to the building."
I grunted in acknowledgment, my jaw clenched so tightly it ached. The memory of Emily's words kept replaying in my head: "If you keep me against my will, you're no better than the monsters who took me before."