chapter 24
Tony’s relief at being able to finally tell Linda the truth had morphed into a lump of bitterness. No matter how hard he tried, he just couldn’t shake it.
Linda thought Justine was a druggie and, in her mind, that had automatically equated to Justine being a user, a murderer or both. Maybe he wasn’t being fair, but all he could think was Linda must see him the same way. Would always see him that way. As flawed. Untrustworthy.
Sure, she believed in him now. But they weren’t in a relationship and she hadn’t said she wanted that with him again. Hadn’t said she’d stay with him once this mess was over, or that she’d stick by him through thick and thin.
And even if she had said it, he wouldn’t have believed her.
Tony didn’t kid himself. He’d made something of himself. But he was on a dangerous assignment. Even if he made it out alive and accomplished what he wanted, he was always going to be a drug addict. There would always be difficult times. And bottom line—he didn’t trust Linda to stick by him to get back to the good ones.
Linda was in the kitchen, tidying things up before they left for Sacramento. He finished stripping the linens in the bedroom, carried them into the laundry room, and then went to go get her. She was digging around in the pantry.
“We need to head back. You ready to go?” he asked.
From inside the pantry, she said, “Yes. I’m just looking for a new garbage bag.” Her voice was stiff. Quiet. Distant.
The truth had briefly brought them together but it had also torn them apart. He wondered if it would always be that way between them.
This time, however, the distance was his fault, not hers.
Maybe he’d reacted too defensively when she’d expressed suspicion about Justine. She’d just been trying to help, after all.
“Linda, I’m sorry about earlier. About what I said. I guess when you accused Justine of using me, it pushed a button of mine.”
She didn’t say anything.
“Linda?”
She stepped out of the pantry.
He frowned at the expression on her face. “Hey. What’s wrong?”
Her eyes were wide and round and her mouth was slack. Tony noticed she was holding a shoebox in her hands—hands that were trembling.
“What do you have there?”
Linda set the shoebox down on the kitchen table and lowered herself in a chair. Instead of answering him, she just stared at the box.
Tony flicked the lid off the shoebox and looked at the contents. Envelope after envelope, all stamped. Some were opened, and he could see the childlike loops in the writing of the address on the front. Others were unopened, addressed to Linda and Kathy Delaney in what looked to be a man’s handwriting.
“Linda?”
“I wrote him,” she whispered. “After we moved to Texas. Despite what had happened. I wrote him all the time. But he never wrote me back. Not once. He never called, never sent birthday cards. It was as if Kathy and I no longer existed for him.”
He sat down next to her. “You’re talking about your dad?”
She nodded. “I hated him for putting his thieving before his children. We always came second, no matter how he denied it.”
Tony pulled out one of the unopened letters addressed to Linda and Kathy. He ripped the envelope open and pulled out the contents and began reading.
My dearest children,
I know that once again your mother will not allow you to read this letter, but I am writing you anyway. I regret the choices I’ve made in my life. How much I regret losing you two. You both are the light of my life, and I wish so much I could see you grow up. Your mother has her reasons for keeping you from me, and although I don’t agree with those reasons, I can understand why she’s doing so. Just know that every day, every hour, I think of you two girls, and I will never stop regretting what I’ve done.
Love,
Daddy.
Linda swallowed audibly. “Are they all like that?”
He ripped through one unopened letter after another, and read them out loud. They were the words of a father in pain. Their dad had screwed up his life so much he’d lost the only things that mattered to him—his daughters.
After reading the last one, he cleared his throat. “He loved you. Your mom didn’t mail your letters and she didn’t give you his letters because she was trying to protect you.”
Before his eyes her stunned expression hardened. She pressed her lips together and looked at him. “Of course she was protecting me. She knew who he really was. Knew how easily he said he loved us. But if he’d really loved us, he’d have done what was right. He’d have done what it took to stay with us. That’s what love is. Action, not just words.”
As she spoke, her eyes held condemnation.
For her father.
But somehow, Tony knew they also held condemnation for him.
He tapped one of the envelopes addressed to her dad. “So your father was in prison when you wrote him. You never told me how he died. Had he already been released?”
“My dad was in prison when I wrote him those letters, yeah.” She paused. Took a deep breath, then blew it out. “And he still is.”
Tony jerked. “You told me your dad’s dead. You told everyone your dad was dead.”
“You’re right. I did. It was easier that way. Since he never wrote or called me, he was as good as dead anyway.”
“But what about this reporter who’s connected us? Isn’t it possible word of your father will get out and be used against you, too?”
Linda shrugged. “I told the D.A. about my father before I ever agreed to run for judge. Considering we’re estranged, that I haven’t seen him in years, he said it didn’t concern him. That my past could actually work in my favor. That I could argue I’ve been personally exposed to both sides of the law. That I ultimately chose the right one. And that I can make the hard decisions to do what’s right.”
“Right,” Tony said softly. “The hard decisions. Like cutting people from your life that aren’t good for you. People like your father. And people like me.”
* * *
The ride back to Sacramento was just as quiet as the one to Grass Valley. This time, the silence was caused not by Tony’s unconsciousness, but by their unwillingness to bring up a sore topic, when all topics between them seemed to fall into that category.
They were about twenty minutes outside the city limits when Linda abruptly spoke.
“I’m going to help you find the Rapture supplier.”
For a second, he thought he’d misheard her. When he realized he hadn’t, he glared at her. “No way. I don’t need your help. I had a meeting set up with him, remember? He’ll contact me again. And if he doesn’t?” He shrugged. No way in hell would he let Linda help him on this case. No way in hell he’d allow her to be in danger.
“Don’t be stubborn, Tony. I can help you. I have connections.”
He snorted. “Come on, Linda! You really expect me to rely on you?”
“What does that mean?”
“It means you seem to leave every time the going gets tough. You told people your dad was dead. You left me when you thought I might start taking drugs again. In an operation like this, Linda, you have to trust your partner. You and I may have great sex, but I don’t trust you. Not to stick around for the long haul.”
He realized he wasn’t just saying it to drive her away. He meant it.
His chest ached. They’d had an idyllic time in the woods, but that little cabin in the foothills wasn’t real life. In real life, neither of them trusted the other. That wasn’t the basis for any kind of relationship, personal or otherwise.
By the look on her face, Linda knew it. But that didn’t mean she was going to do what Tony wanted.
“I know what you’re thinking, Tony,” she said. “I know you’re trying to push me away, trying to protect me. But we need to figure this out together. I need to protect my future. My job’s on the line here, remember? And my job, whether it’s as a D.A. or a judge, is all I have.”
Her blunt statement bothered him. She deserved so much more than her job, but she was right. She did important work and it wasn’t fair that her association with him was going to get in the way of that. Besides, he knew her. She was going to help him whether he wanted her to or not. Rather than fight it, he should accept her help but limit it as much as possible.
If he controlled the amount of rope she had, at least she wouldn’t be able to hang herself.
“Phone calls, Linda. That’s all you’ll do is make phone calls. And you’ll stay with me every minute, you understand? Am I clear?”
She nodded, and the muscle in her jaw flickered.
It was only later, after they’d reached downtown Sacramento, picked up a few of Linda’s things and checked into a hotel that he realized he hadn’t made her promise him.