Chapter Three
Listen to Your Gut
Deck sat in the far corner booth of The Mark, back to the wall, eyes to the doors so he saw her come in.
She hadn’t changed clothes, and watching her spot him immediately, make motions and speak to the hostess as she made her way to him, he saw he’d been wrong at first glance. She hadn’t taken off thirty pounds. Twenty, tops. Her hips were still full, a lot narrower than he suspected they used to be back when she’d covered up with huge sweaters or shirts that hung low, loose-fitting pants that made her look bulky, shapeless dresses or skirts that did nothing to attract attention to her figure.
He watched her pull off her cap, her hair flew out with it and she ran her fingers through it, that heavy bang falling into her eyes immediately.
Watching it, he noted her hair was the kind of hair a man wanted spread across his pillow. That thick bang shading her eyes, catching her eyelashes, making a man want to lift his hand and brush it away—for her, and so he could feel it on his fingers.
And those eyes. Her hair had never been glossy like it was now, dark, but not glossy. But with that gleam, those highlights, that bang, those eyes were f*ck-me eyes.
No, they were f*ck-me-all-night-and-do-it-hard eyes.
F*ck, he was thinking this shit about Emme.
He needed to get her shot of McFarland. He just, at that moment, was not going to think about why he needed that so badly.
He buried those thoughts, slid out of the booth and gave her a grin.
She moved right into him and gave him a hug.
Now that was pure Emme, and he wondered why he hadn’t remembered that before.
She touched and she liked to be touched so McFarland touching her and her allowing it was not outside her norm.
Even so, the way McFarland did it was still not right.
Emme wasn’t social and there were few she was tight with. She was mostly a loner. But if she liked you, she hugged. She touched. She grabbed your arm or hand. She sat close with her knee touching yours and leaned in, holding your eyes and doing it steady. Giving you her full attention. Making you think what you had to say was important and she really wanted to hear it.
Elsbeth ended up hating that as she did a lot about Deck and Emme. She also ended up sharing it and demanding he stop doing it. Something he did that he regretted, since Emme felt it, he saw it. He also saw the hurt it caused her and he didn’t like that. But he was in love with Elsbeth and he was young. He reckoned you did shit like that for your woman so she wasn’t uncomfortable and you could avoid fights about stupid shit your woman was uncomfortable about.
The problem was, Emme was never stupid shit.
At first, Elsbeth knew, with her extreme beauty, Emme was no competition. But she wasn’t dumb either. She knew for some men, it might start with the way you look but it ended with the way you were.
Emme was smart. She watched the news. She went to see movies. She read a shitload of books. She gave a f*ck about what was happening around her, in her community, and she got involved.
She traveled too. She had a strict rule. One week vacation a year, relaxation on a beach. The other week of vacation, adventure. Going somewhere she could learn, see, taste, experience.
Therefore, since Deck traveled a lot too, and paid attention to what was going on in the world, Emme and Deck talked as well as argued all the time about politics, current events, historical events, whatever. The good-natured arguing that got your heart pumping, made you think, made you listen, made you feel just that bit more alive.
Elsbeth couldn’t do that. Elsbeth knew Deck had an off-the-charts IQ. Elsbeth knew she could never challenge his mind. She could suck his cock great, ride it like a pro and look phenomenal doing both, but there was an important part of his body she’d never challenge, never pleasure, and she grew to know it.
Looking back, Deck understood she also grew to know that Emme could.
And being a woman, she probably saw what Emme was now under what Emme was then and she didn’t want Deck to see it.
He’d learned, after last summer when he saw Elsbeth for the first time in years, doing it by design, that what he thought he had and lost in Elsbeth was not what he’d built it up to be after it ended.
It wasn’t what Chace had after living through years of hell then finding the woman who was made for him.
It wasn’t a turn of a dial on an extraordinary kaleidoscope to find something beautiful.
It was him being young, stupid and led around by his dick.
He lost Emme through that even before he really lost her after he lost Elsbeth. It hurt her. But she never said a word. Not before. Not after. She took him as he came.
He took himself away.
And for him, she’d allowed that.
Ending his thoughts but not their embrace, Emme pulled away but slid her hands up his chest and left them there, tipping her head back and grinning at him.
“I’m so glad I ran into you,” she told him. No shades, he could see her exotic eyes lit and happy. “I’ve been looking forward to this all afternoon. I almost called you and asked if you could meet at five thirty, that’s how much I was looking forward to it.”
Again, pure Emme.
Not a bullshit artist. Straight up. She bared all. If she cared about you, she let it all hang out.
She had no clue McFarland was into dirty dealings. If Deck didn’t already know, these reminders solidified that in his head.
“Should have done that, babe. I would have come early,” he replied, his arms loose around her waist and he didn’t let go.
“Well, I’m driving, and if we met earlier, I’d probably be tempted to have too many beers which would require a taxi ride which would be money I couldn’t dump into my house which would be bad,” she returned.
On another smile, she pulled out of his arms in that natural way that he also forgot about or more likely buried. Not like she was pulling away but like she was taking you along for her ride, wherever that would lead.
This time, she led them into the booth, Emme sliding in her side and he followed on his. She shoved aside the menu the waitress had set in front of her seat before she dumped her purse in the seat, unraveled her scarf and took off her jacket to expose a form-fitting sweater that showed plainly she also didn’t lose much of her tits.
She did this talking.
“So, what business are you in town doing?” Her head tipped to the side and she grinned as she shrugged off her coat. “Or can you tell me without killing me?”
“Live in Chantelle, babe. Had business at the police station here and no, I can’t tell you. Though if I did, I wouldn’t have to kill you. But I would lose a contract.”
She dropped her coat by her side and her eyes came back to his, brows raised. “Chantelle?”
“Yep.”
“How weird,” she muttered. “You there, me here.” She settled more firmly into the booth by tipping to the side, shifting up a calf to sit on it then sitting back and focusing on him again, and he forgot that too.
She always sat on her leg or cross-legged or with her knees up, arms around her calves or with both legs twisted under her, folding herself up, tangling her limbs. She also talked with her hands and body, moving, twisting, flicking, gesturing. She was rarely sedentary, even during a conversation. He had no idea why but he’d always found all that appealing too. It was like her personality was so lush, so interesting, it spilled out in everything she did.
When she finished, her eyes flashed and she murmured, “Chace.”
It was a guess as to why he lived there. And if she’d been around awhile, she’d know Chace was close. He’d made the papers. Repeatedly.
“Part of it, yeah,” he told her. “Other part is, view doesn’t suck around here.”
She tipped back her head, exposing the elegant vulnerability of her jaw in full force and laughed her smooth, low laugh.
He’d buried how much he’d liked watching her laugh too.
And seeing it, he was reminded how much he really wanted to taste her jaw.
F*ck.
Maybe dinner before getting her shot of McFarland wasn’t a good idea.
She stopped laughing and again looked at him. “You are not wrong. The view out here doesn’t suck. Grew up in Denver, always proud my city had a backdrop of the Front Range.” She leaned in. “Better being in the mountains.” She leaned back. “Anyway, please, God, tell me you’re after those jackasses who’re targeting high school kids to commit felonies.”
Jesus. Straight to it.
And Emme, so smart, she’d figured it out.
“Can’t talk about it, Emme,” he said quietly, studying her as she studied him.
“Well, let’s just say, I hope you are. You’re on the case,” another grin, “their days are numbered.”
Deck said nothing but he knew one thing. If she was full of shit, he was retiring.
Suddenly, her face changed, her chin dipped and she became engrossed in unwrapping her silverware from her napkin and she did this saying, “I hope you’re here because you want to be here and not here because you feel you have to be out of some old-acquaintance duty.” Her eyes slowly lifted to his. “I was so excited to see you, I didn’t think about—”
Deck cut her off, “I’m here ’cause I wanna be here.”
“Good,” she said softly.
“Long time ago, Emme.”
She nodded. “Yeah.” Her eyes moved over his face. “Glad that’s… well, time heals.”
It didn’t until last summer.
Now it had.
He was saved from commenting when the waitress showed. Emme, not looking at her menu, ordered a Guinness, fried mozzarella sticks to start, followed by cheesy Texas toast and pork chops.
At her order, Deck was vaguely disappointed. It appeared she’d turned into one of those women who pretended she didn’t give a shit about food when she was in company, therefore, to keep her slim figure, she likely starved herself when she wasn’t.
He couldn’t recall paying much attention to how she used to eat, though she put on a great spread at her frequent dinner parties, but he also didn’t recall her having issues with food or Elsbeth mentioning it. And the way Deck’s brain worked, he recalled everything.
Deck ordered a Newcastle and the meatloaf dinner and the waitress moved away.
“Right, so,” Emme started the minute she left. “Tell me everything.”
He cut to the chase immediately.
“My line,” Deck replied, and her brows drew together.
“Pardon?”
“Babe,” he said low, “not lost on me and you can’t think it is that you are not the you I used to know. Act it, yeah. Look it, no.”
She waved her hand in front of her face before dropping it to the table and stating, “It’s not a big deal.”
“Emmanuelle, I didn’t recognize you until you smiled.”
She blinked. “Really?”
“Really.”
“You?” she asked, sounding stunned, knowing he forgot nothing, not a face, not a name, not a memory.
“Me,” he answered. “Heard your voice call my name. Recognized that. You came at me, I had no f*ckin’ clue who you were until you smiled.”
“Wow. I grew my hair, Jacob. And got some highlights,” she told him. “Really not a big deal.”
“And took off weight and got a new wardrobe.”
“Well, that was… it was… well,” she shrugged. “Necessary.” Another grin. “And fun. The second part, that is.”
At that he felt his brows draw together and his gut get tight. “Necessary?”
“It isn’t a big deal,” she replied.
“What isn’t a big deal?” he asked.
She looked him in the eye, sighed then announced, “I was sick for a while.”
His gut clenched and his chest got hot. “What?”
“It wasn’t a big deal, honey,” she said quietly.
“You keep sayin’ that, sittin’ across from you, watchin’ you, seein’ you, I’m wonderin’ if you’re tryin’ to convince you or me.”
He saw her mouth move as her eyes gave away that she was thinking about this before she admitted. “Weird. Maybe I am.”
“Tell me,” he ordered.
“Okay.” She shifted in her seat then leaned on her arms on the table to get closer to him even as she held his gaze. “I’ll admit, at the time, it was a little scary because the doctors didn’t know what it was. At first, I was just fatigued. Then, so tired, Jacob, it was wild. It got to the point I could barely get out of bed and I couldn’t wait to get back in. Then it got worse. I lost my appetite, and it’s good we’re talking about this now before the food comes, but I couldn’t hold anything down. Eventually, it was so gross and made me even more tired, I quit eating in order to avoid vomiting. I went in to see the doctors again and again. They ran a bunch of tests. Nothing.”
“And?” he prompted when she stopped talking.
“Well, they ultimately had to hospitalize me.”
“F*ck,” Deck clipped and she leaned in further, her hand moving out to grab hold of his.
“As you can see, I’m fine,” she assured him.
“What was it?” he asked.
She gave his hand a squeeze and sat back but did it still leaned toward him.
“Just an infection, if you can believe that. Though a rare one. Actually, I’d lost even more weight than what you can see and was in the hospital for three weeks because, once they figured out what it was, they then figured out it was resistant to antibiotics so it kinda took a long time to beat it but I did. I got out. Started eating, sleeping, recovering, gaining back some of the weight. Took a while to get my stamina back but,” she flipped out her hands and sat back in her seat, “here I am.”
“How long ago was this?”
“Early last year it ended, started the year before.” She hesitated before she told him, “It lasted about a year.”
“F*ck, it took that long to find an infection?” Deck bit out.
“It was rare,” she repeated.
“Jesus,” he muttered.
“I’m fine, honey.”
“Scared you shitless, Emme.”
Her mouth shut.
“Keep sayin’ it’s fine. Keep sayin’ it isn’t a big deal. It wasn’t the first but it was the last,” he told her.
“You’re right about that for the then. But it’s okay now.”
“I can see that,” he returned. “And you say it but you aren’t gettin’ it since you were sick for a year, had no f*ckin’ clue what it was, which would scare anybody and it scared you. It ended well, but you don’t deal, you don’t get over it.”
Her chin jerked back before she said in a tone that was an accusation. “I forgot how smart you are.”
“Glad you’re remembering.”
“I also forgot how annoying it can sometimes be.”
It was then he burst out laughing and when he was done, she no longer looked peeved but was grinning.
Their beers came. They both took a sip then set them aside.
“So, you got sick, why was a new look necessary?” he pushed, and she again shrugged.
“You’re exhausted like I was, you’re too exhausted to go out and get haircuts. Trust me, haircuts are the last thing on your mind when all you want to do is get to work, go home and go to sleep. And my hair grows fast, apparently. And I found I kinda liked it so I let it keep growing. Then, after it was done and I was getting better, but none of my clothes fit, my friend Erika… do you remember her?”
Deck nodded. Erika was one of her limited posse. Elsbeth didn’t like Erika either. This was because Erika was beautiful and intelligent, both scarily so, especially for someone like Elsbeth.
“Well, she wanted to make me feel better, and have clothes that actually fit,” Emme went on. “So she took me out on a day of beauty. She’s a personal shopper and she’d been dying to get ahold of me for years anyway. She took me to have my hair done, had a makeup artist teach me how to do my face, took me out and we tried on a bunch of clothes. Most of them don’t fit anymore because I put on twenty pounds since then but somehow, I got bit by the bug.” She leaned and whispered conspiratorially, “Don’t tell anyone in Denver. I put on my old clothes and wear a wig when I go home. I don’t want them to know I’ve turned into a fashionista.”
“Lips are sealed, baby,” he said through a smile but watched her blink again, surprise lighting her eyes before she cloaked it and sat back.
He let that go when she kept talking.
“Anyway. Now that super-smart, see-into-thoughts-with-the-power-of-his-mind Jacob Decker has made me think on it, I’m wondering if maybe being sick like that didn’t wake me up somehow. Teach me to stop and smell the roses. And by that I mean pampering myself with visits to excellent stylists, spending mega bucks on salon-quality products for my hair, regular facials and way too many trips back to Denver to drop a load on clothes.”
“Not a crime, Emme,” he noted.
She grinned and replied, “Luckily, no.”
“Elsbeth take your back?” he asked.
Another blink, this one more surprised, and she asked, “Pardon?”
“Elsbeth, through this shit, she take your back?”
She held his eyes and she did it a long time before, slowly, she said, “Jacob, honey, I haven’t spoken to Elsbeth in nine years.”
He felt that heat in his chest as he stared at her.
His voice was gruff when he asked, “What?”
“She, um… ended things with you, and I,” she shrugged, “ended things with her.”
“No shit?” he asked.
Her eyes unusually hit the table as she murmured, “I don’t like stupid people.”
Jesus Christ.
“Emme,” he called, and it took some time but she lifted her eyes to meet his. When she did, all he could get out was, “Babe, you two were tight.”
“She threw away something good. I know you know that, Jacob, because it was you she threw away so I don’t want to bring it up and hurt you but I… well, I knew why. And like I said, I don’t like stupid people. I don’t have time for them. So I haven’t seen her in years. She asked me to her wedding. I didn’t go. Mutual acquaintances used to tell me about her but I moved up here about three years ago. I go home often but just to see my folks and friends, none of whom was really close with Elsbeth so,” she shrugged again, “I have no idea what’s happening with her and she definitely has no idea what’s going on with me.”
The waitress came and slid the mozzarella sticks in front of Emme, Emme murmured, “Thanks, Sarah,” the waitress replied, “No probs,” and was off again.
Emme shoved the plate to the middle of the table and offered, “Help yourself.”
She took one.
Deck took one.
He ate it whole, swallowed and shared, “Elsbeth isn’t happy.”
Her head snapped up from looking at the sticks, she chewed, swallowed and asked, “You’ve talked with Elsbeth?”
“F*cked her in Denver last summer.”
Her mouth dropped open.
Deck didn’t know why he said it and he further wouldn’t know why he kept talking.
Then again, he’d talked open and honest to only three people in his thirty-seven years of life. His dad. Chace Keaton. And Emmanuelle Holmes.
“Did it before I knew she was still hitched. Found out she was still hitched when I heard her talkin’ on the phone to her husband even though she tried to hide it. Told her she was a piece of shit, walked out. Before I did that, I had to get dressed so I listened to her tell me how her life was in the toilet and her husband was an a*shole. Still left. First time I saw her since back when, and, I’ll admit, babe, I looked her up, she took me up on a get-together, chatted me up until we hooked up. Now I hope it’s the last time I ever see her.”
Emme continued staring at him with lips parted. It was cute. It reminded him of the old Emme when they’d talk politics and he’d say something ridiculously conservative in response to something she’d said that was ludicrously liberal and he did it just to get a rise out of her.
She finally got over her surprise and stated, “Okay, her husband being an a*shole, not a surprise. He was that before she married him. He’ll be that forever. He’s probably trying to find ways to be that from beyond the grave, working with gypsies to do it or something.”
Deck felt himself smile as Emme kept talking.
“But, she went for you?”
“Got played, Emme. She told me lettin’ me go was the worst mistake of her life.”
Her shoulders shot straight and she replied instantly, “It was. But cheating on her husband with you without you knowing you were doing it isn’t the way to rectify that mistake.”
And there she showed another something he forgot or buried.
Emme had fire.
It was cute. It had always been cute.
Women like her, it was hard to be cute. She was not small. Elsbeth had been five foot six but teetered around on high heels every day, even in jeans or shorts, so she could be five nine or ten. Emme was five nine; now with high heels she wore with more naturalness than Elsbeth who’d probably put on her first pair at age three, she was six foot at least.
Being tall, curvaceous, intelligent, women like that could be alluring, sexy, a lot of things, but not often cute.
Emme pissed, was cute. When she showed her fire, he always thought so. During a discussion. In defense of a friend.
F*cking adorable.
And no less now.
Shit.
“Got that right, baby,” he muttered through his grin, her eyes again got that weird light before she hid it, shook her head and reached for a stick.
“She’s whacked,” Emme declared.
“Reckon she always was.”
Her eyes lifted to his, held steady and she whispered, “She always was.”
Deck stared into her eyes and his chest seized at what he saw.
Just turn the dial.
Jesus.
She gave him that kaleidoscope and told him to turn the dial, find more beauty.
And f*ck him, she was standing at his door the day after Elsbeth dumped him for a rich man who could give her the life she grew up having and Emme had offered herself to him as friend, or maybe even lover. All he had to do was turn the dial.
And he’d been so f*cked up by Elsbeth, the promise of her, the beauty he thought he’d lost by not doing what she wanted and losing her, that he didn’t see it. He didn’t see he had something even more beautiful right in front of him.
Until nine years later.
F*ck.
Him.
Before he could capture that moment, she looked away, shoved more mozzarella stick in her mouth and grabbed her beer to wash it back.
She didn’t want that moment. Maybe back then. Now she had a man. Her mind might not be going there. He might be wrong and it might never have gone there. Not where Deck’s seemed to be going every other second, her sitting across from him. But she had a man and f*cking him over like Elsbeth f*cked over her husband by using Deck last summer would never enter her mind.
Which meant the next week would suck for her because, picture proof, McFarland was into her in a big way. He didn’t know how into McFarland she was, but in cases like this, she wouldn’t have a man on a string and keep casting her lures.
She’d be loyal.
But McFarland was also a dick, a moron and a criminal. And he was going down.
He just wasn’t going to take Emme with him.
“Babe,” he called, she put her beer down and looked at him. “You can’t drink too much beer because you gotta sink all your money in your house?”
Again, her eyes lit, this time with excitement. She leaned into her arms again and smiled so huge, her dimple pressed deep.
“Jacob, honey, I bought this house that… is… the… absolute… bomb!”
“Yeah?” he asked.
She nodded.
“Oh yeah. I’m fixing it up. Of course, I have no clue what I’m doing but I did manage to get broadband out there so I have YouTube and I work in a lumberyard… by the way, Dad bought the local lumberyard and I’m running it for him. Which proves what he always said. I could run a ship with a manual just as long as I can convince the men to go about their duties and that I know what I’m doing when I don’t.”
She grinned and the dimple came out. Deck was dealing with how much he liked that dimple when she went on.
“But, anyway, they also tend to know how to plumb stuff and fix stuff and other stuff so I pick their brains if I can’t learn on the Internet. It’s awesome. I’m having so much fun doing it. I can’t wait until it’s done. Which, if the current workload and schedule continue, should be sometime in the next decade and a half.”
She shot back in her seat and her eyes lit even more.
“You have to come up and see it,” she invited.
“I will, babe,” he told her. “Soon,” he promised, though she wouldn’t know just how soon that would be—in other words, that night.
“We’ll set it up,” she said, going for another stick.
He let her eat it and take another sip of beer before he went for it.
“Emme, that guy, McFarland, what’s up with him?”
She tipped her head to the side. “What’s up with him?”
“Where’d you meet him? How long you been seein’ him?”
“He works at the lumberyard so I met him three years ago. But we’ve only been seeing each other for about four months.”
That coincided with the reports.
“Why do you wanna know?” she asked.
He studied her before he asked back, “Straight up?”
He watched her face grow wary even though she answered, “Yeah.”
“Don’t got a good feelin’ about that guy.”
“Why?” she queried, her voice lower, softer but her eyes never leaving him.
He couldn’t tell her why.
All he could say was, “Got a feelin’ in my gut, Emme, I always follow it. He doesn’t give me good vibes. Four months, you must be into him. I’m sorry, babe. But I gotta tell it like it is.”
“We aren’t serious,” she shared.
At least there was that, and Deck didn’t allow himself to process how much relief he felt about it, and not just because of the investigation.
“You exclusive?” he asked.
“Well,” her eyes slid away, not embarrassed, evasive. She looked back to him. “He is. I’m unsure. Though, that said, that doesn’t mean he isn’t the only one. He is. It’s just that I’m not sure I want to make that official.”
And there was that. She was loyal but she was unsure.
More relief.
“Promise me, keep thinkin’ on him ’til you come up with the right answer.”
After that, she held his gaze and again did it direct and steady. “Okay, Jacob. I’ll keep thinking on him.”
He hated doing it, and she found out he was working this, she’d be pissed he did it but he had to do it. For her and for the job.
“Is there a reason you wanna share why you’re unsure?” he asked.
Her eyes again lit with activity. She was thinking on this.
Then she stated, “No. I… well,” she grinned, “I think it’s my gut too.”
Dead end with that, McFarland was giving her bad vibes but nothing to pinpoint. But at least, when they brought McFarland and his crew down, she hadn’t shared anything with him not knowing why he was asking and he hadn’t pressed her to do it.
Better, she was sensing the red flags and didn’t like them.
“Always listen to your gut, Emme,” he advised.
“Right, Jacob,” she said, still grinning.
“No joke. Can’t say this guy is bad news, not for sure. But can say, I don’t like him with my girl. He’s yours. I been in his presence not five minutes. You gotta make your choice and I hope, tonight, us findin’ out we’re near, this won’t end.”
He gestured between them and saw her eyes warm, her face get soft, the dimple come out even just through a grin so he knew, thank f*ck, this wouldn’t end.
He kept talking.
“So you like the guy, your gut gets sure, he’ll never know I didn’t like him for you. That’s your choice. Just sayin’, careful.”
“I’m always careful, honey,” she told him, and what was done to her at the age it was done, she would be. Maybe too much.
He just hoped she stayed that way.
For at least another week.
“Good,” he murmured.
She dipped her head to the plate between them. “You gonna eat the last stick?”
“All yours,” he told her and she went for it.
When she was done chewing, swallowing and sipping more beer, he again went for it.
Leaning into his arms on the table, he grinned and demanded, “Now, Emmanuelle, tell me about this house you are no doubt totally f*ckin’ up seein’ as you have no clue what you’re doin’.”
Her entire face lit with her low chuckle, she leaned toward him into her arms and she complied.