Emery shook her head. “Except you.”
“He could go into great detail about how awful a mother she was, too.” Wren put her hand back on his lap and covered it with one of his. Didn’t break the bond. “None of it true, of course. At least nothing that matched my memories of her. And she’d never actually lived in Japan or talked about going there, but he didn’t let those facts get in his way.”
“The police thought he did it?”
“Almost everyone did, but it took years for the police to collect enough evidence to arrest him.” The prosecutors were sure he’d been found guilty, but they underestimated people’s biases and willingness to believe a woman of Japanese descent would value her Asian mother and that family over her own and just leave without word. As if her ethnic background meant she loved her child less. It was all so sick and unbelievable that Wren still couldn’t process it. “All but the people on his juries.”
Emery’s eyes widened. “Juries, as in plural?”
“There was a trial followed by a mistrial because the first jury couldn’t reach a decision. The second time around he was acquitted.” By that point the news had been saturated by his father’s lies about his mother being disconnected and yearning for something else. He’d painted himself as the victim and loving father. All lies.
Emery’s hand squeezed his. “What about your mom?”
The cold pit he covered and buried and tried to ignore formed again in his stomach. The icy branches ran through him, cutting through his defenses. “Never found. Her social security number has never been used again. The bank accounts and credit cards in her name went untouched. I’ve looked and traced every piece of evidence. My dad was thorough.”
Emery moved then. Slipped over and settled on his lap with her arms wrapped around him. “I’m so sorry.”
For a second, he just sat there. He didn’t even realize their bodies were rocking back and forth until he felt the slight sway. Something about her warmth and the concern in her voice broke through. Instead of running from his past and the truth, it rushed out of him.
He wanted her to know. He needed her to know that he got it. He understood the hollowness and emptiness that went along with not knowing. With craving answers and never finding them. “No witnesses but a trail of alleged sightings that put her at airports then out of the US.”
She brushed a hand through his hair. “You don’t buy it.”
“Later, when I was older, I tried to track the sightings and they didn’t pan out. The intel seemed to be planted.”
“By your father.”
“Of course.” No matter what his father said there was no other viable suspect. There were no other explanations. “Their bedroom rug was gone the afternoon she disappeared. So were all of the photos that suggested there ever was one. He insisted I was wrong, but I knew.”
Her arm tightened around him. “How old were you?”
“Nine when she disappeared. Twelve when he was arrested. Sixteen when he was acquitted. Twenty-five when I ruined him.”
“Ruined?”
“An all-out assault on his life. Leaked evidence that supported his guilt. Made up other stuff. Separated him from friends. Made it impossible for them to publicly support him without looking as if they were supporting a killer.” He blew out a long breath. “Used shell companies and stole what little money he had left. Made it impossible for him to work and earn more.”
“That’s quite an attack.”
“I let him live.” A fact Wren regretted more than once.
“Which is how you became a fixer.”
“Quint was a successful businessman. He also knew a lot about walking on the wrong side of the law in order to get things done.” Wren decided to leave it there because details would only confuse the conversation and lead them in an odd direction. “I saw what worked and how to apply just the right amount of pressure. By the time I moved to DC I had my degrees and contacts and the money to get started. I built the rest.”
A stark silence fell over the room. He waited for her to bolt. Hell, in her position he would. Get out and not look back.
She turned and straddled his lap. “You’re not like your father.”
The move, the intimacy of the position, shocked him, but it settled him. The way the comforter had dropped until only his pants separated them did the exact opposite of settling him. “I sure as hell hope not.”
“For the record, you’re not creepy.” She smiled as her arms went around his neck.
“You sure? Even I have to admit that story is pretty creepy.” And she didn’t even know the worst or how bad he got before he exacted his revenge.
“You’re a survivor.”
Her word had his defenses rising. “I’m no hero. Please don’t make me out to be.”
“No, you’re really human.”
He specifically remembered her saying otherwise before but didn’t remind her. Not when her eyes had gone soft and her body leaned into his. “No one has ever accused me of that before.”
“They don’t know you.”