Kaleidoscope Page 3

  His eyes went back to the box on his mantel just as his phone rang.

  He pulled it out, saw the display and took the call.

  “Yo, man,” he said to Chace.

  “I’m guessin’ you aren’t gonna delay in seein’ to Emme,” Chace noted accurately.

  “Her and me dinner, after, we stake out her house. McFarland takes off late to do whatever it is he does, you tail him and try not to lose him. I go in and search her house.”

  “Jesus, Deck, you can’t break into her house and search it. Not at all but not when she’s fuckin’ there,” Chace clipped.

  “I’ll wait ’til she’s asleep,” Deck told him.

  “You won’t go in at all. I’ve tried to tail McFarland. He’s lost me twice. You’re new to the team and not a known officer of the law. In the dark he might not make your vehicle. You’re on the tail. I stake out the house.”

  “I’m searchin’ her house, Chace, and I’m not waitin’ for a warrant.”

  “You’re not goin’ in at all.”

  “She’s clear of this shit and soon. I clear her house, we won’t need a warrant.”

  “Jesus, Deck, listen to me, man. You are not goin’ in at all.”

  “She’s clear,” Deck growled, losing patience.

  Chace was silent.

  Then he stated, “I looked into her.”

  Deck wasn’t surprised and he knew what Chace found.

  “That wasn’t buried,” he told Chace.

  “So you know,” Chace replied.

  “Elsbeth told me.”

  Chace again fell silent for a long moment before he remarked, “This is not bringin’ up good shit for you.”

  “Elsbeth is gone. Emme is not. Best part of all that was Emme. Took me a while to realize it. Now I got my shot to get her back. But yeah, I knew about her history. And yeah, part of gettin’ her clear of McFarland and fast is that she doesn’t need more shit in her life. Not after that.”

  “You figure that’s why she was the way she was?” Chace asked.

  “Absolutely,” Deck answered.

  “Now you’ve seen her and you notice she was the only one worth your time in that mess, you rabid to get McFarland clear so you got your shot?”

  That dimple in his bed.

  Those dancing eyes.

  That hair, now long and gleaming, not bobbed up to her chin and unappealing, doing nothing for a face with those eyes and that smile.

  Her body was arguably better before. He was relatively certain she had curves. She just hid them under shit clothes.

  She still had curves, just not as many of them. Something easily taken care of with a shitload of frozen custard turtle sundaes and Reese’s Pieces, her weaknesses.

  Fuck.

  “No,” he replied.

  “Bullshit,” Chace whispered. “Not only seen pictures, man, but I’ve been on this case now for months. Seen her in action. She’s your type from top to toe.”

  “We’ll talk about you keepin’ the fact that Emme lives local to yourself later. For this conversation, she’s Elsbeth’s best friend, and I reckon neither of us will wanna go there. But that doesn’t mean I can’t have her like I had her and I’m gonna have her like that. I shouldn’t have waited this long to reconnect. Fuck, it was pure luck I ran into her at all. I don’t squander luck, man, and you know it.”

  Chace was silent. He knew it.

  Chace ended his silence. “You’re not goin’ in without a warrant.”

  Deck dipped his voice low. “You know I am. You want me to tail him tonight, I will. But you know I’m goin’ in sometime and that sometime will be soon seein’ as you also know I don’t fuck around. So you take my truck, tail him, less chance you’ll get made. I do what I gotta do, which is what I’m gonna do no matter what. I’m not deputized yet. Tomorrow, we’ll see about me playin’ by the rules.”

  He heard his friend sigh.

  Then Chace stated, “We didn’t have this conversation.”

  Deck grinned at his phone and muttered, “Right.”

  “He usually goes to her,” Chace told him something the reports already did. “That place is a fuckin’ nightmare and he lives in a nice condo outside town but he’ll go to her.”

  “I’ll text you when we’re done with dinner. I’ll go in through the woods. You get my truck, you take the lane.”

  “Copy,” Chace murmured then, “Be careful, Deck. Emme was never stupid.”

  No, Emme was never stupid. Though she made bad choices in friends, but women did that shit all the time.

  “Right,” Deck replied.

  “Later.”

  “Later, man.”

  They disconnected and Deck looked back down at the reports, his eyes scanning them before the box on the mantel again called to him.

  This time, it did it in a way he moved to it.

  He’d had it for nine years. Took it everywhere with him. Treated it with care because what it held was fragile and for other reasons besides.

  He didn’t study it. Instead, he picked it up, flipped open the lid and carefully pulled out what was inside.

  A long triangular tube of exquisite stained glass leading to five disks also made of stained glass.

  A kaleidoscope.

  If you put it to your eye, aimed it at a light and dialed the disks, an array of beauty so stark it made your breath stop could be found at the other end.

  You think you lost beauty, Jacob, but you didn’t. That dimple. That fucking dimple. This time coming out under sad eyes before she’d whispered, Just turn the dial.

  Deck pulled in a breath. He reached up, flipped the lid shut on the box and carefully set the kaleidoscope on top, displayed now, not hidden as it had been for nine years.

  After he did that, he reached into his pocket, pulled out his phone and made the call.

  It rang twice in his ear before, “Nightingale.”

  “Lee, you want me to owe you a marker?” Deck asked Lee Nightingale, owner and top dog badass of Nightingale Investigations, the premier private investigations agency in Denver.

  There was only a moment’s hesitation before Lee invited, “Talk to me.”

  Deck talked and he said nothing about Dane McFarland and a lot about Emmanuelle Holmes.

  When he stopped talking, Lee stated, “We’re on it.”

  They disconnected. Deck moved back to his dining room table and looked down at pictures of Emme that did not sync with memories.

  Then he looked to his watch, gathered up the files, securely stowed them in his safe and took off to meet her for dinner.

  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 fuck-me eyes.

  No, they were fuck-me-all-night-and-do-it-hard eyes.

  Fuck, 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 ba
dly.

  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 fuck 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.

  Fuck.

  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 fuckin’ 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.