Kaleidoscope Read online

  Deck’s thumb moved over the screen and he sent back, Copy.

  He was about to put his phone back in his pocket when it vibrated in his hand and he saw the display said “Emmanuelle calling.”

  Seeing her name on his phone sent warmth through his gut.

  Seeing it on his phone after ten at night when he’d left her about half an hour ago and with all the shit going down around her made his warm gut tight.

  Fuck.

  He stopped, took the call and put the phone to his ear.

  “You okay?” he asked as greeting.

  “I forgot about Chace,” she replied.

  At her words, his body got tight.

  “What?” he asked.

  “In all the talk about life, my house, your house, which, by the way, if I don’t get an invitation to see it and drink your homemade beer, and soon, I’ll be peeved, and you giving me stick about my Bronco, I forgot to ask about Chace.” Her voice dipped lower. “Been around these parts a while, honey. I heard what happened to him and his then girlfriend, now wife. Are they good?”

  His body loosened.

  “Since they’re good and the proof of that bein’ the fact that Faye’s heavily pregnant and Chace is actin’ like he’s the first man who’s ever gonna be a daddy on this earth—in other words, he’s over the goddamned moon he knocked up his wife—givin’ you stick about your desecration of God’s vehicular gift to all mankind, the operative part of that word bein’ man, took precedence over discussing Chace and Faye.”

  He heard her low, alluring chuckle, grinned at the phone and continued to make his way through the woods but did it slower, thus quieter. He didn’t want her to hear crunching snow or breaking twigs.

  His focus on several things, with ease, he kept it and called up the recent memory of standing outside the opened driver-side door of her Bronco after walking her there when they’d left The Mark, teasing her and making her laugh.

  He was not wrong in teasing her. A Ford Bronco was a man’s car, no doubt about it. The fact that her bronze 1995 Bronco had ponytail holders shoved down the gearshift, a glittery butterfly hanging from her rearview mirror that had the words “Free to Fly” in script under it and a marketing shot of Raylan Givens from the TV show Justified lounging back in a chair, one leg bent, one cowboy-booted foot stretched straight out, gun up, cowboy hat tipped low on his brow, this taped to the ceiling of the truck over the rearview mirror was Bronco Sacrilege. Not to mention, the truck was clean as a pin.

  Some men, seeing that, might be moved to rip that shit out and take it four wheeling, getting it as muddy, dusty and dirty as humanly possible.

  Some men, seeing Emme and knowing that was her truck, might be moved to do that either before or after they turned her over their knee for committing such blasphemy.

  Deck was finding he was the latter.

  Her words cut into thoughts that were making even Deck lose focus.

  “Chace’s wife is pregnant?” she asked.

  “Heavily,” he answered.

  “That’s good,” she said softly. “I… well, after all that went down, you know, after she was rescued and it made the news she was buried alive and Chace was again in the papers, I went to the library to check her out.”

  Chace’s wife, Faye, was the librarian at Carnal Library.

  Deck said nothing. He still found it difficult to think about that night. A night he spent with a friend who had endured torture, knowing his woman was buried under dirt. So he held onto the fact that they pulled Faye out of that box breathing, a year later he watched her tie the knot with his boy and now they were building a family of more than them and two serious-as-fuck ugly cats that Faye adored.

  “She’s really pretty,” Emme told him.

  “Yeah,” Deck agreed, still moving.

  “Perfect for Chace.”

  “Yeah,” Deck repeated, this time with more feeling.

  “Knowing he was around, I thought of, you know, doing an approach, letting him know I lived close. But I didn’t know, what with all that went down, if I should. I mean, not only with Elsbeth and how that might reflect on me but also with Chace.”

  His boy had had it rough. And Deck was tight with his boy so Emme would know Elsbeth ending things would not make Elsbeth or anyone around her Chace’s favorite people.

  It was again pure Emme she’d have a mind to that. All of it.

  “Sure he’ll be glad to reconnect.”

  “Good, then maybe he and Faye can come over to your house when I’m there drinking your homemade beer. Though Faye obviously can’t drink it.”

  He again grinned at his phone as he saw light coming through the trees. He switched his flashlight off and kept up his approach to her house.

  “I’ll arrange that. And soon,” he told her.

  “Right, great,” she replied. “Then, I was so busy taking your guff about my girl I forgot to ask you over for dinner tomorrow night.”

  Pleased she was asking him to dinner, still, Deck moved toward the light but addressed the more important part of what she said, “A Bronco is not a girl. A Bronco is definitely a guy.”

  “Her name is Persephone.”

  Jesus.

  Deck bit back laughter and returned, “I’ve just re-anointed him Elrod.”

  “Persephone,” she shot back.

  “You don’t like Elrod, you can pick Cletus.”

  “I’m not renaming Persephone!” she snapped, but there was humor in her tone.

  “All right, baby,” he muttered, smiling at the phone, keeping to the shadows but moving toward the lit clearing he spied through the trees.

  He got silence. Complete silence.

  So he called, “Emme?”

  There was another moment’s quiet then, “Are you coming over for dinner tomorrow night or what?”

  He had work to do, that work important, work that would mean getting her clear of that asshole.

  “Yes,” he replied.

  “Good. The yard is open until six but I go in early and leave early. So I can have dinner on the table by six. But I’ll have beer available from five o’clock on.”

  “Then my ass’ll be at your door at five o’clock,” he told her, stopped in the shadow of a tree and trained his eyes on her house.

  His back shot straight and he stared.

  Jesus.

  Fuck.

  It wasn’t a money pit.

  It was what Chace described it as being.

  A nightmare.

  He could see under all that dilapidated mess that there was beauty. Amazing beauty.

  But she had a long way to go before she got it back to that state. This wasn’t only because it was a nightmare. This was also because it was huge.

  As his eyes moved, he decided, first and foremost, his girl needed new insulation. They’d had sun that day, it was cold but Colorado sun could burn snow off a roof. But there were tall pines all around the house, short days in February, limited sun and the shade those trees would bring would mean the snow they had yesterday should still be on her roof—if her insulation was good.

  The snow was gone.

  Her insulation was shit and she was losing heat.

  She was also probably losing heat through some of those boarded windows.

  Fuck.

  “Five o’clock,” she said in his ear, again taking his attention. “Now, I’ll expect you to get on your knees before going to bed tonight and pray my oven works tomorrow or we’re going to be reduced to ordering pizza.”

  Looking at her house, if the inside was anything like the outside, Deck had no doubt every time she turned on her oven, it was a crapshoot.

  “I’m multi-tasking, talking to God right now,” he told her and got another chuckle.

  “Good, honey. I’ll see you tomorrow night.”

  “See you then, babe.”

  “ ’Bye.”

  “Later.”

  He disconnected, his eyes scanning her house, automatically prioritizing. Insulation. Inspection o
f the roof, probably reshingling. Definitely windows. Double-paned but wood framed so they would work with the look of the house but hold in the heat.

  That was just a start.

  And that would cost a small fortune.

  Fuck.

  The investigation notes said she’d been living there for near on three years. One of those years she’d been ill. Still, that left two others, and it looked like the place hadn’t been touched.

  He set aside thoughts of her house, bent his head to his phone, texted Chace with In position, got back a Copy and he shoved his phone in his back pocket.

  Five minutes later, he got a text that said Incoming, and a minute after that, the pimped-out Sierra made the approach, parked outside by Emme’s Bronco and McFarland climbed out.

  Deck’s throat prickled as he watched the familiar way McFarland approached the house.

  The prickle eased when he didn’t walk right in but knocked, waited, and Emme opened the door to him.

  It came back when he watched McFarland round her waist with an arm, smile down at her and back her inside.

  The door closed.

  Deck instantly revised his schedule.

  Emme would not be shot of this guy in a week.

  He was thinking more like two days.

  His phone vibrated and he got a text from Chace.

  Man’s in.

  Deck texted back, Saw that. Doing a perimeter check.

  Chace sent back Copy and Deck moved stealthily around Emme’s property.

  As he did, he began to see it. Why she picked this place. He’d even consider it, but only if he viewed it on a day when he felt like taking on a challenge.

  There was an outbuilding, built after the main house and not well, and it looked like it was meant to store cars at one point but with Emme’s Bronco out front, it was not used for that now and he could see why. It was in worse shape than the house.

  The back had a remarkable garden, terraced up the mountain, incorporating the aspen and pine, this leading down to a patio made of flagstone arrayed in an extraordinary starburst design. All this had been cleared, patio furniture on the flagstone that was probably very nice since it was now covered for the winter. She’d done work here. The garden looked good covered in snow. He figured it’d look amazing in spring and summer.

  As he moved around the house he saw there were bay windows, turrets, attractive stone carvings in the façade, even gargoyles in the corners. It had personality. It had been made with a mind to craftsmanship and no expense spared.

  But it was over a century old, the last five or six decades not well tended and it showed.

  He made it back to position and saw only one light through the windows not boarded. Three floors in the house, second story, left of the front door.

  The prickle came back because Deck reckoned it was her bedroom. Usually masters were at the back of the house to avoid street noise. But here, this house being the only one up her lane, no street noise, so the master would be at the front. This was because the back had a view to close-up mountain and trees. The back might have a spectacular garden as well but the front had a panorama of Rockies, the valley and Gnaw Bone. Anyone in their right mind would want that view from their bedroom window.

  So they were in her bedroom.

  He waited, he watched. They stayed in her bedroom, the light on.

  His throat burned.

  The light went out.

  Deck took in a deep breath through his mouth, letting the cold mountain air ease the burn.

  Two days, he’d get her shot of him.

  No more.

  Definitely.

  Ten minutes later, the front door opened. Deck went alert, pulled out his phone and watched McFarland move to his truck.

  He texted Man’s on the move to Chace.

  Got it, Chace sent back.

  McFarland drove through the circular forecourt of Emme’s house and away.

  Deck’s eyes moved over the front of the house. No lights except the outside one. Not even a dim one coming from her bedroom.

  He gave it time, not too much, that monstrosity, he’d need a lot of it to do a search and he had no idea if or when McFarland would be back.

  The investigation notes said McFarland often took night trips to places unknown, leaving Emme but returning. This probably being one of those red flags Emme couldn’t quite put her finger on if McFarland was cagey about where he was going.

  But Deck didn’t want to enter until he knew Emme was asleep.

  He looked to his watch. She said she was at work early, left early. Which meant she’d go to sleep early. It was just past eleven.

  Their dinner finished around ten. He was trekking up the mountain to her house after ten, talking to her on the phone. This meant McFarland came and left, the first probably in two ways, in under an hour.

  Which made Deck wonder, even if he didn’t like wondering it, if McFarland had given himself enough time to give Emme what she needed.

  That amount of time, he doubted it. A woman like Emme, unless you didn’t have the time and were forced to fuck fast, but good, you took your time.

  And lots of it.

  He pushed these thoughts aside, moved through the woods surrounding the house, made his approach and picked the lock at a back split farm door he figured would lead to the kitchen.

  Turning his flashlight to low beam, he entered and was not surprised to find the kitchen an avocado nightmare. Clearly updated in the ’70s—poorly—it had been left that way, and even with the low beam, its sheer ugliness hurt his eyes.

  That was all the ugliness to be found.

  After searching the kitchen, as he moved through the house, Deck saw nothing but beauty.

  Extreme beauty.

  Seeing it, he finally got it, why she chose this place, what urged her to restore it, bring back that beauty, show this house it was loved.

  It was not a mess in the middle of restoration. It needed work but it was clean, tidy, what seemed like acres of handsome wood glowing.

  There was another starburst, this one spectacular and fashioned by varying woods in the floor of the massive circular entryway over which hung a huge chandelier and around the walls a sweeping rounded stairway.

  She had work to do, definitely, and he saw she was in the middle of several projects.

  But he was pleased to see long gaping holes in the walls that exposed she’d already had the entirety of the electrical rewired but hadn’t yet replastered. New light switches. New outlets. Dimmers.

  She needed to do some sanding. Painting. Plastering. And he saw she was in the middle of cleaning the chandelier in the great room at the front. The floors, woodwork and walls had all been done, furniture covered in sheets, the chandelier all that was left to do. It was down, sitting on a sheet on a table, but the hundreds of crystals had been removed with great care, keeping their array intact even if they were arranged on another sheet on the floor. This so, after they were cleaned, she could reattach them where they were meant to be.

  His Emme. Smart as a whip.

  But as he moved around inside, even with the walls not re-patched after electrical work, it was a home. It was furnished in a mix of antiques and modern that worked beautifully, albeit it was furnished sparsely. But in that place, it’d take years to fill it with furniture.

  Upstairs, more of the same except many of the rooms were closed, draft protectors at their bases, radiators off inside, rooms freezing cold, no furniture or even boxes in those rooms.

  Except one room, a guest room, was entirely refinished. Its bathroom the same. The only rooms he saw that were complete. All in keeping with her décor, but in those rooms, mostly antiques, black-and-white mosaic floor in the bathroom, claw-footed tub, beveled mirrors, heavy wood queen-size bed with lots of pillows and understated but attractive bedclothes.

  He kept moving through the house.

  No stolen property.

  No burglary gang command center.

  Just a home. A big one. A
fucked-up one that would one day be sheer beauty. But a home.

  The last room he went to was the room he knew to be her bedroom. It was unlikely he’d find anything there, but Deck was always thorough.

  But there was something outside of being thorough that drew him there. Something he’d contemplate later, after he got her shot of McFarland.

  Cautious, silent, he turned the knob to the closed door and hoped it didn’t creak. Then again, not a floorboard or a door creaked as he moved through the house so someone knew how to use WD-40.

  The door opened silently.

  He turned out his flashlight, moved in and stopped dead.

  The large windows were covered but with sheers, the curtains were opened. The room was warm.

  And the moonlight illuminated Emme in bed.

  She was on her side and had her back to him.

  Her bare back.

  The covers were pulled up to her hips but not high. He could see the curve of her hip, the top of the round of her ass.

  No panties.

  Just all that sleek skin of her back, shoulder, side, her hair splayed dark against the light of the sheets

  Fuck.

  Fuck.

  His body reacted, his mind engaged, and seeing her, remembering all she was to him, knowing that had not changed, not ever, spending time with her that night, Jacob Decker made an instant decision.

  He also began to back out of the room.

  He tore his eyes from a naked, just-fucked-by-another-guy Emme in bed. His mind consumed with what he’d decided and all he felt knowing fucking Dane fucking McFarland had his hands on her, his mouth on her, his dick inside her, when he spied the small, opened jeweler’s box on her nightstand, he almost missed it.

  But he saw it, stopped and his eyes narrowed on it.

  Furtively, he moved to the bed and stared at that box, the ring inside.

  Quickly, he picked it up, moved quietly out of the room, down the hall and tugged out his phone. He took a picture of the large oval ruby surrounded by diamonds and set in white gold.

  Just as quickly, he went back, replaced it, backed out of the room and closed the door.