Chapter Thirty-eight

Weston

I can’t move. Not yet, not while my mind is going a million miles an hour. Scarlet wouldn’t steal them. She’s not a bad person. She’s not a con artist or a thief. She’s Scarlet, a quirky girl from Chicago who likes paranormal romance, drinking tea, and looking at the stars.

She’s the woman I love.

But the boxes…I shake my head and move through the small foyer, going to the other side of the house. The boxes came from the basement, and maybe she put them back. I run down the stairs, getting hit with cool, musty air, and pull the string light at the bottom of the stairs. The basement is cold and damp most of the time, typical of older houses in this area. We use it for storage, and the washer and dryer are down here too. I go around the stairs to the storage section and see the boxes neatly put away. I pull one out and open it. Everything is inside.

And now I’m feeling bad for even doubting her. I put my head in my hands and let out a breath. What the hell am I doing?

“Daddy?” Jackson’s voice echoes through the house. Shaking myself, I go upstairs and find Jackson in the kitchen.

“Can we eat now? I’m hungry.”

“Of course.” Having forgotten about our food, I heat it up. Jackson only wants an egg roll anyway and asks for a piece of toast with peanut butter on it instead.

“Is Scarlet still sleeping?” he asks. “Can I bring food up to her?”

I never lied to him about his mother, and I don’t want to lie to him about Scarlet either. But—fuck—what do I say?

“She had to go visit her sister,” I blurt the first thing that comes to mind.

“When will she be back?”

I swallow the lump in my throat. “I’m not sure.”

I put the groceries away while Jackson eats. I should be hungry, but my appetite is gone. I can’t get Daisy’s words out of my head. I don’t know what to believe, and the best thing is to ask Scarlet. I call her and get her voicemail.

“Scarlet, it’s Wes…call me. Please.”

I put my phone down and pace around the kitchen, feeling more and more anxious as the minutes tick by. It’s like history is repeating itself and I’m damned to live through this again and again.

To be left over and over.

But this time, it’s different. This time, I’m in love with the woman who left me. This time, there was no small relief in knowing she was gone, that our constant arguing was finally over. Daisy and I should have separated long before she left. I wouldn’t change a thing that would take Jackson away, but if things came about differently…if we at least talked about the issue we ignored and hoped would go away things might have been a lot better for all of us.

Which is why I’m not going to sit back and hope things fix themselves. Not this time around.

*

I push open the door to Getaway, and bright sunlight spills into the dimly lit bar. Logan’s car is parked out front.

“Oh, hey, Wes,” Danielle, one of the other bartenders, says, looking up from behind the bar. It’s Saturday, and the bar doesn’t open for another few hours, but one of my twin brothers is always here getting things ready for the night.

“Is Logan here?” I set Jackson down and look around for him.

Danielle shakes her head. “No, we had an issue with our hard liquor delivery, so he ran to Newport to pick it up himself.”

“Oh, bad timing on a Saturday.”

“You’re telling me. Owen is here, though. He’s in the office. Want me to get him?”

“Yeah, thanks, Danielle.”

She gives me a smile, looking a little concerned. I’ve never come in here during the day like this, so it’s obvious something is up. Danielle disappears into the office behind the bar to get Owen. I was hoping to talk to Logan because he’s a good voice of reason, but maybe Owen’s the better one to give advice on this situation. We’re the least alike, and hearing what he’d do could do me some good.

“Hey,” he says, hurrying over. “What’s going on?”

“You got a minute?”

“Of course.” He looks at Jackson. “Is everything okay?”

“I’m not sure.”

Danielle comes around the bar. “Hey, Jackson, want to play pool with me?”

“Thanks,” I tell her, and she takes Jackson’s hand, leading him across the bar to the pool table.

“You’re freaking me out,” Owen says, going to the bar. He grabs a bottle of top-shelf whiskey and pours us each a shot. I take mine and sip it.

“Scarlet left.”

“What do you mean, she left?”

I finish the shot, feeling like I need another. “Daisy showed up at the house today.”

“Oh, shit.”

“Yeah. And she wouldn’t admit it, but I think she said something to Scarlet and that’s why she left.” I pinch the bridge of my nose, and Owen fills the shot glass again. “But that’s not all…Daisy told me Scarlet is a con artist and only took the job because she thought she was working for a rich couple—Quinn and Archer—and wanted to con money out of them.”

Owen blinks. Once. Twice. “The fuck? Daisy’s crazy. How would she even know that?”

“Supposedly, she has a friend who’s at the same prison that Scarlet’s sister is at and overheard them talking.”

“Scarlet has a sister in prison?”

“Yeah, she does. I knew that already, though.”

“Does she look like Scarlet? Is she single? You know I love bad girls.”

For once, I’m thankful for Owen’s smartass attitude. It makes me shake my head but smile. “I’ve never seen her.”

Owen takes his shot and then slides the second one he poured for me over. “Tell me everything.”

I take another look at Jackson, making sure he can’t hear. He’s distracted with Danielle, thankfully. Taking a deep breath, I tell Owen everything.

“I need a minute to process,” he says, reaching around for more whiskey. “Do you think she’s a con artist?”

“I don’t want to, but I…I don’t know.”

“Okay.” Owen nods, thinking. “Say everything is true. She took the job thinking she’d con some rich couple out of money. But she didn’t. She stayed with you and Jackson and did her job. Really well.” He wiggles his eyebrows. “Right?”

“She was great.”

“You dog.”

“Shut up,” I say flatly. “She was a great nanny and did the job she was hired to do.”

“Isn’t that all that matters?”

I shake my head, unsure.

“Hey, Danielle?” Owen calls. “I have a moral question for you.”

“Uh, sure?” Danielle looks up from the pool table.

“Two guys walk into the bar—”

“Are you forgetting little ears are present?” Danielle puts a hand on her hip and stares at Owen.

“It’s not a dirty joke,” he deadpans. “Two guys walk into the bar, both with the intent to rob the place at gunpoint. The first guy doesn’t go through with it, even though he walked in the doors with the intention of doing it. The second guy does rob the place.”

“Okay…what’s the moral question?”

“Who’s worse? Or are they both as bad since they both intended on doing the same thing?”

“The guy who actually robbed the place is worse. Though I suppose you’d need to know whythe other guy didn’t go through with the robbery. If it was for self-preservation, like he knew he couldn’t get away so he decided to wait until another night when the bar was less crowded or something, then I suppose he’s still as bad as the second guy. But if he didn’t rob the place because he had a change of heart, then he’s not as bad.”

“Does that help?” Owen asks.

“I think so.” I rub my forehead, feeling a migraine coming on. “What would you do if you were me?”

The smirk fades, and Owen unscrews the lid to the whiskey. “I wouldn’t let her be the one that got away.”

“You’d go after her.”

“I’d run after her.” He refills our shot glasses. “If she was going to con you, she would have. And once she realized you weren’t who she thought she was going to work for, she would have left and moved onto another couple to con. But she stayed because she had a change of heart.”

“But you don’t know that.”

“No.” He shakes his head. “I don’t. Just like you don’t know she didn’t. Where is she?”

“I don’t know.”

“Did she have a house back in Chicago?”

“No. She lived in an apartment and gave up her lease to take this job.”

“Maybe Quinn can hack into her phone. Track her location or something.”

“No, I don’t want her involved.” I don’t want anyone else in the family involved, but that goes without saying to Owen. He’ll tell Logan, I’m sure. They claim to have a hard time lying to each other, saying it’s a “twin thing” and non-twins don’t understand.

“I know where her sister is.” I sit up. “And she’ll know where Scarlet is.”

“What are you waiting for?” Owen asks. “Go!”

“I can’t just drive up to a prison and ask to see a random inmate.”

“But you’re a cop.” He gives me a blank stare.

"I know, but it doesn’t work that way. Though I might be able to get her on the phone.” I pull out my cell to look up the number for the prison. “I’ll have to make a few calls.” I open the internet and type in the name of the prison. “I get no service here.”

“I know. It’s become a dead-zone after the old cell tower was replaced by a different carrier.”

“What’s your wifi password?”

“Shit. I don’t remember. Quinn set it up…try I love cats or something.”

“Even Quinn wouldn’t be that obvious.” Still, I try a handful of guesses, text Quinn for help, and wait a whole two seconds before getting frustrated with her lack of reply.

Owen gets up. “What do you need info on? We can look it up on the office computer.”

“I’ll be in here,” I tell Jackson and Danielle, motioning to the office. He’s using his hands to push in the balls on the pool table and is excited to be “winning.” It’ll be okay. I’ll get Scarlet back. For me and for him.

Owen puts in the password and steps aside, letting me sit in the desk chair. “Are you in love with her?”

“Yes.” I don’t hesitate, don’t try to hide my feelings. There’s no point. I do love Scarlet, and I love her fiercely.

“Then you’ve got to do this, man. You have to go get her. Take it from me,” he starts but doesn’t finish. I write down the prison’s phone number and address, closing the internet browser and letting out a breath. I’m so tense my shoulders are killing me. Standing, I turn to Owen.

“Thanks.”

“No problem. But I do think we should mark this date down in history as the day you came to me for advice.”

“I was actually hoping Logan was here.”

“Fuck you.”

I laugh. “He probably would have said the opposite.”

“No shit. He plays it too safe.” Owen shakes his head. “He’s going to miss his chance with her,” he says, meaning Danielle. “But what am I—”

He cuts off when he hears Danielle loudly tell someone the bar isn’t open yet.

“Ah, shit. I bet that’s Bart again.”

“Your resident drunk?”

“Yeah. Poor bastard’s drunk more than he is sober. We started giving him protein shakes and saying they’re full of vodka. He drinks them at least. Hopefully it’ll help him put on a few pounds before winter.”

“Owen!” Danielle calls, and both my brother and I run. Danielle is standing behind the pool table, holding Jackson’s hand. Her eyes are wide and full of fear, and Jackson looks confused.

“Daddy!” he yells and tries to make a run for me. But she’s faster.

Daisy grabs Jackson, and he immediately starts to struggle, just like I taught him in the event someone tries to kidnap him.

"It’s okay, I’m your mom,” Daisy tells him, and he freezes.

“Daisy.” I rush over, blood boiling. “Put him down.”

“Dad?” Jackson asks, looking back and forth between Daisy and myself. “Is this Mommy?”

“Yes, baby!” Daisy hugs him and drops to her knees, tears falling from her eyes. “I’m your mommy.”

“Let him go,” I tell her. “You have no right to be here.”

“He’s my son! I have every right that you—”

“Legally,” I interrupt. “You have no rights. Let him go and leave.”

“No.” She stands up, holding Jackson’s hand. She looks down at him, smiling. “Want to go get ice cream? We can catch up.”

“Okay,” Jackson says, not too sure of himself.

I clench my fists. I could easily stride over and shove her away, but I don’t want Jackson to see me lay a finger on Daisy. And I don’t want to hurt her. Deep down, I feel bad for her. She’s missing out on the greatest kid in the whole fucking world.

“No. Let him go,” I say again in a calm, level voice. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Owen pull out his phone and start recording a video. I know exactly what he’s doing: getting proof of Daisy trying to take my son. Thank you, Owen, for thinking two steps ahead for once.

“You have no legal standing to take him,” I repeat. “You gave up custody when you left us four years ago. Let him go.”

“No,” she says again and shuffles back. “I’m taking him and you can’t stop me.”

“Should I call the cops?” Danielle asks, voice trembling a bit.

“Yes,” I tell her. “Tell them exactly what’s going on. Jackson’s non-custodial mother is trying to take him.”

“Daddy, I’m scared.” Jackson tries to pull away, and Daisy tightens her grip. I rush forward, and she picks him up, holding him so tight she’s hurting him. He kicks and hits a table, knocking a few glasses onto the ground. They shatter, and glass crunches under her feet. If I try to wrestle him out of her arms, she could drop him or fall, and he’ll get cut.

As she shuffles away from me and toward the door, I advance, going around a table and blocking the exit.

“Get the fuck out of my way!” Daisy struggles to keep a hold of Jackson. The kid is only four, but he takes after me and is solid.

“Put him down,” I say again. If she gets out the door, she’s going to take him. She came here to kidnap him, though she won’t see it that way. But it’s exactly what it is. There’s no way I’m letting her out that door.

Or walk out of here free.

“Ow!” Jackson cries, twisting as he tries to get out of her arms. She adjusts him against her, gripping his arms so tight his skin is turning red.

“For God’s sake, you’re hurting him!” I yell. That’s it. I’m getting Jackson back. But before I can make a move, Daisy puts Jackson down, takes a death grip on his wrist, and pulls a can of pepper spray from her purse, pointing it at me.

“Jackson, it’s okay,” I say, swallowing hard. She’s really come unhinged. Or desperate. I don’t know which is worse right now.

“You can’t keep him away from me.”

“Daisy.” I hold up my hands, heart racing. Pepper spray is far from lethal, but I don’t want Jackson to go through the pain of getting it in his eyes or inhaling it. “We can work something out. Just let Jackson go.”

Jackson starts struggling again, crying and calling for me. “It’s okay,” I tell him again. “Daisy, think about this. Is this how you want to start a relationship with your son?”

Daisy’s face goes slack, and she looks down, realizing what she’s doing. She lets go of Jackson, and he runs to me, crying. Having him in my arms again is the best feeling. I scoop him up, never wanting to let go.

Daisy starts crying, and Owen rushes over. I hand him Jackson, heart aching a bit not to have him in my arms. I rush forward and take the pepper spray from Daisy.

“Don’t do this to me,” Daisy says, looking up.

“I’m not. You did this to yourself.” I inhale and hear sirens in the distance. Thank fucking goodness. I didn’t want to be the one to make Daisy’s official arrest.