Scales: Of Justice (Broken But ... Mending Book 3) (11 page)

T
he burning questions
hung in the cool air around them. Didn’t matter. She had no plans to answer them. There were things she could do and things she couldn’t do. Talking to Delaney was on the second list. The other constable, whatever his name had been, might be a different story. He’d helped Sean in a way she’d never have been able to reach him. And that had made such a difference to her brother. Sean credited the man with saving him from a deep dark slide into the shadows of his soul and staying there.

But he hadn’t had the same effect on her. Watching from the sidelines, covered in blankets but apart from the going-ons, she’d been in shock. And so much of what happened back then was a dim painful memory. To try and look at it closer was asking for a whole lot of pain. Who wanted to scrape their insides out again after it had finally healed? Not her.

Then again, that stupid little voice in her head said,
What if it never healed
?

It had to have healed. It had been over a decade. Surely that was long enough. But that same voice smiled and said,
If it was, you’d have no trouble taking a closer look. Because you won’t even contemplate such an action, you know it hasn’t. And won’t if you can’t deal with this stuff.

“I can’t,” she snapped.

“What?” Weaver asked by her side.

She flushed then groaned. “Sorry, I was talking to myself.”

“Arguing from the sounds of it,” he said, his voice light and humorous. “Every time I do that, I lose.”

Again she felt his light touch on the small of her back, and her heartbeat quickened. “I can’t lose this one,” she said resolutely. “It’s not possible.”

And that was all she was going to say on the topic. The pizza place was one storefront down from them. She hurried inside to get in out of the cold – in more ways than one.

Once back in her hotel room, she answered Sean’s text. Her response was clear and simple. “No.”

Of all people, he should understand. He’d watched her go to pieces at the time. In a different way than he had. In a different way since, but they’d both picked up the remnants of their life and carried on. It hadn’t been easy, but they’d done it and she was always comforted by that fact. What she’d gone through afterwards had been so different than what Sean had gone through. That’s where the understanding and mutual experiences diverted.

Her brother knew in theory what she’d been put through, but he hadn’t been allowed to be by her side and she’d never been able to tell him. The police had questioned her for hours at the time. The process had damn near killed her. It took months for her to sleep again, afraid the cops were going to come any minute to haul her away. Afraid ever since that they’d made a mistake and someone was going to pick up that old file and remember what she’d done.

Her day of reckoning would come.

She was hell bent on making sure she wasn’t the one who had to serve it.

And that meant avoiding all cops, especially the one she’d spoken to back then.

*

Back in his
room, Weaver hesitated as to whether he should say something to Jenna about the cop being at the hotel and Paris’s response. Was it tattling? Or was it in her best interests? He tried to think of it from the therapist’s point of view in that he was there to help her heal. If Providence dropped a juicy opportunity like that into his patient’s life, wouldn’t he want to know?

Wouldn’t he need to know? Her behavior was going to be off now – there’s no way it couldn’t be. And if Jenna didn’t know what was going on, she couldn’t help Paris deal with it.

The right thing to do was call her.

He opened his cell phone. “I need to meet you. Maybe the coffee shop if it isn’t too late.”

“Be there in five,” she said cheerfully.

That was one thing about her that always blew him away. Not once had he met her in a bad mood. Always wide-awake and cheerful, she was ready to take on whatever the world tossed at her.

He left the hotel room and with a final glance at Paris’s closed door, walked down to the coffee shop.

P
aris answered her
phone. “Hi, Sean.”

Silence.

“Are you okay?”

She burst into tears. In between her sobs, she managed to get out, “I’m…” sniffle… “fine.”

His voice threaded with gentle loving humor, he said, “You don’t sound it.”

“Why is he here?” she cried. “Why now?”

“I don’t know. Is he there alone?”

“No,” she said, her voice rising in alarm, “The hotel is full of cops. Some kind of seminar. Talk about horrible timing.”

“And maybe not,” he said in that calm way of his. “You don’t need to talk to him, but maybe by the end of the week, you could get to the point of not bolting every time you see a policeman.”

Her mood lightened. “Well, so far it hasn’t worked. I’ve bolted twice. Once inside to get away and once outside to get further away.” She laughed.

“Of course you did.” He chuckled. “And you might still do that for a while, but not all cops are bad. Remember that.”

“I know he isn’t bad. But not all are compassionate and caring. You hit the jackpot there. I didn’t.”

“No, you didn’t, and I’ve always been so angry about that. I should have been there for you.”

“No,” she interrupted him. “Don’t blame yourself. It’s the system. We were victims first, and the system continued to make us victims.”

“You more than I. We had a decent foster family for that last while, but they never quite knew how to handle you.”

“Without you, I wouldn’t have ended up mostly normal.” She sighed. “The foster family was good to me. They were a rock when I was the storm. How they put up with me, I don’t know.”

“Well, it helped a lot that he was a psychologist.” Sean’s voice deepened. “Did you consider calling him?”

“No, I haven’t dumped my problems on him in a long time.” In truth, she never had. He’d been great at coaxing her back to the real world, but she’d been a lot of work. He had taken on several other kids after she’d moved out, although she didn’t think any were as badly damaged as she’d been.

“Maybe you should let Jenna know.”

Silence.

“I don’t want to open it up,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “And she’s going to poke and pry and insist that the blood flow to cleanse the wound.”

“So? You know it has to happen.”

“So,” she countered, using his own word. “Doesn’t mean it has to happen here and now. Today or this week. It’s not what I came for.”

“Yes, it is.” Again that calm manner and voice that had held him in good stead. “You went there to heal. We don’t always get to choose
what
is going to heal.”

Paris slumped on her bed and flopped backwards. “It’s too hard to do all of this.”

“Sure it is. That’s why it’s a good idea to bring Jenna on board so that you have the support you need. Think about it, Paris. I know you went with other intentions, but this could be a huge gift. Deal with the cop. See him as the adult you are and not the traumatized young girl you’d been. He won’t be the ogre you remember now because you are older and wiser.”

“But it wasn’t him as much as the power of the law that terrifies me,” she reminded him.

“And that’s just wrong,” his voice rose in anger. “I’ve told you before. It’s not your fault.”

Her hand trembled as she brushed her hair off her forehead. Tears once again welled up at the corner of her eyes. “I know you say that…”

“I mean that. Anyone would tell you the same thing. Hell, dozens of people
have
told you the same thing,” he said. “It’s that asshole sitting at the damn hotel that’s to blame for putting that doubt in your head.” He made a half-strangled roar in the background. “I’m of a half mind to come down there and beat the crap out of him for what he did to you.”

“No,” she cried, “you can’t.”

Sobs broke free, and she couldn’t hold them back anymore. “Besides, he didn’t do anything other than his job.”

“He was a hard ass to you and you didn’t deserve it. You were traumatized. You needed support and counseling, not his heavy-handed warnings.”

“But he was right. I started down a path and my actions have followed me ever since.”

“Damn it, Paris. You escaped your past. You got an education, you got a life. We are both surviving and now I’m thriving. It’s your turn.”

Sniffling through the tears, she wished he was there to give her a hug. And then unexpectedly, an image of Weaver holding her close crept in, and she pushed it down. “I hope so,” she whispered. “But I’m afraid it won’t be in time.”

“In time for what?” he asked, alarm making his voice rise.

“Before they haul me away.”

There was an odd silence. “Why would they do that?” he asked in a low, controlled voice.

“Because he was right,” she said, breaking down into heart-wrenching sobs. “I’d do it all over again.”

She hung up the phone then threw herself across the bed, lost in the horrible memories of the night she’d killed her father.

*

The coffee shop
was mostly empty except for a few cops sitting in the far corner. Jenna wasn’t here yet. He took a chair by the window with his back to the wall so he could watch for her. After ordering coffee for two, he waited, unsure if he was doing the right thing.

More cops came in and took a second table a few feet away from them. One was the man who’d knocked on Paris’s door. Weaver frowned, wondering if he’d be able to overhear the conversation about to happen with Jenna.

As he looked up, Jenna walked toward him, smiling. As she approached, that one cop stood up and stopped her.

Curious, he tried to listen in, only to realize their voices were so low he couldn’t hear what was being said. But they knew each other.

Suspicion settled inside. Had Jenna set this up?

He wouldn’t put it past her.

Neither did he believe in coincidences.

These two were up to something. Jenna motioned toward Weaver and the cop nodded. He sat down again and Jenna continued on.

Now he didn’t know what to do.

After she’d settled and her beautiful smiling face turned his way, the words spilled out. “Did you plan this?”

She raised an eyebrow. “Plan what?”

He nodded to the cop now busy joking with his friends. “Him.”

Turning, she glanced back at the cop then turned to face him.

If he hadn’t been watching so closely, he didn’t know that he’d have caught it. Confusion, surprise, and maybe a little fear. But not the guilt he was expecting.

She shook her head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

After taking a sip of her coffee, her gaze never leaving his face, she asked, “Explain, please.”

Stretching his long legs out in front of him under the table, Weaver sighed. “Paris has gone off the rails because of that man.”

“What?” She stared at him, lowered the cup, and leaned forward. “What happened?”

Quickly he explained about finding this man knocking on Paris’s door and her refusing to open it. About her crying jag. The escape to the pizza place followed by the little bits and pieces he’d managed to get out of Paris. “She’s devastated over this,” he finished. “I was hoping she could deal with it now that it’s here in front of her, but she’s adamant about not going in that direction.”