Scales: Of Justice (Broken But ... Mending Book 3) (14 page)

P
aris walked into
the seminar and took her seat. Her insides were still shaking but as the incident had come and gone so fast without any kerfuffle, she felt like she’d just been spared a major confrontation. Now if her breathing would just calm down, she’d be fine.

Jenna arrived within minutes, and boy did she have a stack of paperwork in front of her. She smiled at the group at large.

“Homework,” she said, holding the stack up amidst the outcry of groans. “Not hard, but thought-provoking. I want you to spend much of this evening thinking about your life, your past. Especially your future. Remember the questionnaire you answered on the first day? This moves forward based on the answers you gave back then. I’m going to hand those back to you, and you’re going to use that one to help you fill out the second one.”

Jenna ignored the groans erupting from the room. “Both are due back first thing in the morning.”

One person piped up in the front, “That’s a lot of homework, are we going to be given any time to work on it during the seminar?”

“No.” Jenna shook her head. “But we will be doing intense thought-provoking workshops to help you start the process. It’s important that you drop all the baggage you can from your life so that you can start as fresh and as powerful as possible as you move on to the next stage.”

“What next stage?”

Paris didn’t see who spoke. She was still remembering the paper she’d ripped to shreds and the piece she’d actually eaten. Lord, she wasn’t going there. Yet, already her stomach heaved at the thought of someone seeing it.

“And are these answers going to be made public?”

Jenna shook her head. “They will be given to me only. This is, as always, confidential. Everything that happens in these seminars, the work you do, the stuff I see – it belongs between us – and only us.”

There were a few nods, a couple of heavy sighs. And then silence as people waited for her to continue.

“So I’m going to hand these out later. Break into groups and get started.”

Paris hated the group work, knowing it often triggered deep stuff publicly. So far it hadn’t been that way, but the further they got into the workshop, the more likely it was to happen. Already she felt like she’d been through the spin cycle of a washing machine this morning. That meant her defenses were already low. Being tired made her more vulnerable than ever. Then there was the reminder of her first worksheet too.

It didn’t forecast much good about the coming morning.

In fact, the morning was even worse than she feared. By the time the lunch break rolled around, Paris was exhausted. Dragging her tired, worn-out body upstairs, she headed for her hotel room. This day could not end fast enough. The delightful breakfast she had shared with Weaver seemed like ages ago. It wasn’t that the exercises had been hard. Or that they had been intense. But it was difficult to listen to so many people deal with their own garbage. And in this scenario, the exercise amplified everyone’s problems. There had been a lot of tears. A lot of breakdowns. A lot of hugs.

The surprise for Paris had been that there was no breakdown for her. But she was so weary. She needed some downtime – especially after no sleep last night – some time to distance from the emotional waves of energy.

Unlocking her door, Paris stepped into her hotel room. Without thinking about it, she set her keys on the desk and flattened out on her bed. She was asleep within minutes.

When she woke, disoriented, she had no concept of time. A knock sounded on her door. Weaver’s voice called from the other side of the door. “Paris, are you okay? It’s late. The afternoon session is due to start in a few minutes.”

“Sorry, I fell asleep.” She opened the door while still rubbing the sleep out of her eyes.

“Don’t be sorry. You were exhausted.” Weaver hesitated at the doorway.

Her heart still pounded, her skin clammy. She reached over and flicked on the light, blinking at the brightness. “I’ll be just a few minutes. Go on ahead without me.”

“Are you sure?” he asked.

She nodded firmly as she closed the door.

In the bathroom she washed her face, taking only a quick glance at the mirror. No change. Still the same tired, flat Paris that arrived here days ago.

A few minutes later, she walked into the restaurant and asked for a coffee to go. There were muffins on the back wall. Thinking of her own stomach and Weaver’s, she ordered two to take with her. The waitress grinned and said, “Your boyfriend was just here. He ordered the same, only he had two coffees to go with it.”

Boyfriend? Nice thought. A long ways from the truth, but a nice thought.

Paris thanked her and walked away with her goodies, feeling ashamed. Had Weaver bought her a coffee and a muffin? She could share her muffins, had in fact, planned on it, but she hadn’t thought to buy him a coffee. Thinking in twos had never before been necessary before.

In the seminar room, sure enough, he waited with a coffee for her. She sat down beside him and shook her bag of muffins. “Sorry, I didn’t bring you a coffee.”

He laughed. “Not an issue. I could use a second muffin, and I’m sure you can use a second coffee.”

With a big grin, she replied. “True enough.”

“Class,” Jenna said, walking in just then. “We have a long hard afternoon as we’re going to do the prep work on the worksheets now. So get into the groups you started with this morning and we’re going to mix things up a bit.”

Paris groaned but obediently shifted to the table on the far side. Jenna didn’t like anyone working with the same group of people all the time. Her theory was that the comfort level became a hindrance. Paris didn’t agree, but it didn’t matter what she was thinking here. Jenna was the boss.

Still, it was rough. In the middle of the afternoon, Jenna walked by, handing out the worksheets. The ones they’d already filled out was stapled to the back so no one could see the answers but the owner of the papers. Paris did a quick check and winced. Yeah, that was hers all right. It had a big rip in the page and multiple folds from Weaver’s origami. She hastily folded the paper and tucked it into her purse. If it was homework, then she’d do it later tonight. There was no way she was going to answer any questions on her old sheet’s condition. As she glanced at the new homework sheet, she realized it had nothing to do with the old torn set of questions.

Weaver stared at her, one eyebrow raised.

“It’s all good.” She gave him a bright smile. He hadn’t said anything, and she appreciated it. At the same time, she doubted he’d let her off the hook completely.

Just as the afternoon appeared endless from an emotional session where several people in her latest group had broken down and Paris knew she was on the verge of tears herself – the subject matter this afternoon being mothers – as if that wasn’t enough to trigger something for everyone, there was a knock at the door. Expecting to see a hotel employee, she couldn’t hold back the shocked gasp at the sight of Constable Barry Delaney.

Immediately, she hunkered down in her chair, her panicked gaze darting around the room looking for an escape. But there was only one way in or out. Unless she used the window. Panicked, she actually considered it for a long moment.

“Jenna,” the constable asked, “Can I have a few minutes of your time?”

Jenna walked closer. “Sure. This session is almost done, then I have about an hour free.”

“Perfect.”

Jenna turned to the group. “You have your homework, so you’re good to go for the evening. Those of you that are scheduled to meet with me tonight, please be prompt. The schedule is tight. The first appointment is in an hour, so please don’t be late. There is time for dinner if you don’t mind eating early. Other than that, I’ll see you all tomorrow. Remember, worksheets are due first thing in the morning.”

She walked to her desk and started to sort papers.

Chaos ensued throughout the room as everyone stood up to leave. Several small groups of people stood around discussing the latest of the projects while others formed, making plans for the evening.

Paris froze, her mind scrambling for an escape.

Weaver stood up and walked around so he was between the cop and her. “Come on.”

In a blind panic, she shook her head vigorously. “He’ll see me,” she hissed, darting a look toward the doorway.

The constable wasn’t looking her way, but he was gazing at the attendees as they packed up. Shit. He’d see her in a few minutes. There was no way he wouldn’t.

“Not if you sneak out in the middle of the group,” Weaver said calmly. “He hasn’t seen you yet, so chances are he won’t if we keep people between you and him.”

“I’m scared,” she whispered, clutching her purse against her chest, her fingers white as they gripped the leather.

“I know, but you’re going to have to face him sooner or later. Better sooner.”

“Better never,” she muttered.

“Come on, let me help you out of here.”

She stared at him, uncomprehending. Then got it. He was going to help her escape. Quickly scrambling to her feet, and seeing a half dozen people heading for the door, she realized that now was her chance. Keeping her head down, with Weaver between her and the cop, she raced toward the doorway.

Weaver grabbed her hand and stopped her headlong rush. With his calming presence, she made it to the door. The cop had moved out of the way as the group headed toward him. She was in the hallway in seconds, sweat pouring down her back, her breath locked in her chest. When she reached a point about six feet past him, she snuck a look behind her.

Delaney wasn’t even looking her way.

Shuddering, she leaned into Weaver and let her pent up breath out. Oh Lord. She’d made it. She’d also caught a close up look of the man who’d brought her nightmares for the last decade. His face looked older. Sad maybe. Like he’d seen too much of life. She could emphasize. She had too.

She wished she had a chance to study his face without him knowing. So she could replace the childhood memory with the up-to-date one. Surely that would help. But then as if sensing her glance, he turned her way.

More relaxed now that they were out of the room, Weaver’s grip had loosened. Up ahead she saw the stairwell and before either of the men had a chance to register her actions, she’d bolted up the stairs.

*

Weaver felt her
hand slip away, but she moved so fast he didn’t have time to react until she was gone. He watched her take the stairs two at a time as she ran away. Should he go after her?

“Weaver.”

Jenna’s voice called out to him. Reluctantly, he turned and walked back to her. She was in conversation with the cop that Paris was trying to avoid.

Smiling as usual, she made the introductions. “This is Constable Barry Delaney. He specializes in cases with children at risk.”

Weaver studied the man with interest. There was a calm steady look to the man. He reached out and shook his hand.

“I was hoping you could help me talk to Paris,” the constable said. “I’ve been hoping for a chance since I saw her here. I can see she trusts you and I…” He stopped and shrugged. “I have a little unfinished business with her that I’d like to clear up.”

Weaver didn’t know what to say. Did he help Barry or did he help Paris? Were the issues one and the same? He didn’t know. At a loss, he turned to Jenna. She stared at him, completely neutral. Really? Was she testing him somehow? He wanted to glare at her but knew that wasn’t going to help.

The man seemed earnest, but the bottom line was simple. “Paris doesn’t want to see you.”

The man’s shoulders deflated. Rubbing his face roughly with his hand, he nodded. “Understandable. I said something to her that I’d thought was appropriate at the time, but her words and reactions have eaten at me. I misjudged her then. I didn’t know the extent of what she’d just been through. I was new to the department and had just come on to the case.” He stared at the empty space between Jenna and Weaver, his gaze unfocused, distant. “When I learned the details, it was too late. She refused to talk to me again, and I never got a chance to fix it. I can’t take back what I said…”

Forcing a smile, he continued. “I had hoped she’d moved on and done well for herself, but when I saw her here and she ran from me, I realized I had to clear the air.”

Shit. Weaver stared at the man who appeared to be earnest and caring. If his words had hurt Paris unintentionally, then that was likely what Paris’s issue with him was all about. She definitely needed to see him. But Weaver knew if he pushed it, she would hate him.

Yet, it was holding her back right now from having a full life.

Really shitty timing.

He glanced over at Jenna and this time, maybe she’d seen the change in his own stance. Maybe she’d been on that side since the beginning. But there was a decidedly positive look in her eyes as if to say,
You can do this, Weaver
.

It was true that he could, but he also felt like he was betraying Paris. How did he reconcile that?

He sighed. “What do you want me to do?”