Falling for His Suspect Page 5

  So unlike the Lila that ran The Lemonade Stand with a firm, practical, loving hand.

  Greg declined refreshments. He shot a pointed look toward the lovely, welcoming couch and pulled out one of the kitchen chairs. Jasmine busied herself brewing some lavender tea.

  Maybe she should have thought a bit more before immediately accepting Lila’s offer to have this meeting in her quarters. Greg Johnson’s big presence was a bit much.

  Didn’t fit.

  And yet she wanted him there. Was happy to see him.

  “What do you need to know?” she asked, bringing her tea to the table and sitting down opposite him—not that he was really facing the table. More like he’d pulled the chair out away, facing the biggest expanse of unoccupied room in the small space.

  Josh would be the first to tell her that she had to fight any attraction she might feel to the man she was certain was going to help them. Because she had no other friends whom she was vulnerable enough with to confide her lowest lows, her brother had been the one left to pick up her pieces each time she’d ended up broken from another failed relationship. She didn’t need him to tell her, though; she had looked her issues in the eye and taken them on as the baggage they were—lessons to her, but not in charge.

  She couldn’t honestly tell herself that that baggage had had no hand in choosing her outfit: a knee-length black-and-white-striped stretch cotton dress or her favorite pair of thin, soft black leggings. The outfit, while completely circumspect for school, showed how slim she was, while making the most of breasts that, while not overly large, had a shape that seemed to attract attention. And while Bella had been smearing peanut butter on the table while she ate her toast, Jasmine had plugged a curling iron into an outlet within view and spent a little time working on the ends of her hair.

  Earning her an “Auntie JJ looks peetty” from her niece as they headed out the door.

  “How old were you and Josh the first time your father got violent at home?”

  The question felt like a slap. Her fault. She’d let herself spend too much time with the baggage...

  He’d come there for information that would help Josh. Nothing there to feel good about. Except giving it so that her brother could be free from the nightmare that was Heidi.

  “I was four the first time I remember knowing that I had to get Josh upstairs in my doll closet and be really quiet until Mom came to find me,” she said, with very little emotion. The story had been told. It was out. No longer a memory with the power to cripple her.

  “Your mother told you to go?”

  Dipping her tea bag, she lifted it out of the cup, dropping it onto the side of the china saucer.

  “No,” she answered eventually. “I wasn’t even sure she’d find us. I have no idea what I was planning to do from there. Spend the rest of our lives in my closet? It was a separate walk-in closet in my room that my parents built into a dollhouse.”

  “Your father, too?”

  She nodded. He’d had a good side. A great side. A side that allowed you to love him. A side the world saw. So did all three of her exes.

  And Heidi.

  “Mom says that the first time I protected Josh was when I was three and he was one. He was just learning to walk and couldn’t take many steps on his own. My father was in one of his rages and apparently I laid Josh down on the floor and got down beside him, pulling a blanket up over the top of us, as though we wouldn’t be seen. According to my mom, when my father saw that, he stopped yelling in midsentence and walked out.”

  A decent man had lurked inside him.

  “So you grew up with violence? It wasn’t just something that happened later.”

  “It’s all we ever knew.”

  “Did he ever hit you?” Greg asked.

  “Not when Josh was old enough to stop him.”

  “But before that?”

  She shrugged. More old news. Dealt with. No more power to hurt.

  Ah, but she was there to help Josh. “Yes. He broke my tooth when I was six. I have a permanent cap on it.” That was one she remembered specifically. “He had an active backhand,” she said. “It was a part of our lives, almost as frequent as Saturday morning cartoons. And some weeks, as prevalent as bedtime prayers.”

  She thought about how that sounded. How...horribly victimized it made them all sound, living like that for so many years.

  “He was also generous. Encouraging us to show interest in things and then supporting that interest, both with time and money. He was at every game and school play. Took an active role in holiday shopping and made a wonderful Santa on Christmas mornings.”

  And by afternoon he’d have a bourbon, retreat to his home office to work, and come out raging if something wasn’t going his way.

  “He’d say the most awful things,” she said aloud, without conscious choice to do so. “From calling one or the other us an imbecile or stupid, to telling my mother she was worthless. He’d tell us his rages were our faults. And if anyone dared talk back, he’d throw a backhand.”

  “So his anger was work related?”

  “Not necessarily. One Christmas he flew off because the swing set he was trying to put together fell over and the top bar hit him in the head. He just had a lightning, vile temper.”

  And the rest of the time, when he wasn’t angry, he was a regular husband and father. One who’d amassed enough wealth to provide them all with whatever material things they wanted or needed. He was always generous and seemed to take real joy out of giving to them.

  “You said that he didn’t hit you after Josh was old enough to protect you.”

  “I said, since he was old enough to stop our dad,” she corrected. They were dealing with the truth here, not versions thereof. “He was tall for his age,” she added. “I told you about it last night. The way he grabbed me up and left the room...” She said she’d been fourteen, which she had been. But Josh’s protection had started even before that.

  Which would be pertinent for Greg to know.

  “When I was ten, in fifth grade, Josh and I were playing a video game one night after dinner. My job was to clear the table, and I forgot. We’d been playing before dinner, too, and I was beating him at the game.” Not that it mattered. But it stuck in her mind. “My father came in and saw me there and told me that if I didn’t get in the kitchen and get the table cleared, I was going to get a spanking.”

  He hadn’t been in a temper. But he’d been serious about the spanking. She’d known that. She’d also known that her mother had already cleared most of the table. Mom had known about the ongoing video game, and they only had half an hour more to play before homework and bedtime. Mary had liked that she and Josh got along so well together. Played together. She hadn’t told Jasmine she could be excused, but when she’d seen them trying to finish their game, she’d smiled and left to clear the table herself.

  Their father had only cared that one child wasn’t meeting their responsibilities.

  “He told Josh that if he didn’t get up and help me, he was in for it, too.”

  Josh had looked at him—and lost a point on the game. “When Josh protested, saying he hadn’t done anything wrong, that clearing the table wasn’t his job, our father’s face turned red, and I knew there was going to be trouble.”

  She sipped tea. She’d been over the event multiple times, in joint counseling with Josh when they were younger, and as an adult, too. They’d learned from this incident and were able even to joke about it between the two of them now.

  Looking at the detective, she was glad that she’d tended to her issues, done the work, so she could be healthy and healed. She’d hate to be less than her best in front of the man who was there to save them from this current nightmare.

  “We both stood up as our father approached.” She gave a shrug, a small smile in memory of those two kids who’d stood up for themselves way back then, having no idea about what standing up for yourself really meant.

  “I knew I was going to get it, but I also knew that Josh was safe behind me. When my father hit me, Josh could run and get Mom. Or just run...”

  She could still remember so clearly knowing that. That Josh would be safe. What she couldn’t remember was why on earth she’d opened her mouth.

  “I told my father that my teacher said that no one should hit kids,” she said, shaking her head. “He flew into a rage,” she continued, throwing the rest out there without needing to call up any memories. “I hunched, tucking my face, and suddenly Josh was there, pushing in front of me, putting himself right in front of my father’s approaching blows. I couldn’t believe it. He was supposed to run for Mom. To get himself safe. I was the one who hadn’t done my job. I pushed back at Josh. Hard. There was no way I was going to let him in front of me.”

  She stopped for a moment. Breathing as she knew to do. Allowing any residual negative emotion to wash over her and fade, as she knew it would. Taking another sip of tea. Lavender was calming. She also liked the taste of it. A pleasant sensation to replace ones that were less so.

  She had this.

  “But he got in front of you anyway?” Greg asked, confusing her for a second. She then remembered that she’d told this story because it was about the first time Josh had protected her from their father. The detective was waiting to hear how Josh had saved the day.

  “No, he fell and broke the glass inset on the coffee table, gashing his shoulder blade. We spent the next few hours in the emergency room while Josh got twenty-four stitches on his back. The shard of glass missed his neck by a couple of inches.”

  Thank God for that.

  For saving her sweet and wonderful brother from more severe consequences due to her ghastly mistake.

  Their father had had a lot to say to her during those hours. “You see what happens when you try to disobey a parent?” She could still hear his next words: “My rules are set for a reason. They’re designed to teach you life lessons, not school lessons. Discipline is necessary. Without it you and your brother will never be able to live happy, productive lives.”

  Their mother, looking sick and loving and concerned, had nodded at that as Jasmine, who’d been huddling against her, turned to look up. The nurse had come in then to check on Josh, who’d been eating chocolate ice cream, and to let them know that they were processing the paperwork for the accident as a result of siblings roughhousing so they could go home. There’d been no reason to think of Josh’s injury as anything other than what her wealthy, respected parents reported. There were no prior visits on record. No visible evidence of previous injuries.

  She hadn’t looked at her mother during her father’s next speech, ten or so minutes later.

  “None of this would have happened if you’d just listened to me to begin with. Your teacher’s job is to give you math and science skills. My job is to raise a decent, moral human being who will be a positive contribution to society, not a drain on it. I always only want what’s best for you. That’s something you’re too young to understand now, but you’ll get it later. When you grow up and have your own kids. But this you need to get now—I have an obligation to you, and to society, one that the law gives me, to raise you kids. Until you are eighteen, my word is your law.”

  You’d think she’d have gotten it. Learned to keep her mouth shut. She had, eventually, at least when it was her own concerns at issue.

  “Were you punished for pushing him?” Greg Johnson’s words pulled her back from the brink of falling back too many years. To before she’d had adult counseling, when such memories still had the power to take over her brain.

  “No,” she said, fast-forwarding back to Lila’s office. To giving testimony to the man helping them. “My parents knew I was only trying to keep Josh from taking my punishment.”

  Josh had made Jasmine swear a promise that night. If he ever stepped up to help her, she had to let him.

  He was bigger than she was, he’d pointed out. And he wouldn’t just stand by and watch his sister get hurt.

  She’d agreed. Hadn’t felt like she’d had much other choice, based on his reasoning and the fact that he was lying propped up oddly in bed with a sling. He wasn’t going to stop trying to save her, no matter what she said, and she couldn’t take a chance on him getting injured again.

  She’d agreed, too, because no matter what anyone said, she knew him being hurt was her fault. For a second there she’d been mad at Josh for rushing forward, for putting himself in danger. She’d always wondered if maybe she’d shoved too hard because of that.

  Coming back to the present, she answered more of Greg’s questions, sipping her tea, feeling almost as calm as she sounded. Counseling, working through things, really did work. You could grow up in hell and find a way back to living with joy.

  It was true what they said about facing your fears taking away their sting.

  Until they backhanded you out of the blue.

  Like Heidi was doing.

  And then, if you lived right, if you were lucky, a good detective caught your case. Sometimes you didn’t have to do it all alone.

  Sometimes protection knocked on your door looking for truth.

  Chapter 6

  Greg didn’t spend a lot of time in his office. It made him itchy. Seriously. For ten years he’d practically lived on the second floor of the county court building, home to the prosecutor’s office. Area restaurants knew his number by heart. He’d dial, they’d pick up and ask if he wanted his usual.

  When Liv had come into his life, he’d eaten at home more. And then less, again, the more he’d needed to escape from her.

  He was what he was. And at the exact moment he entered his office on Friday afternoon, he knew he wasn’t going to change. It just hit him. No matter how much he might wish he was a different kind of guy, capable of understanding softer emotions in a more supportive way or understanding them at all—he wasn’t that guy. He wasn’t Rick. And definitely not Josh Taylor. Not only was he not an abuser, he also could not, in any way see himself dedicating his life to raising a toddler singlehandedly.

  The whole idea of it gave him hives.

  The kid would get its feelings hurt for some reason unclear to him, and he’d need to go lift weights. Again and again.

  Once a day, from 5:00 to 6:00 a.m., was enough for him. A guy his size couldn’t afford to get much bigger.

  He had to get Jasmine Taylor out of his head. All this soul searching wasn’t good for him. Cramped up his thinking. Put him in a foul mood.

  As did the folder he found sitting on top of his desk. Left there by William Brubaker, assistant prosecutor in charge of the Taylor case.

  He read the paperwork, a new filing related to their case, but completely separate from it as far as the court system was concerned. It had been left for him as an informational piece of the puzzle, not one requiring immediate action on his part.

  Heidi Taylor’s lawyer had filed a suit with the court to have Bella removed from Jasmine Taylor’s custody, claiming, of all things, that Josh’s sister had been abusive in the past.

  Fake confession aside, there was no evidence that Jasmine had ever hurt her niece, as noted in the filing. No proof even of any hint that Bella had been hurt by anyone other than Heidi. And because Child Protective Services had just recently vetted Jasmine and placed the child with her, the only nearby living relative Bella had other than her parents, Bella was to continue to remain with her temporarily while allegations against Jasmine were investigated. There were no grounds for a restraining order. And yet, Heidi had convinced her attorney to file the motion.

  It seemed the woman would rather have her child in foster care than at home with her aunt. Just as Jasmine had claimed. Against his better judgment, he picked up his cell. Pushed to dial another cell. Private to private.

  “Greg? Detective Johnson, I’m sorry, what’s up?” Jasmine’s voice was breathy, like she’d either picked up on the run or was emotionally distressed in some way.

  “Is this a bad time?” He knew her classes were through for the day. She could be out with Bella. Or even home already.

  “No. I was just moving some bookcases into my classroom,” she said. “They were donated today.”

  “There’s no one there to help you do that?”

  “Of course there is. I just didn’t want to wait!” She sounded...happy...about used bookcases. He thought about hanging up on Jasmine.

  About Liv’s good moods doing complete 180s on a dime and him being dizzy with the quick turn. But Jasmine wasn’t his girlfriend, past or present, he reminded himself.

  “Have you heard from the court today?”

  “No, why?”

  “Have you been inside The Lemonade Stand all day?”

  “Yes, why? What’s going on?” He didn’t miss the sharpening tone. Or blame her for it, either, really.

  “Just didn’t know if anyone had been to see you. Heidi filed a motion to try to have Bella moved to foster care.”

  “What!” The shrill tone had him pulling the phone back from his ear. Shrugging out of his suit jacket and, hand in his pocket, strolling over to the window. He didn’t have an ocean view. Or even a city one. He saw mountains. And liked what he saw.

  Mountains he could climb. Had climbed every peak within his current view. Multiple times.

  “On what grounds?” Her question broke into his mental reveries.

  “She fears that you have abusive tendencies.”