Captured Again (8 page)

“All right, go, then.”

Emma scrambled out of the car and jogged to Gabby’s front door. She looked over her shoulder to see if Dusty was watching before finding the hidey spot where they kept their extra key. Olivia had made a copy of hers so everyone could get in to check on Gabby in case of an emergency, and they kept it hidden well. She didn’t trust Dusty to know where it was—even if he was a cop. There were only a few people on this earth she did trust, and that was her family.

She got the door open and looked back to see Dusty was watching now. She gave him a one-finger salute—not that finger... the other one—indicating she would be back in a minute. Once in the house, she hurried into Gabby and Jake’s room and snatched several things, rolling them up as fast as she could into neat bundles. She swiped a grocery bag from the laundry room bag holder and shoved the clothes in, then hurried back out the front to lock up. She was in and out in less than five minutes and pulling away from Gabby’s street in record time.

“Thanks so much. You can take me back to my car now. I’ll call someone to take a look at it,” Emma said. “I really appreciate the ride though.”

“I already called a buddy of mine. He does know something about cars. He’s meeting us there and picking up a new battery on the way—just in case.”

“When did you call him?” Emma asked, confused.

“I texted him when you were in your sister’s house. Told him we got nothing when we turned the key. He said it may be a dead battery. If it’s not, he can take it right back, no problem.”

“Wow. Thanks, I guess. How much is this guy going to charge me?”

“Nothing. He owes me a favor. If you can afford to, just reimburse him for the battery—if it works. If you can’t, I’ll pay him,” Dusty offered.

“No way. I can definitely pay for the battery. I just hope that’s all it is.”

Emma was starting to get nervous now. All she needed was a huge car repair bill on top of a DUI arrest. She’d had to call out of work tonight because she’d been too tired, so she’d have a short check this week anyway.

“Dust
... my man! How ya been, dude?”

“I’m good, man. How are you and the family?” Dusty answered as he climbed out of his patrol car to shake the dirty hand of the smiling man sitting on Emma’s hood. Emma watched their hands, noticing the blaring differences. Dusty’s was large and clean, while Jump’s were thin, rawboned, the creases in the skin pitch-black with layers of oil.

“Aww, you know, dude. They’re all cool,” Jump answered, hiding his eyes with stringy brown hair that was too long and flopped forward when he tilted his head down. “Let’s pop the hood on this baby and see what’s going on,” the man said, still smiling.

The smile never left his face, even when he was talking.
Now this is one friendly guy,
Emma thought while looking him over.

“Emma, this is Jump. He’s the best guy I know to work on cars. Loves his job, too.”

“Hi, Jump,” Emma said apprehensively. She wasn’t sure if this was a joke on her or if his name really was Jump—and if so, why?

“Hiya, sweetie. Nice to meecha. Pass your keys to Dust, wouldja?” Jump said while leaning on one foot, then the other, kind of teeter tottering in place, as if he couldn’t stand still, and his eyes didn’t stay too long in one place either, dodgy-like.

Wow, he talks fast,
Emma thought as she dug through her purse and found her keys, tossing them to Dusty, who climbed in to pop the latch and get the key into the ignition, awaiting instructions. He looked at Emma and winked, after they both watched Jump dive under the hood so fast it looked like he was searching for gold.

“Okay, Dust! Turn her over.”

Dusty turned the key and nothing happened.

Jump fiddled with something again and yelled out, “Again, Dust.”

Dusty turned the key again. Nothing.

“Cool. Not a problem, dude. Her battery’s just shot. I brought you one,” Jump said as he practically hopped to his truck, reached in, and hopped back to Emma’s car, carrying a battery, in about twenty seconds flat.

“See why we call him Jump?” Dusty asked and laughed as Jump dove right back into unhooking the old battery and putting in the new one.

“There you go. Give her a whirl now, Dust,” Jump instructed, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

Dusty reached again for the key, turning it, and to Emma’s relief, her car started.

“Thank you, Jump! And you too, Dusty!” she babbled. “I can’t believe how fast all that was. Jump, can I get your number in case I ever have car problems again?”

Jump’s smile left his face for the first time. He looked at Dust, shaking the hair out of his eyes, then back at Emma, his face reddening to the tips of his ears.

“Your boy Dust has my number. You need me, he can find me,” Jump said while fast-trotting to his own car one space over.

Before Emma could get any money out of her purse to give him, he was gone—in a flash. She watched, flabbergasted, as he tore out of the parking lot, speeding like a demon, right in front of Dusty.
Hello... a cop!

“I should have warned you. Jump is a bit, umm... jumpy,” Dusty said. “He kinda works for the PD on the side, helping us out on tips here and there. I wouldn’t be worried about the money for the battery if he wasn’t. That means he probably didn’t pay for it. But don’t let him fool you. He’s a great guy, crazy about his kids... has three of his own. He’s got a heart of gold, but a... kinda nervous soul, if you know what I mean.”

Emma laughed. Now she understood. Big smile, fast-talking, and the jittery foot hopping. Jump was a narc—an informant. She’d seen the television shows. The narcs were usually users themselves, hoping to rack up enough points with the PD to keep themselves out of jail.

Obviously, Jump had been caught unprepared when Dusty had called, but he came anyway—jacked up.

CHAPTER 11

GABBY
stumbled into the warehouse, balancing a few dozen donuts, her purse, and a workbag carrying flowers while trying not to get squeezed by the heavy door. She made it just inside the door and stopped to let her eyes adjust to the lack of sunlight.

She set her purse and her bag down on the nearby table and held the two boxes of donuts up in the air with one hand.

“Hey, guys! I brought you something,” she yelled out, expecting to be mauled. Anytime she’d ever brought in sweets, she rarely made it past the door with even one left for herself.

The guys stopped working and stood gaping at her. The entire floor went still—everything just stopping while they continued to stare.

Okay, so this is out of character for me lately... at least out of the character I’ve been in for the past six weeks, and they’re a little gun-shy,
she thought.

She felt their eyes taking in every detail of her. She’d taken extra care with her appearance today—although her normal work attire was still very casual—and brushed her long, dark hair until it had some shine again. She’d removed Jake’s wedding ring from her left hand and added a silver and turquoise ring to her right, trying to distract anyone who might notice the absence of the ring that had been such a part of her before. She’d replaced her typical T-shirt and old baggy jeans of the last few months with a clingy turquoise blouse tucked into newer hip-hugger jeans—some that fit her well—and added a cute pair of wedge sandals. With a touch of mascara and some lip-gloss, she
looked
like the old Gabby. Now she just had to convince everyone else—and herself—she
was
the old Gabby.

Olivia’s come-to-Jesus meeting had helped, and Gabby did feel better. Ready to really try to live again, even if it was without Jake.
Come on, guys, work with me here,
she thought.
You’re making me feel weird.

“All right, guys. You don’t want a donut?” Gabby shrugged, exaggerating her movements for full effect. “I’ll just throw them all away, then.”

She tossed the boxes up in the air, twirling them around and making a show of almost dropping them into the nearby trashcan. She caught them at the last minute, one box dropping to stack atop the other—she actually impressed herself with that move—acting goofy in front of everybody, much like the old Gabby used to do. Then she peeked over her shoulder, smiling.

That got the guys moving. They headed toward Gabby and the donuts, some of them clapping for her silly performance, apparently glad to see her spirits up and looking like herself again.

Gabby felt a sense of accomplishment that she had finally pulled herself out of her slump, along with a feeling of coming home. As the guys came up to snag a donut, some giving her arm a knowing squeeze or a pat on the back, she felt genuine affection from them. A few even muttered a “glad to have you back, Gabby!” even though she’d really been back—physically—for over a month. She knew what they meant though.

She’d worked at this company for close to four years and was one of the few women there, but the guys on the floor and in the trucks had been respectful of her from the beginning. Several of them had played basketball with Jake and would have never flirted with his wife, even before the accident. They had become protective of her, even pushing management to give her an extended leave to grieve. She’d been guilty of using that time to wallow in self-pity and sit for hours a day on her swing, weighed down to it by guilt and the need to feel close to Jake.

When she’d returned to work, she hadn’t been herself. For the first few weeks, she cringed each time someone would ask about Jake. First she couldn’t answer; she would just cry and walk away, locking herself in the bathroom and sometimes heading straight out the door toward home to find her escape under the blankets, away from the real world. After a while, she found herself shooting off blunt answers like, “He didn’t make it.” She would be constantly amazed at the shocked and bewildered look she received back and had thought to herself,
How could everyone not know? This is a small company after all. Didn’t they have some type of meeting to discuss it before I came back? Apparently they should have. It would have made it less awkward for everyone.

After a few of those encounters, it seemed everyone except the guys on the floor—the ones that actually knew Jake—avoided her like the plague. She felt sure they were as uncomfortable talking about it as she was, and that made it easier for her anyway. She didn’t want to think about it or talk about it anymore than she had to. Now even the guys on the floor looked at her funny each day she walked in, almost examining her with their eyes, if only for just a second, before they spoke to her. And sometimes they didn’t speak; one look at her and she seemed to scare them away. But they’d all been kind, if not a little quiet, waiting on Gabby to get it together. Several of them even helped, in their own way, to distract her when she’d find herself alone at her desk, staring at the outside window, not seeing anything beyond, letting her eyes get lost in the glass, losing huge gaps of time.

One of the guys would eventually pop into her office, breaking into her silent world of grieving, and get her attention, snapping her back to work. She knew they kept an eye on her through her other glass window, the one that overlooked the floor, taking turns in creating some lame question or problem, trying to help, but unknowingly bringing her back to the cruel reality of her life. They were a good group of guys. She appreciated their patience in waiting for her to snap back into shape, and if not for them, she wouldn’t have been able to stay focused long enough to perform the basic functions of her job.

She’d taken this job for a temporary paycheck so she wouldn’t have to return to the French company where she’d been nearly terrorized by a sociopath, one who nearly drove her to the precipice of death’s door. But she’d decided to stay. It was home here. And what she enjoyed most about it was it was nothing like the last one. No accounting. Mostly personnel and payroll duties, timecards and benefit administration. And it was casual dress—no more skirts or dresses for her; she could dress however she wanted, and typically that was denim and pearls.

A
fter everyone had grabbed a donut, she shooed them back to work and went into her office to pull the small bouquet of flowers from her bag to brighten the room. This was to be her new start—a new beginning. She glanced up at the calendar.