Just Keep Sweet (The Compound Series) (17 page)

“I’ll never forget it.” Porter was so filled with rage when Brinley was brought to his apartment covered in cuts and bruises and so weak she couldn’t walk on her own. Porter punched holes in the apartment walls and Brinley had to beg him not to return to the house and beat the ever-loving shit out of Lehi. Porter could have killed him that night and would have if Brinley hadn’t begged him to stay with her.

“That’s how I feel right now. I want to drive to the compound and kill that man. I want to make him pay for what he did, for what he’s still doing.”

“You and me both.”

“Are you going to help the detective? Does he want you to testify?”

Porter sat up, wiping his tears with the back of his sleeve. “I can’t. It’s been too long.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Statute of limitations or something . . . Jon explained it to me this morning. In the state of Arizona, you can’t bring charges for molestation if seven or more years have passed.”

Brinley’s brow knitted. “So, there’s nothing you can do?”

“He asked me to talk to some of the kids at Charlie’s place, some of the younger kids. They’re lost boys, too. It’s a possibility.”

“But then you’d have to go back there.”

“I know. Maybe you can come with me. I know you don’t feel comfortable there, but—”

She shook her head. “Forget about that. If you need me, I’m there. You’re my heaven, remember?”

Porter pulled his lips up into an amused smile as he remembered his proclamation to her years ago:
The compound . . . that place is my hell. It represents all of the awful things that I’ll have to live with for the rest of my life. But you, you’re my heaven. My new beginning, my paradise.

Brinley smiled before continuing, “And if I had to walk through the fires of hell for you, I would.”

“You already did.” He smiled, pressing his thumb to her cheek.

She lifted her chin, the tears falling once again. “And so did you. I’m so very sorry, Porter. So very sorry.”

He pulled her into his arms and allowed her to sob, to release her own emotions over what happened to him. He knew she’d stayed strong for him, allowing him to let it out just minutes before. Now it was her turn.

Give and take at its most real.

When her sobs quieted and her body relaxed in his arms, he spoke. “I’ve made a decision, Brin. I want you to get the pamphlets.”

She pulled away, her eyes bright with hope. “Really?”

Every time Porter would have a setback in his addiction, which was more often than he cared to admit, Brinley would visit the website of a treatment center, and a few days later, a pamphlet would arrive in their mailbox. Calmly she would present the latest facility to him as they ate their supper, and he would politely decline, knowing he was still walking on eggshells with her, but not willing to actually seek treatment. Brinley would voice her disappointment and place the newest pamphlet with the others in their junk drawer in the kitchen. Porter was sure there were at least nine pamphlets in that drawer.

“Yeah, it’s time.” He nodded. Brinley cried again, wrapping her arms around him and kissing him on the neck. He released a small laugh as he stroked her hair that now barely reached her shoulders. “We can look through them together, and I’ll call in the morning. No backing out, no excuses, I promise.”

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“Obviously I can’t do this alone. I need help. Real help. And I don’t want to deny that anymore. It’s time to accept my past for what it is. Painful and full of a lot of unspeakable shit. Now I can make sure we have a future—a
real
one with no more denial, no more using, just us.”

“And
you’ll
finally be free,” she whispered.

The irony of her words wasn’t lost on Porter. In all their years together, they’d always discussed Brinley’s need for freedom: freedom from the FLDS, from her marriage, and from the compound. What they hadn’t discussed was the prison that Porter had created for himself—the memories that kept him locked inside and the secret that ate away at his insides like a cancer—sending him to cope in the most self-destructive way possible.

Brinley was right—through honesty and treatment, he could actually remove himself from his self-induced confinement. He’d always told himself the prophet guarded that cell, that he alone held the key. But today for the very first time, he felt like he himself could take the lock off that jail, step outside of it, and breathe . . . really breathe. He held his wife close as he took that lock and key and tossed it aside for good.

Chapter 15

I couldn’t stop thinking about Porter and the hell he’d lived through. Of course, I’d always been concerned about the potential victims Aspen and I discussed—but they were nameless, faceless possibilities. But not anymore. Now, I had a face, a name, and the reality had set in. Each year, dozens of “lost boys” left the FLDS compound and assimilated into mainstream society in Colorado City. Some of them maintained the mild manners of their people, living quiet and modest lives in studio apartments and cottages outside the city. Others experimented with drugs, and many were forced into a life of poverty and destitution. Over the years, I’d arrested many of them, assuming they were dabbling with rebellion and would eventually find their way. I wasn’t naive to think that none of them were mistreated within the compound, but even my seasoned and skeptical cop brain hadn’t anticipated
this
.

And now, as I sat at my desk, pounding cup after cup of coffee, a never-ending loop of faces popped into my head. The kid I busted for stealing junk food at the local convenience store, the pickpocket who followed people to their cars after they’d left the ATM, and the meth users holed up in Charlie Travis’s apartment on Wilson Avenue.

Any of those faces could have the same story as Porter. Any of them could have been a victim of the prophet’s diabolical and vile abuse. My heart broke with each face that popped into my restless brain. I wanted to help them all, save them all, seek revenge on their behalf.

I wanted that bastard to pay.

A knock at the door startled me, and I was surprised to see Aspen standing there, her hand balled into a fist and paused midair, inches away from the open door. When we locked eyes, she froze, then glanced behind her, looking nervous.

“Detective.”

Rather than jump from the desk and run the risk of startling her, I remained in my seat but offered her a genuine smile—one filled with relief.

“Aspen, you came.” I rose to my feet and gestured to the chair in front of my desk, hoping she would take a seat. She hung by the door, glancing around her once again. “Please sit. I have so much to tell you.”

She pressed her lips into a thin line, closed the door behind her, and slowly walked to the chair, smoothing her dress as she sat. She was as beautiful as ever.

“As do I. A lot has happened, and I feel like my head is spinning. I was planning to come by even before you sent the text a couple of days ago, but my husband, Paul, well . . . he’s been more attentive lately, and it was hard to get away.”

I opened my mouth to speak but wasn’t sure what to say. The mentioning of her husband affected me more than I cared to admit, and it was splayed across my face.

Chump.

“I’m sorry to mention him.”

“Don’t be silly.” I cleared my throat. “Look, it was wrong of me to say what I said at my apartment. I crossed the line in a big way. I know that now.”

“No, you were just . . .” She paused and her cheeks turned pink. “You were being honest. Where I come from, that’s rare. Usually I’m the only one who’s making people uncomfortable with my honesty. You threw me for a loop, I guess.”

“The shoe was on the other foot?” I asked, welcoming the released tension in the room.

“Exactly.” Her lips curled up slightly. “I should’ve savored it. Instead, I ran just like the rest of my sister wives would. I guess I’m more like them than I realize, huh?”

I shrugged. “Somehow I doubt that.”

“Well, I’ve had a lot of time to think about it. Sometimes fights get out of control and we say things we don’t mean.”

“I appreciate that, Aspen, I do, but I meant everything I said.”

She paused.

“Except for the part about you not respecting yourself. I agonize over that statement every single day. I can never apologize enough for saying that to you. Of course I didn’t mean it, I was just . . . wrapped up in the moment, disappointed that you didn’t feel the same as I did. As I
still
do. I was lashing out.” I shrugged. “It happens sometimes.”

She said nothing, but her eyes welled with tears. I broke our eye contact, looking down briefly, drumming my fingers awkwardly against the wood of my desk. “I’m sorry.”

“I know you are.”

Her hand touched mine, and I flinched but left it beneath hers. I looked into her eyes. She was hovering over her chair and reaching across the desk. She gripped my three fingers, holding them tight before letting go, sitting down, and placing both of her hands back in her lap.

“So,” I asked, clearing my throat. “Where do we go from here? Can we work together again?”

She nodded, her eyebrows relaxed, and her kind smile emerged once again. That smile was going to be the end of me.

“Your text said there was a breakthrough in the case. I can’t wait to hear it. It’s been nothing but chaos and conflict back at home.”

“Is Ruthie all right?”

Aspen rolled her eyes and shook her head. “Don’t even get me started on that ungrateful, spoiled little girl. The closer she gets to her wedding date, the more starry eyed she becomes. She has no idea what she’s getting herself into. None.”

“Her brain’s too young to process it.”

“Exactly,” Aspen said. “Enough about her, tell me the news.”

I was distracted by the figure standing outside the glass of my office—a tall man with blond hair and sharp features dressed in a white button-down shirt and dark jeans. Clean cut, lean . . . and familiar. But I couldn’t place him.

I searched my memories as he stared at Aspen then me, then back at Aspen. A memory popped into my head and I knew exactly who he was. A flash of our meeting at the park in their community—my hand extended as I pretended to respond to a random call regarding a missing little boy.
His
little boy. He wouldn’t shake my hand that day.

Holy shit.

“Jonathan?” Aspen asked, her eyebrows pinched together in confusion. “What is it?”

I stayed calm but kept my eyes on the man outside my office.

“Turn around.”

“What? Why?” She turned slowly in her seat, then jumped to her feet, mouth agape as she took in the sight of Paul Black on the other side of the glass. Her response came out in a nervous whisper. “Oh no.”

“Did you know he was coming?” I asked between clenched teeth, keeping my lips as still as possible.

She turned back to face me. “Of course not. He must’ve followed me; I swear I had no idea.”

Within seconds, Paul opened the door and stalked toward us, glancing briefly at Aspen before turning his full attention to me. He looked me up and down, glanced at the nameplate on my desk, then locked eyes with me. “Detective Cooke?”

“That’s right.” I rose to my feet and extended my hand, not expecting him to accept the gesture.

“Paul, I can explain,” Aspen began, stepping in front of me. Panic emanated through her voice, but he wouldn’t make eye contact with her. He towered over her, and she raised herself to her tiptoes to attempt to close the space between them. Her voice grew desperate. It pained me to hear that need in her voice—the need for him to believe her, to understand. She cared for her husband more than I wanted to realize.

“Please, just listen to me, Paul,” she continued, pulling on his sleeve.

Paul walked past his wife, pushing her to the side gently with his arm as he moved to stand opposite me, my arm still extended. To my shock and surprise, he accepted my gesture and shook my hand. I glanced at Aspen, who froze, her mouth agape again.

“What can I do for you?” I asked, placing both hands on my hips, exposing my badge, unsure of his intentions. It was important to remain professional even if Aspen’s husband wanted to make things personal. Did he know I’d confessed my feelings to her? Did she tell him? I couldn’t figure out why the brother of the prophet was standing in my office shaking my hand, but I sure as hell wanted to find out.

“I want you to put Clarence Black in jail for the rest of his natural life.” Venom dripped from his words. He was furious.

Every cell in my brain radiated with shock and awe. Was I hearing him properly? Was Paul Black standing in my office and swearing allegiance
against
his brother?

What the fuck is happening?

I tipped my head forward in disbelief. Aspen’s mouth still hung open in shock, her skin pale, her eyes wide in total consternation.

“What?” Aspen blurted out. I glanced at her before narrowing my sights on the man in front of me.