Clean Lines (Cedar Tree #4) Read online

  "What about his dad?" Touchy question, I know, but I'd like to know the potential minefield I'm walking into.

  "Oh God. Is this really what people talk about on dates? I'm so out of practice. It's no wonder I've been avoiding it like the plague."

  The slightly panicked look on her face has me throw back my head and laugh.

  "Relax. It's not routine for me either and if you don't want to answer, you don't have to. I simply wanted to know if he is still in your son's life."

  Before she has a chance to answer, my phone starts vibrating again. Third time since I turned the sound off and put it aside on the table. I've been trying to ignore it, but apparently it has become too much of a distraction for Naomi.

  "I really think you should answer that. It sounds like it might be urgent."

  "Sunshine, I know who it is and I can guarantee the urgency has no basis in reality."

  I'm gonna dunk that phone of his in my water glass. Already a bit of a nervous wreck, I don't need the buzzing every couple of minutes to shock me out of my concentration. Yes I am concentrating hard not to make an ass out of myself again. What is wrong with me? I almost stormed out of the restaurant all because of a valid concern the man had when I implied I wasn't alone. I've grown so distrustful and bristly. So here I am trying to steer clear of the sordid details of my failed marriage and my douchebag ex without appearing to be too uptight and I know I'm failing miserably. It would have been safer to stay at home with my grumpy kid and read a book over pizza. The company is so freaking tempting though. He seems genuinely interested; not put off too much with my knee-jerk reactions, and I really... really liked that kiss in the parking lot. It’s been a long time since I've been looked at with such appreciation and been kissed so sweetly. And then there's the hand-holding. Oh my, I had no idea that the slight stroke of a thumb over my knuckles could be such a rich and erotic promise. He is a lethal combination of looks, dominance, ease and charm, and even if nothing ever comes of this, Joe will surely feature with top billing in my fantasies for a long time to come.

  We've just been served our dinner and I'm digging into my seafood enchilada, suddenly ravenous after a long day with barely any breaks to eat. The waitress takes off with our orders for additional drinks—I'll have one more of their awesome margaritas before I cut myself off—when I see a tall, stacked blonde bombshell come stalking in the restaurant. She is obviously scanning the place for someone and when her eyes land on our table, she doesn't hesitate, but starts marching over with determination marking her face. A muttered 'fuck' has me turn to see Joe, already half out of his seat, a dark cloud of anger covering his features as he watches the woman approach our table.

  "What the fuck, Brenda?" he bites off when she is no more than a few feet away.

  A sick feeling of dread, almost like deja vu, comes over me, and I put my cutlery down.

  "There you are, honey!" the woman exclaims loudly. "Was wondering where you were, since you weren't answering your phone."

  "Told you I was out for dinner and would call later. This is not cool, Brenda." The barely contained anger in Joe's voice is clear.

  Then Brenda turns her attention to me. Oh shit. With a huge, albeit fake as hell, smile she sticks her hand out to me.

  "Hi there, are you one of Joe's colleagues? I'm his wife, Brenda."

  I don't remember how I got to the car, let alone home, but I end up in bed with a pillow over my head, crying at my own stupidity. Again!

  I could hear him yell after me when I tore out of Tequila's on a run, but I wasn't about to stop and listen to another set of goddamn lies. Been doing that for too fucking long already. Once bitten, twice shy. Except I guess I needed that extra reminder that you can't fucking trust men.

  CHAPTER ONE

  "What do you mean, he can't stay with you anymore, and you're sending him home?"

  "I just don't have the resources to look after him properly, Naomi. He makes life very difficult for me."

  I can feel my blood start to boil. The fucking miserable excuse for a human being is talking about his son for crying out loud.

  "Are you shitting me? You were all too happy less than a year ago when Fox decided he wanted to be with you; were full of snide remarks for me and lofty intentions of showing me up on the parenting field, and now you're just going to dump him? He's not a fucking sack of potatoes, James. You don't get to shove him out of your life because he’s an inconvenience; he's your bloody son! Do you have any idea what this will do to him? He's sixteen years old and life is hard enough. You're gonna make it even harder."

  The silence on the other end is a clear indication that James is done with this discussion. Typical. It was always his modus operandi to leave me hanging in silence, waiting for me to cave, and I don't disappoint this time either.

  "Of course he can come home. This is and will always be his home, but listen to me carefully; I will not put this kid through another upheaval. This is it."

  Other than to let me know where and when to get him off the Greyhound bus he is sticking him on, James doesn't seem to have any more to say to me. Miserable piece of shit.

  Fox had been thirteen years old when I finally left James; something I should've done long before. But with my good Catholic upbringing, I had it ingrained in me that once you made your bed, you had to lie in it. James was my messy, rumpled and very dirty bed. One that many others were invited into; more than I would even venture to guess, I'm sure. He always had a tendency to belittle me, even early on in our relationship, but he was older and already a successful attorney, while I was still in med school and unsure of myself; of my position in his life. My parents, who were both still alive at that time, had been over the moon that their only child would not only become a doctor, but had snagged a high profile criminal lawyer for a husband. They died suddenly in a car accident in California just after my dad had retired; their first road trip in the new RV my parents had bought. My consolation was that they had had a chance to meet their one and only grandchild and died together, living their dream. Fox was only one at the time, and I was devastated. Looking back now, I know I lost myself for a while. A combination of what might have been postpartum depression and the grief over the loss of my parents somehow took the stuffing out of me. In hindsight, that's likely when James started playing the field again; or maybe he had done it all along and just became more lax in hiding it. Regardless, I had somehow become numb to the put-downs and blind to the betrayals over the years, until Fox started asking questions about the 'girls' Dad would bring home for lunch. Turns out the sleaze-ball had been bringing his office interns to my house. To fuck in my bed. I decided to go home for lunch myself one day, after making sure Fox would be at school over the lunch hour, and found him in my bed banging two women. Two women! On the quilt my mother made me when we got married. That was it for me. And honestly, there was a part of me that wasn't surprised; a part that had been expecting this day to come.

  Suddenly none of this was okay anymore; not the belittling I would endure, not the cheating, none of it. So I called it. I told him I was done and he didn't even fight me, just scoffed and said I wasn't ever gonna manage on my own. Fuck that.

  I moved to Cortez three years ago, hoping to find a place to live where I could teach my son some proper values, where I would be able to heal and he could develop into a normal healthy kid. But thirteen is a tough age. As if the split wasn’t hard enough on him, moving from bustling Phoenix to quiet Cortez had a huge impact. Not to mention the fact that suddenly the mother who had been mostly depressed and emotionally absent for most of his life, was now suddenly up in his face.

  I tried to lay out some very basic ground rules without sweating all the small stuff, but in the long run, even that handful of rules was too much for Fox. At fifteen he decided to move back with his father in Phoenix, a move James seemed eager to try, so I gave in, wanting to give them a chance to improve their barely existent relationship.

  Crap. I don't know what went wrong in Phoen
ix and I have no idea what state Fox will be in when he gets home, but I have a feeling the tension will be high.

  The surly and oppositional, but very verbal Fox, is the one I expected to come off that bus; not this quietly angry kid in front of me, doing everything he can to avoid eye contact.

  "Hey, Bub. Good trip?" I try for a neutral start, along with one of my big 'mom' hugs he has grown to hate over the years. He surprises me when he wraps his arms around me and hides his head in my neck. Not easy, since Fox outgrew my five-foot-two frame when he was barely twelve.

  A mumbled 'fine' from his ever-deepening sixteen-year-old voice reaches me, and my motherly instincts are screaming foul. I caution myself to patience; knowing my boy. If I start questioning him about what happened before he is ready to spill, I may never find out. So I tuck my curiosity and worry down and stealthily run my hand through his longish hair in a futile attempt to capture the little boy that was. Sensing more affection than he is comfortable with, Fox straightens up immediately. Busted.

  "Come on. Let's get your gear and pick up some greasy Mexican before heading home. Sound good?"

  Taking the barely formulated ‘Whatever’ as encouragement, I hoist one of his bags over my shoulder and walk to the car.

  Despite his typical bottomless appetite, the food from his favorite Mexican restaurant does little to lift his spirits.

  "Have you stayed in touch with Miles at all?"

  He shakes his head. "Nah, only for a bit on Facebook, but it was awkward."

  "Well, I saw him yesterday at the clinic. He's doing volunteer hours there now. Told him you were coming, and he said he might pop by later? Maybe you wanna give him a call?"

  The only response I get is a shrug before he takes off to his room and closes the door. All right then. I'd almost welcome the arguing and yelling from before to this boy I hardly recognize. What the fuck happened in Phoenix?

  With Fox in his room and his music on loud enough to wake the dead, I step out on the deck to call James for some answers.

  "Miller—"

  "James, it's me. Just wanted to let you know I got Fox off the bus okay. We're home now, but I—"

  "Not another word. I'll call you back," James cuts me off sharply and hangs up.

  Looking at the phone in my hand in disbelief, I have to fight the urge to call back right away and tell him to fuck the hell off with his asshole behavior. What the hell was that all about? Something in the tone of his voice holds me back and I head inside to clean up the remnants of our take out from El Burro Pancho.

  It's still early, only nine thirty, when I crawl into bed after a shower and quick peek in on Fox. Tomorrow is Monday and Fox has to start back to school, which he seems less than enthused about. I have to start a new shift that has me on four twelve-hour days, followed by three days off. Not a great way to start off with my boy back home, but it is what it is and I'll take the three days off in a row.

  Just as I reach over to flick off my nightlight, I notice a missed call. James. I quickly call up the voice mail.

  "Don't call me on my phone again, Naomi," he starts, his voice just barely above a whisper to where I have to strain to decipher what he’s saying. "I've run into some trouble and it's best you don't contact me. Don't let Fox get in touch with anyone back here either. Make sure of it. If you have to, just tell him he was heard..." A click ends the call with a friendly voice asking if I want to delete or save the message. Instinctively I want to hit seven for delete, but at the last minute I change my mind and save it instead. I spend the night mulling over what kind of shit James got himself and our son into.

  "Bub! Come get your breakfast. We're gonna be late!" I yell up at the bottom of the stairs.

  Fox has settled in somewhat over the past week. He's still not talking much, and after trying to get some more information out of him the first morning about what happened with his father, I decided to give that some time after he cut me off sharply. I was still concerned though, especially since I hadn't heard another thing from James since.

  When he drags his long lanky body into the kitchen and plops down on a stool, I go in for another attempt. Setting a plate of French toast in front of him, I cautiously ask, "Have you heard anything from Dad lately?"

  Fox looks at me from under his eyelids still heavy with sleep and slowly shakes his head.

  "Nothing?"

  "No Mom, nothing. Can I eat my breakfast now?"

  Against better knowledge, I decide to push a little. "I'm just wondering, honey. He left me a message after you first got home not to contact him, but I haven't heard from him. I'd hoped he would've at least talked to you."

  His head shoots up at that. "He called here?"

  "I'd called him and must've interrupted something ‘cause he hung up on me, but called me back when I was in the shower and left a message. Haven't heard since and thought maybe he'd contacted you."

  "Did he say anything?" Fox looks at me eagerly, but I don't want to go into details over the strange message. If it worries me, it's sure to worry him. So I lie.

  "Only to say that he'll be busy for a while and not to call his phone."

  His shoulders slump a little more as he shovels his food in his mouth, not saying another word. Damn.

  The drive to school is quiet after that and I barely get a response when I drop him off, reminding him his dinner just needs to be heated up in the microwave.

  "I'll be home around nine thirty," I manage to fire off after him as he walks away from the car.

  I have half an hour before the start of my shift and am determined to put it to good use. I need some answers.

  The moment I walk into the hospital, Jenna Stanley, the hospital administrator, makes a beeline for me.

  "Naomi, can I have a minute?"

  "Can it wait ten minutes, Jenna? I came in early to make a few phone calls first."

  The stuck up Barbie never fails to try and flaunt the fact she's dating our new Sheriff in my face. Whatever. She can have Joe. Not like I ever had him to begin with. But word had gotten out of our one disastrous date, years ago, and apparently our somewhat antagonistic attitudes toward each other also have not gone unnoticed. Reason enough for Jenna to try and stake her claim. And apparently Barbie is not happy at being delayed in being able to do so, judging from the ginormous pout on her perfectly made up face. That's too bad. I firmly shut the door to the small office behind me, leaving her standing in the hallway.

  "Bancroft, Leeds, Miller and Associates. How may I direct your call?"

  "Hi, yes. I'd like to speak to James Miller, please? It's Naomi Waters."

  "Ms. Waters, I'm sorry to inform you that Mr. Miller is not available. Can I take a message?"

  "Actually no. I'm calling about our son and it's important I speak with him."

  I can hear the rustling of someone putting their hand over the mouthpiece, a click, and then the familiar voice of Frank, one of James' partners, comes over the line.

  "Naomi, how are you?"

  "Frank? Hi. I'm good, but confused. What is going on? Something wrong with James?"

  "Why do you think that? Has he been in touch with you?" Frank counters.

  "I talked to him briefly about a week ago, but he hung up on me and he left me a rather cryptic message after that. But both Fox and I are getting a little worried."

  "Fox is with you? Thank God!"

  "What the fuck is going on, Frank? You are worrying me." A chill runs down my spine at the thought Fox might've been missing as well.

  "We haven't seen James for over a week. He simply never showed up to court one day and we can't find him. We've been to his house, which has been ransacked. No sign of him or Fox so we didn't know where either of them were."

  "Well Fox is here. James sent him back last week on the bus. Why didn't anybody contact me?"

  "We didn't know where to find you, Naomi. James never told us where you had gone. He always kept things close to his chest. A habit we all get into, working in criminal law I guess, and ther
e was no paperwork anywhere to even indicate your maiden name."

  "Did anything happen? Any cases go wrong? Are the police on it?" I have so many questions I want answers to.

  "We're looking into all of his recent cases and so are the cops. We just filed a missing person's report, but maybe you should give me your location so I can pass that on to them. They'll likely want to get in touch with you too."

  I don't know what it is, but something about the slight eager edge to his voice makes me resist giving him my address or personal number.

  "You know what, Frank? Just give me the name of whatever officer is in charge and I'll get in touch with them myself."

  I can tell he's not happy, and after trying once more to push me for more information, he gives in and passes on the name I need. I'll have to hold off on calling until I have a break during my shift, because I just officially went on the clock. At least that's what I'm thinking Jenna means when she opens the door without knocking and starts tapping on her wristwatch. Bitch.

  CHAPTER TWO

  "So there's nothing you can tell me? I mean, I have his son at home and he's worried. We’re both worried."

  "Sorry ma'am, we've looked into the possible disappearance of Mr. Miller, but I have to tell you, it appears as though he may have left of his own free will, since all personal papers, his car and a good amount of his clothes seem to be missing. The apparent break in may very well have happened after he was already gone. We found no evidence of anything but property damage to the house. I'm sorry, there really isn't much else I can tell you."

  The officer is starting to get on my nerves, so I try once again. "At least tell me you are looking into some of the cases he was working on? I told you, on the message he left on my phone he clearly indicated he was in trouble. Surely that would warrant a closer look?"

  "Ma'am, as I mentioned, you're welcome to drop the recording off at your local PD in Cortez and they will make sure it gets to us in case there is ever a need to follow up, but in the meantime, I'm afraid that other than a breaking and entering, there is no evidence of any crime taking place."