Page 267 of Off Limits: The Firsts
“The asshole husband and sweet little girl? Yeah, they got to me, too.”
We both fall in silence for a second, and I hate that when I picture little Keely, an image of Emerson leaving school that day superimposes itself over it.
It’s just because she’s on my mind more than she should be. So much so that I’m projecting her situation onto another little girl when I know better.
“How about we liven up our day a bit and get some action?” he suggests.
“I get enough action. Thanks, though.” I chuckle just to irritate him.
“Fucking, Malone. Playboy cop. One of these days a woman’s going to come along and put handcuffs around that cold heart of yours, and then you’ll be whipped like the rest of us fuckers.”
“I’ll be cuffed, huh?” I run a hand over my jaw and shake my head. “Sorry, I just don’t see it . . . but if it makes you feel better about the white picket fence you’ll be locked behind, then by all means.”
“Some days I hate you, you know that?”
“Yeah, but you also love me,” I tease as Liv, the dispatcher, walks down the hall and gives me a coy smile that makes parts of me regret walking away from her.
“Shit. I told you she still wants you,” he murmurs as we both watch her hips sway.
“Me and my cold heart.” I laugh.
“You sure you don’t want to go out after shift is over?”
“Nah, I told the chief I’d stay and do some desk work.” Like that’s a fun way to spend the rest of my afternoon. “I’m reviewing the cold case files for him. Trying to prove how great of a detective I’d be. You know, gotta put a good foot forward if I want that promotion.”
“You’re kissing major ass with the extra hours you’re putting in,” he taunts.
“And I’m loving the OT pay. I can see a new patio and built-in barbecue in the near future.”
“The offer stands. A bunch of us are meeting at seven o’clock at McGregor’s if you get done in time.”
“Thanks, but I have other shit to do.”
“Ha,” he says as he pushes away from the table. “Just make sure you remember her name in the morning.”
“Whatever.” I shoo him away as I sit up in my chair to play the role of desk jockey and tackle updating the stack of case files in front of me.
I shouldn’t be doing this.
I shouldn’t have let that old case file I went through get to me.
I shouldn’t have looked at the picture of the victim and thought about both Keely and Emerson.
I shouldn’t have let my finger hover over the search button on the file archives site where I had typed in “John Reeves, Emerson Reeves” and debated whether I should hit “find” so I could see what exactly it was that happened to her all those years ago.
And I definitely shouldn’t be driving out to Miner’s Airfield to where Desi said more often than not I could find Em.
But here I am, looking at the airstrip with hangars lining one side of the field and the airplanes parked to the right of them. On the far side is another parking lot and Blue Skies, an old skydiving business. It’s been there as long as I can remember, owned by the Skies family, who last I heard, no longer had any family members in town to run or even care about the place. The lack of attention shows in the aged building and faded sign.
Why am I here?
Why am I chasing after someone who is clearly pushing me away?
Because I want to apologize to Emerson for the Tampax stunt? Yes and no, since she clearly beat me at my own game with the Viagra request. Or is it because every time I thought of Keely today, I kept seeing Em’s face when she was little and I know it isn’t going to go away any time soon.
More likely than either of those is the notion that if I see her, make sure she’s okay, befriend her, then it might just ease the guilt I feel over breaking my promise to her when we were kids. My adult self knows it was the right thing to do. The little boy beneath the surface still feels the guilt every time I picture the look on her face as she walked out of Mrs. Gellar’s classroom.
Em’s always been there in my mind. Sure, it’s been a long ass time since third grade, but in some sort of way, I knew I’d see her again. She isn’t someone I could easily forget.
