Chapter 18

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Margot

This has been the longest week. One of those weeks when it's impossible to find a shred of goodness in people. Death either brings out the worst in people or the best and this week, it's been the worst.

Acknowledge the tragedy, ingest it, respect it, and continue serving the family. That's what we do.

But some weeks it's harder to do than others.

The doorbell chimes for the front door. Exhaustion slows my mind and movements as I open it and find yesterday's client. Her tragedy wrapped around me like poisoned tentacles burrowing into my heart and hasn't let go yet.

"Ms. Cedarwood, can we talk for a minute?" she asks, timid as a mouse.

"Of course." I pull the heavy door open wider and step back for her to enter. "You can call me Margot. How are you doing, Laurel?"

She pokes her head inside, quickly jerking it around, reminding me of a delicate songbird checking the surroundings to make sure they're clear of predators. Her face is still covered in bruises. The artist in me wants to run upstairs and grab my makeup for the living and help her cover them. But that goes way beyond the scope of my responsibilities here. I don't want to offend her or do anything to add to her pain, either.

"Do you want me to get my father?"

"No," she answers quickly. "I want to talk to you."

Emotional pain surrounds her. So deep it's almost tangible. Our conversation shouldn't be in the office. I lead her into the parlor where Jigsaw and I sat the night he brought me home. The furnishings might be outdated, but overall it's cozy.

"Sit anywhere," I offer.

Her gaze darts around the long room, from the baby grand piano and bench in one corner, to the table with four chairs by the bay window, to the couch and chairs in the center of the room, to another table and chair set near the kitchen door.

She perches on one end of the couch, and I take the armchair closest, so I'm facing her at an angle but not crowding her.

A red, quilted tote bag rests on her lap and her fingers keep fiddling with the straps.

"How are you doing?" I ask.

"Better. I can't stay long but I wanted to ask if you can do something for me?"

I've been thinking of many things I'd like to do to help her. "Sure."

She reaches in the bag and pulls out a small hand-knitted pink and mint green blanket. "It's not much but I can't stand thinking of Ashley wearing nothing?—"

"Oh, no, Laurel. When we took her into our care from the hospital, she was swaddled in a blanket." Emotion threatens to choke off my words. Stay calm.

She blows out a slow, relieved breath. "Oh, that's good. Still, I'd like her to have something I made with my own hands. I was making this for her before…and I want her to have it." She passes the blanket to me. "Will you please wrap her in this?"

A deep pang of sorrow tugs on my heart. "Absolutely." With reverence, I accept the soft, small bundle. "Yes, of course, I will. We'll take good care of her. I promise."

"Thank you." She sniffles and dabs her cheeks.

I grab a tissue from the box on the end table and hand it to her. She bursts into tears. I move to the couch to sit next to her. Years of practice have forced me to balance professionalism with empathy, but I still struggle.

"They're letting Patrick out on bail," she sobs into the tissue.

A shock of disbelief shoots through me, followed by a rush of protectiveness.

"Do you have somewhere you can go?" Her husband already tried to kill her once, causing their baby to be stillborn. Now that he's out, he might try to finish the job. I've seen it happen before. Dealt with the aftermath. How could they let that man out after what he did?

"I have a restraining order. And they're going to make him wear an ankle monitor. He can't come near me."

That isn't reassuring but I don't want to scare her.

"He'll be at the Horizon Inn," she sneers as if she knows the drill from years of practice. "Knowing him, he'll be ordering takeout and hookers while living like a slob. Not caring at all about what he did."

Horizon Inn, takeout, and hookers, huh?

"You shouldn't be alone, though," I insist.

"My mother and sister are going to stay with me for a while."

"That's good." I rest my hand over hers. "You can call me if you need to. If you have any questions at all."

A soft creak comes from the hallway, only noticeable to me because over the years I've cataloged every sound this house makes. I flick my gaze up to my father in the doorway. He tips his head in a quick nod of approval and silently slips away.

Laurel grabs another tissue and blows her nose. "She'll be cremated in her casket by herself, right?"

"Yes, of course." I squeeze the blanket. "Wrapped in this and anything else you'd like me to place with her."

"Good." She frowns. "Does that cost extra?"

"What? No. Don't worry about any of that. Everything has been taken care of for you."

She blinks and wipes tears away. "Really?"

"Yes.

More tears flow over her cheeks. "Thank you for everything. Both you and your father."

You're welcome sounds painfully inadequate. "Of course. I meant what I said, if you have any questions, no matter how small, you can call me at any time."

"This is what kept me awake." She pats the blanket affectionately.

After she leaves, I honor my promise.

I'm finishing up when my father joins me.

"Horrible, horrible thing." He rests his hand on my shoulder. "Are you okay?"

I start to nod but end up shaking my head. "No. I'm angry. That man shouldn't be granted bail. But it looks like he'll get out."

My father nods in agreement. "I was hoping he'd get served inmate justice, but he won't even be in there long enough. Hopefully, he's convicted and gets sent to prison."

Hopefully. Too many variables. Too many what-ifs.

Where's the justice?

"Babies and children are always the hardest." My father's voice cracks. He touches the edge of the blanket. "This is a beautiful way to make sure she's wrapped up in her mother's love."

"I thought so too," I whisper.

He focuses on me with concern in his eyes. "I heard you singing to the baby earlier."

I nod. We always take special care with children and babies.

"Your mother used to do that too." His voice turns distant but full of affection.

I swallow hard. My memories of my mother are few but the ones I have are of her warmth and gentleness. Tears prick at the corners of my eyes. Dad rarely brings her up—it still hurts too much even after all these years. Hearing him mention her now, in the context of my work, stirs something deep inside me.

"I don't remember her doing that," I admit, my voice clogged with emotion. "But it feels like the right thing to do."

My father's hand tightens on my shoulder, a small gesture of support. "She was always so gentle with them," he says, his voice low and filled with sadness. "She loved you very much. She'd be so proud of you."

I blink back the tears, trying to keep my composure. "Thank you."

"Set your anger aside. Our job is to give her peace and help her say goodbye in the most loving way possible."

"I know." A tear slips down my cheek and I brush it away. "I wish I could do more."

He pulls me into a rare hug. "You're doing more than enough."

"Thanks," I say against his sweater.

He gently nudges me toward the door. "I'll finish this."

He may have said my concern for the babies who come into our care was passed from my mother. But it came from him . I've watched him read to children, leave lights on for them, and tuck stuffed animals into their caskets since I was little. Although he seems cold at times, now that I've been doing the job myself for a couple of years, I understand why.

Alone in the hallway, I put my back to the wall and close my eyes.

How to fix this? How, how, how?

Where is the closest Horizon Inn?

My mind races with possibilities, dark thoughts I pull closer and examine. Doing nothing, letting that monster get away, gnaws at me. I see so many awful things, but some are just too much.

A rumble from outside intrudes on my murderous musings. Is that Jigsaw?

My heart trips over itself. I push away from the wall and hurry toward the back door.

It is him. Standing at the bottom of the porch steps. He smiles as soon as he sees me, crinkles forming at the corners of his eyes.

He's the first good thing in days.

"Hi." I hurry to the next to last step which almost puts us at eye-level. "What are you doing here?"

He focuses his smoldering gaze on me. "I thought we had a lesson tonight." He lifts an eyebrow.

Oh my God. The last forty-eight hours have been such a stressful whirlwind of sadness and work, I forgot all about our date—err, lesson.

"It's been a rough couple of days." My voice breaks and my eyes fill with tears that I somehow hang onto. "I don't think I'm up for a lesson. I'm sorry you came all the way out here." I turn to run inside and bury myself under my pillows, but Jigsaw catches my hand, thwarting my escape. "Hey, hey, what happened?"

I shake my head, unable to share details. "Just work stuff."

"Okay. Come here." He pulls me against his chest and rubs his gloved hand over my back. "No lesson, then. Have you eaten?"

Have I? If I did, it was a while ago. "No," I mumble pitifully.

He releases me but keeps his hands on my shoulders. "Let's go somewhere and get dinner, then. You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to but let's get you out of here for a little while."

I blink up at him and study his serious face. "You…you want to do that?"

"Yeah. Come on." He steps away and gestures toward his bike parked up against the side of the house.

"I don't?—"

"Right. Right. Sorry." He squeezes his eyes shut for a second. "We'll take your car."

"I have to go inside and get my keys."

"Okay." He follows me up the stairs into the house, where we promptly run into my father and my cousin.

My father's eyes widen when Jigsaw steps in behind me. Then, a faint smile crosses his face.

"Jensen, how are you?"

"Evening, Mr. Cedarwood." He shakes my father's hand quickly.

"Jensen, this is my nephew, Paul."

They do their introduction handshake thing. How much has my father told Paul about his arrangement with the motorcycle club?

"I was in the neighborhood and thought I'd swing by and see if you needed help with anything," Jigsaw lies smoothly. "I ran into Margot in the parking lot. She said it's been a rough day, so I thought I'd take her out to grab some dinner."

"That's a great idea." My father looks at me with relief.

Here I thought he'd flip at the idea of me spending time with any of the bikers.

"Your dad filled me in on the case, Margot," Paul says with sympathy shining in his eyes. Children always get to him too. "You should get out for a bit. I'll handle the callbacks you're waiting for."

"My notes are on the desk in Dad's office." I glance at the staircase. "I need to run up and grab my car keys."

Dad frowns in confusion.

"I only brought my bike." Jigsaw hikes his thumb over his shoulder.

The expression on Dad's face slips into respectful gratitude. He knows how I feel about motorcycles. He must be pleased Jigsaw doesn't expect me to ride on one.

"Here." Dad slips his hand into his pocket. "Take my car." He gives Jigsaw a once-over. "You can't have enough legroom in the Thunderbird."

My eyes widen so far, it's amazing they don't fall out of my head. Dad's never let me drive his precious Cadillac.

Jigsaw clasps the keys. "Thanks."

"You're road captain, right?" Dad nods to the patch on Jigsaw's leather vest. "That means you're in charge of the safety of the club out on the road?"

"Yes, sir. Planning the trips and maintaining vehicles too."

"All right then."

We say a round of goodbyes and Jigsaw walks me back outside.

"What just happened?" I mutter.

"Ready?" Jigsaw settles his hand at the small of my back and steers me toward the garage.

Jigsaw

Old man Cedarwood might not be as uptight as I originally thought. I didn't expect him to be okay with me taking Margot out for dinner. Never in a hundred years did I expect him to hand me his car keys and send us off with his blessing.

The garage door next to Margot's rolls up, revealing a shiny black Cadillac CT5. Not my style but a nice car. Exactly what I'd expect Cedarwood to drive.

I don't know what to do for Margot. She seemed so…drained when she stepped outside. Pale as a ghost and so damn sad. Fuck our sex lessons, I wanted to wrap her up in my arms and stab whoever put that dull listlessness in her eyes and stole the joy from her expression.

Since she doesn't want to talk about it, the next best thing I can do is feed her and get her away from this place for a couple of hours.

She's quiet while I guide the car to the road. When I glance over, she's staring out the window.

"You never know what you're going to get, do you?" I ask. How has this just occurred to me? What she does isn't a regular nine-to-five. It's unpredictable. And some cases are probably horrible.

"Sometimes," she whispers. "Hospice gives us a heads-up. Or the hospital does. But other times it's the worst kind of surprise."

Hearing her voice, as sad as she sounds, loosens the knot of tension in my gut. But a relentless need to do something to cheer her up continues to bug me.

Remy's Tavern is the only place I can think of to take Margot. It's quiet, he won't ask questions or make her uncomfortable. And the food's decent.

As usual, it's not that busy. I don't know how the fuck he's going to stay in business at this rate. Since my club uses the place quite a bit, we should do more to boost business. Teller was supposed to be working on that but seems to have put some projects on the back burner now that Charlotte's due date is getting closer.

I park at the front of the building and hurry to Margot's side to open her door. She blinks up at me and a faint smile crosses her lips. A big improvement.

"Have you ever been here?" I ask.

"Once or twice."

"A friend of the club owns it."

The corners of her mouth twitch with amusement. "You're taking care of all the friends of the club tonight, huh?"

What? Does she think that's the only reason I offered to take her out?

I pull her out of the car and close the door. "I think you should know by now my club has nothing to do with what goes on between us." If anything, I'm heading for an ass-kicking if I keep seeing her behind the club's back.

It's only temporary.

And Rock did tell me to keep her happy. Never mind that my own president told me not to mess around with her.

"We wouldn't have met otherwise," she says.

"I don't know about that. I'm spending more and more time out this way. We might have run into each other."

She stares up at me with a serious, almost sad expression. "You wouldn't have given me a second look."

"No, I would've given you a third, fourth, and fifth." I slide my hand over her ass and squeeze.

Stop it. Cheer her up, don't feel her up.

"If we met some other way, I never would've had the courage to make my indecent proposal to you." Her brow furrows like she's still shocked she did it at all.

"Well, thank fuck for pot brownies, then."

She titters with laughter. A quick burst of amusement that warms me down to my toes. Cheering her up feels like my new life's purpose.

I hold the door open for her and follow her inside.

Remy's behind the bar. His gaze goes to Margot first and he flashes a quick, warm smile. Then, his attention shifts to me. It's almost comical the way his eyes bug out. I've gone a few rounds in his underground fighting ring, and he's seen me carve up a body or two, so I get that he's shocked to see me escorting little miss wholesome to dinner.

"Jigsaw, what's up, brother?" He holds out his hand and I clasp it quickly.

Z wants me to help mentor the support club—which includes Remy—so I allow the "brother" greeting. "Just stopped by for dinner."

"Yeah, you got it." His gaze strays to Margot and I reluctantly make the introductions.

Remy nods slowly. "Yeah, your dad took good care of my grandparents. How are you, Margot?"

Christ, this is a small world.

"Remy…Holt, right?" she asks. "How's your sister?"

"Graduating from high school soon."

Margot smiles wider. "That's wonderful. It's good to see you."

He waves his hand toward the seating area where most of the tables are open. "Sit anywhere you like. I'll send Lynette over to take care of you."

"Thanks." I dip my chin at him and curl my arm around Margot's shoulders. "You have a preference?" I ask her.

"A booth, maybe?"

We take one in the back corner. I don't love putting my back to the rest of the bar, but I want to tuck Margot away from the world and keep her safe.

Lynette stops at the edge of our table, hands us menus, and smiles down at us. As the only full-time waitress working here, I recognize her right away.

"How you doing?" I ask.

"Not bad, Jigsaw." She beams a sweet, motherly smile at me and shifts her gaze to Margot, like she's happy to see me out with a nice girl. "What are you in the mood for?"

I shoot a glance at Margot. She shakes her head and sets the menu down. "I trust you."

Every time she says she trusts me, guilt or disbelief punches me in the gut. What'd I ever do to earn this woman's trust?

"Pizza and wings." I hand the menus back to Lynette.

"Ginger ale?" Margot asks.

"Sure thing."

Lynette hurries away and I focus my attention on Margot.

"Tell me about your week," she says.

"Uh, nothing interesting." I flash a quick grin. "Trained one of the guys on laundromat maintenance." Avoided some blow jobs.

Her lips tilt into a sly smile. "Did you show him how to clean up his act?"

A sharp bite of laughter bursts out of me. "Cute."

She tilts her head and lifts one shoulder.

"Sounds like your week was rougher. You want to talk about it?"

"No." She reaches across the table and slides her warm hands over mine. "But being with you has already lifted some of the darkness."

Usually I bring the darkness wherever I go. How did taking her out make things better? Fuck it, the warmth in my chest doesn't care.

I stare into her pained eyes. "Babies and kids." She takes a deep breath and blows it out slowly. "They're the hardest. When bad things happen to innocent people…" Her voice trails off and she drops her gaze to the table.

The pain in her voice is real and I don't know what to do to make it better.

"Whatever happened," I say, "I hope karma deals with them accordingly."

A slightly unhinged smile curves Margot's lips for the briefest second. "Karma takes too long for my taste, sometimes."

If I didn't know how sweet she is, that statement might be unsettling.

Margot

Being with Jigsaw tonight feels like holding open a curtain that keeps the light pouring in, so I can't drown in the darkness of the week.

My murderous plans come to me in bits and fragments in between our conversation. It has to be quick and unfortunately somewhat painless. It can't be bloody.

By the time we finish our pizza and wings, I think I have a plan.

Jigsaw swipes his napkin over his mouth. "You good?"

When I nod, he collects our plates and pizza tray. "I need to talk to Remy for a minute. Are you all right here?"

"Sure." I frown at him. "Are you clearing the table?"

He shrugs. "I'm going that way, anyway. Might as well save Lynette the trouble."

How can he look so scary on the outside but be so thoughtful? Not only to me but others as well.

What does this outing mean? We were only supposed to be about sex. Well, teaching me about sex. As soon as I told him I wasn't up for it tonight, I expected him to leave. Not be mean about it, but I certainly didn't think he'd stick around. That's not what our relationship is about, so I wouldn't have been mad. But he took me out for dinner and light conversation instead.

Lynette swings by our table and sets a white box in the middle. "Some cookies to go. Dark chocolate chip, and white chocolate chip pecan."

"Oh, wow. Those sound amazing." I pull my purse into my lap. "Do you have our check?"

She waves her hand through the air like it was a silly question. "He already took care of it." She leans down and whispers in my ear, "He's a keeper, honey."

My body freezes, except my mouth, which twitches into a hesitant smile. She winks and heads for the kitchen.

He's a keeper.

Why do I suddenly wish that were true? When I know it can't be.

He made it clear from the beginning that he wasn't mine to keep.