Brenda Novak - No One But You

“Not a call, exactly. But I have to admit, my cop’s intuition is sending out a warning.”

“Well, there’s no trouble here. You can go on your way,” Dawson said.

“Not so fast,” Sly responded.

Sadie tiptoed to the entrance of the living room and peered around the corner to see her ex-husband holding the door so that Dawson couldn’t close it. “I guess you decided not to take my advice, huh?”

“Advice?” Dawson echoed, using the same facetious tone as before.

“You know what I’m talking about. Was there some confusion?”

“No, not really. Why?”

Sly’s expression hardened. “Maybe you don’t know this yet, but it’s not smart to get on my bad side.”

“Your ex needed a job, and I had one. Seemed like the perfect fit. I’m not sure why you’d have anything to do with it, to be honest.”

“I have everything to do with it,” he said. “Everything to do with her. And I’m telling you, she doesn’t belong here.”

“Actually, she does now. Technically, you’re the one who has no business coming onto the property.”

Sadie gripped the edge of the opening so hard she thought she might leave impressions in the wood. “Don’t let him explode. Don’t let him explode,” she chanted silently to herself. She didn’t want this to come to blows, especially because she wasn’t convinced Dawson could overpower Sly, not when he was so tired. Even if he could, she was afraid Sly would make up some lie about being attacked and call for backup, which would land Dawson in jail again.

“Funny,” Sly said. “A murderer with a sense of humor. I like that.”

“Great. Glad to hear it. Now, I’m tired and eager for bed. Not interested in any domestic bullshit. So...why don’t I go on about my business—and let you go on about yours?”

“I’m afraid that won’t be possible,” Sly said. “Not until I see Sadie. I tried calling her, but she didn’t pick up. When that happens, I tend to worry.”

Dawson didn’t even glance her way. “Her hands were wet. She’s mopping the floor. I’m sure she’ll call you when she gets done.”

“I want to talk to her now. So I suggest you make it easy on both of us and get her.”

Before Dawson could refuse and thereby provoke Sly even more, Sadie walked into the room. “Sly, what are you doing here?” she asked.

His gaze shifted to her, but his expression didn’t grow any friendlier. “It’s after seven.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means it’s getting late, and I’m wondering why you’re not home with our son.”

She slid in front of Dawson to block Sly’s view of him. “I haven’t finished work. I’ll be leaving soon.”

“When?”

“Fifteen minutes.”

“Fine. I’ll wait out here and escort you home.”

She wanted to tell him to leave, that she didn’t need an escort, but she feared that would only tempt Dawson into trying to enforce her wishes, which wouldn’t be good for him, or her. “Fine,” she said and shut the door.

“Please, try to stay out of it, if you can,” she whispered to Dawson when she turned to find that he hadn’t moved since she slipped in front of him.

“Because...”

“It could be dangerous not to.”

He seemed much more alert than before. No doubt Sly’s attitude and the anger it evoked had given him a shot of adrenaline. “How dangerous? Has he ever hurt you?”

She thought of all the temper tantrums and other rages she’d witnessed over the years. Sly putting his fist through a wall. Sly throwing something and breaking it. Sly peeling out of the drive and nearly crashing his car or screaming and ranting at her until he had her backed into a corner with her arms up over her head, convinced this would be the time he would strike. “Not yet.”

“But...”

“He will definitely hurt you, in any way he can, and I don’t want to be responsible for that. Now you’ve had a glimpse of...of what he’s like, you might want to change your mind about having me work here.”

He set his jaw. “You mean cop to his demands.”

“I know it sounds unappealing. Believe me, I hate it as much as you do. But that’s the only way to appease him.”

“That’s what you do?”

“That’s all I can do.” Suddenly feeling her own fatigue, she shoved the loose strand of hair that kept falling into her face out of her eyes again. “Anyway, I’ll go now so that he’ll leave, too, and you can get some sleep. But if you decide you have enough problems, that you’d rather not have me back tomorrow, just let me know.” She should’ve known this would never work, that Sly would never allow it to work. “I’ll understand,” she assured him and went to get her purse.

5

The anger that welled up as his new “caregiver” left, followed closely by her ex-husband, made Dawson long to hit something. He hated to see Sadie give in to Officer Harris, to let him control and manipulate her. Just watching it happen, being a party to it, brought back the horrible feelings of helplessness he’d experienced over the past year—and with it a familiar rage. So much shit had happened to him, and he’d been powerless to stop it. When his parents were killed, he’d been swept into a vortex of pain, loss, confusion, accusation, distrust and resistance to the truth that had nearly destroyed everything in his life—not only his parents but all they’d left behind, including their life’s work, their home and their poor daughter.

He’d often lain awake at night on that cement jailhouse bed, feeling as if he’d fallen through the proverbial “rabbit hole.” That was how twisted his life had become, how distorted from what was fair, right and true. And the crazy thing was, no matter how hard he fought back, or how much he proclaimed his innocence, there was no escape. He remained at the mercy of strangers, completely subject to the rationale, judgments and will of people who had no idea who he really was or what’d happened that terrible night. They stripped him of his freedom and convicted him in the press, pointing to the anger and confusion he’d experienced as an unwanted child as the reason he’d risen up to destroy the only people who ever truly loved him.

If not for the slimmest of margins, he’d be sitting on death row right now. Only, he wasn’t. He was here. Home. Sure, he was starting over with very little. But at least he had the chance to reclaim his sister, save the farm and find the man who did murder his folks. He might even be able to bring that man to justice.

If he didn’t screw up.

In an effort to calm down, he walked to the table and poured himself another glass of wine. As he stood there drinking it, he couldn’t help feeling a measure of relief at the transformation that’d taken place around him. The kitchen had regained its former dignity, because of Sadie. Sure, that was a small step forward, but it made him feel as if something had finally been put right, which gave him a shred of normalcy to cling to. Then there was Sadie’s practicality in bringing groceries and supplies, her flexibility in being willing to front the money for them, so that the shopping wouldn’t turn out to be a big hassle on his part, and her diligence in seeing that he got fed. She’d worked hard today. He liked her, believed he’d found a good employee.

But what she said was true: he had enough problems. He’d hired her yesterday despite Officer Harris’s threats—maybe, at least partially, because of them. It felt good to fight back. But did he really want to get involved in a battle that had nothing to do with him when he had more than he could handle already?

No. He’d have to put off getting Angela out of Stanley DeWitt. He didn’t like that she’d be disappointed, but he could continue to advertise for a caregiver—in Santa Barbara this time—hoping to find someone who was willing to commute. Santa Barbara wasn’t that far. Surely, if he gave himself more time, he could find an alternative to hiring a woman connected to an abusive ex-husband who also happened to be an egotistical cop.