From Ashes (From Ashes 1)

“So they read the will today. How did that go?”

I studied his face to see if he was digging for information that would help with his job, but when he just looked worried, my head tilted to the side and I shrugged again. “It went. I was the only one there, so it was over pretty quickly.”

He nodded. “So now that everything is over with, how long do you think you’ll stay in California?”

“Not sure, I need to go back to Texas. I really just up and left everything, but I feel like I need to figure some things out first. Tyler went back on Sunday so I finally have time to myself. I’ll probably take another week or so, unless you guys need me for something . . . ?”

“Uh, no.” He huffed and shook his head slightly. “No, the fire and deaths were confirmed accidents. I know I already said it, but I am sorry for the way the questions went the first day—”

“Don’t be,” I said, cutting him off, “that’s your job, right? Can’t really blame you for doing that, and I’ve got to say, you’ve got it down to an art.”

Connor sat back and laughed out loud. “An art, huh?”

“You do! I remember thinking that during. You look completely calm while you’re talking, not giving anything away, but your eyes are so intense that it throws the person you’re talking to off and I can see how you could get people to start spilling stuff. I know I did . . .” I trailed off and looked to the side.

“Your eye looks much better; the bruising went away quickly,” he said, guessing the direction my thoughts had started going.

“Yeah, I hadn’t gotten hit too hard. I’d just been trying to break up the fight, and one of the guys was pulling me away as an elbow connected, so it wasn’t able to do much damage. And I know what Tyler told you. I was listening, just as he’d been listening to me. There was a reason I didn’t tell you and Detective Sanders about my past; I’ve only ever told one person, and that was Tyler. He’s known since it first started happening, and other than him I’ve never felt the need to share it. With how you were questioning me, I could only imagine how my past would make me look even more suspicious. I hadn’t meant to say anything about your knowing anything about my life. It just slipped.” I looked into Connor’s now-soft eyes and continued. “Like I said, your calm intensity makes people say too much. But I didn’t think that was a need-to-know, and it wasn’t Tyler’s place to tell you.”

“I agree completely. And for what it’s worth, since you were listening, I thought of a hundred different ways I wanted to go off on him for letting that happen to you growing up. You threatening to run away or not, you could’ve been killed, Cassidy.”

My eyes had popped open the second he’d agreed with me but narrowed into slits toward the end. “You don’t understand, Detective Green—”

“Connor.”

I sighed. “Connor. You don’t understand. Tyler was all I had. If we had told someone, they would’ve taken me away from the only person I had left. I couldn’t let that happen.”

“I probably understand better than you’d think,” he said softly, and leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “I didn’t need you mentioning your life or Tyler telling me about your past to know what had happened. Within the first minute of questioning you, I knew you’d had nothing to do with the fire. Even if you had a rocky relationship and weren’t close with your mother and stepfather, you would still have been upset over their deaths and the loss of your childhood home. When you were neither, I knew.”

“How?” I asked quietly.

“Cassidy, only someone who would react that way to their own parent dying would understand your reaction.”

My brow furrowed and I looked around like the walls would be able to explain that confusing statement. When my gaze met his, I saw it, the tortured numbness. I inhaled sharply and started to reach for his arm but stopped myself. “You?”

He nodded slowly. “My mother was a junkie. I knew who she was, but she wasn’t around much. She’d sell herself to be able to afford her addiction, which is how my sister came along, and then me. Through all this, her husband stayed married to her. He didn’t do drugs and he didn’t drink; I wish he did so I could blame what he did on either of those. But he just hated us because we weren’t his, and because of what we represented. My sister was six years older than me, so for the longest time, she was the one who took all the beatings he dealt. When I was old enough to understand what was happening when she’d lock me in the closet, I started holding my own and taking my half of the beatings. She didn’t want to tell anyone, said what you told Tyler, that if we told anyone they would separate us. She said if we could make it until she was eighteen, she’d take me away and we’d start over.

“Then one night when I was seven he just lost it. He hit Amy so hard she wasn’t waking up and ended up breaking both my legs and my left arm. I waited until he went to his room, like he always did after, and dragged myself out of the trailer and tried to make it to the neighbor’s. I didn’t get that far, but someone from the park had been walking their dog and found me, called 911. I’d passed out, and with all the blood they had thought I was dead, so police, EMTs, and homicide detectives all came out. My father was arrested, and Amy and I were rushed to the hospital. All I remember from that night other than trying to make it to the neighbor’s trailer was waking up to one of the detectives sitting next to my hospital bed. He didn’t say a word to me then, but when I woke up the next day he told me he was going to make sure no one ever touched me or Amy again. He and his wife fought hard and were able to adopt both of us. To me, they are Mom and Dad.”

“Is he why you wanted to be a detective?”

Connor smiled his acknowledgment and his eyes went over my face. “I would never wish death on anyone, Cassidy, and like you, I wouldn’t blink if someone told me that man or my real mother was dead.” He stayed quiet for a few moments before speaking again. “I had to continue questioning you, even though I knew exactly what was going through your mind. But I hated every second. Looking at you, knowing what I’d come to realize, and seeing you with a black eye, I wanted to grab you and run you out of that house.”

“I don’t have a reason to lie to you now that you know the truth. I really was trying to break up a fight.”

“I know. Once I realized Tyler wasn’t your boyfriend, I sat there wondering who was so I could find him instead. But after Tyler basically spilled all your secrets and told us how you got the shiner, I figured it’d be pointless for him to lie about something like that. It’s not like he gave us the whole ‘she tripped’ excuse.”

I sighed and mumbled pathetically, “I’ve used that one before.”

He grimaced. “You really don’t talk about it often?”

“No. I mean, I told Tyler everything, but it was so he could figure out how best to take care of my injuries.”

“I didn’t open up for a long time, until I was almost sixteen I think, but once I finally did everything changed. I still don’t tell just anyone; you’re actually the first person I’ve told in a long time. But you need to relive it all and get everything out there, or else you’re never going to move past it. You may think you have, but it’ll always haunt you, Cassidy.”

Thoughts of how easily all my fears had surfaced when I saw Gage at the party that night came to mind. Connor was right, but I’d spent so long not talking, I didn’t know how, or if I even wanted to start now. “Did you have bones broken a lot?”

“That last night was the only time. Did you?” I don’t think he’d even realized it, but his eyes had slipped into that same intensity he’d had a little over a week ago in the Bradleys’ den.

“No, they were too smart to break anything. Had a lot of cracked ribs, but anything that would have required a cast they stayed away from. Stitches though . . . they didn’t seem to understand or care that people needed to get stitches.”

“Did that happen a lot?”

“Stitches? I needed them probably once a month or so, only ever got them a few times though. Tyler was good with butterfly bandages.”

Connor’s eyes widened for a moment and I bit my tongue.

“Uh, didn’t you ever need stitches?”

He shook his head. “No, I didn’t. Not until that last night.” He paused and then leaned closer, his face only inches from mine. “Cassidy, how often did you get hit?”

I began to back away but one hand snaked up and locked behind my neck.

“Cassidy, how often did they hit you?” he repeated, and that cool intensity in his stare held me where I was. What was it about that stare and those eyes?

“Every day. Is that—is that not like your situation?” I asked when his next breath was audible.

The hand on my neck squeezed lightly and he hung his head. “No. For us it was every two weeks or so.”

I mouthed the words he’d just said. I guess it was naïve, but I’d thought all kids who were abused had it pretty much the same as me. “Did you—” I suddenly broke off on a gasp and pushed back against his hand until he let go when he looked up at me from under his lashes. Oh my God, how could I have not recognized him?! I’d dreamed about that look, dreamed about those eyes!

“What?”

“You’re that cop!”

His eyes widened and he straightened slightly. “I didn’t think you recognized me.”

“You knew who I was and you didn’t say anything? You’ve just been acting like—like you cared?” I gasped again. “Were you even—” I backed away from him and grabbed my purse.

“Say it.”

“It doesn’t matter,” I said coldly, and stood up before he could trap me in the chair again.

“Cassidy,” he pleaded, but I was already walking toward the side exit door that emptied out into an alleyway. “Cassidy, wait!” Connor’s hand grabbed mine and he brought me to a stop. “It does matter. You need to talk about it.”