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He nodded, grave and silent.
Child pornography, she thought. Murder. Rape. Jesus Christ, who did Richard let take pictures of my son?
“Burglary,” Caleb told her. “And assault.”
And then she understood it all at once, so clear and obvious that she didn’t know why she hadn’t questioned it before. Weasel Face was a felon, and Caleb had known. That was why the police had come. Caleb hadn’t called them from Maureen’s house. They’d shown up because he’d called them earlier. He’d known who the photographer was, known he was dangerous, and he hadn’t told her.
“When did you find out?”
He sighed. “Right after we met. Before I put the deadbolts on.”
“And you didn’t say anything.”
“I was trying to keep—”
“You were trying to keep me safe, yeah, I get it. I never asked you to, but it’s your thing, right? It’s what makes you feel powerful and worthwhile, Caleb to the rescue. Did you ever stop to wonder how it makes me feel? Ever ask yourself what it’s like to be the person who’s not worth informing, the little woman who’s so fucking feeble, nobody can bear to let her handle her own problems?” She turned away and walked over to the window, unable to look at him.
Her yard was e
mpty, the garden tidy and colorful except for the place where Weasel Face had stood. There, the hosta still looked trampled, and the bleeding-heart bush listed to one side.
In that moment, she hated everything. The plants. The house. Caleb. Herself most of all, for letting all of this happen to her. She’d wanted Caleb’s strength. She’d asked for it. But this was what she got for relying on a man—belittled. This was what she always got.
“I didn’t stand up to Richard,” she said, staring outside, “because I didn’t want him to lose his job.”
She heard Caleb take a deep breath. “Yeah. Well, now I’m going to lose mine.”
She turned to face him. “For hitting Richard? That seems a little harsh.”
“Breckenridge is looking for an excuse. Assault will do.”
“You’ve been working so hard.”
“Doesn’t matter. I was hired to keep you and Carly and Jamie safe and out of the public eye. This morning, Jamie’s striptease is going to be headline news all over the world, and your drunk ex-husband turned up on your porch ready to start a fight.” He let out a disgusted breath. “I deserve to be fired. I don’t have the judgment to do this job.”
“That’s ridiculous,” she said without thinking.
“Maybe. But I don’t have the brains the good Lord gave an ant, so what do you expect?”
“Don’t throw that in my face. Richard said that, not me.”
“Yeah, but Richard was right. You don’t take me seriously.”
“I do.” She’d never seen him as a sex toy, not for a minute. Yes, she’d treated him that way, but it wasn’t how she saw him. From that first night on her porch, she’d known he was smart. She appreciated his sense of humor, and she admired the way he did his job.
She’d also never once told him any of that. What had she told him? That he was good-looking.
She’d exploited him. Way to go, Ellen.
“Come to dinner on Wednesday.”
“No.”
He turned his hands palms up. See?
She’d proved his point.
“I’m in love with you,” he said.
