Protector Read online

  Table of Contents

  Praise

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Acknowledgements

  Epigraph

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Teaser chapter

  Copyright Page

  Raves for Protector

  “As a reviewer who is accustomed to reading the big, bold, and commercialized offerings, it always comes as an amazing and sweet delight to run across a new author who can knock these bad boys/girls off the shelves. Dewey does this and more . . . (She) offers up a tale of a connection between woman and child that will break your heart, a mystery that will challenge your intellect, and the promise of redemption that will remind you to hope. A beautiful and deeply satisfying novel . . .”

  —New Mystery Reader Magazine

  “Hang on for a fast-paced thriller that will grip you first page to last! Protector is an extremely fast-paced, page-turning, jaw-clenching story. The reader is pulled into living the story with the characters. If you like suspenseful thrillers, you will love this one.”

  —Fresh Fiction

  “Laurel Dewey makes an impressive debut with Protector, a gripping thriller that goes far beyond the requirements of the suspense/crime genre to provide penetrating psychological insight into the human condition. She combines her riveting tale with emotionally probing psychological analysis that resonates in the reader long after the case is solved. Dewey’s heroine, Detective Jane Perry, is as real as a fictional character can get. Action filled, spellbinding and even spine-tingling, the plot will seize and hold the attention of any thrill seeker.”

  —Janet Hamilton, Myshelf.com

  “The remarkable thing about Protector is the underlying message that even those with the most deep-seated issues, those who seem terminally flawed, can rise above their problems to accomplish things no one thought possible, least of all themselves. Protector is a fast-paced thriller that is an absolute must read for anyone who loves suspense. (It) will keep you on the edge of your seat until the last moment.”

  —Web Weekly

  “Laurel Dewey has crafted a memorable tale full of mystery and emotion in this debut novel. Protector will tug at your heartstrings as Dewey reminds us of the importance of family and relationships. This is an outstanding beginning to what is sure to be a successful writing career for Laurel Dewey.”

  —Jake Chism, Armchair Interviews

  “I had to keep reading. There are so many mysteries that seemed to be tangled into one. Anyone who likes a page-turning mystery will love Protector.”

  —Readerviews.com

  “Dewey is a talented writer who shows a flair for creating edgy crime fiction with a strong psychological component and an interesting mystical dimension.”

  —TCM Reviews

  “Protector is a roller coaster ride of emotion, flowing from the extremes of hard-edged police work to abuse to motherhood and loss? This is definitely one of those novels that is made for the big screen.”

  —Front Street Reviews

  “Dewey writes with a raw intensity that literally jumps off the pages and draws the reader in from start to finish. Protector is a roller coaster ride of startling twists and shocking turns that you just won’t see coming. Unique, mystic, and almost exhausting, Protector will have you glued to its pages from beginning to end.”

  —Vicki Landes, author of Europe for the Senses—A Photographic Journal

  “The plot is quick and brutal, the characters deep and well-developed. Protector is a must read book for suspense lovers everywhere. Laurel Dewey has crafted a story both touching and riveting.”

  —Simegen.com (five stars)

  To my parents, who encouraged me to pursue a writing career . . .

  To Granny, who continues to provide me with support, guidance & love . . .

  And to David—my best friend, lover & husband . . . With you, I am calm. With you, I am home. With you, I am finally free.

  Acknowledgments

  My gratitude goes out to the many patrol officers, Sergeants and Sheriff’s Homicide Detectives throughout Colorado who helped with the research and development of the story. A special thanks to Lieutenant Wayne Weyler of the Mesa County Sheriff ’s Department in Grand Junction, Colorado.

  Kudos to Carol Craven for the photo.

  Thanks to Peter Miller for believing in this book,

  Many thanks to Lou Aronica for his insight and unwavering support throughout this project.

  We cannot live only for ourselves. A thousand fibers connect us with our fellow men; and among those fibers, as sympathetic threads, our actions run as causes, and they come back to us as effects.

  —Herman Melville

  Chapter 1

  The stars were not particularly bright on that May evening. Emily Lawrence craned her neck as she looked outside her open upstairs bedroom window, hoping she could see a pinpoint glimmer of Pluto in the stark night sky. Unfortunately, the large sycamore tree just outside the window prevented a clear view. Discouraged, she pulled herself back into the house and slid down onto the ever-so-pink carpeting that almost matched her nightgown.

  Emily took another look at the star chart that plotted the constellations and diagramed the location of her favorite stellar objects. Satisfied, she flicked off the bedroom light and clicked on the overhead Starlight Starbright projector she received on her ninth birthday, six months before. It was the only gift she wanted and once it was hers, it became her constant companion. She would lie on her bed at night after the house was quiet, her shoulder-length brown hair curled around her pillow, and stare in wonder at the myriad twinkling stars and constellations that projected across her bedroom ceiling and walls. By turning one knob, the constellations slowly moved clockwise around the room, melting into the carpeting and resurfacing on the opposite wall. With the turn of another knob, the room filled with the hushed sounds of soft wind and the distant euphony of Puccini’s “Nessun Dorma.” She stared transfixed by this celestial ballet, engulfed in its embrace, and felt safe.

  Outside, a sothing whisper of wind rustled the sycamore leaves. Emily felt herself drifting off to sleep when she was jolted awake by the sound of her mother’s angry voice downstairs. Her body tightened as she tried to ignore the escalating volume. Her parents’ arguments had grown in intensity over the past few weeks. What began as a disagreement in the kitchen would spread into the living room and then the hallway where the nearby staircase led a straight path to Emily’s bedroom door. The only respite Emily had from her parents’ constant discord was a peaceful nine-day camping trip in Moab, Utah with her mother. They’d returned the night before, but it didn’t take long for her parents to resume their loud disputes. However, on this night, the combative sounds from downstairs were the worst ever. The anger in her mother’s voice was now etched with fear. Emily resisted, then gave in and walked toward her bedroom door. She turned the knob, inching the door open.

  The upstairs hallway was dark, as was the downstairs entry hall near the front door. Emily and her mother’s sleeping bags from their campi
ng trip were still stacked at the bottom of the stairs. The child peeked through the opening of her bedroom door and watched as her mother, Patricia, paced back and forth. Out of Emily’s view, her father, David, sat on the living room couch, his hand cupped tightly against his forehead. His terrified eyes focused intently on the circular patterns of the living room carpeting. Patricia clutched a sheet of notepaper. She looked at it, silently read it and then flared into another tirade.

  “Exactly when were you going to tell me about this, David?” Patricia Lawrence screamed at her husband, jerking the paper toward him.

  “I . . . I didn’t know how to tell you,” David responded, his voice shaking.

  “Look at me!” She moved her slender body close to David.

  David buried his face in both hands. “I’m sorry,” he uttered.

  “The hell you’re sorry!” Patricia yelled. “How could you keep this letter from me? Goddamnit, didn’t you think I would eventually find out? All those nights . . . all those goddamn nights of you calling me and telling me you had to work late . . .”

  “I was working,” David weakly interjected.

  “I don’t think they call it ‘work’ after the second or third cocktail!”

  David pulled his hands from his flushed face. “Patty, please! We’ve got to talk about this rationally.”

  “Rationally? Oh, that’s rich! Suddenly you want to be rational? Why wasn’t that thought going through your head when the relationship became clear? Why didn’t you just walk away?”

  “I don’t know—”

  “You don’t know?” Patricia’s voice was quickly becoming hysterical. “You know what your problem is? You’re weak! Ever since you were young, you always wanted to play with the big boys, but you never fit in.”

  “No. That’s not true,” David responded unconvincingly.

  “It is true! You fantasized about what it would feel like to be accepted by people who lived on the edge. You got off on that fantasy. And then, that fantasy became real.”

  David covered his face again. “Maybe. Maybe I did.”

  “Well, you picked a helluva time to live out your fantasy!” Patricia lunged toward her husband, leaned down and forcefully pulled his hands away from his face. “When the connection was made,” she continued with a slow, angry cadence, “between the two of you and they saw the kind of close relationship you had, did you ever once consider the implications of what could happen? How it would affect us? Or Emily?” At the sound of her name, Emily crawled onto the stairway landing, staying in the darkness so her parents could not see her. Patricia spoke quietly, but there was a penetrating punctuation to each syllable. “The minute you found out what was going on, you should have walked away.”

  “I know . . .” David replied in a weak voice. “But, I couldn’t.”

  “Jesus!” Patricia pulled away from her husband. “How fucked up were you?”

  “Oh, shit, Patty!” David’s voice raised several octaves as he nervously got up and walked across the room. “I may have been a little drunk, but I wasn’t fucked up!” David brushed back his thick brown hair with his hand. It was then that he realized his hand was shaking. His eyes fell to the floor and he spoke in a hushed voice, holding back tears. “Things were said and the more we talked, the more the trust began to build between the two of us. And then . . . I just wanted to help.”

  “David, how could you throw everything away that you know is right and true and decent for a relationship that could destroy us?”

  “I would never consciously do anything to hurt you or Emily!”

  “You don’t think you hurt us when drink a fifth and have to stay in bed all day because you can’t cope? Because you can’t be the man you’re supposed to be?”

  “That’s a low blow, Patty.”

  “No, David. That’s the truth,” Patricia said tersely.

  David searched for the right words. “We’re going to be okay—”

  “Are you crazy?” Patricia exploded. “Didn’t you read this?” She shoved the letter in David’s face.

  David slid away toward the staircase. “I don’t want to read it again!”

  “No, you don’t want to see what you’ve done to us! Let’s pretend it doesn’t exist and maybe it’ll go away! Well, this is not going to go away! But I am and I’m taking Emily with me!”

  Emily’s throat tightened. She watched her mother angrily shove the letter into an open wooden slot that protruded from the rear of the hallway desk. Patricia slammed the slot shut, leaving a slim corner of the notepaper exposed.

  “Oh, Jesus, Patty,” David begged. “Don’t do this.”

  “No more, David! Emily and I should have never come back from Moab! I should have kept driving and put as much distance between us as possible! I will not put my daughter through hell because you wanted your fifteen minutes of fame! I’m packing our bags and taking Emily to my sister in Cheyenne.”

  “You can’t take her away from me! She’s my daughter, too! I love her!”

  “Maybe you should have thought about that months ago.”

  “For God’s sake—” David stopped in his tracks as he looked up the staircase and saw Emily hiding in the shadows. “Oh, God, sweetheart. Go back to bed.”

  Emily stepped from the shadows. “Why are we going away again, Mommy?”

  Patricia moved toward the staircase. “Emily, go back to your bedroom.” Her tone was precise and laced with agitation. “I’ll be up to talk to you.”

  Emily started to turn when she stopped and looked down at her parents. “I love you, Mommy.”

  “I love you, too. Go on!” Patricia said.

  Emily looked at her father’s eyes; they were sad and pitiful. It was the same look she saw when he drank himself into a stupor and stared into nothingness. A sense of helplessness welled up inside the child. “I love you, Daddy,” she whispered.

  David put his fingers to his lips, kissed them and blew the kiss toward Emily. “I love you too, sweet pea.”

  Emily paused, freezing the moment in her memory, then walked back into her bedroom, closing the door behind her. The sound of her parents’ voices were muffled, but still peppered with rage. Her head was filled with the dreaded thought of leaving the only home she had ever known. She nervously paced around her room as the Starlight Starbright projector light cast celestial shapes across her face and body. Emily wanted desperately to feel safe from the world and all the awful possibilities. She quickly grabbed the projector along with the navy blue vinyl carrying case and toted it into her tiny bedroom closet. Closing the door, she situated herself on the floor of the closet, partially covered by the hanging clothes. She tried to get comfortable, and then remembered the mass of oversized pillows on her bed. Wriggling out from under the clothing, she opened the door and made her way in the semi-darkness. Emily dragged two large pillows off the bed and started back when she heard the front 10:00 p.m. in bright red neon. Pressing her ear to her bedroom door, she heard the sound of another male voice—a voice she didn’t recognize.

  Although she couldn’t make out any specific words, the tone sounded like a friendly conversation between her mother and father and the unknown voice. Emily thought she heard the word “accident,” coming from the mysterious guest. She hadn’t heard any crash of metal echoing from Franklin Street. But then again, her parents’ fervent voices could have drowned out the collision.

  For a brief second, she wondered if it was A.J.’s dad. Ten long days ago, A.J. had suddenly moved away with her parents with no warning. The only explanation her mother offered was that A.J.’s father got a job offer in California and had to leave quickly or he would lose the opportunity. As her mother told her this story, Emily could tell it was a lie and wondered to herself why A.J. didn’t want to be her friend anymore. It seemed odd to her; less than one month before, the two families enjoyed a Sunday picnic in Washington Park. One of the photos from that day of Emily and her parents was proudly propped up against her clock. It was a beaming portrait of fam
ily bliss that belied the truth.

  The conversation downstairs sputtered out as Emily plotted the sound of single footsteps walking across the living room floor, heading toward the kitchen. She heard the kitchen door close—a familiar reverberation that always echoed up into her bedroom. She waited, hugging the two large pillows close to her chest. Less than a minute later, Emily heard the sound of the kitchen door opening and an abrupt raised pitch of voices. If that was A.J.’s father, he suddenly didn’t sound very happy. Emily pulled away from the door. She figured that whatever was happening downstairs was better left to her parents and that her mother would tell her a dressed up version of the truth the next morning.

  She plopped the oversized pillows on the closet floor, closed the door and buried her body under the cushioned mass. It was like a soft cocoon that cradled and hid her from the outside world. She turned on the Starlight Starbright projector and the glimmering stars began their orbital ballet. Every crevice of her closet was painted with twinkling lights and murky galaxies. Emily peered out from between the pillows, captivated by the celestial dance. With another flick of a switch, the soft, melodic tones of “Nessun Dorma,” interwoven with the sounds of crashing waves and a gentle wind, drifted into the air.

  The voices downstairs became louder. But Emily stayed focused on the brilliant constellations that rotated across the closet walls and ceiling. She could feel her heart pounding harder and harder.

  That’s the last thing Emily remembered.

  Chapter 2

  Detective Jane Perry woke up with a start. For a second, she had no idea where she was. Her breathing was fast and labored, as though she’d just run a marathon. Jane closed her eyes and let out a loud grunt. Catching her breath, she stared at the ceiling in a slight daze. “Fuck,” was all she could utter in a raspy whisper.