Family Of His Own

This old year was ticking away and Isabelle wanted her regrets where Scott was concerned to die with it. In the new year, she would be more conscientious toward him. She was grateful that he’d been patient with her selfishness. She intended to scrape her egocentric attitudes off her palette. Scott deserved better from her.

The folds of her silver gown eddied around her silver, open-toed, peau de soie heels as she breezed up to his table. She greeted Sarah and Cate again with a little wave. Scott was in deep discussion with Trent.

She placed her hand on his shoulder.

He reached up to touch it, but he didn’t take his focus from Trent, who was now whispering.

“Scott?” Isabelle said.

He turned his face to her.

Why was his expression so disturbed? Lines of worry settled around his eyes. She knew that look and she didn’t like it. “Is everything okay? It’s not your mother again, is it?”

“No.” He cleared his throat. “No. Mom is fine. What’s up?”

She leaned closer and smiled. “I just wanted to say that at midnight, Scott, you’re all mine.”

He kissed her palm and smiled. “Ditto.”

* * *

SCOTT WAITED UNTIL Isabelle was out of sight and earshot before he said to Trent, “Why tonight?”

“Captain Williams has given my team the nod. We want to catch Ellis in the act. Remember the ordinance plant?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“He’s set up a lab out there. We found it yesterday. I didn’t tell you because we were waiting on confirmation about an apartment where we thought he was living. I just got the word.”

“Should I wait till the morning? I don’t want to get in the way,” Scott said, though he was already bursting with anticipation of another on-the-scenes story.

“I trust you to hang back until I give you the signal. You can stay in your car, take video and photos. And stay low. Then you come in. And trust me, the chief knows you’re involved.”

Scott nodded. He knew it was his job to be objective when covering a story. At the same time, he admired men and women in uniform who made sacrifices, risked their lives to protect others. They made the world a better place to live. And what had Scott done? He’d reported it. Written a few sentences about some brave men who should have been commemorated in bronze.

Suddenly, he felt ashamed and sharply disappointed in his life lately.

Only he could make the kind of changes he needed to put himself back together and find that feeling of worthiness again.

Scott remembered the prickles of commitment and even flames of ambition spur him when he’d written the article about the bust. He’d lost track of time. He’d investigated, interviewed and researched for every snippet of fact.

“So are you game?” Trent asked.

“I am,” Scott said. He wanted to help. To make a difference in the frightening rise of drug dealing in his town. “So, when is this going down?” Scott asked.

“Right after midnight.”

“Okay.” Scott rubbed his chin thinking of beautiful Isabelle and the fact that they’d both caught the magic of New Year’s. “Isabelle’s not going to like this. And what about you and Cate?”

“Luke and Sarah will take Cate home. Danny’s staying over at their house tonight. Danny’s always up for a sleepover with Timmy and Annie. I don’t know if it’s their golden retriever or playing in the tent in Timmy’s room that he likes most.”

Scott chuckled. “It couldn’t be that cute little red-haired Annie, could it? I mean, I know Danny is only six...”

“Just turned seven.”

Scott spread his hands. “Well then, there you are!”

Their smiles faded as their thoughts went back to the seriousness of their decision.

“I promised Isabelle I’d dance with her at midnight.”

“Sorry,” Trent replied, looking over at Cate, who was pointing to the dance floor. “I’m being summoned. It’s up to you if you want to come, Scott. But I’m leaving at twelve.” Trent rose from his chair and started to walk away. “I forgot to tell you...this is top secret. You can’t tell Isabelle about any of this.”

Scott sighed.

Trent slapped his shoulder. “Tough changing the world, isn’t it?”

“Seriously,” Scott replied as he watched Edgar walk toward the stage with a microphone in his hand. It was nearing midnight. The witching hour. The New Year.

Isabelle walked toward him through the groups of couples making their way to the dance floor for the final countdown. Her face was filled with expectation and more happiness than he’d seen in her green eyes in a long time. Her smile was enough to kill most grown men.

He held out his hand. “Wanna dance, beautiful?”

“I do,” she said, taking his hand and then yanking him toward the floor. The orchestra was just finishing up a romantic ballad. Edgar was thanking everyone, rattling off the Lodges’ reopening dates.

Scott inhaled the scent of lavender and rose that Isabelle wore, and rested his cheek against her soft one. She felt perfect in his arms. Tonight she looked like a goddess, silver and sparkling like a moonbeam off the lake.

“I have plans for us,” she whispered wistfully.

He opened his mouth and then snapped it shut. For months they’d been at odds. They’d had little that reminded them of why they were together at all. He knew she wanted to be with him tonight. Maybe share a brandy by the giant fire in the Lodges’ bar. Or her favorite, a moonlit walk in the snow by the lake. Half an hour ago, Scott would have given anything to do either of those things with Isabelle, but he’d committed to leaving with Trent. He needed this story.

“Ten!” Edgar shouted into the microphone.

“Isabelle, I can’t.”

She stared at him. “Can’t what?”

He could feel his insides ripping in half. He wanted to be with Isabelle, but a rare opportunity had presented itself. Scott was taking a chance on this assignment with Trent, but he knew if he didn’t try, he’d never know if he could live out his journalism dreams. He was hoping Isabelle would understand. He’d always supported her art; surely she’d return the kindness.

“Nine!” Edgar shouted. The crowd was now counting with him. Excitement sparked through the room.

“I have...another commitment.”

“Eight!”

“Tonight? Is it your mother?”

“Not my mom.”

“Seven!”

“Scott, it’s New Year’s Eve,” she replied, her eyes filling with confusion. Then, her eyes misted as if she was truly disappointed that he was leaving. With a shock, he thought: She loves me.

“Six!”

“I know. It can’t be helped.”

“Five!”

Isabelle stopped dancing. She dropped her arms. “What is it? Someone else?”

She loves me not.

“What?” he asked incredulously.

“Four!”

“There’s only one reason you would leave me here on New Year’s Eve in the middle of all of our friends...”

“Isabelle, there’s never been anyone but you. You know that! You have to know that,” he urged. She loves me.

“Three!”

He stared at her. She loves me not. “If there was someone else, would that even matter to you? You’ve never come close to committing to me.”

“Two!”

Isabelle’s eyes watered, but she didn’t answer him.

Scott took a step back from her. She backed up a step. Tiny movements, yet that distance between them felt as wide as the universe. This was Isabelle. His Isabelle. Or so he’d thought.

“One!”

“Happy New Year, Isabelle.”

Scott moved past her and stalked toward the door. Never had he thought his New Year’s Eve would turn out like this. As the clock struck midnight, Scott had turned onto a new path in his life. He was finished with being underappreciated and inconsequential. Isabelle only paid attention to him when it suited her and she didn’t have anything better to do. Of course she wouldn’t commit to him. He was nothing but detritus to her. No more. His anger toppled the pedestal he’d put her on.

He would regret not kissing Isabelle soundly that night, but the last chime of the New Year’s clock was Scott’s signal to make some big changes in his life.

And he was ready.

CHAPTER SEVEN

SCOTT SAT IN his truck outside the two-story house, dictating notes into his iPhone. The front porch boards were rotted and looked as if they’d collapse with the weight from the next snowfall. One window had a black plastic garbage bag taped over the half-broken pane.

Trent and other cops in unmarked ILPD cars had surrounded the house and blocked off the street. There were no lights or sirens cutting through the night, though in the distance, Scott could still hear the fireworks explosions over Indian Lake.

“Probably at the Lodges,” he mumbled. Scott was glad he’d downloaded an app for shooting in very low light. He took another photo of Trent and the cops advancing on the house in a semicircle as two other cops raced around the back. They wore black parkas with ILPD emblazoned in bright yellow letters on the back.

Trent had his gun pulled and at the ready as he banged on the front door and announced, “Police!”

Scott zoomed in to record the scene. Of course there was no answer.

Trent tried the door, which was locked. He kicked the flimsy door down.

Scott heard a woman scream. He guessed it was the woman Ellis had duped into letting him stay with her. She screamed again.

Scott heard shouting from behind the house. He couldn’t take it. He got out of the truck and inched closer to the house, still recording. Two cops, one he recognized as Sal Paluzzi, were walking a scrawny man, handcuffed now, toward the front of the house.

The man was cursing and spitting at the cops, trying to wrench himself out their grasp. He kicked Sal, but Sal kept his cool. Scott kept recording.

Just then, Scott’s phone rang. The caller ID said it was Trent.

“What’s up?” Scott asked.

“It’s safe enough now. I think you should come inside.”

Scott sped toward the front door as Sal and the other cop put Ellis in a squad car. He heard Sal reading Ellis his Miranda rights.

Scott dodged the rotted steps and hopped up onto the porch, which wasn’t all that stable. He pulled back the screenless screen door and entered the dimly lit living room.

Sprawled on a dirty couch was a thin woman who looked to be about forty years old. Her light brown hair hung in clumps over her face. She wore a pair of men’s sweat pants and a sweatshirt with the lettering cracked and flaking off. Her head lolled on the arm of the couch.

“Who’s that?” Scott asked Trent.

“The landlady, apparently. And if we’re lucky, she’ll be our witness.”

Scott took another step closer, scrutinizing the woman. Her nails were cracked and stained yellow from nicotine, he guessed, glancing at the ashtray full of cigarette butts on the flowered metal TV tray at the head of the couch. The only other furniture in the room was a floor lamp in the far corner.

“Are you arresting her?” Scott asked Trent.

“Right now, we’re taking her in for questioning.”

“Questioning?” Scott frowned. The woman seemed oblivious to their presence. “Any idea what she’s on?”

“The guys found heroin and a syringe in the bathroom.”

Just then Bob Paxton, a member of Trent’s team who had also been a Green Beret like Trent, came in from the hallway. “Detective? I think you need to see this.”

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