Page 39 of Colorado Christmas Carol
“Yes, for you. Something special.” He pulled out of the parking lot. “Essa, seat belt, please,” he said gently.
“As if I need it,” she teased. “You’re one of the best drivers I know.”
He flushed a little. “You make me feel so good about myself,” he said, almost to himself.
“You’re a nice person,” she replied, puzzled. “Surely I’m not the only one who tells you that.”
“You’re very nice,” Mellie seconded. “And we’ll fight anybody who says you aren’t!” She grinned.
He was breathing uneasily. His hands on the steering wheel were white from the pressure. Essa and Mellie were such unique people. Kind. Generous. Empathetic. He wanted to keep them with him forever, to forget the past, to have a future that included them. Never had anyone made him feel so good about himself, made him want to make amends. But then, there was only one way he could make amends. And he couldn’t take these kind people with him. He didn’t know where he might end up. It might be a very bad place, and then what? He’d have sacrificed his kind friends on a whim. A sad whim. He couldn’t just go out and collect kind people and make them stay with him. What had he been thinking?
He drove on to the dig site while Essa and Mellie talked back and forth about the previous day’s forensic workshop, with Mellie asking a dozen questions.
“That’s right, isn’t it, Dean?” Essa asked suddenly.
“Wh . . . what?” he stammered, trapped in his thoughts.
“The speaker said that one grain of pollen found on a suspect’s clothing had matched with a flower in the lapel of the victim, and that it had been prime evidence in the conviction.”
“Pollen.” He was blank, caught in the fever of what was coming. “Yes. Pollen. That’s right.”
“Are you okay?” Essa asked softly. “Dean, you look terrible. If you don’t feel like taking us out here . . .”
He wiped at his forehead, where beads of sweat had formed. “I didn’t have breakfast,” he said dimly. “And I didn’t sleep well. I’m all right. Really. Really I am.”
Essa drew in a breath. “Well, we wouldn’t have complained if you hadn’t felt like doing it, you know,” she said with a gentle smile.
Knives. Knives in his heart.
“Of course we wouldn’t!” Mellie agreed.
They were so kind. Possibly the kindest females he’d ever known. Definitely not like his stepmother! He hated himself for what he’d thought. They were so innocent. They had no idea what he planned for them.
But Mellie’s father suspected him. He was a detective. Did he suspect him of what he’d actually done, or was it just some sort of apprehension that had no name, a detective’s hunch that there was something not right about Dean?
“There it is,” Essa said, noting the dig site just off the main highway on a dirt road, but visible from the highway. She frowned. “I don’t see anybody . . .”
Dean ground his teeth together. He sped up to the dig site and stopped the car. “Get out of the car, both of you.”
They stared at him, shocked.
“Please,” he ground out, eyes shut tight. “Please!”
“Dean, what’s wrong?” Essa asked. “Can we help?”
“No. Nothing can help me now.” He took a shuddering breath. “Please. Get out. You have your phones. You can call . . . for help.” He looked at Essa with wild, unseeing eyes. “Please! Hurry!”
She didn’t understand, but she felt a darkness in him suddenly—a vicious, cold darkness that was beyond anything she’d experienced.
“Get out, Mellie,” she told the child as she unfastened her seat belt and opened the door.
“What is it” she asked Dean when they were standing beside the car.
“You’ll know. You will. Forgive . . . me,” he choked, his eyes going from one of them to the other. “I was once . . . a kind person. It was the shock. I didn’t think she’d do it. Of course, it wasn’t the first time. He didn’t stop her then. Maybe it was . . . fated. But when I saw what she’d done, I . . . I just went crazy. I loved my father! Please don’t . . . hate me.”
“Of course we don’t hate you . . .”
“Close the door,” he said through gritted teeth.
