Heaven is Weeping (A Croft & Croft Romance Adventure Book 5) Page 3

  Getting out, Emma dropped her glasses on as she approached. A few checked out her clothes, and she couldn’t help but smirk. One would think that her wearing a suit was something special. So many people did it every day, but because hers had a designer label, it made it news worthy.

  Before she hit the front door, the barrage started.

  “Emma! Are you going to the annual party thrown by Randall Mason?”

  She didn't have a clue.

  As of now, she was dateless.

  “Who designed your shoes?” another shouted.

  Emma didn't give a shit.

  In fact, she might take them off and whip them at the woman.

  “Are there any new crime stories?” a man called, grabbing her attention.

  It made her stop. Could it be? Someone actually cared about the crime in Vegas?

  Wow! Would wonders never cease?

  Emma glanced over at the man who held the notepad in his hand. She had indeed run into him before. “Keith, it’s nice to see you hanging around outside my place of employment.”

  He laughed. “I can ask you about your hair if you want, Mrs. Croft.”

  Emma grinned, ignoring the other questions being thrown at her. “No, that’s fine. I don’t know what’s happening yet in the world of crime. It’s only Wednesday, but the city is slow. It’s too damn hot for killing.”

  He scribbled some notes down. “If you get anything, will you let me know?” he asked, pulling out his card. “If I don’t do a good job on the crime beat, I may be asking you about your shoes next.”

  She sympathized. “Yeah, you got it.”

  Taking his card, she read it over. “Mr. Powell, have a good day.”

  At the door, she ignored the remaining shouts to escape into the cool air of the police headquarters. Now that she’d survived that part of her day, she could mark it off her mental list.

  Next was facing her partner.

  Before she could reach the bullpen, she was stopped by another detective. Mace Bristol stood there in his rumpled suit, pouring himself a cup of coffee.

  “Got a minute, Emma?”

  Yeah, she had plenty.

  “What’s up?”

  He lowered his voice as she poured herself a cup. “I’m still working on the Booker homicide, and I have to say that you were right.”

  “About?”

  “It’s cold and dead. I can’t find anything. I tried to dig into the scene, but the widow was useless. Her story is exactly the same, and I feel bad. Every time she opens the door and sees me, she bursts into tears.”

  “I couldn’t find anything either. Trudy Booker, from what I’ve heard, isn't handling it too well. She’s complained a couple times that we haven’t gotten anywhere, but she’s not really helping us with any information.”

  “Whoever killed him did a damn good job of keeping it clean. I went back over all the forensics, and there’s nothing. There were some fibers on his clothes, but the team thinks it’s because his wife held onto him until we could pry her off.”

  “Makes sense.”

  “Yeah, this bitch is dead.”

  Emma was well aware. In her career as a homicide detective, she’d closed more cases than not. This one, it appeared, was heading to the cold case files.

  Which totally sucked, but as of late was par for the course.

  “I appreciate you trying,” she admitted.

  “Hey, I have your back. Ethan Blackhawk wants me to keep my eyes open.”

  Emma went with it, changing the subject. “How are you, personally?”

  “Like that file, I’m cold and dead.”

  She understood. While his wife of fifteen years took their kids and left, Mace was trying to put his life back together again.

  “She sent the divorce papers,” he stated numbly.

  Emma patted him on the shoulder. “What are you going to do?” she asked, hoping her life didn't come to this moment. If she lost Greyson, her heart would die.

  “Sign them. I heard from my daughter that she’s already started dating someone new. I can’t get her back, and now, I’m not sure I’d want to. Obviously, she wasn’t my soul mate. You’re lucky, Emma. Your husband would never hurt you like this.”

  She wanted to burst into tears.

  If the world only knew what was happening behind the Sky Villa closed doors.

  Yeah, it was good to know she was managing to keep the façade up on the outside.

  Kudos for her.

  She deserved the Academy Award.

  “I have to go,” she said, moving away from him. If she stayed, there was a good chance she’d break. “Keep me updated,” Emma stated.

  Her heart ached knowing that that the ‘King and Queen’ had fallen off their thrones. There was no doubt that she was heading to the same end as Mace’s marriage.

  It was only a matter of time.

  At her desk, she was met by her partner, Brynn Westmore. She moved in close and touched her arm.

  “Still bad?” she asked sympathetically.

  “Yep, and getting progressively worse.”

  “Can I do something?” she whispered, trying not to key in any other detectives around them. This bunch was nosy as hell when it came to Emma and her life.

  “I don’t know where to even begin. If I had a clue, I’d ask for some help. I just don’t know where to start.”

  Brynn hugged her fast. “You can call me if you need to talk. I can ditch Curtis for a few minutes.”

  Emma appreciated her partner. It was good to have someone who knew she was suffering. Anyone, at this point, meant a little of the burden was off her shoulders.

  “Ford is looking for you,” Brynn offered. “Do you want me to head in and tell him you’re on the phone?”

  There was no way he’d buy it.

  This time, she needed to suck it up, put on her big girl panties, and take one for the team. “No, I’ll face him down.”

  Brynn nodded sympathetically.

  Moving through the bullpen, Emma approached his door. Tentatively, she knocked.

  “Come in, Croft!”

  Emma entered and took a seat.

  “You look like shit. What’s up?”

  It made her want to laugh. Here, the man who she least expected to notice she was off her game, did.

  “I’m good. I think the whole issue with the corruption case is making me a nervous wreck. We keep waiting for something to jump out and bite us on the ass.”

  Christopher Ford watched his detective. Yeah, he wasn’t buying it. There was something there. Now, he’d bide his time until he could ferret it out.

  He loved solving things, and this screamed mystery to him.

  “Have you talked to your husband about any cases crossing our divisions?” he asked.

  “Yes, sir,” she answered. “He said he’d call if anything popped up.”

  That was odd.

  Usually, the man was here wooing his wife. In fact, it had been about two months since he’d seen flowers, cards, and singing telegrams professing his love.

  Okay, maybe not the latter, but Ford didn't doubt that it would eventually happen.

  “Is your old man good?”

  Emma nodded, her eyes filling with emotion. God! She was so close to breaking.

  Before he could make a comment about how she let the old man comment go, and the fact that she looked like she was about to cry, his phone began ringing.

  “Ford.”

  Immediately, he started scribbling. When he glanced up at the board in his office, Chris noticed that the detective in front of him was up next. It looked like he had some awesome timing.

  Hanging up the phone, he pointed at his detective. “You have a case. There are three bodies out in the desert. I hope you don’t mind the heat, because it’s going to be a bitch out there.”

  Emma would relish it, since it would make her icy body heat up. What her husband once did for her, now she was relying on the sun and desert to do.

  Terrific.


  “Sure thing, Captain,” she said, heading for the door. Before she could escape, he called to her.

  “Emma!” When she turned, he continued, “You know that you can come to me when the weight is too heavy to carry, right? I’m not just your boss. I want to be your friend, and that means I can keep a secret.”

  When her eyes filled with tears, he didn't miss it. Suddenly, he was overwhelmed himself. He wasn’t good when a woman began weeping.

  Then again, what man was?

  “Thanks, Captain.”

  With that, she was gone.

  Chris stared at his door. Yeah, this didn't bode well for him. He’d been married once before. This screamed bad news on the marriage front.

  Something big was brewing.

  Now, he had to wonder if Greyson Croft knew it was coming.

  If not, he was going to get sideswiped.

  There was apparent trouble in Croft and Croft paradise.

  * * *

  The sweat was stinging his eyes, but he kept running. Each and every day, he would come to this track with his injured profiler and beat the demons back.

  Mostly they were his.

  Sometimes, they even belonged to Paris Archer.

  They only had a couple of months left before he had to go back to Quantico and requalify. If he couldn’t pull his weight, literally, he was out of the FBI. All of the young man’s hopes and dreams were riding on this training.

  As they raced through the last lap, Greyson Croft was grateful to have the distraction. Over the last few months, he was running from life. While he’d managed to function at work, he was falling apart everywhere else.

  His relationship with his wife was broken.

  He’d lost his brother.

  Even his partner, Curtis Briggs, was pulling away.

  This time with Paris Archer was the only reminder that he was doing something right in his life.

  Everything else was a colossal screw-up.

  While the person who wanted to corrupt him was in hiding, there were so many other stresses in his life. Emma was going to go play for Randall Mason soon, and he hated it. The idea that he had to share her with another man pissed him off. It rubbed him the wrong way, and he knew if he said something to his wife, she’d go out of her way to get out of the performance.

  Yet, he couldn’t.

  Croft wanted Emma to see his pain and reach out to him. While he could demand it, Greyson was afraid it would break them more. What they had was tenuously being held together.

  He was smart enough to see it.

  Then there was his brother.

  Well, shit!

  He was pissed off about that too. The younger Croft was hiding from him, and that spoke of their relationship. While he wanted to head over to Steele Bentley’s place and drag him home, he couldn’t. He wasn’t Dante’s father.

  He was only his brother.

  Before that night, those words meant something. Greyson was mourning that part of his life. Yes, his kid brother had been a pain in the ass for years, but he loved him.

  This was his blood.

  Now, there was a broken relationship there too.

  Croft was beginning to believe that he was the problem. Dante and Emma were fairly laid back. He was ruining both of their lives, and it was spiraling out of control.

  Every night when he arrived home, there was this fear that he’d say something to Emma and hurt her.

  Then he’d lose her.

  So, instead of being honest, he was biting his tongue. Silence was golden. Wasn’t that the saying? Not speaking was one hell of a feat. Granted, they still had sex, but it felt detached. They went through the motions, and then slept on their sides of the bed.

  And by saying they were having sex, that was greatly diminished too. In the last eight weeks, he could count their moments of intimacy on one hand.

  It was horrifying.

  Shocking.

  Heart wrenching.

  Greyson missed his wife and the way she’d look at him like he was her hero, how she’d touch him, or just say his name. It was like his life was frozen in time, and he couldn’t figure out how to get it back.

  They were broken.

  Frankly, he was scared shitless.

  There was a maniac still out there, and she was heading off to spend an evening alone with Mason. It was like an out of body experience as he was forced to watch her slip away.

  What the hell had happened?

  They were coming up on their first anniversary, and it should still be amazing. Instead, it was terrifying. Croft was waiting for the divorce papers to arrive any day, and he didn't know how to fix it.

  When he stared at his wife, he could see the fear.

  She was afraid of him.

  And he probably deserved it. Croft knew that he put that look in her eyes. It was all on his shoulders.

  As he hit the finish line, Paris Archer was right at his side. Immediately, Greyson glanced down at his watch. It told the tale.

  “You did it!” he said, celebrating with the man even if his heart wasn’t in it. Paris earned this, and it was worthy of the accolades.

  “You got it done under a nine minute mile!”

  Paris could barely breathe. The man beside him offered to train him, but he never thought he’d be this gung-ho. It was like they were chasing something just out of their reach.

  “Thanks!” he replied, trying to breathe. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

  Croft didn't believe that at all. “You had this from day one, Paris,” he admitted. The man before him was amazing. He’d been shot, fought to survive, and now he was taking control of the life he’d been dealt.

  Croft was proud.

  “Tessa will be excited,” he said.

  Immediately, Croft saw the brief look on his profiler’s face. “What?”

  “Nothing,” he stated, unbuckling his legs from the racing wheelchair.

  Greyson put his hand on his shoulder. “Paris, you can tell me anything. I’m not your boss right now. I’m your friend.”

  Where should he even start?

  “I feel like there’s this chasm between Tessa and me. I just feel like I can’t reach her.”

  How ironic.

  Greyson was living that too.

  Maybe he wasn’t the only one coming to the track to beat back the demons.

  “I think I’m making Tessa unhappy.”

  Then came the wave of guilt. Croft knew that he’d taken this out on his wife, and shouldn’t have. His and Paris’s lives were running parallel, only he had the use of his legs.

  Again, the panic welled up.

  “Why are you feeling like that?” Croft asked, handing Paris some water.

  “Sex.”

  “Ohhhh,” he said. Croft wasn’t sure he should go there, but he did just tell the man that he was his friend. If he retreated out of discomfort, he’d look like he’d lied. Paris was his friend. He just didn't like talking about this, since his sex life was crumbling fast.

  How was he supposed to give advice?

  “Are we talking a bad sex life or non-existent one?” Croft asked, pushing on. It was horrible that a part of him was hoping the man wouldn’t tell him.

  “There isn't one. We went from fornication central to not a single moment of intimacy to be found between us.”

  “Have you tried?” he asked, hoping he wasn’t asking the wrong question. In Greyson’s world, men didn't talk sex. They grinned smugly and that said it all.

  He never thought he’d be someone’s therapist. That alone was horrifying.

  “No, I haven’t.”

  “Well, why not?”

  In the back of his mind, he was praying that the man didn't say he was impotent. How the hell was he going to address that?

  “Because every second of every day, Tessa, bless her heart, is treating me like I’m a patient. I can’t even figure out how to broach the topic of our sex life. If she’s not offering to rub my legs, or tuck me in, she’s playin
g nurse maid.”

  Now he saw it.

  “I want to forget that I’m in this chair, and instead, she’s reminding me non-stop. When we were discussing our wedding, she even started talking about it then. For Christ’s sake! Our wedding too?”

  “Have you told her to stop?”

  Paris ran his hands through his hair. While he knew that was the answer, he couldn’t bring it up. He’d damaged her life, saddled her with a cripple, and now he was going to hurt her more.

  “No.”

  “You should. She might just be waiting for you to take the lead on this. You have to remember, Paris, you lost your legs, but she nearly lost all of you. For those two days before you woke up, Tessa was in hell. She might just be lost and need you to lead the way for a change. While you were partners, she drove the bus. Now, she’s probably just as confused as you are.”

  The man had a point.

  “Forgive me for asking this, but I’ll throw it out there. Are you possibly worried you won’t be able to perform?” Croft asked. Yeah, this friendship thing was a bitch. Greyson couldn’t believe he was asking the man if he could get it up.

  Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.

  What the hell had happened in his life?

  Paris Archer laughed at the question, and the tone of his boss’s voice. “Only every fucking second of the day.”

  Croft lifted a brow. That was the first time he’d ever heard the man before him utter a profanity. That was a testament to how he felt. This was wounding him.

  “Well, can you?”

  Paris shrugged, trying to figure out a way to discuss this topic without sounding like an idiot. “I can’t really be sure. I know that as of late, it seems to have a mind of its own. I’ve had some moments where I’ve woken up, and it’s been ready to go. Then there are some times when I try to see if I can get myself in the mood, and it’s not cooperating.”

  “So, basically what you’re telling me is that it’s a crapshoot,” Croft said.

  “Pretty much.” Yeah, his dick and him were not on speaking terms, as of late.

  He started laughing. “Son, welcome to the real world. Once you get older, that’s more the norm than the aberration.” Or once you feel like you ruined your wife’s life…

  Paris snickered. “Thanks, Greyson. I needed that. I’ll think about what you said.”