Holding the Truth

by Calle J. Brookes

  And now that she was back on the job, she'd be doing her part to help with the bills, too.

  She changed into her favorite FCU T-shirt and sweatpants and pulled her hair out of the ponytail. It took only seconds to braid the blond mess into two simple braids. Liam liked to pull hair. She'd learned her lesson quickly with that little charmer.

  Her new family was waiting.

  Chapter 6

  Glen Washington celebrated his ninetieth day free from prison with an ice cream treat—and a blonde. She had been more delectable than the frozen treat. Glen walked from the place he'd left her—he didn't have much money, and gas was far more expensive than it had been eight years ago when he'd last driven the old truck.

  It didn't matter. He felt free for the first time in a long, long time. After years of limited time in the sun, he enjoyed it. Enjoyed the heat pressing into his body, reminding him that never would he be in a cold, sterile prison again.

  He never intended to get caught again.

  It had been a random assault charge that had taken away his freedom before. A man in a bar had taken exception to the way Glen had looked at his wife. The ensuing fight had ended up with that man having a broken face and Glen facing ten years.

  All because of previous charges from his youth. Damn the fates that had had three damned cops in the bar that night.

  The fates and the damned TSP. He'd always despised the TSP, corrupt bastards that they were.

  Glen hadn't been important enough to get the ones who could be bought. Or important enough to know how to find them. Now he embraced his almost complete invisibility. He learned in prison to use that anonymity to his own advantage.

  Glen didn’t plan to forget those hard-learned lessons.

  He'd been brought down by a deputy twenty years his junior and determined to make the charges stick. Eight years of his life had been lost because of that deputy.

  He was only fifty. Still plenty of time for him to live his life. To enjoy it.

  Like had last night.

  He'd always enjoyed blondes. He was capable of getting them when he wanted, too. He wasn't a bad-looking man, and looked a bit younger than he was. But it was the way he talked to the women he wanted that made a difference.

  Plus, he didn't know how to take no for an answer.

  He smiled, remembering last night's blond.

  She had been worth eight years of anticipation. He just hoped she'd enjoyed it as much as he had.

  Chapter 7

  Jake had everything ready to go. He was just watching the clock. He wouldn’t admit it to anyone, but he had always hated physical therapy and how dependent it made him feel.

  His therapists had usually been decent people—but the knowledge that he was so damned vulnerable had really burned him at first. Before he’d been shot, he’d been a damned fine athlete. Baseball had been his first choice, but football had been a second choice. He, Micah, and Clay had spent hours playing ball as kids.

  All of that had changed in an instant.

  Those first few months of physical therapy when he’d been a teenager hadn’t gone well. And he was man enough now to admit that half of it had been his own fault. The rest had been because of a not-so-great therapist who had known his stuff regarding the human body but had been a real ass when it came to the human heart. Especially that of a wounded kid.

  That had left a lasting impression on Jake.

  But he would never complain aloud. He’d had six operations over the last twenty years to repair the damage the two bullets had done. He’d never have full function in his legs, but for the last five years, he’d been able to stand for several hours each day. It made a difference.

  And now that he had Liam, he wanted to push himself a little harder than he ever had. Get himself as strong as he possibly could—for his son.

  He would always fight complications, but by getting his body into the best condition that he could, would hopefully make those complications a little easier to deal with.

  And that meant yet another operation, probably in the next year, and months of physical therapy leading up to it.

  It was time he got started.

  His new therapist should be there in fifteen minutes.

  Jake rolled down the hallway toward his son’s room. Liam should sleep another ninety minutes at least.

  That would give Jake plenty of time to see if this therapist would work out.

  Jake answered the front door fifteen minutes later and got his first good look at the woman in the blue polo with the therapist office’s logo on the left breast.

  The beautiful, gray-eyed blonde was definitely unexpected.

  He recognized her, of course. Her photo had been plastered all over the damned internet at the same time his sister’s and Bailey's had been.

  Her brother was going to marry his sister in six weeks. "Celia Lake? I’m Jake Dillon. Kyra’s brother. Come in.”

  "I...I'm your new physical therapist, Mr. Dillon. Our appointment was at one." She glanced at the clock hanging on the wall. Kyra had bought it when she had been seventeen. One of those ridiculous cat clocks. His father had never replaced it, said it reminded him of Kyra. With the big black ears and the twitchy green eyes, Jake had always snickered at the comment. "I wanted to get here a little early."

  He studied her. She looked very much like her brother. Cam had the same blue-gray eyes and blond hair. But where his future brother-in-law was a damned clown most of the time, this woman looked completely serious. Her blond hair curled, and was a shade or two darker than Bailey's almost pale hair. She was taller than Bailey, maybe five eight or so, with an athletic build.

  There was a sadness and confusion in her eyes, one he'd seen far too many times in Bailey's. Most likely because of the same man. Another stab of anger at Lou Moore and Charlie Lake went through him. Made him want to comfort her somehow. Make sure the whole damned world was safe for her in that moment. "Welcome. I'm surprised we've not met before. Have you spoken to Kyra and Cam lately?"

  She hesitated. Like she was reluctant to step inside his home. "I'm sorry. I've only spoken to your sister a few times. I have talked to Cam recently. He calls—a lot."

  "So you know about the baby? My dad is over the moon." He smiled. He just wanted her to stop looking like a frightened rabbit. He backed his chair up to give her more room to step inside. He half thought he was going to have to coax her every single step. "He's hoping it's a girl. Since he already has a grandson."

  "Cam...will be a wonderful father. And Kyra a wonderful mother, too."

  "Yes, they will."

  She sent him a soft smile. It went straight through him. Why hadn’t he met her before? He’d seen her, at the hospital when Kyra and Bailey had been in ICU. But they had never spoken.

  He knew her story, of course. Charlie Lake, her father’s brother, had abducted this woman when she had been only twelve. He hadn’t hurt her, but he had told her that her entire family had been killed and that he was all she had left.

  She had only been reunited with her family when Charlie had abducted Kyra at gunpoint. When they had been sitting in the ICU waiting room waiting on word whether Bailey and Kyra would survive.

  And now here she was right in front of him.

  There were parts of his body she'd have to touch.

  That was not how he wanted her hands on him. Jake ignored the highly inconvenient tightening of his lower body and focused on this woman. "To be honest, I requested a male therapist."

  She hesitated. "I know. And I'm sorry. I know this is extremely awkward, my being in your home. Where everything...happened. But we had only the one male therapist on staff, and he left last week to transfer to Wichita Falls to be near his mother. I'm it, for traveling therapists. Until we can get him replaced. Unless you want to wait, get someone to come out of Finley Creek. But to be honest, you really shouldn't neglect your therapy. You know how important it is."

  He had no choice. The most recent surgery six weeks ago had been intended to st
rengthen his left leg. The one with the most significant weakness. The surgeon had had high hopes that it would do the intended job. Would help him stand for more sustained periods.

  He needed to build up the muscles first.

  He’d already geared himself up to do this. He wasn’t about to give himself an excuse to stop. And he’d promised Bailey after a momentary night of weakness had had him pouring out his secret about physical therapy.

  Jake knew the truth—he'd never regain full mobility. That just wasn't possible with the limits of the medical technology now available. But he wanted the best possible outcome for himself and his family as he could get.

  He had a son, after all. And he wanted to give that kid all that he could. Including a dad who at least tried to overcome the obstacles in his life. He wanted Liam to see him try. Even if he failed, he wanted Liam to know that he’d tried. "My room is this way. I have a small gym off the side. It's an old nursery we converted. I have some equipment in there.”

  He turned the wheelchair and led her down the hall, wondering just how in the hell this was going to play out.

  Celia Lake was definitely not what he had expected.

  Chapter 8

  Celia didn't know what she'd expected. Kyra's brother wasn't frightening; not in the least. But he also wasn't a weak pushover, either. He was in great physical shape, at least his upper body. And he had good definition in his lower legs. There was some muscle weakness that would probably always remain, but she'd seen some patients with far less going for them than this one.

  Jake Dillon was all male, and he was the type of animal who knew exactly that. She shivered.

  It was hard to think of him as a patient. Not with who he was.

  She'd met her future sister-in-law three times since the events that had changed all of their lives. Kyra hadn't been resentful or angry at Celia at all. Not like she'd have expected her to have been. It had been awkward, but Celia thought it was going to be awkward for her with her family for a very long time.

  Celia wasn't certain she could have been as accepting after what Uncle Charlie had done to Kyra. But Kyra had welcomed her openly.

  Jake Dillon didn’t seem to resent her, either.

  Yet her uncle had almost killed Kyra not even a quarter of a mile from this house. She didn’t understand how they could stay there, with what had almost happened.

  She hadn’t lasted a week in the home she’d once shared with Uncle Charlie before she’d packed up her and her son’s belongings and headed back to Barrattville. For what was supposed to be home. It had been strange being with her parents in the same place she had spent her first twelve years that she hadn’t made it a month after finding a job with this rehabilitation center before she’d moved out to her own place in Value.

  Lies. All of it. The one man in her life she'd thought she could trust and he'd ended up destroying her entire world.

  Except for her Cameron, she just wanted to forget her time in Oklahoma with Charlie. Her almost five-year-old son was all that mattered. He’d made it all worth it.

  It was for him that she'd relocated to Barratt County in the first place—or so she’d told herself. To be closer to the grandparents Cameron didn't yet know.

  Celia wasn't certain she knew them all that much, either.

  So much was different from her memories. She was still trying to reconcile that.

  She'd reconnected with her brothers Camden and Anthony, and both of her sisters. But her brother Murdoch had yet to make an appearance at any of the family gatherings. He always had some sort of excuse for why he couldn’t be there.

  It was almost as though he didn't want anything to do with her, either.

  Celia didn't blame him. She had been twelve. Old enough to be able to search out information about her family. She would always be angry that she hadn't. At herself.

  Why had she trusted her uncle so blindly?

  She followed Jake into a small room off the back hall. It obviously connected with a much larger one next to it. There were three other bedrooms and a bathroom on the same wing. It was a big house. Probably generations had lived there. And he had been a part of it. With people who loved him.

  Did he realize how lucky he was? She wanted that for Cameron, especially now that he’d lost the only stable male influence in his life four months ago. He still cried for Uncle Charlie at night.

  He’d probably not understand for a long while.

  A baby fussed from somewhere. The sound had her jerking around.

  "Sorry. That's my son, Liam. Also known as the small tornado. He wakes loud. It’s a bit early for him to be awake. Let me grab him and move him to his playpen in the gym. He may go back to sleep. We can get started once he's settled."

  She just stood there like an idiot while he disappeared into a room. She turned. One of the doors behind her was ajar. She couldn't help but peek inside. There were women's belongings everywhere. And the room didn't have the abandoned look.

  A woman lived with the Dillons, of that she had no doubt. Liam's mother? Strange that they didn't share a bed.

  As he rolled back toward her, a beautiful baby on his lap, she decided it didn't matter. Not to her.

  She wasn’t here to wonder about Jake Dillon’s personal life.

  All that mattered was that this was her patient—and a very loose family connection.

  Why he terrified her, Celia didn't have a clue.

  Chapter 9

  It was in the Boethe Street IGA, a small run-down shack of a grocery store in the worst part of town, where Glen saw Lou Moore again for the first time in years. The man had once been Glen’s cell mate. A weak asshole of a man who’d first tried to push Glen around. Just to prove what a tough asshole he was.

  That had lasted two days. Until Glen made it clear that he would not tolerate some former TSP detective and his cronies pushing him around like that.

  Glen recognized Lou immediately. The other man hadn’t changed much. Gotten older. Fatter. Even uglier, if possible.

  He didn’t understand how a dog-ugly bastard like Lou Moore could have a pretty daughter like that little TSP girl who had been all over the news four months ago. Unless Moore’s wife had screwed around on him or something.

  Even though Glen had still been in the last few weeks of his sentence at the time, he’d followed what had happened to that girl very closely. It had been hard not to sit back and enjoy the show.

  Lou Moore, big shot TSP asshole, who’d acted like Glen was such a loser once, had nearly killed his own daughter. Because of that sadistic bastard Pete Holte.

  Now there had been an asshole evil enough to even scare Glen.

  Holte had been no one to mess with, and he’d protected Lou and Jennson for some strange reason.

  No one had messed with the three former cops in that block. No one.

  Not even Glen.

  But Pete Holte and Shawn Jennson were dead now.

  It was just Lou.

  And Glen had a score to settle with the man. Time for some payback.

  “Hey, Lou...how’s that pretty little daughter of yours?”

  Chapter 10

  The call about the bones came in just as Clay was about to escape for the day. He'd managed to hold Bailey at a distance for the third day in a row by giving her more old case files to read, and instructions to stay inside where it was cool.

  It was already near a hundred and five out. She’d already stripped down to a simple tank top with TSP emblazoned over the front.

  Bailey looked like she could melt—and like she could blow away in the wind that had been picking up. Clay wasn't stupid enough to tell her something like that, though. Or that he was just, in his own cowardly way, doing what he could to take care of her.

  Not that he would ever tell her that.

  He knew she didn't want what tasks he'd given her. She'd always wanted to be the one out there on the front lines, right next to him before. Learning, absorbing, trying to solve every puzzle.

  He wasn't a
bout to take her out there with him today.

  His chief deputy was waiting for him at the door. "I told Bailey to work the phones while Loretta takes the afternoon off. I figured you'd want Bailey to take things easy for a while, still. And hell, she doesn't need to be out there in this heat. None of us do." Jeremey shot a look toward where Bailey sat, head down over the latest files Clay had given her.

  Jeremy had a real thing for Bailey, and he always had. He’d let it slip that he’d had a crush on her back in high school once when they’d been grabbing a beer after a particularly bad shift for the two of them.

  That thing hadn’t gone away fully. Even with Jeremy’s marriage.

  Both men knew it. Jeremy never acted on it; he and Bailey interacted more like siblings or cousins when they had free time. But Clay knew. And empathized.

  Clay didn't want some other guy in his circle of acquaintances being the one to finally catch her heart, or anything. It would hurt far too much to have to watch Bailey happy with another man.

  But then again, he would kick the man's ass if he made Bailey cry even once.

  "Sheriff? You in there?" Jeremy asked. "We going or what?"

  "Grab your gear. Moore—" He looked at Bailey. Wary blue eyes peeked up at him. "Keep the phones open. We have to head out toward the Finley Creek County line on a call. If we're not back before you clock out, pass along details to second shift."

  "What call?" Bailey asked, quietly.

  He waited, but the usual nonstop curiosity didn't surface. He looked at her closer. Bailey looked away. "We're headed out to the Chase ranch. They've found some suspicious remains."

  "I see. I'll...leave the message, if needed."

  She looked down, right back at the stack of files he'd given her. Nothing. No reaction. No questions.

  This ghost of the Bailey she used to be concerned him more than he’d ever admit.