* * *
Tad hated feeling uneasy. He went to the gym Tuesday night after texting with Miranda. On Wednesday he was at the police station for a while. There’d been another domestic call while he was there, regarding a first-time abuser, and he’d been asked to ride along. He stayed by the car, watching, and still got an eyeful and an earful. The man came out of the house brandishing a gun, clearly out of his mind with rage.
From what he’d heard on the way over, the guy was a high school teacher and coach. A good guy who’d come home from school sick to find his wife in bed with another man.
The officer who’d gone to the door knew the man. Talked him down. Got him to come to the station with them.
In the end, no charges were filed. He hadn’t hurt anyone, only threatened. His wife wouldn’t testify against him.
The next day, he’d filed for divorce.
And Tad was still uneasy.
Why, if Chief O’Connor missed his family so much—and it was clear he did—and if he knew for sure that Miranda’s ex was dead—which he did—did he insist they wait longer before telling her?
Why postpone the reunion that would be so good for everyone?
Another thing was bugging him, too. The chief was known to have nerves of steel. A man who could think clearly under the most severe pressure.
And now for the second time he’d gone off on Tad. The day he’d called a day early, and then, much worse, when he was drinking. Yeah, they were dealing with an emotionally intense situation, but wasn’t that what he excelled at?
Granted, it was different when it was your own family. He of all people knew that.
But something felt off.
Could it be that Jeff Patrick was still alive? Maybe under an assumed identity? That idea was far-fetched. But Miranda wasn’t Miranda, either.
So what if this Patrick guy had somehow gotten to the chief? What if O’Connor was being blackmailed, forced to find his daughter? That could explain why he’d put Tad onto her without anyone’s knowing—and forcing him to remain silent now that he’d found her. Could also be why the chief was so adamant that Tad not do any checking that could lead anyone to California.
Had his original search already set things in motion? Did Jeff Patrick have a way of monitoring searches? Had he allowed the search with the understanding that when Tad found something O’Connor would turn it over?
Was O’Connor putting the guy off? Saying Tad hadn’t found anything?
Yeah, right. The state fire chief of North Carolina was going to sit back and let a criminal abuser blackmail him.
But the chief had to be protecting his daughter and grandson from something.
Maybe, just as he said, he was waiting for the right time, the right piece of information from Tad that would give him a way in with Miranda. That would soften her heart toward him.
Didn’t make sense to Tad. She might once have been under the control of a man who’d turned her against her father, but no one was brainwashing her now.
He couldn’t do any checking into Miranda or her past life, couldn’t risk leading anyone to her, but he could call a former colleague of his, using his burner phone, without saying where he was, and have her do a covert check on the chief for him. It would come from North Carolina. And had nothing to do with Miranda.
The idea had niggled at him all day Wednesday, and by Thursday, with no further invitation from Miranda, he made the call.
Gail Winton, a woman who’d been a partner of his on their force, knew him better than just about anyone. They’d had a brief, very brief, sexual encounter early on in their relationship. She was now married to an army veteran–turned–refuse company owner she adored. They had two young kids.
And had Tad over for dinner most holidays, too.
After getting up in his grill for not calling sooner, not letting her know he was okay, and after he’d assured her he was indeed following doctor’s orders, eating right, resting and doing all his workouts, he got to the point. She agreed to help him, no questions asked, warning that it might take a few days since he didn’t want anyone to know they were looking. She didn’t ask why he wanted the information, either. Didn’t know what information he might suspect she’d find. That was how they’d always worked. Let the facts speak for themselves, then come up with theories to further investigate.
“And, hey,” she said when he was about to ring off.
“What?”
“I’m glad you’re working on something. A year off, no way that could be good for you.”
She knew him too well.
Chapter 20
Someone was watching her. In line at the grocery store Thursday afternoon, Miranda had the distinct sensation of prickles on the back of her neck.
“Are you mad at me?” Ethan, at her side, looked up, his eyes wide behind those Clark Kent glasses.
“No, but I do want you to remember to tell me when you need something special for school.” Someone was definitely back there. In another line. Or down an aisle. Watching her. She’d seen the same gray baseball cap three times in two days, most recently over in the produce section.
“I thought we already had potatoes.”
“Usually we do.” And she was glad he’d volunteered to bring them. They were doing a group science project, putting potatoes in water to see the roots grow, and he was being an active participant.
“Jimmy hasta bring jars.” He looked around. “Maybe he and his mom are here, too. He didn’t tell her, either.”
“Turn around.” Her tone of voice, her whole demeanor, was off. She knew it. And couldn’t relax.
Not saying another word, probably thinking he really was in trouble over a stupid potato, Ethan stood silently beside her.
* * *
When his text dinged on Thursday night, Tad’s first thought was that it was Gail, with information on the chief. Until he realized the sound had come from his regular cell phone—an entirely different notification tone. He had the burner phone out, though, on the table beside his regular phone, while he sat and tried to watch a wildlife documentary.
You want to have dinner tomorrow night?
His body leaped to immediate attention. Had Ethan been invited for another sleepover?
Of course.
He was typing in another text, telling her to name the time and place, eagerly anticipating the response of my place, when she texted back.
Ethan wants to know if you’ll play Zoo Attack.
Of course. His response was just as quick. The rest of his bodily reaction took a bit longer to be agreeable to the plan.
* * *
She was being ridiculous. Miranda knew it. And yet, after Ethan was in bed Thursday night, she paced their small house, making certain multiple times that all the doors were dead-bolted. That the windows were latched. She kept her phone with her constantly. Placed her keys by the garage door.
In her closet, she checked inside the toe of a particular shoe, pulled out a roll of bills. Stuffed it in her bra. She was wearing it to bed that night.
And from under the bed, she dragged out a backpack, making sure she had underwear and jeans that were Ethan’s current size. Added some extra granola bars to the nonperishable food stash in the front pocket.
The poor kid had a mother who was a paranoid mess. She saw it. And couldn’t stop.
The only way not to be afraid was to act. So she was acting like a woman who could keep them safe. Preparing herself to calmly get them out of there if she had to. Grabbing her extra set of car keys, she carried them to bed with her. And then decided to sleep on the couch.
Routine was bad when someone was after you. It made you an easier target.
What she wanted to do was sleep in her son’s room, on the floor between his bed and window. She went in there for a while.
And realized that if he woke up, there’d be
no good way to explain what she was doing. Or why.
She had to get a grip. Live normally. After all, lots of people had baseball caps. Gray was a common color.
Thinking back over the past couple of days, she couldn’t even be sure that whoever was wearing the cap—or caps—had been the same person all three times.
She hadn’t gotten a good enough look on any of those occasions.
She’d turned away whenever she noticed him, so as not to draw his attention.
She couldn’t describe his clothes. They’d been different, but baggy all three times.
That similarity sent a spark of fear shooting through her again. This was what being afraid did to you. What domestic violence in particular did to you. It made you feel unsafe in your own home.
Out in the living room, she picked up her phone. It was almost eleven. Too late to call anyone. She wasn’t Marie, assigned to a High Risk Team with people on alert on her behalf.
She didn’t want to call “anyone.” She wanted to call Tad.
Or at least, text him.
Instead, she lay down with her phone in her hand and thought about being in his arms. Pictured her head on his chest, listening to his heart beat.
Her nerves started to settle. The constriction in her chest loosened. And eventually, she fell asleep.
* * *
Tad hadn’t heard from Gail by the time he had to call the chief on Friday. After his week of high alert, frustration, theories and readiness, he was prepared for anything.
The call was as unalarming as it could be.
“I apologize for last week,” the chief said on answering. “I knew you’d be calling and I was way out of line, allowing myself to get in that state.”
“It’s okay, sir. I know what it is to mourn a loved one.” The chief, and everyone else looking into his suitability to resume his job, knew about Steffie. They figured he’d acted without thinking because he was responding to the possibility of another girl being hurt on his watch. That was partially why the chief had hired him to search for Dana.
Because he understood how it ripped a man up inside, losing one of his own, when he should’ve been able to protect her. Standing on his balcony in the jeans and T-shirt he’d be wearing to dinner, he felt for the guy.
“So what news do you have for me?”
He told the chief about dinner that night, without mentioning that he hadn’t seen Miranda or her son all week—not counting the day before, when he’d been driving by to make sure Danny got into his aunt’s car, instead of his mother’s, after school. He’d been alerted to the change. Marie had a meeting at work that she really needed to attend. As a precaution, everyone wanted to confirm that the meeting wasn’t a fabrication Devon had somehow forced so he could get to his son.
While Tad had been watching for Danny, he’d seen Ethan run out to Miranda’s car in a line of parents waiting to pick up their kids.
“I’ve been thinking about what you said, about moving things along,” the chief said, gaining Tad’s full attention. “Maybe this week, when you talk to her, ask her something about her father. I know she’s lying about her past, I understand she has to be the person she’s created, lies and all, but maybe some truth will come out, too. A nuance. A word. A missing detail that would normally be there. You’re trained to notice such things.”
He was. Interrogating people, getting to various truths, was one of his fortes. Which was why it was going so much against the grain to live with the secrets between him and Miranda. They were consuming him. Every minute of every day.
Glad to hear that the chief was at least considering an end to this, Tad readily agreed to his request.
* * *
Miranda didn’t see Gray Cap at all on Friday. And she looked. Everywhere. She had to get a good visual, just in case. Given how many people wore gray baseball caps, wasn’t it odd that now there wasn’t a single one anywhere in her vicinity?
Or maybe she’d been dreaming the whole thing up. Making something out of nothing. Or her head was playing tricks on her.
For instance, when she came out of work a few minutes later than usual, she was sure that the person in the black sedan in the corner of the parking lot was watching her.
Why wouldn’t he be? If he was waiting for someone to come out of an appointment, he’d be watching everyone who came through the door. She was going to get this under control. It was because of Marie and Devon; she knew that.
Everyone on the High Risk Team was aware that Marie wasn’t safe. They were doing everything they could to protect her.
Sometimes everything wasn’t enough.
She couldn’t get over the feeling that someday, someway, her father was going to use all the tools at his disposal—the police forces, the power, the access to confidential information, the reputation that let him go anywhere, do anything he wanted without question—to find her.
And when he did...that would be the end. There was no doubt in her mind about that. He didn’t want or need her. She was nothing more than a reminder of her mother to him. When she’d been little, maybe not so much, but after puberty, when she’d matured, everyone had said she looked just like her mom.
It had taken Miranda a long time to realize that where her father was concerned, that was a bad thing.
What Brian O’Connor wanted wasn’t his daughter. He wanted his wife—and his grandson. The son he’d never had.
She’d die before she’d let him spend five minutes alone with her boy.
And she wasn’t going to think about any of it that night. Tad was coming over. It had been more than a week since she’d seen him. The longest it had been since they met. She wouldn’t be able to touch him, to feel his lips on hers, but safe in her home with her son, she was going to soak up Tad’s presence. Let him know, somehow, that he mattered, and let herself believe that all would be well.
She was going to be a grain of sand. Mere dust in the wind. Just for a few hours.
* * *
Tad played Zoo Attack. He ate two helpings of chicken-and-rice casserole. Helped with dishes. Kept his hands to himself where Miranda was concerned. But not his gaze. From the second he’d seen her, in skinny jeans and a sleeveless, gauzy, flowing tie-dyed tank thing, opening the door to him, he’d been obsessed with the sight of her.
She was like the sun and moon in one. A natural Madonna with the power to take him over completely.
They ate out on the back patio. After finishing his chocolate chip bar with ice cream, a treat for when the dishes were done, Ethan asked if he could go in and watch a movie, naming a popular kid’s flick that had just come on the streaming service. Miranda let him go.
Tad had never been so glad to have a boy want to watch television.
He couldn’t touch Miranda. Couldn’t kiss her. But...
“Do you have any idea how badly I want to hold you right now?” he asked.
“Maybe about as badly as I want you to?” She smiled, but her lips were trembling.
He got it. He was dying, too.
And had a job to do so he could get them out of this misery and into the next part of wherever, whatever they’d be.
“You’re incredible, you know?” he said, just because he wanted to talk about her, them, nothing else.
“I’m just me. Don’t see more than what’s there.” She’d brought ice water to go with their dessert and took a sip of hers, then set her glass down next to Ethan’s empty milk cup.
“I’m seeing what’s there. You’re both mother and father to your son, doing a remarkable job of raising a well-adjusted kid.”
Her shrug seemed to be one of discomfort more than anything else, and he was acutely reminded that she was a woman forced to keep secrets. Trying to make her feel cherished, he was, instead, doing the opposite.
He asked her about her mom, about life before she was eleven. And spent the
next half hour hearing wonderful things about a woman who’d clearly had spunk. Loved adventure. And her daughter.
“She never said anything to you about your father?”
“No. But I was only eleven when she died.” She glanced toward the house, toward Ethan, for the first time in a while. He could see the boy. They could hear the television. But for some reason, mention of her father had her turning around.
The chief was right; Tad knew how to read nuances. He just wasn’t sure what this particular one meant.
That she missed her father? That she hated seeing Ethan miss out on knowing him? And vice versa?
Probably blaming herself, he surmised, based on all of the literature he’d been reading.
“Have you ever tried to find out who he was?” he asked.
“No. Why would I? Clearly he wanted nothing to do with me.”
Her lack of emotion struck him as odd. She didn’t sound bitter, and she might have, given the circumstances as he knew them. If she was angry with her real father, some hint of that should come out in her talking about her fake father.
Unless she wasn’t angry?
“Having no father isn’t an issue for me.” Again, her response seemed odd. As if she truly didn’t care.
But she had to, didn’t she? A young woman who’d lost her mother, been raised by a doting, heroic father—one who was beside himself with missing her? Who’d do anything to protect her and see her happy, even deny himself her presence? Growing old all alone.
Was she that good at hiding her feelings? Studying her, Tad felt off the mark for the first time since he’d met her. Unable to tune in. As though she was a complete stranger. Closed to him.
“What about for Ethan’s sake?” He pushed where he would otherwise have dropped that line of questioning. He’d given the chief his word.
Her shrug, the expression on her face, held some regret. He paid eager attention. And then she said, “I hate that my son doesn’t know his own father because he was such a great guy. Other than that, no. Our society gives us the idea that you need two parents to grow up happy and well-rounded, but I truly think that what it takes is unconditional love, continuity and security. That’s why I won’t let you stay here when Ethan’s home. I won’t let him grow up with a confusing message caused by different men staying in his home and then leaving. With different authority figures.”
Her Detective's Secret Intent Page 16
