I didn’t get the chance, however. My phone buzzed in my pocket and I took it out.
When I read the name of the caller, Grey Stone Elementary—the school where my eight-year-old son Connor went—I winced. Schools weren’t in the business of calling in the middle of the day if there was good news.
“Hello?” I answered, stepping away from the rest of the guys and heading into a quiet, shaded spot of the construction site.
“Mr. Dale,” spoke the now-familiar voice of Principal Bryan Walsh. “How are you?”
“Hot. And wondering what he did this time, Principal Walsh.”
“I see you’re just as frustrated with me that Connor’s behavior is starting to become a problem.”
“No doubt about it. Let’s hear it.”
“We caught Connor sneaking out of class during group art activities. By the time he was caught, he’d managed to…lively up some of the décor.”
I sighed. “You mean he vandalized it.”
“To put it bluntly, yes. He made a heck of a mess, too. Our custodial staff has enough to worry about without more work on top of their normal duties.”
I shook my head, gritting my teeth in frustration at what I was hearing. Connor’s behavior had been bad in the past, and it was getting worse. The last thing I wanted was for my son to be a problem kid.
“Where is he now?” I asked.
“He’s sitting right across from me. And the look on his face is making it clear he knows he’s in some trouble.”
“You’re damn right he is. I’m gonna come down on him hard when I see him after work.”
“That sounds good and all,” the principal said. “But as you know, Mr. Dale, this behavior is becoming something of a pattern. And I’m thinking it’d be a good idea to send the message right away that it’s not acceptable.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, I think it’s time for a suspension.”
“Suspension? Does that even happen in elementary school?”
“It’s something we try to avoid. But special cases require special solutions. And this is most definitely a special case.”
“How long do you want him out of class?”
“For at least the next week. He needs to learn that if he can’t play nice with others, follow the rules, that he’s not welcome here.”
I clenched and unclenched my fist. “I get it, I do. But I’m raising the boy on my own, Principal Walsh. I’m at work the whole day, and I can’t afford to take time off. And even if I could, they need me here on the site.”
“I don’t like this any more than you do, Mr. Dale. But simply put, we can’t have a troublemaker constantly breaking the rules. It’s a distraction to the other kids, and it costs money to repair the damage he’s doing.”
“I know, I know.”
“Can I offer some advice?”
“Sure.” I wasn’t really in the business of taking advice, but I also wasn’t about to get sharp with the man who held my kid’s future in his hands.
“I want you to spend some time with him, really get to the bottom of what’s going on. I know Connor lost his mother when he was young; the important thing is to talk to him now, to answer any questions he has so that he won’t be struggling for years to come.”
I nodded, glad that my back was turned to the construction site as I fought to suppress a wave of emotion. “Of course, Principal Walsh.”
“Good.” He cleared his throat. “In the meantime, I need you to come pick Connor up. How soon can you be here?”
I glanced over my shoulder at the rest of the crew, laying my eyes on Paul, the foreman. In time, I’d be running my own construction company and could make my own hours. Until then, I was going to have to run shit like leaving in the middle of the day past him first.
Paul was a good guy and got that being a single dad meant emergency situations like this. But like Principal Walsh, I knew his patience would have its limits. I’d only been working under him for a few months, ever since I’d left my old life behind for good. And I knew I was asking a lot for still being a newbie.
“I’ll be there ASAP,” I said. “Can you give me an hour?”
“An hour’s fine. See you then, Mr. Dale. And just to be clear—if these behavior problems aren’t solved soon, I’ll be forced to consider more drastic measures.”
“Like what?”
“Like expulsion.”
My heart skipped a beat. “Let’s…let’s not go crazy. I’ll sort the boy out—just give me some time.”
“I’m willing to work with you. But time’s running out.”
We said our goodbyes and I shoved my phone back into my pocket, frustrated as all hell.
I packed up my lunch and let Paul know I was needing to take off. He was understanding, but the look in his eyes sent the same message Principal Walsh had spoken—that there was only so much patience to go around.
Once I was in my truck and heading toward the school, Walsh’s words echoed in my mind.
I felt for the kid, I really did. He’d lost his mom when he was just a few months old.
And the way it’d gone down was something I, even years later, was still coming to terms with. Maybe I never would.
No wonder it was having an impact on my son.
Before too long, I pulled up in front of the three-story brick schoolhouse and headed inside. By this point, I’d been to the principal’s office so many times I didn’t need to ask for directions.
And when I stepped inside the reception area, sure enough, there was my boy. He was seated with one of the secretaries, his little legs dangling off the chair. He had his mother’s dark hair and my bright blue eyes, and even at eight I could tell he was going to grow up tall and broad like his old man.
I knew I had a lot of work to do, a lot of difficult conversations to have, before that happened. I was living proof that a man who didn’t know how to play by the rules could only get into trouble, and the last thing I wanted was for my boy to follow in my criminal footsteps.
“Dad!” he said when he saw me, springing from his seat and running over to me. He threw his little arms around me, and despite knowing he was in some serious trouble, I couldn’t help but muss his hair and hug him back.
What can I say? The boy was my world, and there wasn’t a damn thing I wouldn’t do for him.
“Hey, champ,” I said.
But the glare from the receptionist sent a clear message: Don’t let the kid forget he’s in trouble, and don’t let him think being able to see his dad is a reward.
“All right now,” I said, letting him go. “You and I need to have a serious talk. Come on.”
I checked in with the receptionist, who gave me some paperwork outlining the exact terms of his suspension. I didn’t like it one bit, but it sure as hell beat expulsion.
When that was all done, I took Connor by the hand and led him out of the school. It was still smoldering hot outside, and as much as I hated ditching in the middle of the workday, spending the afternoon at home in the AC sure sounded nice.
“It’s so unfair!” exclaimed Connor while we made our way to the truck. “They’re always punishing me for nothing!”
“Bud, you were out in the hallway during class marking up the walls. Doesn’t sound like nothing to me.”
We climbed into the truck and I started the engine, pulling out of the lot and back toward home.
“I was bored,” he said. “And they were making me draw stupid stuff. I just did what they wanted me to.”
I couldn’t help but laugh at the audacity of the kid. He reminded me a lot of me at that age. Hell, or any other year of my life save for these last few months.
“I seriously doubt they meant ‘draw wherever’ when they gave you the assignment. You wouldn’t be leaving school with me if that were the case.”
“They’re jerks. It’s like they’re always trying to get me in trouble for something.”
“They’re only like that because they know what kind of stuff you get up to, cham
p. If you want them off your behind, the fastest way to do it is to play by the rules.”
Easier said than done, of course. I knew all about the consequences of breaking the rules.
“But that’s boring.”
“Well, boring’s a part of life sometimes. And I’m telling you, Connor, if you keep screwing around and end up getting expelled, you’re not going to like what happens.”
He said nothing, turning his attention to the passing streets as we made our way through Denver.
Before too long we reached the neighborhood where I’d recently rented our new home. The place wasn’t anything too luxurious—a simple two-bedroom ranch home that I’d paid up front for with some of the money I’d set aside after leaving my old “career.”
But it was a good home, and most importantly, the neighborhood was safe and in a solid school district. I wanted Connor totally separated from the sorts of influences that had led me to where I’d ended up.
“All right,” I said once we’d pulled into the driveway. “You’re going straight to your room. No video games, no internet, no nothing. Think about what you’ve done, and when it’s dinnertime we’re going to have a long, long conversation about your future. Got it?”
“Got it.” He didn’t sound excited, but that was fine with me. He needed to know he was in some serious shit.
I climbed out of the car, and as soon as I did, I spotted something very out of place in our middle-class neighborhood. Parked at the far end of the street was a sleek Mercedes, dark as coal and polished to a mirror shine.
And the plates were police-issued.
A car like that was far more than any normal cop would be able to afford. No, a cop driving a car like that would need to have some…other sources of income.
Illegal sources.
And I had a damn good idea which cop in particular that might’ve been.
By the time I pulled my eyes off the car, Connor was already opening the front door.
“Hold up, kid!” I shouted as I rushed over to him, already knowing who was likely inside.
“Hey!” said Connor. “It’s Uncle Marshall!”
And sure enough, there he was. Seated on the couch, a beer open in front of him, was one of the most crooked cops I’d ever had the displeasure of knowing.
He grinned. “Long time no see, Tate. Why don’t you have a seat? Got some business I need to discuss with you.”
Chapter 3
Tate
“Hey, Uncle Marshall!” said Connor. “What’s up?”
Marshall Ward, Lieutenant in the Denver Police, grinned broadly, the wrinkles around his mouth and eyes fanning. “Not much, killer,” he said, getting up and stepping over to Connor for a high five, one that my boy happily returned. “Got some stuff to talk about with your pops.”
Marshall was tall and built like a truck, his dress shirt barely able to contain his broad shoulders. His face was narrow, his eyes a watery gray. Short silver hair topped his head, and his thin mouth was curled into a knowing smile that I’d seen more than enough of for one lifetime. On his hip was his service pistol, a badge on a silver chain was tucked into his shirt.
He was dressed in his usual expensive clothes, the stuff that advertised he had plenty of money and didn’t care if you knew where he’d got it.
And I knew where he’d got it. I’d earned plenty of it for him myself over the years.
I cleared my throat. “There a reason why you’re walking into my house when I’m not here?”
Marshall shrugged, as if he couldn’t imagine why I’d be upset about something like that. “Because I wanted to talk to you, and I wanted to talk to you today. Didn’t feel in the mood for phone tag.”
Connor pointed to Marshall’s gun. “When are you going to teach me how to shoot that? You promised you would.”
“Never,” I barked. “Go to your room, Connor.”
“Oh, don’t be so hard on him,” said Marshall. “He’s just curious.” He squatted down in front of Connor. “Why don’t you go to your room? Your dad and I have some boring adult stuff to talk about.”
“I’ve got a better idea,” I said, barely able to keep my anger in check. “Why don’t you climb into that fancy car of yours and get the hell out of here.”
Marshall looked hurt, in a mocking sort of way. “Now, is that any way to speak to your old friend?”
“That most definitely isn’t a word I’d use to describe you.”
“You did once.” He waved his hand through the air, as if dismissing ancient history. “But we don’t need to get into all that. I’ve got some more important business to talk to you about.”
“Business?” asked Connor, his tone disappointed. “That is boring.”
“Go to your room, Connor. We’re not done talking about what you did today.”
“But—”
“Go.”
Sensing that I wasn’t screwing around, he shrugged his shoulders and headed off, shutting the door to his bedroom behind him.
“Kid’s getting into trouble?” asked Marshall.
“That’s none of your business.”
“It is kind of my business. I’ve known him since he was a newborn. Back when his mother was still around.”
“Don’t you talk about her.”
But Marshall didn’t flinch. “I hope you’re not still holding a grudge about all that. Tate, what happened wasn’t my fault, and most importantly, it wasn’t your fault. Things like that just…sort of happen when you’re in this line of work.”
“I’m not in this line of work.”
“I know, I know. And I’m still stinging from it.” He strolled around the living room, taking it all in. “So this is what you gave it all up for? A low-rent one-story home and an off-brand TV?” He shook his head. “You could’ve had so much more. All you had to do was keep working with me. You’re brilliant and ruthless—exactly what you need to make it.”
“I hope you didn’t come over to try to talk me into working for you again.”
“Nah,” he said, dropping onto the couch and draping his arms over the back. “You made your stance on working with me quite fucking clear. And I made my stance on your stance quite fucking clear.
“But you were one of my best heavies,” he said, shaking his head sadly. “Always reliable, whether I needed some negotiations done or some heads knocked around. Not easy replacing someone like you, Tate. So many hotheads out there. Those types don’t last long.”
I stayed standing, my shoulders squared and my body tensed, as if a fight might break out at any moment. That wasn’t likely, but you never knew with a man like Marshall. He was smooth and calm and personable right until the moment he wasn’t.
“Then why are you here?” I asked. “Just a friendly check-in?”
“Would that be so out of the question? Maybe I wanted to see how you and the boy were doing. After all, I’ve seen more of a few guys try to go straight over the years. And you know what always happens with that?”
“Get to the point, Marshall.”
“They don’t make it. It takes a certain type to do well in my line of work, and those types tend to not do so hot in the ‘real world.’ They languish, pick up a drinking problem or a gambling problem, always chasing that high. Guess when you do this kind of stuff for a living, punching in a time card doesn’t really have the same kind of appeal.”
He looked around again. “But you’re doing all right, aren’t you? Seems like maybe you’ve got what it takes to go straight. It’d be a first, but who knows?” He grinned broadly, revealing so many straight, white teeth it looked like he had rows of them.
He looked like a shark.
“You going to tell me what you’re doing here?” I asked. “Because I’ve got more important things to do than shoot the shit.”
“All business,” he said with a chuckle. “Always how you’ve been.” He leaned forward and took the beer, giving it a slow sip. “You got anything better than this swill? Gin, maybe? Hell, I’ll take one of
those craft beers or whatever if you’ve got any.”
“Drink what you have.”
“Testy, testy.” He finished the beer and heaved himself off the couch, grabbing another from the fridge and cracking it open. After another sip, he leaned back against the fridge. “Anyway, going straight. Glad to see you making a go of it, but unfortunately I’m here to add a little complication to the plan.”
I didn’t even need to hear him explain what it was.
“No. I told you. I’m not doing a damn thing for you ever again.”
He nodded. “That’s what you said. And I know I agreed to it after your last job. But something’s come up, and I need your expertise and skill.”
“I said no. What more do you need to hear?”
“Well, Tate—‘no’ isn’t going to cut it.”
“And why the hell not? I risked my ass big time for that last job. If I’d have been caught, I’d be in jail for the rest of my life.”
Another nod. “And I appreciate that. But as headstrong as you were about the subject of you going straight, it only happened because I let it happen. And as Marshall gives, Marshall can take away.”
He sat back down on the couch and leaned forward. “Because you know what I have, Tate. I’ve got so much dirt on you that it’d make your head spin. And it’s not like I’d have to go out of my way to let it slip to a cop friend of mine or two. Hell, maybe I’d be the one to arrest you myself. Sure would look good for my clearance record.”
I clenched my fists, knowing he was right, knowing he still had dirt on me.
“But you won’t do that,” I said.
“I won’t. I told you that I’d let you go clean, and I intend to stick by our arrangement. But a situation has arisen, and I need you to help me deal with it. Really, it’s simple—something you’re more than capable of handling.”
Helping Marshall was the last thing I wanted to do. But I had no choice. He’d played his card, and I didn’t have one of my own.
“I’m done with violence,” I said. “No more. I’m not going to kill anyone; I’m not going to hurt anyone.”
“And I wouldn’t ask that of you, Tate.”
Taker - A Single Dad's New Baby Romance (Criminal Passions Book 4) Page 2
