Which meant he’d known, that night they’d barhopped together, that the story his brother had given her was false, and he hadn’t said a word. He’d had sex with her, instead. With the lie right there between them.
He’d spent the night with her, never telling her that Bruce had sent him.
Oh, God, what a mess they’d all made.
* * *
BANG! UPRIGHT IN a second, reaching for the gun beneath the pillow next to him, Mason surveyed his room. Listening.
The sound came again. More of a pounding than any kind of blast. Someone was at his front door at—he glanced at his clock—two in the morning. Pulling on the jeans he’d worn to meet Harper the night before, he slid his gun into his back pocket and headed down the hall.
His doorbell rang.
Resisting the urge to yank open the door and share a few choice words with whoever was out there, he reined himself in long enough to look through the peephole.
Gwen Parker?
What the hell was she doing there?
Oh, God. Bruce.
Skin cold and heart pounding, he opened the door. “What is it?” he asked. It had to be about Bruce.
“How bad is it?” Did he have time to get to him? To try to make things right between them? To tell his brother how much he loved him?
Stepping up to him, nose to nose, Gwen, still in uniform, slapped his face.
Hard. What the hell!
“Your brother is the best cop I’ve ever known,” the dark-haired woman hissed. A little shorter than Harper, and larger-boned, the woman was...a great cop.
And ordinary-looking.
Not the type Bruce had gone for. At least not publicly.
“Why in God’s name are you hell-bent on destroying him?” Gwen wasn’t backing down. At all.
It occurred to him then that the night of the bachelor party might not have been the first time Bruce had slept with Gwen. That it was possible he still had sex with her on occasion.
He smelled alcohol on her breath and figured she’d gone straight to the bar after her shift. She’d had a few hours to tie one on.
“Did you drive over here?”
“Of course not! I’ve been drinking. I took a cab.” She gestured wildly behind her and he saw the taxi across the street.
“You might want to get back out there,” he said softly, hoping to disarm her anger enough to get her out of his home. They could deal with their situation in the morning at the station, after she’d sobered up. “You’re running up quite a tab.”
“It’s worth it,” she hissed. “I don’t care how much it costssss.” This was the first time she’d slurred a word. And spat on him, too. “What you’re doing...it could ruin his life. You know how many lives would be hur-hurt by that?”
She swayed a bit, stepped on his bare toe as she caught her balance. The stench of alcohol turned his stomach.
How she’d come to know what he was doing, he had no idea. And he wasn’t any happier than she was about word getting out, damaging Bruce’s reputation. Once he had enough proof to do something, he hoped the matter could be resolved quietly.
O’Brien wanted the same thing. Had insisted on it, actually. So...
“You’re ju-just jealous...” Her vituperative tone had faded to basic disrespect.
Now was not the time to ask her how she’d come about her knowledge. Or to defend it, either.
“Let’s get you out to your cab,” he said, with a hand at the small of her back. “I’ll meet you at your convenience tomorrow, when and where you like.”
She nodded. Looked toward the door and then, suddenly pale, looked up at him. “Bathroom?”
He pointed.
And prayed she made it in time. Cleaning up puke wasn’t on his agenda.
Going for a shirt and shoes, Mason paid off the cab and got his keys. The second his unwanted guest came out of the bathroom—luckily leaving it in the condition in which she’d found it—he handed her a barf bag, ushered her out to his car and drove her home.
Thankfully, she made the trip without saying another word.
* * *
TASHA, A DOMESTIC abuse survivor who’d gone through the police academy and was one of Harper’s top agents, met Harper at the door to her office the next morning. Tasha had another hour on shift and would’ve been out on the grounds unless she had a matter of possible importance.
“You asked us to keep you apprised of Miriam Thomas’s actions.” Tasha had been on Miriam’s detail until four that morning. Each member of her staff was doing four-hour rotations.
Unlocking the door to her office, she preceded Tasha inside, dropped her satchel and keys on her desk. “I want to know anything out of the ordinary. Any change in her demeanor. Any friends she makes...” She’d do whatever she could to help Mason get the information he needed to protect his grandmother.
The officer was nodding, her expression pained. If Tasha had made a mistake, at least she’d come to her.
Still, they’d have to deal with that. Mistakes in their business could cost lives.
“I had a stomach upset last night and had to use the restroom. Miriam was in bed asleep and I called Allie over to the bungalow to cover for me. I waited until she arrived and then I hurried on my way. I didn’t double-check Miriam’s room before I turned over my duty.”
That was it? Relief flooded her. For Miriam’s sake. And for Tasha’s, too. She was the best young officer, the most committed, the most clearheaded and the least hesitant, she’d ever had.
“I did the check as soon as I got back,” the officer continued, her concern no less. “Miriam wasn’t there, ma’am.” She met Harper’s gaze head-on.
Immediately on alert, Harper withheld her sharp rebuke at the fact that she was only now hearing about this.
“Allie radioed it in immediately and stayed at the residence while I went out on the grounds. As soon as I stepped outside I saw her, just a few yards from her place, coming up the sidewalk.”
Miriam was fine. Harper took a deep breath. “She walked outside and neither of you saw her?”
The officer looked at her, offering no defense.
“Tasha?”
“I only left my post for those few minutes, ma’am, and I know for certain she didn’t walk out that door while I was there.” That sounded like Tasha. “So you think Allie left the post?”
“I can’t say that. She was there when I went off and she was there when I got back. She swears she didn’t leave the post, either.”
“Where is she now?” Why weren’t the two officers reporting in together?
“She’s on Thomas duty now. Since Mrs. Thomas was fine, just out for a short walk because she couldn’t sleep and was on her way back to the bungalow when I saw her, we didn’t wake you. But I knew you’d want to know the second you got here.”
Nodding, Harper told the officer they’d talk more about the incident later, thanked her for reporting it right away and sent her back to work.
* * *
FIVE MINUTES LATER, after a brief knock, Harper was opening the front door of the bungalow Miriam was sharing with two other women. All three were in the main room, the scent of bacon wafting from the kitchen.
“Miriam, can we go outside for a few minutes, please?”
“I’m making breakfast.”
“We’ll cover for you!” Nancy, a forty-year-old lesbian who’d been abused by her partner, spoke up, motioning toward their housemate Laura, a twenty-year-old who’d run away from an abusive boyfriend, but who’d also been abused as a child.
“I’m making breakfast,” Miriam said again, and then, looking toward Nancy, she added, “But thank you, dear. I appreciate the offer.”
“Ladies, will you excuse us?” Harper spoke to Nancy and Laura.
“Let’s go to the cafeteria for breakfast,” Nancy said to the younger wom
an, who nodded.
With a harrumph, Miriam went into the kitchen. As soon as the other two were gone, Harper followed her.
“You want to tell me how you got past my officer last night?” She wasn’t going to play games with her. She hadn’t asked Miriam to come to the Stand. Hadn’t asked her to sign a VNL. She was bound by duty—and also because she truly cared—to protect Miriam. But she would not go to war with her.
Miriam said nothing. With a fork in hand she expertly turned the bacon frying in the pan, not even slowed down by the fact that she was working with only one arm. Bacon that would be too much for the one person it would now feed.
So they could have bacon, lettuce and tomato sandwiches for lunch.
“If you’re trying to make me look bad by proving that my staff is incompetent, it’s not going to fly.”
Again, Miriam ignored her. With the hand of her casted arm, she pulled two pieces of bread out of a bag and popped them in the toaster, resealing the bag.
Harper tried not to think about the times the older woman had made her breakfast, chatting the whole time, treating her like a beloved member of her family. Never having known either of her grandmothers, Harper had taken Miriam as her own, glad to have a relationship with her. She’d thought, if nothing else, they’d developed a trust in each other that wouldn’t be broken.
What she made herself think about was the fact that Miriam was a victim. One look at the still-purpling bruise spreading to the middle of her chin brought much-needed clarity.
“I’m trying to help,” Harper said softly. “If Bruce didn’t hurt you, then let’s clear his name.”
The only response she received was the sound of eggs cracking.
“If one of my officers made a mistake, I need to know about it and I need to know how.”
Miriam pulled the bacon out of the pan, laid it on a paper towel and, picking up the bowl into which she’d cracked eggs, she poured the mixture into the bacon grease.
Maybe not the healthiest breakfast, but Harper knew it would be delicious.
“Other women’s lives could very well depend on my staff doing their jobs well.”
With the same fork she’d used for the bacon, Miriam whipped the eggs in the pan.
“You want me out of here, then give me what I need,” Harper said, wishing she could comfort Miriam, not piss her off. “I’ll gladly leave you in peace, but I can’t. Not until I know who you got past last night and how it happened.”
Harper continued trying to get through to Miriam, watching while she dished up her breakfast, sat down and ate every bite, then cleaned up afterward.
All to no avail.
She was going to have to discuss the incident with Lila. To put herself and her two officers on report.
But first, she was going to talk to Mason. If being at the Stand was making Miriam defensive, he might have to try something else. They needed her to open up, to tell them what had happened to her—not to challenge the plans they had in place to protect her.
Or maybe Harper should step aside for a couple of weeks, stay out of Miriam’s world. But if she did take time off, Brianna would also be gone from the Stand and according to Mason, the ability to see her great-granddaughter was what had convinced Miriam to stay.
She was already listening to the ring of his cell phone as she headed up the walk toward her office.
It had been a long day and the morning wasn’t even half over.
CHAPTER NINE
MASON DIDN’T GET to speak with Harper Wednesday morning. He’d been in the shower when she called and had listened to her voice mail. The last thing any of them needed at the moment was for Gram to be causing Harper and her staff problems. He’d known he was asking a lot in requesting her help, but he’d never considered for a second that he could be putting her job in jeopardy.
Not that she’d said so, but it couldn’t be good for the head of security to be considering a break from work just a month into her new position.
He’d get back to Harper. But not until he had some answers to give her.
He’d been planning to spend the morning canvassing Miriam’s neighborhood to find out if anyone had noticed anything unusual in the past few months. A visitor who was there when Bruce was not, for instance.
He wanted to know if anyone had noticed any change in his brother’s behavior or heard Bruce raise his voice.
He also planned to visit the grocery store where Gram regularly shopped. Plus her hairdresser. And her retired officers’ wives group. If he was going to figure out what had gone wrong in Gram’s life, he had to build a clear picture of what that life had become.
Instead, he found himself back on the freeway to Santa Raquel. If Gwen called, ready to meet with him, he’d have to put her off, too. Just until he got back to town. That was one meeting that couldn’t happen too soon.
Gram was in white capris with a blue short-sleeved shirt when she came up to the main building to meet him. She’d never been overweight, but she seemed to be getting smaller. Thinner. Like she was shrinking in on herself.
Could be his imagination, of course. Or guilt. He’d ripped her from the one thing that had always mattered to her—looking after her home. Her family.
He’d taken away her purpose.
“Did you enjoy your time with Brianna yesterday?” he asked when she took the seat opposite him at the same card table they’d shared the day before. The little girl was Gram’s family. A child who could benefit from a daily dose of her great-grandmother’s loving care.
“She asked me why I had a bruise on my chin and had a lot of questions about the cast,” Gram said. Her short silver hair was curled and styled as usual. She was wearing makeup, too. Something she’d always done.
“From what I understand, she’s about as precocious as they come.” He tried not to think about the child too much—other than to assure himself that she was well cared for. Although she was his family, too, she was off-limits to him. Didn’t do to build a yearning for what would never be.
“I’m sure her mother put her up to it,” Gram said in a truculent tone of voice that was not like her. Or hadn’t been, in his experience, until the past couple of days.
“Harper wouldn’t use her child, Gram.”
He received a long look from watery green eyes. “Yes, she would.”
“Brianna loves you. Of course she’d have a lot of questions when she saw your cast. I hear she has a million questions about everything she notices.”
“She told me her mother said I’d been hurt.”
“Because Harper wanted her to be prepared. She didn’t want her scared or worried. She wanted her to know that you’re safe. And that you’re going to be fine.”
His words garnered him another long look. If he didn’t know better, he’d think she wasn’t sure she could trust him.
Which was downright ludicrous.
And a little scary, too.
What had Bruce told her? About him? About Harper?
Had his brother effectively isolated their grandmother so that he was her only champion? The only one she trusted?
It fit the typical pattern of abuse. Fit Bruce’s own pattern, too, in that he had a history of manipulating the truth to make others look bad—and to make himself look better by comparison. To keep others from thinking less of him about something he’d done. Or to minimize the price he’d have to pay.
“You’re on her side,” Gram said, her words ramping up the tension inside him.
“I’m on your side,” he told her, covering her hand with his. “I love you, Gram. It’s the reason you’re here. Because you’ve been hurt, more than once, and I have to make sure you’re protected.” Leaning forward he looked her straight in the eye, finding it difficult to speak for a second or two. “You know me,” he continued when he could. “You know how much I love you and you know I can�
�t ignore this.”
Her lips trembled before they formed a smile. She nodded. And then said, “I fell off my stepladder.”
Mason wished he could end the meeting for the time being. That he could take his grandmother out to lunch, to the mall, to the beach. To hear her laugh and tell him stories from when he was little. Or, even better, from when his father was little. She’d been quite the dynamo back then.
“I need you to tell me what happened last night, Gram. How you got out of your room.”
He expected her to pull her hand away. To see a return of the almost belligerent expression she’d worn the day before when Harper had joined them. Instead, she nodded once more.
“You aren’t going to like it.”
He’d already figured that much. His gut tight, he waited to hear how bad it was going to be. She was safe. Bottom line was still good.
But if she was going to risk her own safety to sabotage Harper, he’d have to waste valuable time finding a new place for her—and lose Harper’s help, as well.
He’d also lose his one advantage, the one thing he’d had to convince Gram to stay here at all—the promise of daily visits with Brianna.
“I can’t make a move without someone watching me.”
He nodded. Held her hand in both of his on top of the table. The surveillance was for her own good, but he understood how hard it had to be for her.
“I’m an independent woman,” she said next, raising her chin a notch. “I had to be, with your grandfather out there risking his life every day. I always knew I had to be prepared to handle things on my own if something happened to him. And then when your dad and you boys went into the business, you needed to know you had a home. It’s what keeps cops safe. Helps them make those instinctive, split-second decisions that keep them alive.”
He didn’t disagree. Her gaze held his, as strong as it had ever been.
“It felt like I was losing my independence.”
“What did you do last night, Gram?”
“I climbed out my bedroom window.”
His mouth fell open. He closed it. Opened it again. Not sure if he was going to smile or rant.
Falling for the Brother Page 8
