by Jo Davis
“I know. I just—” The doorbell interrupted whatever he’d been about to say. “Hold that thought.”
Daisy remained where she was, figuring he didn’t need her hovering over his guests. She was about to take another bite of her dinner when she heard him say hello, and two very familiar voices drifted her way.
Chris and Taylor were here.
Shoving to her feet, she hurried into the living room, where the men were standing. Her colleagues glanced her way and didn’t razz her good-naturedly for being at Shane’s house, as she’d thought they might. Instead their faces remained grim, and her pulse tripped. That could mean only one thing.
“We have some news about the autopsy results,” Chris said, glancing around. “Where’s Drew?”
“In his room, most likely.” Shane sighed. “That’s where he stays most of the time. Hang on, why are you guys here about the results of Brad’s autopsy?”
“Because Detective Lacey gave us a call and figured it would be best if we talked to you in person,” Shane’s cousin replied.
Taylor spoke up. “It appears we might have some crossover on our cases.”
Shane glanced back and forth between his friends, frowning. “So, Brad’s test results warrant opening a case? How so?”
Chris gestured to the sofa. “Let’s sit and we’ll run through what Lacey told us.” Once they were seated, he went on, bracing his elbows on his knees. “This isn’t going to be easy for you to hear, cuz, so I’ll give it to you straight. Brad died as the result of an adverse reaction to a designer drug.”
Shane’s face paled. “A-a what?”
“Designer drug,” Chris repeated, expression sympathetic. “The DEA has jumped in with both feet and all sorts of tests are being done, but the preliminary consensus is that this drug is something nobody has seen before. It’s illegal as hell, with traces of amphetamines mixed with a bunch of other shit, likely performance enhancing, or at least that’s how they feel the drug is being marketed on the street. A pick-me-up, iron-man drug that makes steroids look like aspirin.”
“Jesus, Brad. Why?” Shane’s eyes closed and for several long moments he said nothing. When he opened them again, it was apparent he was holding it together by a thread. “Official cause of death?”
“Heart failure due to adverse drug reaction,” Taylor said. “Not technically an overdose.”
“The shit stopped his heart.”
“Yes. I’m sorry, man.”
Shane grappled with that, blinking moisture from his eyes. “What does that have to do with one of our cases?”
“It connects with the one we just caught the other day,” Taylor told him, leaning forward to hand Shane a file folder. “The dead guy in the ditch with the hole in the back of his head—remember him? He was identified as Larry Holstead, age twenty-eight.”
“Who’d he run with?”
“We’re working on it. The interesting thing is the compound that the ME found on his clothing.”
Shane paused in the act of flipping through the file, snapping his head up. “Traces of the designer drug that Brad took?”
“Bingo.”
“What the fuck does this mean?” Shane asked, shaking his head. He flipped the file closed. “What the hell had Brad gotten himself into?”
“I don’t know, but we’re going to find out,” Chris said firmly. “Hang in there, all right?”
“Yeah.”
Daisy’s heart twisted at the devastation etched on Shane’s face. But there was also a new determination that hadn’t been there before, and she knew that look.
It was the look of a cop who would go through hell to find the answers he needed. And he might have to do just that before he had them.
• • •
Unseen and unheard by the group in the living room, Drew crept back into the safety of his room.
On shaky legs, he wobbled back to his window seat perch, shaking hand pressed to his heart. Tears welled in his eyes, spilled unchecked down his face. Their words haunted him, scored themselves into his soul.
Designer drug.
Heart failure.
“Dad,” he sobbed. “I’m sorry. It’s all my fault.”
Lowering his head, he cried until he was sick. And wished he was being buried next to his dad.
Right where he deserved to be.
4
On a cold gray afternoon in February, the heavens wept as Brad Cooper was laid to rest. Sleet struck the protective canopy hard, nearly drowning out the mournful words of the elderly preacher. But not quite. Each syllable rocked Shane like a physical blow.
Fine man.
Good, loving father.
Will be missed by all.
Safe in the hands of God.
Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.
Shane sucked in a harsh breath at the dreadful finality. He could only imagine how Drew was really feeling as he stood stoic and silent next to him. His back was straight, eyes dry. Was that normal? Everyone was worried about the kid. No one more than Shane. In his line of work, he knew that sometimes once a person broke inside, he might never be fixed. It scared him to think of Drew losing his way.
But the boy was stronger than that. Had to be.
The graveside service that had seemed to take forever was suddenly over, and he and Drew had to suffer through the line of their friends and Brad’s who’d come to pay their respects. There was a healthy contingent representing the NFL, including coaches, scores of players, and sportscasters. Any other time, for any other occasion, Shane would have been thrilled to meet some of his idols. Though his heart ached, it was good to see them, and also see some of the guys from the station, ones who’d met Brad and Drew, come to give their support.
Especially Daisy. She was there for them both, and as she stepped up and wrapped Drew in a hug that the boy didn’t return, Shane’s throat burned. She didn’t have to come, yet here she was, comforting a boy she barely knew. She was a damned fine woman—and Shane was an idiot for pushing her away.
After kissing Drew on the cheek, she moved to Shane and hugged him, too. Wrapping his arms around her, he held on tight and swallowed a sob. He wouldn’t lose it. Had to stay strong. But she knew it was a front, and clung to him. Held together the broken pieces.
Finally, she pulled back. “I’m here for you both, okay?”
“I know.” Now wasn’t the time to get into an intense conversation, but he had to find out something. “Will you come to the house?”
She looked surprised and pleased to be asked. “Of course I will. About an hour?”
“That sounds about right.”
“I’ll be there.”
After kissing him on the cheek, she moved on to allow other guests to pay their respects. He watched her go, a tall, gorgeous figure in her dark pantsuit, blond hair pulled back into a sedate twist. Then she raised an umbrella, and he lost her in the crowd. A pang lanced his chest that had nothing to do with the day’s sad event. He truly was a fool.
Chris, Shea, and Tommy stepped forward to give them both bear hugs, promising to meet them at the house. Everyone was bringing food, as was the tradition in their family. He was already tired simply thinking about it. But maybe Daisy really would show, and that brightened him some.
The next half hour became a blur of visitors. Once they were all gone, Shane and Drew stood watching as the cemetery workers lowered Brad’s casket into the ground. Drew walked to the edge, bent, and scooped up a handful of dirt. Then he tossed it in, stood again, and turned to Shane.
“Can you wait for me?” He swallowed hard.
“Sure,” he said softly. “Take your time.”
Shane walked slowly back to the limo, where the driver was inside, waiting patiently. The Nashville police were gone now, along with almost all of the uninvited gawkers they’d been hired to keep out. The sleet, thankfully, had ceased. Shane arrived just in time to see one last reporter lean over the private wall and snap a photo of Drew, alone and mourning by his dad’s grave.
/> That private sorrow, intruded upon and soon to be splashed everywhere, broke his heart all over again.
Snarling, Shane started for the gate, but, seeing him, the reporter vanished from view. He continued on, making sure the man left. Just as he reached the gate, the reporter fled the scene in an SUV. There was no one else.
As he trudged back to the limo, he spotted Drew sitting by his dad’s grave, face in his hands. He longed to go to the boy, scoop him up, and herd him away, but he couldn’t. Drew deserved to be left alone to grieve.
To say goodbye.
Well more than an hour had passed by the time Drew rose and returned to the car. The boy’s face was no longer stoic—it was a portrait of such complete desolation that Shane couldn’t help but pull Drew into his arms. Hold him tight.
To his surprise, Drew didn’t pull away as he’d done with Daisy, but held on to him like he was a life raft in a storm. “I can’t b-believe he’s gone,” the boy whispered.
Oh, God. “Me either, son.” He hoped he hadn’t made a mistake calling Drew that when it had upset him before, but the boy either didn’t notice or didn’t care at the moment. He went on, addressing what Drew had overheard a couple of days before about his dad taking the designer drugs. Shane had found him sobbing, and discovered the boy had heard it all.
“I’d do anything to bring him back, you know that. But I am going to find out who’s responsible for selling your dad that shit, and that’s a promise.”
In his arms, Drew shuddered hard. “Okay.”
Pulling back, he cupped the boy’s face, wiping the tears with his thumbs. “And when I catch them, they’ll go to jail and nobody else will be hurt by that evil drug.” Drew sniffed, nodding. He looked as beat as Shane felt. “Come on. Let’s get you home.”
Another hot-button word, but, thankfully, Drew accepted it. Home. Shane had initially found it was strange that, after that first heated discussion, the boy hadn’t mentioned living at the mansion. But after he thought about it, he figured maybe Drew didn’t really want to live in the house where his father had died. With the terrible memories. It made sense.
But the cop in him wondered.
He didn’t like loose ends, and Brad’s death was no exception. He’d said his goodbyes at the funeral home, in his own way. But the most fitting tribute he could pay to his friend would be to find the bastards responsible for selling him a handful of death in the disguise of pretty pills.
Since Shane and Drew had caught a ride with Shea and Tommy to the funeral home, the driver drove them to Shane’s house. It was nice of the director to arrange the transportation, but he was a big supporter of the Sugarland police. He’d insisted, and Shane didn’t resist.
There were a bunch of cars in the driveway when they arrived, everyone already inside, since Shea had a spare key. He owed his sister for organizing the food and guests. They got out, and the limo driver pulled out with a last wave.
“Do I have to talk to everybody again? I don’t think I can listen to one more person say how sorry they are.” Drew grimaced.
“No, I think you’ve done your part. Why don’t you change into something comfortable and take a nap?”
The relief on the boy’s face was palpable. “Thanks.”
Once they went inside, he didn’t get away quite so easily, however. Guests came at him from all sides, and he nodded, responding as expected, until he was able to make a break for it.
Shane shrugged off his jacket and ripped off his tie. He carried both to his own bedroom, unfastened the top couple of buttons on his dress shirt, then returned to the gathering. He scanned the crowd, not surprised to see Brad’s coaches and some of his best friends from the team among the guests. “There you are.”
He turned to see Daisy standing there, and suddenly the day didn’t seem quite as gray as before. “Hey, you came.”
“I promised, didn’t I?” Lowering her voice, she asked, “How’s Drew?”
“Wrecked. He went to get some rest.”
“And you?”
“I’m holding up.” He looked around. “I’d offer you a seat, but the house is packed. Too bad it’s too cold today to sit on the deck.”
“Yeah. A few more weeks, though, and it’ll be warm again.”
“Maybe . . . Would you like to come over for a cookout one day when the weather is nice?” This invite was different than a simple social call, and they both knew that. It was Shane reaching out after hurting her so badly. His pulse thudded, waiting for her answer.
Slowly, she nodded. “I think I’d like that.”
“And maybe, since the weather doesn’t look like it’s going to cooperate anytime soon, you’d like to have dinner with me?”
“I’d like that, too.” She smiled. “Very much.”
He smiled back, some of the misery lifting from his soul. They’d never really dated. Months ago, during a dangerous case, their passion had exploded, taking them along for a hell of a ride. Then Shane had gotten cold feet and blown it. Big time.
He liked to think he learned well from his mistakes.
“Great. How about next Saturday, after Drew’s been in school a week and is settling in?”
“Sure. Just call me.”
“Think about where you’d like to go. The sky’s the limit.”
“Okay. In the meantime, I’ll be checking on you guys. I worry about both of you.”
Emotion clogged his throat. He didn’t know what to say, so he just pulled her into a hug. It lasted only a few seconds; then he let her go. Not that he cared about who might be watching, but he was mindful of the occasion.
But he knew Brad, of all guys, was looking down on them, getting a laugh out of Shane making a date at his freaking funeral repast. The man would think it was great.
“Are you okay?” she asked in concern.
“I’m fine. Really.”
“All right.” She looked doubtful, but relented. “Then I’ll let you get to your other guests. Talk to you tomorrow.”
Leaning in, she reached to give him a kiss on the cheek. But this time he turned his head so that it landed on his lips instead. She pulled back in surprise that he’d made the move here, with their colleagues nearby. Then her mouth curved in a slow smile as she walked off.
Shane’s insides were quivering. The woman got to him as no one else ever had. He hadn’t been able to forget her, and God knows he’d tried.
Now he had to figure out how to woo the woman he’d once so carelessly thrown away.
And how to piece back together some semblance of a family for a heartbroken boy.
• • •
Friday arrived all too soon, and with it the reading of the will in the conference room of Albert G. Farnsworth, Attorney at Law. One week to the day after Brad’s funeral.
It seemed like yesterday. And a lifetime.
As expected, Brad had provided generously for his driver, housekeeper, and a handful of acquaintances. Then came Shane’s turn, and he sat uncomfortably next to Drew, not knowing what to expect.
“To my best and oldest friend, Shane Andrew Ford, I leave the sum of five million dollars.”
Several in the room gasped, and Shane swayed in his seat. Drew grabbed his hand and squeezed it tight, shooting him a look of satisfaction as Farnsworth continued.
“I would’ve left you more, because you’re priceless to me. But the truth is, you’re a tight bastard and probably won’t spend a fraction of it. At least quit that sucky job now, for God’s sake, before you get shot again.” Soft laughter met those words, as Brad had intended. Even the stuffy attorney’s lips twitched. “You probably won’t do that either, so please be careful. Take care of yourself, because I’m trusting you with what means more to me than all the riches in the world—my son. Never forget that I love you, brother. I’ll see you again.”
Shane hung his head as Farnsworth paused before the next section. There was no help for the tears that escaped to stream down his face. Hearing one last personal message from his best friend sh
attered his resolve to hold in his grief. He struggled to collect himself as the attorney finished.
“And finally, to my son, Andrew Cooper, I leave my estate, including my home, cars, and personal possessions. I also leave to him the remainder of my money, a total sum of more than fifteen million dollars, to be held in trust by his legal guardian, Shane Ford, until he reaches the age of twenty-five.”
Another pause while the murmuring died down. It was no less than Shane had expected, and was what Drew was entitled to.
“Son, if you’re already an adult by now, then I know you’ve grown into the fine man I always knew you’d be and will use your inheritance wisely. If for some reason I’ve been taken too soon, look to Shane for the example of what a real man should be. After all, you’re his namesake, if I never told you. If you let Shane guide you and be your second dad, you can’t go wrong in life. I’m so proud of you. You’re the best son a dad could ever have been blessed with. Remember I love you, always and forever.”
Except for Farnsworth, there wasn’t a dry eye in the room. Thank God the reading was over. You really know how to rip my guts out, don’t you, old friend? And oh, yeah—set the bar so high in Drew’s eyes I can never hope to reach it.
Why did you do something so stupid? Did you know the possible price?
Drew was bent over now, weeping quietly. Shane laid a hand on his back, rubbing, trying to give what comfort he could. This had been a god-awful week for them both, especially Drew. And he was supposed to start at his new high school on Monday. So many changes in such a short time.
Once they were finished at the attorney’s office, Shane steered his godson out, a copy of the will in hand. They met with the expected throng of reporters who, in turn, met with all the police that acted as a barrier between them. Though there would’ve been a few on hand anyway, Shane suspected he had Detective Lacey to thank for the extra show of force from his brethren. Cops protected their own.
The reporters had been relentless once they figured out who Shane was and that he was now legal guardian to Brad’s son. They were playing up the “working man inherits big” angle, but for the most part had portrayed Shane in a kind light as the bereaved cop who now had to raise his best friend’s son. Surprising, but true.
