A Man of Honor (Harlequin Super Romance)

by Barrett, Linda

  Hank gunned the engine and started criss crossing streets. Man, it had been a bad morning. He rotated his shoulder carefully and winced. It still hurt from the fall he took in the kitchen when he slipped on the puddle of last night’s beer. Mary Beth would have plenty to keep her busy after he found her. No more disappearing acts.

  He glanced at a list of addresses he’d researched, addresses of the bigger shelters. He’d prefer to visit with a local cop at his side. He knew how protective these places were. The staff wouldn’t give up anyone or anything, and they usually had reliable security in place. But if he went with someone they trusted—someone who also trusted him—he could get very, very lucky.

  He slowed the car to a crawl. Strange for a Sunday. There were a whole bunch of people fixing up a building. Maybe the local preacher told them to clean up the place, to give back to the community. He shrugged. A bunch of do-gooders.

  As he pulled closer, he studied the scene more carefully. Suddenly, he began to grin. A couple of those guys were cops. Sure, they were out of uniform, but he could make a cop with his eyes closed. Hank parked his car, got out and strolled toward the action. The older guy, who was in good shape, bent down to tie his shoe, then turned his head just enough for his glance to focus on Hank. It was an old tried-and-true method for buying time while keeping a low profile. Oh, yeah. Hank was in luck today. This place was crawling with cops.

  PATRICK KNEW ABOUT Officer Powers’s visit and his heads-up to Dave. He didn’t really know if the cop’s missing wife and kids were staying at Welcome Home, and he didn’t think it mattered. The effectiveness of all the shelters could hinge on the safety of one woman in one program.

  At the same time, if these victims were at Welcome Home, he’d prefer to get rid of the guy before Heather came outside again. He glanced around for his son, glad Dave was hammering in more siding. He had been about to help him, but chose to meet their visitor first.

  The man approached with one hand outstretched and the other pulling out his badge as he spoke. “I’m guessing you belong to the same organization?”

  Patrick nodded. “Retired.”

  “Good enough. I won’t beat around the bush. I need some help.”

  Patrick listened while Landers told his story. Then he suggested all the obvious resources: missing persons report, charge cards, bus stations, airplane tickets, girlfriends, relatives…everything that a television show like Law and Order would have featured.

  “Did it. Did it. Did it.”

  Patrick shook his head. “Then I’m probably not going to be much help. I haven’t patrolled a beat in more than twenty years. But I can spread the word.” He started walking toward the other man’s car.

  “What’re y’all doing here?” asked Landers, who paused to look at the building and watch the elder Marshalls drag more carpeting outside.

  “Renovating an old house,” Patrick replied.

  “I can see that.” Landers said impatiently. “What for?”

  Stick to the truth—sort of. “It’s going to be some kind of a kids’ center. After-school stuff, or maybe a day care center.”

  “Waste of money, if you ask me. Make the mothers stay home and you won’t need any day care centers. Hell, my kids never went to one.”

  Patrick took another step toward the curb.

  “Hey, Dad,” Dave said.

  Damn! But Patrick smiled and faced his son. “What’s up?” he asked, looking at the siding in Dave’s hand, and hoping Dave would leave quickly.

  Too much to hope for.

  “Dave, this is Officer Hank Landers.”

  “HPD,” supplied Landers. “You?”

  Dave nodded as he studied the other man.

  “Figured. You and your dad—two peas in a pod. My boy and I…we’re the same way.”

  “Landers,” repeated Dave, as though tasting the word.

  Patrick watched as his son transitioned from an animated construction worker to a police officer covered in image armor. No expression. No emotion. The working face of a cop on duty where feelings must be suppressed. For the first time, Patrick was an observer. Anne had been right. Cops were two different people in one body. How many times had he come home still wearing that armor, unable to separate his two identities?

  And his son would go through the same thing. But at what cost? Surprised at the pain he felt, he didn’t allow his thoughts to show.

  “Officer Landers is looking for some help.” Patrick quickly reiterated what they already knew.

  Dave held on to the piece of siding. “I’ll remember,” he said.

  “Thanks,” said Landers. “And one more thing. Can you check out the shelters on your beat? In case she was wandering, you know, and they took her in.”

  That was the lamest thing Patrick had ever heard. A shelter would have called an ambulance if a woman was sick. This was a cop with no imagination.

  “Sure, man,” said Dave. “No problem.”

  “There’s a big one called Welcome Home,” said Landers, staring at Dave. “It’s on my list. You know it?”

  “I do,” replied Dave, not offering more.

  Tell him you’ll check it out. Let’s get rid of him. Patrick’s mind raced, even as Heather ran toward their little group. Damn, she was there.

  “Dave! You’ll never guess—” She halted. “Oh, sorry to interrupt.”

  Landers lit up when he saw her, but quickly banked his interest and offered a casual nod. Patrick glanced at his son. Dave’s armor was gone. His eyes burned. His normally calm and controlled son wanted to take the man down.

  LANDERS WAS SCUM. Dave hefted the board he held, itching to slam it against Landers’s head, but choosing to protect Heather from the man’s direct gaze. He moved partially in front of her, then shifted sideways to look into her face. She didn’t know about Officer Powers’s visit, that Powers had given them a heads-up about Landers.

  “Heather.” He spoke her name sharply, saw her surprise and curiosity. He stared hard. Would she get the message?

  “Yes?” she asked calmly.

  “This man is looking for his wife. He’s a cop and…” That’s all it took for him to transform her into a piece of sculpture. She stood immobile.

  “My wife’s sick,” said the cop, stepping closer. “The docs say she’s clinically depressed. She took my kids, and now I’m worried. And scared, too.”

  If her complexion got any paler, she’d pass out.

  “I’m sorry for your troubles,” said Heather, turning to leave. “Have you tried the hospitals?”

  “No luck,” Landers replied. “So now I’m trying the women’s shelters. I think that’s a reasonable bet…but I’m not sure a woman would take two kids to a place like that.”

  She paused. “Depended if she needed a sanctuary, now wouldn’t it? But there’s no accounting for mental illness, Officer…? Sorry, I didn’t get your name.”

  “Landers,” he replied. “John Henry Landers. I go by Hank.”

  Dave tasted her fear. If he’d had any question regarding the whereabouts of Mrs. Landers and her children, he now had the definitive answer.

  “Sorry, Officer Landers, I can’t help you,” said Heather. “As you can see, we’re under construction here. And this shelter is for teenagers.”

  “Shelter?” he asked, looking at Dave, his eyes narrowing. “I thought it was an after-school center.”

  Dave shrugged. Who had told him that? “It’s for kids.” Wanna make something of it?

  Landers pulled a pad from his back pocket. “Okay, okay. Keep your shirt on. But now we’re getting somewhere.” He looked at Heather. “You probably know the places my wife would go around here. I don’t know the west side so well. Who runs the one called Welcome Home?”

  Heather looked straight at him. “I’m really sorry, Officer. I know how worried you are, but I don’t know. My work is with teenagers. Mobile outreach. I work from my van.” She shrugged, a gesture so innocent, so ingenuous, Dave worked to keep his astonishment in check.
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br />   “But if I hear anything—” she gestured airily “—from on the streets and all, I’ll surely let you know.” Then she smiled at the cop. A cute, ingenuous smile, and Dave wanted to hug her and kill her at the same time.

  She gracefully extended her hand. “Do you have a business card, Officer Landers?”

  In Landers’s eagerness, five cards dropped to the ground. “Thanks. Appreciate it,” he said. “I’ll be waiting to hear from you.” He waved at the three of them and ambled to his car.

  Everyone remained silent until his vehicle was three blocks away. Heather had gripped Dave’s arm, her hold threatening his blood flow. “Easy, sweetheart. Easy,” he said. “He’s gone.”

  She breathed deeply. “You don’t understand. I wasn’t afraid of him, David. I really wasn’t.” Her voice shook, but she was adamant. “I wanted to kill him. That’s all I thought about. Until I remembered what you said.”

  “What I said?”

  “You said I can’t fight a bullet.”

  MAYBE IT WAS HAVING a van again, or maybe it was the colorful Girlfriends sign on the sides, but a week later Heather and Tiffany were surrounded by kids each time they cruised the streets. Heather kept to her old route and word traveled fast, but clearly not to Brenda, the girl who’d gotten involved with the drug ring. Heather worried about her. Brenda hadn’t reappeared anywhere since.

  On her rounds Wednesday night, Heather had stopped at the Youth Center when two kids she’d picked up were running fevers and needed somewhere to go.

  Julie Rogers, an excellent case manager, took them in. Her first question reinforced Heather’s decision to create Girlfriends.

  “When are you opening the new place? We need it. We’re overflowing.”

  “That bad, huh? Sounds like we’ll fill up the first week.”

  “I’m afraid so.” The woman guided one of the ill youngsters to a chair. “Come on, hon. We’ll get you to bed real quick.”

  Heather followed with the other feverish girl. “We’re opening January first, holiday or not. So, if you have referrals the week before or so, call me and we’ll set up the paperwork.”

  “Are you staffed?”

  “Not fully,” she replied. “I want the best, so…are you looking?” She’d grab Julie in a heartbeat if she was available.

  The woman smiled but shook her head. “Thanks anyway. But I know someone. I trust her work, and I’d provide a reference.”

  “Good enough. Tell her to send me a résumé at Welcome Home.” Heather turned to leave. “By the way, any sign of Brenda? The one who—”

  “I remember,” interrupted Julie, shaking her head. “Nothing. Sorry.”

  Too bad, thought Heather as she returned to her van. Brenda needed help, the kind of help Heather would be able to offer. The components of the Girlfriends project were falling into place like pieces in a jigsaw puzzle. Each part had its purpose. The people, the place, the program. And now with Mark Warner’s contribution of an architect and experienced construction crew, the physical work was ahead of schedule. Dave’s father remained the point man for the renovation, especially when she wasn’t there.

  Heather got behind the wheel again, and checked her rearview mirror. Yup. Patrick McCoy was there, too, tailing her as he did every time she went out. She’d given up protesting. As he’d said, “take it up with Dave. I’m following orders.” Tonight, Anne was with him. A funny kind of date to have with an ex-husband.

  “I can’t let Dave bully me into this arrangement,” she complained to Tiffany, “but I’d waste my breath arguing with him.”

  “What did you say?” asked Tiffany.

  Heather tilted her head toward the back. “Him. Our tail. Now honestly, do you think we still really need someone watching over us?”

  “Not with this brand-new baby we’re driving.” Tiffany hadn’t hesitated. “On the other hand, I wouldn’t go out alone, even with the new van.”

  “But…never mind.” Sometimes the kids were alone out there, but she didn’t have the heart to fight with everyone in her life. Dave was studying with his pals twice a week as well as on his own and working his regular shift. He still volunteered at Girlfriends on Saturdays. And afterward…after the work was done…well, he didn’t want Saturdays with her to end.

  Last weekend, he’d said, “Next week, Heather. Just us. No family. No scenes at country clubs. No work. Just you and me. Out together just like any other couple on a Saturday night.”

  With his gaze on her, and his fingers against her cheek, she’d had no desire to refuse. Normalcy. Wasn’t that what she’d always wanted in her life?

  So she’d agreed to this upcoming weekend. And every time she thought about an evening alone with David, her heart rate wasn’t normal at all.

  AN EVENING BY THEMSELVES? Not quite. Heather glanced around Minute Maid Park at the other forty thousand Houston Astros fans who filled the stadium. She grinned up at Dave after they found their seats. “I think you’re afraid of being alone with me.”

  His eyes gleamed as he laughed. “No chance of that. I’m just giving you what you asked for. You wanted normal, and what could be more normal than baseball?”

  “Nothing…except it’s mid-October and this is a play-off game. The Astros are halfway to the World Series, and I don’t even want to know how you got the tickets. Or how much you paid for them.”

  “Then don’t ask.”

  “I just hope you didn’t empty your bank account….”

  Dave squeezed her hand. “My bank account is fine. Let’s enjoy ourselves.”

  She had no argument with that. So far, she’d enjoyed every minute they’d spent together including the train ride on the light-rail system, which brought them right to the ballpark. It made sense to avoid the crush of the parking lot when the game let out later.

  “This is my first time,” she said slowly as she looked around the stadium, which featured a remarkable retractable roof, acres of real grass.

  “In this ballpark?”

  Minute Maid Park had recently replaced the Astrodome as the team’s home stadium. She shook her head. “This is my first time at a professional baseball game.”

  He didn’t say anything, and she poked him with her elbow. “Hey, did you think Dry Creek had a real baseball team?”

  His hand covered hers, his thumb gently stroking her skin. “I didn’t think about it at all. So, I’m very glad we’re here. It’s an extra-special night.”

  In truth, she didn’t follow any sports team very much. Mark’s big reaction to the news about where she was going clued her in about the play-offs and how big an achievement it was for the teams to get that far. She didn’t realize Dave was such an ardent fan. How much did she really know about his likes and dislikes?

  “So are you a baseball fanatic?” she asked.

  “Fanatic? No, but I’ve always loved going to a game—especially with my dad. When you’re inside a ballpark, you’re in another world, and all the personal stuff is left outside the stadium. No matter what else was happening at home, everything was always fine at the ballpark.”

  “And after the game?”

  He barked with laughter. “After the game, Dad would give me a ten-dollar bill, say that my mom didn’t have to know about it, and then tell me to take care of her.”

  She wasn’t surprised. Not with the way Patrick still looked at Anne.

  “When I graduated college, I told him to take care of her himself if he was so concerned.” He clasped her hand. “It shook him up, I’ll tell you that.”

  “Sounds like a lot more than baseball happened in the ballpark.”

  He took a while before nodding. “Maybe so. Maybe my old man knew what he was doing. At least with me.”

  The players were being introduced over the state-of-the-art, 1400 speaker sound system, according to her program guide. The crowds cheered each man as he walked onto the field, but their loudest calls went to their favorites. A few minutes later, from her seat over the third base line, Heather heard the
words “Play ball!”

  By the end of the first inning, she was caught up in the action. Maybe because it was a play-off game. Maybe because Dave was having a great time coaching from his seat, and she enjoyed watching him. Maybe because she was part of something new and exciting and different. Heather felt wonderful.

  “Now I know what you meant,” she said when the teams were changing positions. She got to her feet and gestured around the ball field. “It really is another world in here.” She smiled up at Dave who immediately wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. She hugged him back. So solid. So strong. She leaned into him, totally comfortable.

  By the fifth inning, Heather knew if the Astros didn’t win, she’d be as disappointed as the rest of their fans. She knew enough about high school baseball to follow most of the action at a professional game. Dave filled her in on some technicalities around bites of their hot dogs.

  “You’ve got some mustard…right there,” said Dave just before he licked the condiment from the corner of her mouth and lingered to steal a kiss.

  “Cleanup detail?” she murmured.

  “Anytime. Heather…? Maybe this…”

  A blaring announcement from the speakers drowned anything Dave might have said. “Kiss Cam. Kiss Cam.” The announcement carried to every corner of the stadium.

  “Wha…?”

  Dave didn’t wait. His mouth was on hers before she completed the word, and he kissed her as though he were dying and needed air. As though she were his oxygen.

  He pulled her to her feet, and she wrapped her arms around his neck, drawing him closer. Oh, God. She could get into this, with Dave. Only with Dave.

  Suddenly, out of the corner of her eye, she saw herself and Dave—in full color—on a huge screen in Center Field. Forty thousand screaming fans saw them, too, shouting their encouragement. The ones nearby were clapping, catcalling, yelling for more.