“Couldn’t we forget that fact, at least for a short while, Thorne?” He was sounding slightly discouraged now.
“How am I supposed to do that? I could get completely drunk every night for the rest of my life, but the next morning, I would always remember what happened seven years ago.”
“Okay.” He raised both hands in resignation. “Then let’s talk about that.”
“Shane,” Thorne said, struggling for composure, “you wanted to speak with me. But I don’t feel the urge to rehash the past—”
“And yet you’re still angry,” he reproached her.
His insensitivity stunned her. She crossed her arms and remained silent as the waitress came over and poured him a mug of coffee. She didn’t want an audience for what she had to say next, so she waited and watched the blonde waitress flirt with him, gracing him with a dazzling smile. His answering smile was noncommittal, and Thorne’s eyes wandered to his left hand, looking for a wedding ring. She didn’t see one, but she wondered whether he had a wife and whether he might even have been married when she met him.
She was surprised to find that the lump in her throat could get bigger than it already was.
As soon as the waitress had left them alone again, she cleared her throat and stated bluntly, “I don’t care what you have to say, Shane. Fact is, you betrayed and used me.”
He took a slow, deliberate sip from his coffee mug and set it down. “You don’t want to hear this, I know, but it really wasn’t my intention to hurt you,” he replied calmly.
“Well then what did you think you were doing? How did you think I’d react to the news that my alleged fiancé worked for the police and was only interested in spying on my brother? Did you think I’d be thrilled to hear it?”
He pushed the mug away and groaned. Then he looked into her eyes. “Do you realize you’re portraying me as an insensitive asshole here?”
“Oh, excuse me,” she replied calmly, “you are an insensitive asshole.”
His expression changed, and the familiar dark scowl appeared. “It appears you don’t even want to listen to what I have to say.”
Her frown matched his easily. “Maybe that’s because you haven’t even tried to apologize for your behavior.”
“I am sorry.”
“And why do I find that so hard to believe?”
“You know what?” He shrugged. “You don’t want to believe that I am sorry for what happened back then. I would have preferred to act differently, but it seemed like the easiest way to get the necessary information at the time.”
She balled her hands into fists and buried them in her lap. “And you think that explains and excuses everything?” she asked hoarsely.
“What else do you want me to say?”
She took a shaky breath, still incredulous at his callousness. “You’re not sorry at all. The only thing you regret is that your foul play has been unveiled now.”
“What would you have done in my place?”
“I’m sure I wouldn’t have gotten engaged to someone to spy on their brother!”
“It wasn’t my idea.”
“But you did it anyway.” She swallowed, a bitter taste in her mouth. “You should be ashamed of yourself.”
“Dammit, Thorne! That was seven years ago.” He tapped the fingers of his right hand on the table, visibly upset now, too. “I had just been promoted from patrolling, and I wanted a career. What do you think would have happened if I’d refused to follow the orders of a superior?”
“I don’t care what would have happened,” she snapped. “I don’t care if you played the part of my boyfriend because you were afraid you would be making coffee all your life, or because you were eager to climb the career ladder. None of it reflects very well on you.”
His eyes burned into hers. “If you don’t want to talk about the past in a rational manner, I’ll come to the main point now.”
“Hear, hear.”
“Yes,” he said stridently. “I need to be back at the department soon, so I don’t have time to let you go on insulting me.”
“Well, out with it,” Thorne demanded, leaning back in her chair with her arms crossed.
He ran a hand through his hair, seemingly reluctant to start. “My former boss wants to talk to Aidan about cooperating with them,” he finally explained. “It’s about his old circle of friends—”
“Are you telling me the police want Aidan to be their spy now?” she asked, cutting him short, her eyes wide with shock.
“I don’t know,” he confessed. “I haven’t had anything to do with that department for years. I only know that they believe Aidan would listen to you if you told him that this is an opportunity—”
“An opportunity?” she interrupted again. “For what?”
Shane sighed. “Rehabilitation, if you want to call it that.”
“Bullshit! The police just need another idiot to send to his doom, that’s all. You’re obviously no longer available to do the job, so now it’s my brother’s turn. No, thank you!”
“I’m merely the messenger of the idea. I didn’t come up with it.”
She leaned forward. “Listen to me now, Shane Fitzpatrick. Neither my brother nor I will allow the police to manipulate us, not ever again! We don’t want anything to do with you. Period.”
“Fine,” he said. “That’s all I needed to know.”
For a brief moment, she thought this might be the moment to tell him about Brady and show him the photos. But one look at his impatient body language was sufficient to convince her otherwise. He hadn’t shown any genuine interest in her as a person, and the reason for this meeting had not been his desire to give an explanation and an apology but, once again, merely his job.
If only he had shown the slightest hint of remorse or genuine regret!
Instead, he rose and threw a few dollars on the table. “Coffee’s on me.”
Chapter 5
“Hey, Shane, guess what!”
His curiosity was lukewarm at best as he looked up from the soon-due report he was writing. Whatever his partner wanted, he doubted it would distract him from thinking about Thorne. He had returned from their meeting half an hour ago.
He was frustrated, angry with himself, and also angry with Thorne, who had been too stubborn to listen to him even for a second.
“Fitzpatrick, you’re not gonna believe who just called and reported a murder.”
Alec’s great mood and hilarity did not sit well with Shane right now. His partner was a good guy, sociable and easygoing, but at the moment, Shane would gladly have taken the weekend shift if that meant he could be left alone and in peace. Unfortunately, Alec was also very thick-skinned and didn’t notice—or didn’t care about—the standoffish behavior of his partner. Instead, he leaned against Shane’s desk conspiratorially. The report sat there on his computer, unfinished, because Shane couldn’t stop thinking about the black-haired woman with the bright blue eyes. Those eyes had stared at him with such hatred that he still felt queasy when he thought of it.
“Old Mrs. Sanderson says she’s witnessed a murder again.”
Shane answered with a noncommittal grunt and kept staring at the words on the paper before him.
“She claims her neighbor put a dead body in the back of his truck. She’s beside herself with fear.”
“Last week she was beside herself with fear because the babysitter across the street was conducting satanic rituals with dead pets,” Shane pointed out, sounding bored. “Colum and Mac went to investigate, and the babysitter was having a vegan barbecue—no dead animals anywhere, but a lot of tofu burgers.”
His partner laughed out loud. “Don’t tell me you’re not excited about the corpse in her neighbor’s truck!”
Shane made a face. “I’m willing to bet the corpse will turn out to be an old carpet.”
“Don’t be so sure about it. Maybe she really did witness something this time.”
Shane snorted disparagingly. “The only murderers she witnesses happen in La
w & Order. My verdict is that the old lady watches too much TV.”
“I find her very amusing.”
“Amusing?” Shane raised his head to look at his partner and groaned. “A few months ago she claimed the apartment above her was inhabited by terrorists. The alleged terrorists were Japanese students. They had to consult a dictionary while we questioned them. It seems they introduced themselves to old Mrs. Sanderson as Japanese ‘tourists,’ but she had her hearing aid switched off, so she heard ‘terrorists,’ slammed the door in their faces, and called us. It took me hours to mediate the uproar. The students were shaking with fear, thinking they’d be taken to Guantanamo Bay, and Mrs. Sanderson would not be convinced that she’d simply misheard them. It was chaos!”
“At least our jobs will never get boring as long as we have our Mrs. Sandersons.”
“I have some work to do,” Shane said coolly, lowering his eyes back to his report.
“But someone needs to drive over to her house and make sure there really hasn’t been an incident.”
“Have a good time,” Shane grumbled. “If she offers you something to eat or drink, I’d decline,” he added with a smirk. “Her cat likes to nap on her kitchen counter.”
Alec had the nerve to answer that with an even broader smirk and a patronizing pat on the shoulder. “But it’s your turn to pay Mrs. Sanderson a visit.”
Shane shook off Alec’s hand. “Not a chance.”
“Oh, yes!” Alec objected gleefully. “You owe me one, in case you don’t remember, for, covering for you with the captain last week.”
Shane threw his pencil down and leaned back in his chair. “You’re not serious!”
“I am.” His partner nodded in amusement. “You told me yourself that you owed me one. And because I have a date tonight and, thus, no time for poor Mrs. Sanderson, you’re going to have to drive over there.”
The vein in Shane’s temple throbbed as Alec sauntered back to his own desk whistling a cheerful tune. “Goddammit! You know as well as I do that there hasn’t been a murder!”
“Beware of the cat! The monster tried to mutilate my calves with her claws the last time I was there.”
With a muttered curse, Shane switched off his computer and grabbed his car keys, followed all the way by his partner’s mischievous laughter.
“Enjoy your date,” Shane spat as he put on his jacket.
“Oh, I will. Thanks.”
Shane swore again under his breath and left the building, going to see the bane of the entire department yet again. He saw her more often than he saw the coroner. In his opinion, old Mrs. Sanderson was just bored, or maybe she did watch too many crime series on TV. She suspected a serial killer in each passerby and every neighbor. And yet she was the crazy cat lady with the foul-smelling kitchen that every child had been warned about. In the Middle Ages, she would have made a great village witch.
Exactly as Shane had predicted, the alleged corpse was actually an old rug. The neighbor had put it in his truck to bring it to the dump the next day. He knew right away who had called the police and was understandably upset with the machinations of the “crazy old hag,” as he called her while musing over the amount of the taxpayers’ money that her repeated phone calls cost.
Shane proceeded to calm Mrs. Sanderson and convince her that her neighbor was not a murderer. When he got back into his car, he felt like hitting his head against the steering wheel. This day couldn’t get any worse. The only appropriate reaction would be to open a bottle of Scotch and forget it all.
As soon as he’d thought of it, his cell phone beeped.
“Fitzpatrick,” Captain Greene’s dictatorial voice demanded when Shane answered, “have you talked to O’Shea’s sister?”
Shane ground his teeth. “Yes, I did,” he said gruffly.
“And?”
“She’s not going to put in a good word for you with her brother.”
“Dammit, Fitzpatrick! I thought you could make the woman see reason.”
“She doesn’t want anything to do with the police,” Shane snapped, “and I can’t blame her.”
“It’s not the woman’s sensitivities that are at stake here, it’s our investigation,” Greene reprimanded him. “If you’re not the man to make the lady see the predicament we’re in, someone else is going to do it.”
“Leave Miss Parker alone,” Shane said angrily. “Besides, I’m sure you’d find her a hard nut to crack.”
“You’ve showed clearly enough that you don’t care about the success of our investigation, Fitzpatrick, so I’m going to ask you to stay out of the case from now on.”
“My pleasure,” Shane retorted. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you when O’Shea’s sister welcomes you with a cloud of Mace.”
He hung up and started the engine, panting slightly with an anger that clouded his thinking. After that call, he could remember exactly why, seven years ago, he had constantly been at odds with his superior. Captain Greene was a total jerk and never knew when he was playing a losing game.
Before Shane knew what he was doing, he had turned the car towards the South End instead of driving home and trying to relax. Even though his conversation with Thorne had been anything but pleasant, he felt it was his duty to warn her that she was in for several more unpleasant visits from the police. She might not want to see him, but she needed to be warned.
Like the two times before, as soon as Shane knocked on Thorne’s apartment door, the door swung open. But this time, instead of Thorne, he was face to face with a young boy, who studied him questioningly with expectant light brown eyes before his face fell and he yelled over his shoulder, “Mom! It’s not the pizza guy!”
As Thorne’s bare, lean legs appeared in the hall, Shane realized she and her very short shorts would have been interesting to study if the entirety of his attention wasn’t still held captive by the dark-haired boy standing at the door.
“Mom, I’m hungry!” the kid whined, frowning in disappointment. “Where’s the pizza guy?”
The childish frown and sullen pout hit Shane like a bolt of lightning. This face was not only familiar from his two-year-old godchild, but also from the countless photographs that depicted himself as a child. He suddenly remembered the framed photo on the sideboard in his parents’ living room that showed him on his first day of school, six years old. Apart from the shaved head he’d had to endure at the time because of a lice epidemic, this boy could have been his twin.
And even though the little man was not his twin, it was as plain as day that they were related.
The only logical answer was that this little boy with a mischievous face was his son.
Utterly bewildered, he looked to Thorne, who had stopped mid-stride and stood staring at him in shock. She obviously hadn’t expected anyone but the pizza man, because she was wearing tight shorts and a faded pullover. Her face grew frighteningly pale as she registered his confusion.
Shane opened his mouth to ask her if his imagination was playing tricks on him, but he found himself tongue-tied. No sound came out; he merely stared at her dumbly.
But the question was unnecessary, because her expression told him everything he needed to know.
Feeling as though he was choking, he looked down again at the boy, who was now studying him with curiosity, too.
Thorne shook off her momentary torpor, rushed to stand behind her son, and put a hand on his shoulder. “Shane, what are you doing here?” she asked in a voice that betrayed her nerves.
Still staring at the kid, he murmured hoarsely, “You really should let me into your apartment now, Thorne.”
***
“Why didn’t you tell me about him?”
“When exactly was I supposed to do that, in your opinion?”
Shane raised his hands in a gesture of utter helplessness, then lowered them again and buried them in his pockets before pulling them out again and pacing the room. He stopped in the center of Thorne’s kitchen and stared at her. “Thorne, could you please look at me whi
le we’re talking about the fact that we have a son together!”
She dropped the pizza cutter, and it clattered onto the counter. Angrily, she spun to face him. “Could you please lower your voice? I don’t want Brady to hear you!”
He swallowed. “Brady? You named him Brady?”
“You were not there,” she said sternly, her anger flaring up. “You have no right to berate me for keeping this from you! I even flew to Philadelphia to look for you. But guess what? It’s rather difficult to find someone who doesn’t exist.”
Shane ignored her reproachful tone and rubbed his face with both hands. Dear God, he had a son! A six-year-old, who was sitting in the living room, waiting for his pizza. Shane’s throat constricted as he thought of the fact that he’d been a father for six years without knowing it. And the only thing he knew now was that his son seemed to like pizza!
“Why didn’t you say anything yesterday?” he asked, his voice thick. “Or earlier, in the café?”
Thorne crossed her arms. “I brought photographs,” she said grimly. “I was going to tell you …”
“So why didn’t you?” He shook his head. “Were you trying to get revenge? Dammit, Thorne!”
“Don’t you dare!” She slapped his arm, looking as if she wanted to do much more than that. Maybe strangle him. “Nothing is more important to me than Brady! I would not use him as revenge!”
“Then you should have told me that I have a son.”
She pressed her lips together so hard they looked almost white before finally explaining. “If you had even pretended to care about how I had fared over these last seven years, I would have gladly told you about Brady.”
“Oh,” he said quietly.
She shook her head fervidly. “I didn’t tell you anything because all you were interested in was your job! You were callous, ruthless, and disinterested. That told me that Brady wouldn’t interest you, either.”
“But that’s not true!” Swearing under his breath, he ran a hand through his hair and fixed her with his gaze. “God, Thorne! Do you really think I don’t care that we have a son? A son!”
Blast From The Past (The Boston Five Series #2) Page 6
