by KH LeMoyne
The brush of Chisholm’s hand gentle against her own flashed through her mind. With a strangled breath, she fought the surge of heat that electrified her palms, her body’s consistent reaction to him.
As far as shifters went, Deacon’s rainbow colors resonated with the same strength as Chisholm’s, and he bore some of Chisholm’s tendency to protect everyone. She suspected they were equals in strength. And while the alpha held no appeal for her, she watched and weighed his actions for threat or subterfuge. Deacon’s color flares repeatedly touched and retreated from each person at the table. He proceeded with such gentleness she took the dominant act as a form of psychic petting.
Perhaps Chisholm was correct. Deacon could be trusted with the children’s safety.
The computer beeped, bringing her back to the present. She stretched her neck as she keyed in her ID and password, prepared for her standard caseload to pop up on the screen. Instead of just her notes and update, time and date allocations for other entries populated the fields in her files.
She jerked upright in her seat. What the hell?
Pulse pounding in her ears, she scanned for Maggie’s and Tammy’s files. She’d flagged those for redaction from outside viewing. The flag was absent and the system indicated ten views of the information. She punched quickly through the file, searching for details where others might have updated information. As the originating officer, she had full access to view the names and ranks of other accessing users, if they were officers in her jurisdictions.
“Hank, did anyone mention to you any update for the incident with the Schmidt and Barduc girls?”
The sheriff glanced up from the local newspaper strewn over the community table. Interrupted from his morning collecting of information on everyone’s business, he frowned. “No. Though the lawyer for those two boys was back here yesterday. According to Caulder, he fussed up a storm about slander and a countersuit if charges were filed.” He frowned. “Why do you ask?”
“Didn’t tell him anything either,” Caulder shot back as he ambled to his desk with a cup of coffee. “He came in between shifts, so nobody else was in here. But I checked to see if the girls’ parents had formalized their complaints. Since they hadn’t, he wanted a printout to confirm the case was closed.”
Dani narrowed her eyes and scanned the last several screens of data. “So, you looked at the cover statement, told him it was closed, and—” She could see Hank’s wince out of the corner of her eye.
“Then I—” Caulder gestured toward the printer room and spit out a spray of coffee as he made the connection. “Shit. He wouldn’t have had the balls to come past the gate and use my computer.” In a heartbeat, he was beside her and running his finger down her screen. “It only took me a minute, DB. I swear. What could he really do with the information?”
“That’s a judgment call, and it depends on why he needed it badly enough to risk arrest for unlawful access and potential disbarment.”
Hank sighed, taking pity on her and probably on his newest deputy as well. She knew the young man was fresh out of training and still green. And while she didn’t fault him for hitting a learning curve, she’d rather it wasn’t on her case.
“Once this file is accessed, the redaction flags I applied require physical commands to counteract. Not only did someone use your computer—with your ID, by the way—they granted external access.” She stared at Caulder where he paced across the bull pen. His face’s deep ruddy blossom of embarrassment turned to a sickly paste color.
He looked at Hank. “Only to other cops, right? They won’t do anything.”
“These other time stamps for access don’t have names associated with them. They aren’t our cops,” Dani said, suppressing the worry and anger taking over her emotions. Like Chisholm and Maggie didn’t have enough to deal with. “Looks like they might be outside our firewall. I’ll get the system security tech to trace this information. And because both girls’ families wanted their names withheld, I need to tell them the boys’ lawyer has seen the police report and has their names and addresses.”
What a mess. With a twinge of pity for the rookie, she added, “I’ll handle it.”
She logged off her system, then pulled on her jacket and grabbed her purse and keys. Not bothering to look back, she exited through the main doors into the gray early morning.
Once in her vehicle, she called the Schmidts. Mrs. Schmidt didn’t seem concerned or want Dani to drive out to the farm to tell her husband. They’d washed their hands of the incident, and more time spent on this was unproductive.
Dani disagreed, but she had no proof to support her suspicions. It would be different if she could find a trail of the boys’ past activities. Absent that, only an arrest in the act again would confirm her belief they were repeat offenders. Fine, she couldn’t change the future or the past, but she knew Chisholm wouldn’t have the same dispassionate reaction as the Schmidts. The phone rang only once before he picked up. “Dani?”
“I need to talk to you. This is about Maggie.”
“The older kids have all gone to school. Can you come here?”
Chisholm spun the woodworking knife in his hand and stared at the image emerging from the pricey piece of black walnut, a commissioned sculpture he’d spent the last two weeks avoiding. The grain and color didn’t compel his hands to create new shape and form. All that permeated his consciousness was the tone of Dani’s voice. Flat, hard, and serious.
He strode to the sink at the edge of the barn-turned-workshop and slanted a quick glance to ensure Charlie was still deep in his morning nap. Tucked safely behind a baby-fenced section of the barn, the toddler had every comfort, from a plush rug, several buckets of building blocks and toys, and a small air mattress layered with blankets. His vigorous snore confirmed another good hour of napping.
Chisholm grabbed a plastic bag from the floor and extracted his newest purchase. Frowning at the contraption, he wrestled with the box and finally set the gleaming icon of black plastic and glass on the wooden counter by the faucet. He hefted the coffee bag in his hand and eyed it as his latest foe.
How hard can this be? He ripped open the bag and poured the grounds until the holder was brimming. Then he added water to the unit and hit Start. The coffeemaker gurgled and burped. Is that normal? At least the lights had activated and dark liquid dripped into the carafe.
He turned, searching for distraction. Neither sculpture nor woodworking or even his latest muse on the canvas across the room switched off the sense of urgency and doom tightening his muscles. His craft, the art that bled from his soul to his hands, had always kept him centered, distracted him from loneliness. Of late, he’d relied on it for hefty profit. But his multifunctional skills seemed unworthy opponents to combat basic fear.
Only Dani’s influence served that purpose. The thought of her worked like a balm for his worries. She forced his heart to battle his soul, pushing his rising panic toward oblivion and claiming him in steadiness with an iron bond. He’d never experienced such a hold. She appeared blind to the effect she had on him. However, his beast understood her power and calmed, awaiting her arrival, an instinct he followed. But the man understood the ramifications behind Dani’s tone of voice. She hid behind her professional mask to deliver bad news.
His children had found some peace in this small, reclusive town. To be fair, the quiet agreed with him too. Proximity to Dani was enough to tempt him to take small risks, minimal exposure. He just needed more time with her. More time to build a stronger bond, to hear her thoughts and dreams. More time to seduce the sparkle in her eyes until it never dimmed. But his itch of paranoia persisted, not relinquishing its hold just because he was in perpetual heat around his mate.
At the sound of her car in the driveway, he opened the barn door and waved her in. Somber didn’t begin to describe the tight set of her lips. He also noticed the fine lines around her eyes, stress she wouldn’t have allowed others to see. He handed her a cup of caffeine intended as solace and waited while she to
ok a sip.
Her expression froze and he held his breath. She couldn’t hide that she wasn’t swallowing. Lips thinned and pursed, she teared up. Her gaze locked with his and she grimaced, forcing the liquid down. She carefully set the cup beside the coffeemaker, retaining her stunned expression. “I take it you don’t drink coffee.”
“That bad, huh?” A muffled sound came from the childproof space. “Charlie’s taking a nap. I’d like to keep an eye on him. You mind if we talk here?”
She walked past him, eyeing the space beyond and nodding. “Won’t we wake him?”
“He could sleep through demolition work. But he’s restless when one of us isn’t close by.”
She hadn’t turned back toward him, and, with a clench in his gut, he realized what had caught her attention.
His easel stood near the window, his obsession clearly depicted in the pencil sketch of a woman lying on her stomach across a bed. Her shoulders and the graceful lines of her back were visible until they disappeared beneath a sheet. One arm stretched lazily toward the viewer, fingers beckoning in teasing invitation. Long hair curled about her face and draped over the pillow behind her. But it was the half-hidden smile and heavy-lidded look of a woman well-pleasured that had stimulated his imagination.
“Is that how you see me?”
“Happy and at ease. Yes.” Embarrassed, he flipped a cloth cover over the work in progress. He glanced back, surprised by the puzzlement and lack of censure in her expression. Ah, what he wouldn’t do to introduce her to her passionate self. It was obvious no man had bothered, or they would still be in her life. Who could walk away after experiencing her?
With a quick shake of her head, Dani walked toward his worktable at the opposite end of the room. It didn’t escape his notice she’d picked the location as far away as she could get from Charlie. No doubt in order to keep their conversation from waking him. Wonderful protective instincts—he loved that about his detective.
“It seems someone has been digging into Maggie’s police file and overridden the confidentiality markers. They also made the file accessible from outside the department.”
Chisholm closed his eyes and swallowed back a curse. Their future here gone in a puff of smoke. The moment her hand touched his arm, he glanced at her. “Is there more?”
Shrugging and shaking her head, she stepped away. “I have our computer specialist tracking who could have accessed the file. We know someone did, perhaps several people. We also believe it was the boys’ attorney who altered the file.” She flashed her hand open, frustration evident. “The file was compromised. I’m sorry. We will do everything we can to mitigate the fallout, but I felt you needed to know. I mean, in case it gets out or Maggie gets wind of it at school or something.”
If only it were that simple. He waved her toward the couch. “I’m afraid the situation’s more complicated than that. This may take a while for me to explain.”
Two blinks, then she sat on the couch. He moved before her and rubbed his jaw, considering where to begin.
“Just spit it out, Chisholm. I can work backward if I need to. Just tell me.”
He watched her. “Maggie’s mother didn’t just die. Hit men murdered her and her lover. Cabot witnessed the whole thing.”
Dani’s eyes didn’t even widen with surprise or shock. Just a slow nod and calm acceptance of the horror he’d stated. “That explains why I couldn’t find any background on you or the family from the past few years.” She brushed her fingers over his arm. “Go ahead. Take your time and tell me the rest.”
Girded by the granite support he saw in her eyes, he nodded. “Mamie, my wife, didn’t embrace discretion. She required a lot of attention, always following her nose with the desires of an alley cat.” He winced. “While that sounds harsh, Mamie herself admitted as much many times.”
“You knew?” Dani frowned, displaying the standard police veil of suspicion. He’d certainly endured the disbelief and doubt enough times.
“I never faulted her for being true to herself.” He shrugged. “The children needed stability, so I chose to look the other way. It’s not as if Mamie and I were mates. More like family partners.” He sat beside her and started to reach for her hand, needing the contact, then, from her rigid posture, thought better of it. “I can’t make you believe me any more than I could all those other cops who questioned me, but I had nothing to do with Mamie’s death. She served a necessary purpose in our kids’ lives. I wouldn’t have altered that. I definitely wouldn’t have subjected them to loss and grief.”
Her hand covered his, startling him. The compassion in her expression almost undid him. “It must have been hard. Knowing what she was doing.”
“Don’t give me too much credit. I knew what Mamie was like when I married her. I accepted it from the beginning. We weren’t a love match. Just a good match. She did her thing, and I had the kids.” The intensity of her stare made him shift uncomfortably. “Unfortunately, her last lover, Thomas Piterall, was a syndicate bookie for the Gambelli family. Worse, he lacked the intelligence to realize skimming from his employers would end badly.”
He ground his molars, but he hadn’t realized he’d formed fists until Dani’s touch brought him back to reality. Her sharp intake of breath made him grab several napkins to stanch the blood in his palms where his claws had dug in. Not good. Most shifters couldn’t control turning in phases. But age offered some advantages. That he wasn’t aware he’d done it signaled he’d lost control. Hardly the introduction to his beast Dani deserved.
“You don’t need to finish if this is too hard.”
“Trust me. It’s not what you think. I really don’t feel any romantic loss, though I feel sorry for Mamie. No one should die the way they did.” He turned his hand over and grasped hers. She tensed, and he let her go. “They’d just picked up Cabot from school when the attack happened. What’s hard for me is wishing I had a do-over. If I had simply rescheduled Charlie’s doctor appointment, I would have picked up Cabot as usual. I don’t think it would have altered Mamie’s outcome, but at least Cabot wouldn’t have been involved.”
Her hands clasped his again as her expression turned fierce. She leaned close enough for him to see the flecks of dark blue in the gray of her eyes. “You’re right,” she said. “I don’t understand. You were both his parents. Sharing responsibilities isn’t a crime or a lapse in judgment. I’m sorry about Mamie, and it’s horrible Cabot was involved. Thank heavens he wasn’t hurt, but you didn’t create this situation.”
He shook his head, not willing to take the lifeline she threw him, and stood. “They had a flat tire. Piterall was fixing it, and Mamie was with him in the road. I like to think she didn’t see it coming, didn’t suffer. Fortunately, the enforcers didn’t realize Cabot was in the car.” He gritted his teeth, remembering the press coverage. “Until later.”
She rose, rubbing his knuckles and finally patting his chest. He raised a brow and held his breath, only then realizing he’d been growling.
“So the FBI wanted Cabot’s testimony against—mobsters? It seems desperate to push for a child’s cooperation. We’re talking about federal crimes and jurisdictions, yes? Not what I consider appropriate for a ten-year-old.”
“All true. I wouldn’t allow him to testify, but the Feds questioned him. And that evidence created the foothold for everything they discovered afterward. They’d been investigating the organization for years with nothing.” Chisholm forced calm over the anger heating his blood. Despite the loss of her comfort, he walked to the window. Leaves twirled in a small wind funnel, lifting and dancing along the snow fence. “Cabot memorized their license plate and descriptions, even remembered some of Piterall’s discussions about the Gambelli family.”
Fixed on a point in the tree branches beyond the yard and bordering field, he waited for the memories and images to fade.
“Still, plates can be stolen, and this seems like a petty concern for the men to risk coming after a child. Let alone an entire family.”
The low, angry rumble echoed around him. He couldn’t control it. Worried about Dani’s reaction, he slid a glance her way. Silent, her expression puzzled, she seemed to be mulling through what he’d told her.
“All this time you’ve been on the run.” Dani’s reflection joined his in the window, the heat of her body warming his back as she pressed her palm along his spine. He glanced over his shoulder and searched her eyes.
“The longest months of our lives. Before the kids, running was always a way of life for me. I understand remaking myself everywhere I go, not fitting in. My talents”—he waved his hand toward the studio—“aren’t an overnight success. I’ve done this for years, perfecting my crafts until I needed to dig into my bag of tricks and pull out an old skill.” He turned and rested his forehead against hers for only a second, an invasion of her space, perhaps, but it was brief. The touch dosed him with her strength, a sharing of her resilient core of compassion that she willingly wrapped around him. “For the kids, there have been no close friends, no ties, no real life. I wanted more for them. They deserve more.”
“Charlie must have been an infant.” Her hand dropped from his back, but the press of her arm against his remained steady and warm as they focused outside. He reached for her hand, but she drifted back to the couch. He followed and sank down beside her.
