A Mom for Callie
Page 10
Jumping up, he strode around the lieutenant’s office, his anger intensifying with every step he took. “One of these losers was in my daughter’s school…watching me…watching us.”
“Jay thinks it’s possible it was taken from outside the building, with a high-powered lens.”
Jay Rhodes was the department’s public relations officer and resident photography expert. If he felt the picture was taken from outside the school it was almost a certainty. Kyle felt his shoulders relax a hairbreadth.
“Which is good on some levels, bad on others.”
He turned to face his partner. “What do you mean?”
Leaning against the wall, Tom crossed his arms and released a breath that echoed around the room. “If it was taken from outside, whoever it was wasn’t mingling alongside Callie and Betsy. Which, you have to admit, settles the stomach a little.”
“Go on.”
“But, if it was taken outside, we don’t have the luxury of narrowing down suspects by questioning everyone who was there. You know, the strange parent in the back of the room, or the person who didn’t seem to go with anyone, or the guy who showed up for the cookies and milk but wasn’t in the classroom during the kids’ program.”
He raked a hand through his hair in frustration. Tom was right. It was less likely a stranger would be noticed outside than inside.
“So what do we do?”
Glancing up, he took in the lieutenant’s expression as the man responded to Tom’s question. “We keep an eye on Miss Anderson. Make sure she’s okay.”
“Maybe she should go back to New York.”
His partner’s words made him freeze where he stood. “No! She’s writing.”
The right side of Tom’s mouth slid upward. “She can write in New York, dude.”
“She’s writing here.”
“You said she’s your next-door neighbor, right?”
Kyle nodded at his lieutenant.
“And that you’re involved, right?”
They were. Sort of. Or at least they were before he scared the bejeebers out of her. To his boss, though, he simply shrugged.
“Then keep an eye on her.”
“Oh, he’s already doing that, Lieutenant. Trust me on this.”
He elbowed his partner in the gut. “That’s not what he’s saying.”
“I know.” Tom shrugged. “And, when you stop and think about it, chivalry could possibly trump chocolate, dude.”
Suddenly it didn’t matter whether Betsy could get past his being a cop. Did he want that? Of course.
But more than that, he wanted her safe.
Glancing from his boss to the photograph and back again, he felt a steely determination enveloping him from all sides. “They lay a hand on her and they will regret it.”
“Let’s just skip over the first part of that sentence, shall we?” Doug Grady lifted the picture from his desk and slipped it into a manila envelope. “Now get out of here. Both of you.”
Following his partner’s lead, Kyle stopped just outside the lieutenant’s doorway and then turned around. “Hey, boss—thanks.”
“Keep your eyes open, Brennan. And keep your girls safe.”
His girls.
Callie and Betsy.
Hell would freeze over before he’d let harm come to either of them.
IT WAS NO USE. SHE SIMPLY couldn’t write when she was upset. And she was upset. About Kyle.
She’d known from the beginning she should stay away. Yet she hadn’t. She made him a picnic dinner. She’d flirted with him while playing volleyball in his backyard. She’d let him kiss her. She fell for his daughter. And, like a fool, she’d fallen for him.
Hard.
Losing Mark in an instant had been hard, the images her mind had conjured regarding his death nothing short of torture. The guilt over their less than close relationship had merely been the icing on the cake.
But things were different now. She had feelings for Kyle—genuine feelings that were growing stronger with each passing day. If something happened to him…
Dropping onto the love seat in the sitting area off the front of the house, Betsy picked up the remote and aimed it at the television. The first few channels she came to offered daytime soaps followed by a smattering of game shows. Finally she stopped on a local midday news program.
Today’s events included a story about a child in Cedar Creek who was found safe after wandering away from his home early that morning. A lucky cameraman, on hand to document the reunion between mother and child, provided the kind of visual footage that pulled at viewers’ heartstrings—Betsy’s included.
The second story involved the Cedar Creek Police Department and a rumored threat to one of its police officers. As Kyle’s face emerged on the screen, Betsy sat up straight, her hand swiping at a stray tear from the previous story. According to the reporter who’d filed the report, rumors were swirling about Kyle’s safety following the robbery at Linton Bank and Trust.
As the reporter spoke, it became obvious the story was constructed on limited details, none of which were being backed up by officials. But still, it would explain the presence of the home security company parked outside Kyle’s home, the way his jaw tightened when she asked about the suspect at the school program, and the undeniable mood shift he’d displayed the night Callie called from her grandmother’s house.
Was Kyle really in danger? And by extension, did that purported danger include Callie?
A shiver ran down her spine as she reached for the phone. Dialing Angela Murphy’s number, she waited as ring after ring went unanswered. Finally, on the sixth ring, she picked up.
“Hello?”
“Angela—I mean, Ang? It’s Betsy.”
“Hi! Wow. Do you know that even after hanging out on your birthday, helping you look for a house and playing volleyball together in Kyle’s backyard, I’m still having a hard time believing I actually know you?”
Surprised by the breathless excitement in Angela’s voice, Betsy closed her eyes, willed herself to steer clear of the hurt that had landed her in front of the television in the first place. “I’m no different than you. I just write for a living.”
“And entertain. And go out on tours. And sign books. And show up on morning news programs when each book comes out.”
She let Angela’s words wash over her, waiting for them to bring at least some small measure of a smile to her lips. But they didn’t. Her mind, her thoughts, her concern were in one place and one place only.
“Did you see the news just now?”
“No. Why?”
The floodgates opened, words flowing from her mouth. “They said Kyle is in danger. Something to do with the bank robbery the other day.” She heard the panic in her voice, felt a familiar fear building inside.
“Oh. That.”
“So it’s true?” she asked as she tightened her grip on the phone.
Several seconds elapsed before Angela responded. “It appears as if the guys they caught were members of a new gang. At best, they’re a group of thugs with wounded egos. At worst, they’re an actual gang, trying to get noticed by a bigger one. They were responsible for two other robberies before you arrived. Those, they got away with.”
She felt her stomach flip-flop and she reached for a glass of water, the cool liquid doing little to dispel the sensation. Angela continued.
“Anyway, you were dead-on about the suspect and the camera that first night at the pizza place. Someone, who has been unwilling to step forward as yet, tipped off the department to the fact that some very real nonverbal communication was going on in that picture—a rally cry for retribution.”
“And since Kyle is the officer standing next to him in that shot, he’s become the target of that rally cry?”
“It looks that way.”
She inhaled slowly, her mind trying desperately to process everything she was hearing. “Is that why Callie has been spending so much time at her grandmother’s?”
“Yes.”
“Yes.”
Her instincts had been right. Kyle was in danger. Real danger.
“Betsy? Are you okay?”
It was just as her head had been trying to warn her heart from the beginning. Police officers, like firefighters, didn’t have safe jobs. Fires killed. And criminals looking for payback killed, too.
It was a fact.
“Betsy?”
Mark’s death had robbed him of a life he loved. And it had robbed them of a chance to find out whether they could turn their marriage around.
His death had also sent her spiraling into a depression that had affected every aspect of her life for nearly a year. A depression she was just now beginning to shed. Did she really want to go back to a life like that? Could she?
“I can’t do this,” she whispered.
“Do what?”
“Um…”
“Do what?” Angela repeated. “C’mon…tell me.”
She was unable to hold her fears in any longer. “Travel this road again. It nearly destroyed me the first time. Mark said he could handle things, too. But he got trapped in a fire anyway. And now there’s Kyle.”
Silence filled her ear for a moment. Finally, Angela spoke, her words small comfort against a reality she knew all too well. “I read about your husband and I’m sorry. It was a tragic, horrible accident. But those happen every day, Betsy. Whether you’re a firefighter or a police officer or some person simply standing in the wrong place at the wrong time. You can’t walk away from the good things in life simply because of what might happen. He’ll be okay, Betsy. Kyle is a smart guy. Tom says he’s working this case during all hours of the night…tracking leads, talking to people, piecing the identity of this gang together little by little. He’ll have them rounded up in no time.”
“And if he doesn’t?”
“You can’t let ifs rule your life, Betsy.”
It was a sentiment she’d heard before. “Look, I better go. I have to get back to the computer.” She stood, her eyes riveted on the paneled truck next door. “My editor wanted this book a zillion yesterdays ago.”
She knew she was being dismissive cutting their conversation short this way, but she couldn’t help it…
It was time for her heart to stop calling the shots.
Chapter Eleven
Kyle sat in his car, staring at Betsy’s house. He’d been so hopeful his partner’s suggestion of chocolate would be enough to smooth away any brusqueness he may have exuded the last time he saw her. But now, after Tom’s call, he wasn’t so sure.
Chocolate was okay for things like a snippy tone or a bout of miscommunication, but it didn’t stand a chance against fear.
And Betsy was scared.
He got that. Heck, he was scared, too. Hurt came in different packages. And, for whatever reason, they were being thrust into a situation that had an uneasy pang of familiarity for both of them.
Betsy was a celebrity in her own right. Yet, she wasn’t Lila. Not from what he’d seen so far, anyway.
He was a police officer facing a potentially dangerous situation like Betsy’s late husband. Only he wasn’t Mark. Sure, he took his job seriously. But it didn’t define him and it never would. Fatherhood did that.
Somehow, someway, he needed to convince Betsy of that while apologizing for his own missteps. Unfortunately, based on the heads-up he’d just gotten from Tom, the convincing part was going to be the hardest.
He swung his gaze toward the white paneled truck outside his home, the security company’s logo a nice warning to anyone scoping the neighborhood. He’d really thought he was getting close. The family ties between the two bank robbers had been tricky to trace but he’d accomplished it nonetheless. And thanks to a few sources who’d been willing to talk to him at one of the local bars earlier in the week, the suspects had kin in a few neighboring counties—all of whom had criminal records.
Slowly but surely he’d been piecing together the members of the family, discarding those who seemed unlikely to be part of a gang. But time was no longer a luxury. The notion they might have him in their crosshairs was now a reality.
Maybe Tom had been right. Maybe Betsy should go back to New York to finish her book. Maybe it truly was the safest way to go.
Only problem was, he wanted her here.
Squaring his shoulders, he opened the driver’s side door and stepped onto the road, his focus firmly planted on Betsy’s front door. Propelled forward by her image, he bypassed his own home in favor of hers, turning back only to retrieve the box of chocolates Tom had convinced him to buy earlier in the day.
When he finally reached her front porch, he held the ribbon-wrapped package behind his back and rang the bell with the other, the sound wafting through the windows on either side of the door. Footsteps followed as did a stirring in his chest at the sight of Betsy walking toward him in a pair of body-hugging white shorts and a tropical blue T-shirt.
Resisting the urge to yank the door open and pull her into his arms, he simply smiled, an expression he realized she did not mirror—with her mouth or her eyes. His heart sank.
“Kyle.”
“Hi, Betsy. How are you today?” He knew the words were forced, stilted even, but he was suddenly tongue-tied, his resolve weakened by her demeanor. “Fine. Busy.”
“Are you writing?”
“Trying to.”
He winced at her aloofness, willed himself to concentrate on the task at hand. “That’s good. Look, I wanted to stop by for several reasons.”
She waited, the screen door still separating them.
“First, an apology. I’m sorry I was so evasive yesterday. I guess I’m not used to having someone to talk to about work. I’ve been single for a long time. And it never dawned on me that by leaving you in the dark, I may have been causing you unneeded stress.”
“I’m not sure telling me every single detail would make a difference.”
He held his palm up against the screen. “I’m going to be okay, Betsy.”
“That’s what Mark always said.”
“But I’m not Mark. I’ve never made the job the focus of my every waking minute. I have Callie for that. And knowing she’s counting on me is all the reminder I need to play it smart. She needs a father, not a cowboy, Betsy.”
Her shoulders relaxed slightly, a sign he took to keep going.
“Which brings me to the second thing—a thank-you. For doing Callie’s hair…for coming to the reading…for encouraging her to write that unforgettable poem that I will treasure for the rest of my life.”
“She told you about that?”
“Yeah, she did. She told me she wrote it all, but that it was your idea to put her feelings for me onto paper.”
Betsy shrugged, a noncommittal gesture probably designed to mask the thawing in her eyes. But he saw it anyway.
Buoyed by the possibility he was making headway, he continued. “And because Tom seems to know more about women than I do, I brought you a present.” He pulled the box from behind his back and held it toward the screen door.
When she said nothing, he rushed to speak, his words sounding silly even to his own ears. “If this isn’t your equivalent to a guy’s beer gene, I apologize. But he insisted it was and I remembered how much you seemed to enjoy the brownies the other night at our picnic and—”
“Beer gene?”
“Yeah. Tom says all women like chocolate as a peace offering. That it’s in your genes. Like beer is for most guys.”
She laughed, a sound he welcomed in more ways than one.
“So? Was he right?”
“About the chocolate? Or the peace offering part?”
“Both, I guess.”
“I want him to be right, Kyle, I really do. It’s just that…well, I’m scared.”
“So am I.”
Th
e reappearance of fear on her face made him rush to explain. “I’m feeling things for you I vowed I wouldn’t let myself feel again. And, like you, there’s a measure of fear that comes with not knowing whether I might be wrong about you.”
She studied him for a long moment, a visual inspection he welcomed as a sign of progress. What, exactly, she was thinking, he didn’t know. But at least she was finally looking at him.
Baby steps.
Jutting her chin in the direction of his house she finally spoke, her tone tinged with an undeniable pinch of worry. “So what’s with the security system?”
He pondered the various things he could say, techniques to soften the blow, but he opted, instead, for the truth. It was the only way.
“There’s a chance I’ve pissed off some people. And there’s a chance they might want to exact a little retribution.” He shifted foot to foot. “So…we’re taking a few precautions.”
“Like a security system to protect Callie?”
“Yes. Though she’s staying with my mom right now. I feel better knowing she’s there.”
She pointed at the bulge under his shirt. “Like carrying your weapon home from work?”
“Yes. And like asking you to keep your doors and windows locked and to call me the second you hear anything unusual.”
Her eyes widened as her mouth gaped open.
“A picture showed up at work today.”
“A picture?”
He nodded. “Of you.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Whoever these guys are, they’ve tied you to me.” He raked a hand through his hair with a renewed sense of frustration. “There’s a chance they’re just blowing smoke. Trying to freak me out. But there’s a chance they’re not. And that’s enough of a chance for me.”
He waited, giving her time to process everything he’d thrown at her. When she finally spoke, he hung on every word. “I need to know you’re taking care of you. I don’t want you distracted by some phantom threat to me. Maybe I should just go back to New York.”
“No! Please. Give me a chance to do my job and look out for you.”
“Look out for me?” she asked as she peered up at him through thick lashes.