by Paula Graves
“Well, apparently it’s the only way I get to find out what’s going on with my son these days.”
“Fine.” He pushed away his plate, the food mostly untouched. “I’ll go see Dad.”
“Is she in danger?” she asked, ignoring his offer.
He released a long breath. “Yes. Her son even more so.”
“Are you prepared to protect them? Your last Tae Kwon Do lesson was a while ago.”
He laughed. “She’s a much better shot than I am. In fact, she took me to the firing range for lessons yesterday.”
“You do like her,” Nina said with a hint of a smile. “Don’t you?”
“Mom....”
“She’s a Culpepper. I guess by now you’ve heard a few things about the Culpeppers from these parts.”
“Don’t be a snob, Mother.”
She didn’t hide her smile behind her cup that time. “Sweetheart, I’m not the snob of the family. Besides, the Cumberlands had a far worse reputation. Yet I love you beyond distraction.”
He stared across the table at her, surprised both by the stark declaration of his true maternal origins and by her placid delivery of that painful fact. “Did you ever meet my— Did you meet Tallie?”
“I met her in the park one day when you were about a year old. I didn’t know who she was then, of course. I had no idea what your father and grandfather had done. And we’d never seen her before, you see. She’d been a juvenile when she gave birth to you, so they didn’t identify her in the papers or show a photo. But I know it was her. She looked a great deal like your sister, Dana, you know. But younger then. She couldn’t have been more than eighteen at the time.” Nina’s gaze seemed to recede from the present, as if she could see that moment in the past playing out before her eyes. “She was so taken with you. Of course, I was mad about you myself, so it didn’t seem strange that another person would have found you just as captivating.”
“Dana told me that moment was when Tallie decided to stop trying to convince people I was her son,” he said quietly. “She saw how much you loved me. And how much I loved you. Love, sweetheart. How much I love you. How much you love me.”
“Always.”
To his surprise, she reached over the table and clasped both his hands, squeezing tightly. “Your police officer friend loves her son just as much?”
He nodded. “Every bit as much.”
“Then tell Merry to mind his own business.”
He walked her to her car after lunch, giving her a swift impulsive hug as she started to unlock the door. “Thanks for lunch. I needed it.”
She smiled up at him. “I don’t care what that DNA test says. You’re my son. And I’ll say that to anyone who asks.” Her smile drifted away, her blue eyes growing suddenly serious. “But I would never make you choose between me and your brother and sister. They seem like good people, and they’re no more at fault for what happened than you or I.”
He kissed the top of her head, breathing in deeply the rosewater scent of her, the light floral essence that could take him back to his earliest childhood memories. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
The rest of his afternoon seemed to drag, dedicated as it was to catching up on outstanding paperwork before running back through his compiled files on the Wayne Cortland crime organization one more time. He’d promised Briar access to these files, he remembered. He called his secretary, Janet, into his office and asked her to make copies of everything before the end of the day. Janet gave him an odd look but took the files and headed off to do what he’d asked.
Around three-thirty his phone rang. It was Briar. “I thought I’d check to make sure it’s okay to bring Logan by before my shift starts.”
“I’ll be waiting. Be sure to bring plenty of things for him to play with in case I can’t get out of here early.”
“Will do. See you in a bit.” She hung up before he could ask her how her day had been.
He leaned back in his chair and gazed out the large picture window that took up a large portion of his eastern wall. From his third-floor office, he had a stunning view of the Smoky Mountains. Sunlight bathed them in a warm golden glow, though it wouldn’t be long until twilight painted them in cool hues of blue and purple.
His grandfather hadn’t wanted him to stay in Tennessee after college, he remembered. He’d wanted him to go see the world, or at least, that’s what he’d said at the time.
Now Dalton wondered if he’d been determined to keep him away from Tennessee until he figured out what to do about Tallie Cumberland.
The office door opened and Janet looked in. “You have a visitor.”
Briar had made good time, he thought. But it wasn’t Briar who walked through the door. Instead, a willowy blonde entered, dressed impeccably in a flattering navy skirt and jacket, four-inch heels and a crocodile purse that had probably cost a fortune.
“Lydia.” He rose as she strode toward his desk, her hair swinging in shimmery golden waves.
“You didn’t return my calls.” She walked around to perch on his desk, looking up at him with a mixture of irritation and affection.
She’d called twice that morning while he was catching up on the work he’d missed the day before. He’d sent her calls straight to voice mail, meaning to get back to her after lunch. He’d forgotten all about it. “I’m sorry. I took the day off yesterday and I’ve had to race to catch up.”
“Well, I hope you have, because I managed reservations at Chez Berubi in town. Seven-thirty sharp.”
He looked at her in dismay. “Seven-thirty tonight?”
Her smile collapsed. “Yes, tonight. We planned this last week.”
He looked at her in consternation. She was right, of course. He’d put her off for a week because his caseload had been busy; this week was supposed to have been free of any court appearances.
But that was before Briar and Logan had crashed into his life.
“Lydia, I can’t make it tonight. Something’s come up—”
Her eyebrows lifted. “I beg your pardon?”
A quick knock on the door interrupted, and Janet stuck her head through the opening again. “Two visitors this time.”
Before he could speak, Briar walked in with Logan on her left hip and a fuzzy turtle-shaped backpack slung over her shoulder. She stopped short at the sight of Lydia perched on his desk. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to interrupt.”
Lydia took one look at Briar and Logan and turned her chilly blue gaze toward Dalton. “Something came up?”
He looked at Briar, who was watching him through narrowed eyes. She shifted Logan’s weight to tuck him more securely against her side. “I can find someone else to watch him,” she said, already turning toward the door.
“No,” he said quickly, moving around the desk, past Lydia, to stop her.
She paused, looking down at his hand on her arm. “It’s okay. You’ve gone above and beyond already. I can probably catch Nix before he leaves.”
“It’s not necessary.” He smiled at Logan, who was watching him shyly from his mother’s shoulder. “Logan and I had plans for tonight, didn’t we?”
“You and Logan weren’t the only ones,” Lydia muttered.
He turned to look at her. “Lydia, I’m sorry. I forgot about our plans. I didn’t realize they were set in stone, and you didn’t follow up—”
“I left messages that you never returned.” Lydia’s voice was as sharp as jagged glass.
He felt like a heel, mostly because it seemed he’d just driven the final nail in yet another relationship—and he wasn’t particularly upset by it. “I’m sorry.”
“What, not even a request for a rain check?”
He hesitated, acutely aware of Briar’s watchful gaze. “Lydia, I’m sorry. I just don’t think I’m going to have the time to be a proper escort—”<
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She actually flinched at his choice of words. “Escort? That certainly clarifies things, doesn’t it?” Grabbing her purse, she rose and walked to the door, pausing for a moment to look down at Briar and Logan. “Hope you don’t have any expectations where he’s concerned,” she said. “He’s not exactly reliable.”
She gave the door a sharp jerk, slamming it closed behind her.
Dalton dropped heavily in his chair. “Sorry about that.”
“You should go after her. I really can find someone else to watch Logan tonight—”
“The problem is,” he said wearily, “I don’t want to go after her.”
“Oh.”
He rubbed his gritty eyes. “You may have picked the wrong person to keep you and Logan safe. Clearly, my life is falling apart these days.”
She sat in the chair across from his desk, waiting silently for him to look at her. When he did, she shot him a brief smile. “First, I didn’t pick you for anything. You picked us. And second, I don’t know anyone in this world whose life doesn’t fall apart now and then. Now’s just your turn. So quit kickin’ yourself about it.” She set Logan down on the floor and gave him the turtle backpack. “Logan, why don’t you go over there in the corner and get your trucks out to play with?”
Logan looked up at her warily but took the pack in his arms and toddled off to the corner to start unpacking his toys.
“I left his car seat with your secretary. If you’ll go sit down with him and play trucks for a little bit, I’ll slip out and he probably won’t even notice I’m gone,” she said, nodding toward her son. “I need to head out soon.”
She looked uncertain, as if she doubted he could keep her son from fretting when she left. He took it as a challenge, levering himself down to a cross-legged position on the floor beside Logan. “Can I play?”
Logan looked up at him soberly for a moment, then picked up a little blue police car and handed it to him. “Mama police.”
Dalton glanced at Briar, who had edged toward the door. “That’s right. Mama’s a police officer.” When he looked up again, she was gone.
Logan didn’t notice her departure for several minutes, and by the time he did, Dalton had given up all pretense that he’d be able to get any work done for the rest of the day. “Why don’t we pack up and head home, Logan?”
“Okeydokey,” Logan said with a lopsided grin that made Dalton’s heart do strange flip-floppy things in his chest. He helped Dalton pack his toys and reached up one small hand to be held. “Go now?”
Dalton let Logan wrap his hand around his index finger. “Sure thing.”
The parking lot was still full of cars, as the county-courthouse workday was still at least an hour away from coming to an end. As Logan’s short legs struggled to keep up with Dalton’s longer strides, Dalton coaxed the boy onto his hip, looping the car seat and backpack over his free hand.
Logan held himself at arm’s length at first, but after a few steps, he melted into Dalton’s grasp, pressing his forehead into the curve of Dalton’s neck. The flip-floppy sensation in Dalton’s chest rushed back with a vengeance, and by the time he reached his car, he was grinning like an idiot.
Briar had explained how the car seat worked earlier that morning before he left for the office, and fortunately, he was pretty good at following directions. The seat fit snugly on the bench seat of the pickup truck, and Logan didn’t whine too much about being strapped in once Dalton handed over the backpack full of toys.
The drive from Barrowville went quickly since they were ahead of rush hour. As they neared Edgewood, Dalton made a spur-of-the-moment decision to stop at the convenience store about a block from the subdivision to pick up milk and cereal for Logan’s breakfast the next morning.
Logan actually reached for him this time when he went to unbuckle him from the car seat. Dalton gave him a quick hug and lowered him to the ground. “You like cereal, Logan, my man?”
“Cheerios!”
Of course. Dalton held out his hand, and Logan curled his fingers around his index finger again. They entered the convenience store and went straight back to the coolers for a half gallon of milk.
“How are you doing with your reading, Logan? Think you can help me find the Cheerios?”
Logan applied himself to the task, grinning brightly when he located the box in the dry-goods aisle. “Cheerios,” he announced.
Logan picked up a box and added it to the basket with the milk. They headed to the front to pay.
The clerk was a weary-faced girl in her twenties with lanky blond hair and makeup slightly smeared by a day’s work. But she grinned brightly at Logan. “Ain’t you a cutie?”
Dalton paid for the milk and cereal, smiled at the clerk and nudged Logan out the door, trying not to think too hard about how much he was enjoying playing Daddy for a little while.
“You and I are going to have a fun time tonight, Logan, my man.”
Logan grinned up at him, making Dalton smile in return.
But his smile faded quickly when a dark-clad figure rose from a crouch beside his truck. He wore a camouflage hat low on his head and his face was masked with smears of sooty camouflage face paint. His hulking appearance out of nowhere was such a shock to Dalton that he froze for a moment, half certain he’d conjured the man from his anxiety-fueled imagination.
Then the sinking sun sparked off the large-bladed hunting knife the man brandished in his right hand, and Dalton knew all the wishing in the world wouldn’t drive this vision away.
The man in black spoke with a low mountain twang, full of bridled violence, that sent a shudder down Dalton’s spine. “If you want to live, give me the kid and get the hell out of here.”
Chapter Nine
Dalton had prosecuted his share of violent-crime cases over the ten years he’d worked for the Ridge County prosecutor’s office. He’d comforted witnesses and helped them prepare for testimony. And the one thing they’d told him that had always seemed strange was how tunnel-visioned they became when confronted with violence.
“All you see is the gun in your face,” one woman had told him after she and her husband had been robbed at gunpoint. “You don’t even let yourself look at the person holding it. You just keep looking at the gun. It’s like you think as long as you look at the gun, it won’t do anything to you.”
He understood now. All he could do was stare at the enormous glittering blade of the hunting knife waving in front of his face, to the point that he almost lost his grip on Logan’s tiny hand.
Logan had started crying, his little body wrapping around Dalton’s leg as if he were trying to hide there. The sound of his soft cries was like a spur in Dalton’s side, prodding him to action.
His rifle was in the truck, locked up. He didn’t even have a pocketknife on him, but it would have been no match for the enormous blade in the other man’s hand anyway.
But he had a half gallon of milk dangling in a bag clutched in his right hand. Five pounds’ worth of bludgeon.
He feinted to the left, drawing the knife and the man behind it in that direction. His other hand he swung in an arc, slamming the jug of milk against the man’s hand.
The black-clad man didn’t lose hold of the knife, but the blow knocked him sideways into the car parked next to Dalton’s truck. Dalton hoped it would be enough. Grabbing up Logan, he started running back toward the convenience store.
Sharp stabbing pain raced through his side, and he almost lost his grip on Logan. He felt a tearing sensation, heard the rip of fabric, but he didn’t stop running, even as footsteps pounded after him.
There was another customer coming out of the convenience store as he reached the door, a young man in his mid-twenties with shaggy hair and a patchy beard. His eyes widening, he reached out and grabbed Dalton by the arm, his grip amazingly strong. For a moment Dalto
n tried to shake him off, until he realized the man was dragging him into the store. As Dalton stumbled forward, the younger man threw the deadbolt on the door, locking them both in.
Dalton regained his balance and turned to look at the storefront windows. Standing in the full-glass doorway, knife raised, the dark-clad man with the face paint glared back at him through the glass, his pale eyes blazing with fury. He pounded the butt of his knife against the door, making the glass rattle.
“Call the police,” Dalton gasped, turning his body to shield Logan from the man outside.
“They’re on the way,” the woman behind the counter told him. He looked up to find that she was holding a shotgun gripped tightly in her hands, her gaze on the door.
“Hey, mister, you’re bleeding.” The young man who’d pulled him into the store put his hand on Dalton’s arm, setting his nerves jangling again. A faint ringing started in his ears and he grabbed for the cashier’s desk as the world started to spin around him.
The man tried to pull Logan from his arms, but Dalton held on tightly, pressing the crying baby against his chest as he slid to the floor.
* * *
THE CALL HAD come over the radio around five-fifteen. 10-52—armed robbery—with a 10-39, injured person. Briar and her patrol partner, Thurman Gowdy, were the closest unit and responded within minutes. A fire-and-rescue unit had responded, as well, flashing cherry lights strobing the convenience store parking lot as Gowdy pulled the patrol unit into an open parking space.
They made their watchful way into the convenience store, where the action seemed to be focused. Several people stood in a semicircle around two paramedics crouched in front of the cashier’s desk. One of the two men, speaking in a low, soothing voice, said, “It’s okay now. You can let him go. We’ll take good care of him.”
“No,” a pain-filled voice gritted out. “He stays with me.”
Briar’s heart jumped in her chest. That was Dalton Hale’s voice.
“Police,” she announced, moving past Gowdy and pushing her way through the gathered crowd. Dalton Hale sat slumped on the floor in front of the cashier’s counter, his arms curled around her son’s body. Logan had been crying, but at the moment he was silent, just blinking with confusion at the people standing in a ring around him.
