She sank into a kitchen chair and dropped her head into her hands. She needed help. But who could she go to? Who could she trust? Only one name came to mind. Brandon Martin. She immediately rejected calling him. She was sure the only reason his name had popped up was because of his connection to Rick and because Rick was heavy on her heart today. But when no other names came forward, her thoughts circled back to Brandon. Would he—could he—talk some sense into her son? She’d recalled that he’d done some work with troubled youth in the past. Her stomach churned at the idea of contacting him.
Her anger and resentment toward Brandon over his part in Rick’s death still festered inside her. As her husband’s partner in the South Carolina Law Enforcement Division’s Computer Crimes Department, he should have never left Rick alone in a suspect’s house. But Brandon had been so focused on collecting evidence to keep his perfect conviction record that he’d failed to protect her husband.
She hadn’t seen or spoken to him since Rick’s funeral where she’d lost control and screamed some harsh truths at him in front of God and everybody. Would he be willing to help her now?
For Mason’s sake, she prayed he would.
* * *
BRANDON SPOTTED HANNAH the moment she entered the park on Friday afternoon. Judging by the scrub suit she wore, she was squeezing him in on her lunch break from the physical therapy office where she worked.
She paused at the wrought iron archway to scan the area. He rose from the picnic table on the neutral turf she’d designated for their meeting and lifted a hand to catch her attention. She spotted him, then after a noticeable pause, marched in his direction like a woman on a mission.
He assessed the changes in Rick’s wife. Hannah had always been pretty—pretty enough to make even Rick’s ugly mug look good. But the past five years had altered her. She’d cut more than a foot from her once-long hair. Shiny brown strands now feathered around her jaw, which happened to be set in a battle-ready, hard line. Her brown eyes weren’t any softer he noted as she neared. She looked thinner. Tired. More fragile.
He nodded but didn’t hug her as he once would have. She’d made it clear the last time he saw her that such gestures were no longer welcome from him. “What’s wrong?”
She stiffened defensively. “Why do you assume something’s wrong?”
“Because you told me you didn’t want to see me again until hell froze over. It’s eighty-five in the shade here. I doubt hell’s any cooler.”
Her gaze fell and her cheeks flushed peach. “I’m sorry I said that. I was hurting.” “We all were.” Hell, he’d lost his best friend of twenty years. She hadn’t known Rick nearly as long.
“Right.” She perched on the edge of a bench seat.
He sat opposite her and waited, watching her pick at the table’s rough surface with a short fingernail. Her wedding rings sparkled in the sun. Rick had been gone five years this week, and she still wore the set Brandon had helped his buddy pick out. She tucked a wispy lock behind her ear—all the while refusing to make eye contact. Whatever she had to say, it must be big to require this much courage. But a decade of practicing interrogation had taught him the value of silence and patience.
She swallowed, then her worried brown eyes found his. “Something’s wrong with Mason.”
Concern jolted through him. “Have you seen a doctor?”
“He’s not sick. It’s his behavior.”
“What do you mean?”
“He’s back-chatting, saying things he shouldn’t. And he’s become increasingly defiant.”
“Mason’s ten. Puberty’s knocking. With hormones come attitude.”
Her shoulders slumped. She shook her head. “He was such a good boy until...” She took a deep breath then blew it out again, fluttering her bangs. One lock tangled in her long eyelashes and he had to stifle the sudden urge to brush it away.
“He’s been in trouble at school.”
“What kind of trouble?”
Her cheeks darkened again. “He made inappropriate comments to other students.”
“Kids talk junk, Hannah. Nothing unusual in that.” He and his friends sure had.
“No.” She glanced over each shoulder then leaned forward. “His comments were...sexual and crude. I don’t even know where he heard the words he used. Definitely not from me.”
“Movies? Internet?”
She shook her head. “I don’t have cable TV and I’m very careful about what I allow him to watch, and I always supervise his internet time.”
All good. “What about from the men you date?”
“I don’t date!”
Her shock at his question seemed genuine, and the rings would be off-putting to most guys. How long would it take for Hannah to move on? He hated to think Rick would be replaced, but Hannah was attractive, in great shape and only thirty. It was inevitable.
“He probably has a girlfriend.”
“He’s ten!”
“They start early these days, Hannah.”
Her gaze bounced to his then volleyed away again. She bit her lip. “I don’t think it’s a girl.”
“What makes you so sure?”
“Because if I didn’t make him do so he’d never brush his teeth, shower or change his clothes.”
“Good point. Discovering girls would encourage him to improve his hygiene, and care about his appearance. Have you spoken to his teachers or the school counselor?”
“Yes. They don’t have any idea of the cause. But... Brandon, they’re threatening to expel him if he doesn’t straighten up and I can’t... I can’t guarantee that he will. He’s a handful. Even for me.”
“Have you asked him about sexual abuse?”
She flinched. “Yes. I did. It was an...awkward conversation. He swears no one has touched him inappropriately. And I don’t know where it could have happened...if it had. I don’t leave him unattended or let him go anywhere that I haven’t thoroughly checked out.”
“There’s always church and day care.”
“Both places have excellent reputations, and there are always two adults in the rooms.”
“If this has been going on for a while, why are you calling me now, Hannah? What aren’t you telling me?”
She swallowed, inhaled and glanced around again. “You can’t say anything about this to anyone. Okay? It could...cause problems.” He nodded, knowing if a crime had been committed he’d break the promise. “Mason tried to sneak out Wednesday night.”
That could be cause for alarm, but it could also just be Mason acting like an adolescent. “I snuck out plenty of times as a kid—usually to go somewhere with Rick. What did he have with him?”
“His backpack.”
“What was in it?”
She blinked. “I don’t know.”
“Didn’t you look?”
“No. That’s a violation of privacy.”
“You’re his parent, not his pal. Privacy is a privilege that must be earned.” Or so his parents always claimed.
“I disagree. To teach respect you must show it.”
“When he’s thirty. Right now he’s a kid with problems. You have probable cause and the right to search.”
“You sound like a cop.”
“Because I am one. Either you want my help or you don’t.”
She tipped her head back to stare at the dense leaf canopy. Then she swallowed and met his gaze. “Do you know how hard it was for me to call you? I wouldn’t have if I’d had anyone else.”
Regret twisted through him at the agony on her face. Talking to Hannah had once been almost as easy as talking to one of his sisters. She’d always been smart, informed and funny. “What about your dad or Rick’s parents?”
Her mother had never been part of the picture. Rick hadn’t told Brandon why.
“Dad’s stationed in Italy right now. He’s to
o far away to visit us more than once a year, and our parenting views...differ. Rick’s parents think I’m a horrible mother. They fuss continually because my kids are ‘ill-mannered and don’t respect others’ property.’ Once a month we visit them or they come here, but...it’s not a good relationship no matter how hard I try to fix it.”
Some things never changed. On his few visits to Rick’s house he’d learned not to touch anything. “I take it their house is still full of priceless collectibles?”
“Yes. In the Leiths’ eyes I don’t do anything right, and neither do my kids. Mason and Belle hate visiting them. But I want them to know their grandparents. I always lived too far away to see mine, and then they were gone and it was too late.”
“What you’re saying is, Rick’s parents are still uptight pains in the ass?”
She grimaced. “Pretty much. They keep pushing me to move closer so they can watch the kids when they’re not in school. What they really want to do is ‘fix them.’ But I don’t want to leave our home.”
Her gaze bounced away. He waited, suspecting the speech she was formulating in her mind would be the core reason she’d called him.
Worry-clouded eyes found his. “The Leiths miss their son, and they’re clinging to my children as a replacement—especially Mrs. Leith. When she heard about Mason’s troubles at school she insisted her precious Richard had never had behavior issues, and if Mason did it had to be my fault. She’s threatened to ‘call in a professional.’ I don’t know if she means a psychologist or social services, but neither would be good. Like you, she assumed I was bringing unsuitable men into the house, and when I assured her I wasn’t, she said he had to be learning his filthy language from me. Which, she went on to tell me, made me an unfit parent.”
“She was always a vengeful bitch.”
She’d tried to get Brandon fired after Rick’s death and throughout the follow-up investigation. Because of the Leiths’ clout with South Carolina’s movers and shakers, it had been a serious threat. He’d had to deal not only with his grief over losing his best friend and the threat of losing the job he loved, but also second-guessing his judgment because he’d let Rick talk him out of following protocol.
“I’m a good parent, Brandon. I do my best to provide for my children. I never leave them unsupervised, and I send them to the best after-school program I can afford. But I saw a friend who was an excellent parent lose custody of her children when her ex-husband manufactured things. What he accused her of wasn’t true, but it cast enough doubt for her to end up with supervised visitation only. Like the Leiths, he’s loaded and connected, and like me, my friend doesn’t have the money to fight. I’m trying to give the Leiths as much access to the grandchildren as I can to keep them happy, but I’m afraid of what Rick’s mom can do with the ammunition Mason is unwittingly giving her.”
The fear in her eyes was genuine, and he understood her concern. He’d seen exactly what she described—great parents losing custody. “Hannah, I witnessed the way you ‘mothered’ for your first five years of parenthood. If that hasn’t changed, there’s no way you could be considered a bad parent.”
“Thank you for saying that. But I can’t risk it. In her grief Mrs. Leith doesn’t always...think rationally. And her friends have clout. I don’t.”
Being a single parent with no backup had to be hard. His family was close. He had his mom and dad, two sisters and two brothers-in-law he could call on at any time for anything. Not that he had ever asked for help, but he knew they’d be there for him if he did—the same way he’d be there for them. No questions asked. He would have been that for Hannah and her kids—if she had let him. Maybe it wasn’t too late. Which brought him back to the problem at hand.
“Was Mason running away?”
“He claims he was going to study with a friend.”
“But you don’t believe him?”
She worried her bottom lip with her teeth and took another one of those breast-swelling breaths. He jacked his gaze north. “No. It was an hour after bedtime. Mason doesn’t make friends easily. And he refuses to tell me this supposed one’s name or where he lives. I’ve asked his teachers, and none know of any new friends he’s made.”
Rick hadn’t made friends easily, either. He’d been a late-in-life, surprise baby. The Leiths hadn’t known what to do with the child they’d brought home from the hospital or how to interact with the brilliant boy he’d become. They’d raised him to be a little adult. Seen and not heard and all that crap.
And then Brandon had come along. He’d intervened on the first day of second grade when one of the fifth graders on the bus had tried to bully the prissy new kid on their route—Rick. Brandon had given the bully a bloody nose and gained a loyal friend. Rick had become Brandon’s sidekick. He’d visited the Martins’ orchard every time Rick’s workaholic parents had let him. Out in the peach groves Rick had learned how to be a kid, how to climb trees, get dirty and make noise—all the stuff he wasn’t allowed to do at home. And Brandon had made sure his geeky buddy learned to defend himself.
Rick should have been here to teach those same lessons to his son. But he wasn’t. And if Brandon had done things differently that day—He pushed aside the familiar weight settling on his chest.
“I’d offer to speak to the Leiths for you, but I’m not high on their good list, either.” They blamed Brandon for turning their brilliant son away from a safe and lucrative, white-collar law career toward a dangerous, low-paying blue-collar law enforcement job. Mrs. Leith had said that if not for Brandon, her son would have gone to college and graduate school and he’d still be alive.
“I don’t think they like many people. But they do love my children...in their own peculiar way.”
“What do you want me to do, Hannah?”
“I need you to talk to Mason—unofficially, of course—and see if you can figure out what’s going on.”
Brandon leaned back. Here it was. The opportunity to fulfill his promise to Rick—to watch out for Rick’s family. But he was ill-equipped for the job. What if he failed? “Hannah, I know almost nothing about kids.”
“You’re my son’s godfather. You have to help.”
Guilt torqued through him. He’d been a lousy godparent. Out of respect for Hannah he’d stayed out of sight and kept tabs on Rick’s family from a distance. “How?”
“Come to dinner tomorrow—unless you have a date—and see if you can figure out what’s going on with him.”
The desperation in her face hit him hard—but not as hard as the jab about a date. Saturday night, and he’d be home alone. Again. He’d yet to find a woman he found more interesting than work. Sure, he dated. But not often. He was tired of the whole game. He met a woman. She pretended to be someone she wasn’t and swore she didn’t mind the danger of his job and didn’t want kids. Then her true colors seeped through.
“Please, Brandon.”
There was probably nothing wrong with the boy that some tough love wouldn’t cure. “I’ll be there.”
He’d never live up to the gratitude in her eyes. But he had to at least try. He owed Rick that much.
* * *
HANNAH’S GARAGE GUTTER was sagging again. Brandon cursed and slowed his truck a hundred yards from the house Saturday evening. The fascia board behind the gutter, and possibly one or more rafters, would have to be replaced, but that meant removing the old ones, painting the new ones and getting it all reassembled without getting caught.
After Hannah had ordered him to stay away from her and her family and refused multiple offers of help from other officers from SLED, Brandon had covertly organized a team of Rick’s coworkers. He and the guys were limited to working the one weekend a month when Hannah and the kids went out of town. That made complicated, multistep projects difficult to complete without getting caught.
Their clandestine activities were aided by the fact that her three-acre lot was hea
vily wooded, concealing the house on all sides from her neighbors, and those neighbors were the kind who minded their own business.
Privacy had been Rick’s primary reason for choosing the fixer-upper in an older area, although he had planned to clear out more trees to make a bigger lawn for the kids to play on. But he hadn’t lived long enough to finish that project or many of the others on his long list. Brandon kept the small patch of grass in the front yard weeded and fertilized, but he couldn’t do much more without revealing the team’s secret work.
He parked beneath the basketball goal “Santa” had left last Christmas then scanned the house as he traversed the walk, noting the white clapboard siding was still clean from the last pressure washing, and the shutters still looked good, too. He climbed the stairs to the small porch and pushed the button. A bell chimed inside. Seconds later the door opened. A miniature version of Hannah with big blue eyes—Rick’s eyes—stared up at him and regret gnawed his gut. Rick would never get to see how much his baby girl had grown.
The heavy humid air clogged Brandon’s throat. He cleared it. “Hello, Belle. I’m Brandon. Your mom’s expecting me.”
A rustle of movement behind her preceded Hannah’s appearance. She looked flustered. Color tinted her cheeks and upper chest. She opened the door wider, revealing an outfit identical to her daughter’s short denim skirt, pink T-shirt and sparkly sandals. But Hannah wasn’t shaped like a six-year-old. Her curves rounded out her clothing nicely, and her legs—
Eyes north, dumbass. “Hey.”
“Hi. Belle, Officer Martin is joining us for dinner. He’s the one you set the extra plate for.”
“Did you know my daddy? He was an occifer, too.”
“Your dad was my best friend. We grew up together. We met when we were just a little older than you.”
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