Protecting Her Son

by Joan Kilby

  If he wanted to freeze his butt off sleeping in his car after she’d told him she could look after herself, that was his problem.

  She would curl up in her warm bed and, yes, probably sleep a little sounder knowing Riley was keeping watch.

  Not that she would ever admit that to him.

  * * *

  PAULA POURED A CUP of coffee and stirred in one sugar, the way she knew Riley liked it. What was the protocol for uninvited guests who camped in your driveway—invite them in for breakfast? She was feeling a little more charitable this morning, thanks to a good night’s sleep.

  Yes, definitely breakfast. Such devotion to duty deserved a reward. Now the question was, bacon and eggs or her special apple-streusel muffins?

  Simple. She would ask him.

  Carrying the peace offering she checked herself in the hall mirror and opened the front door.

  Riley’s car was gone.

  The sunny morning lost a bit of its shine. She’d been anticipating ribbing him about his “stake out.”

  She was about to go inside when her mother’s pale green Ford sedan turned into the cul-de-sac. Karen motored slowly down the street, peering left and right, as if she expected someone to leap out of the bushes.

  Whoops. Paula hadn’t called her mother back last night and explained what had happened.

  The car turned into the driveway and came to a halt. Jamie flung open the back door and charged toward Paula. “We watched X-Men and played Uno and had popcorn…” He paused, running out of breath.

  “Wonderful.” She gave him a big hug. “Run inside. I need to talk to Grandma.”

  Karen approached, wearing the knee-length shorts and polo shirt she played golf in on Sunday mornings, Jamie’s overnight bag in hand.

  Paula walked down the steps to meet her. Jamie had shut the door, but she didn’t want to risk him overhearing. She hugged her mother and took Jamie’s bag. “Thanks for looking after him last night.”

  “Are you all right?” Strands of Karen’s light brown hair blew across her eyes. She brushed them away to search Paula’s face. “I’ve been so worried.”

  “Sorry, I should have called last night but I got home late. I didn’t want to wake you.”

  “What’s going on?”

  Paula put the bag down at her feet. “Nick Moresco came to the house. He was here when you called.”

  Karen put a hand to her mouth. “What did he want?”

  Paula gave mother an abridged version of the night’s events, telling of Nick’s wish to meet his son and, after some internal debate, the part about him leaving a toy car. Once again, the car was safely tucked in her trunk, ready to go to the thrift shop.

  “Don’t worry,” she finished. “I’ve called a handyman to change all the locks and improve security on the windows. I’ll get you a new key cut.”

  Karen shook her head, dismayed. “Jamie should stay with me until you catch that creep and put him back behind bars. I’ll take some time off work. Jamie and I can drive up to Sydney and visit my sister—”

  “No.” Paula stopped her with a hand to her arm. “I need time to think this through. Nick hasn’t done anything illegal—”

  “He broke into your house! He should be arrested for that alone.”

  “Nothing big, I mean. He would get a slap on the wrist for a break and enter. Besides, if Nick can find out where I live, he could locate you at Aunt Lily’s. I wouldn’t feel easy with Jamie so far away.”

  “If only your father were alive,” Karen fretted. “He knew how to talk to addicts.”

  “Nick isn’t an addict. He’s too smart to ingest his own poison.” She gestured to the house. “Come in. I’ve got coffee.”

  “Thanks, no.” Karen checked her watch. “I’m meeting the girls at the golf course in half an hour—” She broke off as Paula’s gaze shifted to the street.

  Riley’s black Audi drove up for the second time in less than twenty-four hours and squeezed into a spot to the right of Karen’s car.

  “Who’s that?” her mother asked.

  “My partner. I wonder what he wants now.”

  Riley’s faded jeans had tears in the knees but his white T-shirt was clean beneath an unbuttoned blue and green flannel shirt. He was carrying a toolbox.

  “Well, I guess that answers my question,” Paula said. “He thinks he’s come to help me change the locks.” Mr. Fix It to the rescue. She ought to be put out by his assumption—she was put out—but she was also grateful that he cared enough to help her, especially after their argument last night.

  “I’m going.” Karen hugged her, giving her an extra squeeze. “Call me if you need me. Anytime. Promise?”

  “I promise. Thanks.”

  “Have you got enough room to get out?” Riley asked Karen as she passed him on the way to her car.

  “I’ll manage. I’m Karen, Paula’s mother.” She shook his hand then glanced at Paula on the steps. “Thanks for doing this. She doesn’t accept help easily.”

  “I can hear you!” Paula rolled her eyes.

  “Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of her,” Riley said in a loud stage whisper, clearly intending to piss her off. Karen got in her car and he came up the path.

  Paula stood in the middle of the steps, blocking his access. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  He met her hard-assed glare with one of his own. “I’m here to change your locks. And don’t give me any grief.”

  “I’ve already called a handyman. This is above and beyond, even for partners.”

  Riley mounted the steps till he was on the one below her, putting them at eye level. He was disconcertingly close. “When is the handyman coming?”

  “Not till Friday,” Paula conceded.

  “Let’s see, that’s—” he counted off on his fingers “—five full days and nights for Moresco to waltz in and out of your house as he pleases.”

  She had no answer to that. He was right, damn it. It was one thing to reassure her mother, another to fool herself into thinking she had nothing to fear. Nick was getting more aggressive. He might very well do her harm if she continued to keep him from Jamie.

  “The man is a criminal,” Riley went on. “Whether he plans to harm you or not, breaking into your house is illegal.”

  “As I told my mother, and you know very well, a B and E doesn’t carry significant punishment and might make him angry rather than deter him.”

  “And as I’m sure your mother told you, keep the bastard out. Now are you going to let me help you, or am I going to call her and tell on you?”

  He surprised a laugh out of her. Damn it, they were right and she was being stupid and stubborn. Paula stepped aside. “Sorry to be ungracious. I’m not used to people doing stuff for me.”

  “So I gather.” He followed her inside. “I’ll make a list of what I need and then take a trip to the hardware store. The laundry room seems to be the weakest spot. I’ll concentrate on that first.”

  He was brisk and businesslike as if determined to ignore last night, both the embrace and their subsequent fight.

  She glanced over her shoulder as she led him through the kitchen. “I’m paying for the materials.”

  “Too right you are. Did I mention I charge forty-five dollars an hour?”

  “Any discount if I give you a hand?”

  “You?” he said skeptically.

  “Hey, I’m not helpless. I can put up bookshelves and change the oil in my car. I can change a washer in a tap and unclog a drain.”

  “Can you change a lock on a door?”

  “I could learn.”

  She hoped he wouldn’t take her up on the offer. He looked too good and smelled too male, as if he’d bathed in testosterone. And there was something about a low-slung tool belt over jeans-clad h
ips that brought out her inner slut. At the same time she was still pissed about his attitude toward her with regard to Nick. If they worked closely together, the attraction and the conflict were bound to spark off each other and who knew what might happen.

  Jamie ran in from the backyard, carrying his water pistol to refill. His T-shirt, hair and face were wet, as if he’d been spraying himself—which he probably had.

  “You remember Riley, don’t you?” Paula said, speaking to Jamie but watching Riley for signs of stress. Since his panic attack at the school she’d wondered if young children triggered his symptoms of PTSD. But seeing Jamie didn’t change his demeanor. He only looked tired, as he was bound to after spending the night in his car.

  “Hey, champ.” Riley crouched and gave Jamie one of those complicated handshakes that only guys knew. Jamie didn’t quite get it but by the time Riley had taken him through it twice the boy’s eyes were shining. “Want to give me a hand fixing some stuff?”

  “Okay,” Jamie said. “What stuff?”

  “Come with me and I’ll tell you as we go.” Riley laid a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “First stop, laundry room. Have you ever used a hammer or a screwdriver?”

  “No.” Jamie’s hand crept to Riley’s hip and rested there.

  “It’s time you learned, don’t you think?”

  Jamie nodded, his young face eager.

  Paula’s chest suddenly felt too small for her heart. She did the best she could as a mother but it didn’t take a genius to see that her son needed something she couldn’t give him—a father.

  She stood in the doorway unable to take her gaze away from Riley and Jamie. And it wasn’t only because Riley had taken off his flannel shirt and draped it over the washing machine, revealing tanned, well-muscled arms below his white T-shirt.

  Her day-dreamy, easily distracted son paid rapt attention to Riley as together they examined the door lock. Riley explained how it worked and tested the sturdiness of the facing jamb.

  “We should be able to switch this old lock with a deadbolt without resorting to serious carpentry,” Riley told Jamie. “I think with a chisel and a hammer we can make the necessary adjustments. What do you think?”

  “I think…yes?” Riley nodded and Jamie’s face was suffused with a self-conscious grin of importance he couldn’t have contained if he’d wanted to.

  Paula smiled, too. Her little boy knew squat about deadbolts and chisels. But he, too, could learn—if he had someone to teach him.

  Riley got out a pad of paper and made a few notes. “Hold that for me,” he said, handing the pad and pen to Jamie. “Right, then, let’s have a look at the windows.”

  He clucked his tongue over the old-fashioned swing-out window with a simple sliding bolt. He glanced at Paula. “I recommend replacing these with the wind-out type that lock with a key. How many other windows do you have like this?”

  “I’ll go around and count. How do you know all this stuff? You’ve been in the army for years.”

  “Before I joined up I started an apprenticeship as a carpenter. Almost got my trades papers, too.”

  “What made you change your mind?”

  “Long story short, I was twenty years old and looking for excitement. Working on construction sites wasn’t doing it for me. So I applied for the SAS.”

  He made it sound like child’s play but Paula had seen a documentary on the SAS training. It was brutal, ending in hospitalization for some of the potential recruits. Out of three hundred men fewer than fifty made the cut.

  Riley turned to Jamie. “Can you get me the measuring tape out of my toolbox?”

  Jamie squatted before the box as if opening a treasure chest. He scanned the contents, fists on his knees.

  “That’s it on the right,” Riley said. “The square metal thing.”

  Jamie handed it to him, earning a nod of approval. Riley measured the window’s dimensions, stretching on his toes to reach the top far corner. He came down with a wince, pressing a hand to his back.

  “Sore?” Paula said.

  “The front seat of an Audi doesn’t make the best mattress. I’ll be fine.”

  So he kept saying.

  He made a few more notes then closed the pad and tucked it in the back pocket of his jeans. “Jamie and I will go to the hardware store now. Is that okay?”

  She opened her mouth to say yes then stopped. What if Riley had a panic attack while her son was in his care? Who knew what else might trigger his symptoms? Staple guns? Ladders? Okay, that was probably crazy…

  “Please, Mum?” Jamie begged. “I’ll be good.”

  Paula tugged on her ponytail. She could go with them… Or she could show some trust to the man who was going out of his way to help her. “Okay.” She ruffled Jamie’s hair and spoke to Riley. “You won’t be gone long.” It was a statement not a question.

  “I’ll be back as soon as I can.” With a show of nonchalance he pulled his cell phone out of his pocket. “We can exchange numbers if it will make you feel better.”

  “Good idea. Jamie knows how to use a cell. And he knows that if the person he’s with can’t get to their phone then in an emergency he’s allowed to use it to call for help.”

  Jamie, oblivious to undercurrents, ran out of the room. “Yay, we’re going to the hardware store.”

  Riley paused, his gaze meeting hers, as if seeking to reassure her. “It’s only five minutes down the road.”

  Paula chewed on her bottom lip. “Have you had any more episodes?” He shook his head. “If you start feeling weird, stop the car and call me right away.”

  His mouth flattened. “I’m not an idiot.”

  Okay, so she’d gone a step too far. Too bad. “No one said you were an idiot. But I’m Jamie’s mum and I’m entitled to ask, especially in light of what happened last night.”

  He stepped closer, looming over her. “In light of which happening? Nick breaking in or you throwing yourself into my arms?”

  “I did not throw myself into your arms.” But God help her, she wanted to do so now. Instead she pushed on his chest. “Go, before I change my mind.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  PAULA LET THEM go. She felt she had to. But as she watched Riley drive away with her son she wondered what had possessed her to allow Jamie out with an unstable man. Riley was brave and smart, humorous and caring and if it wasn’t for the PTSD, she’d have had no trouble letting Jamie go anywhere with him.

  Was she that anxious for her son to have a male role model that she would risk sending him off with a man with undiagnosed mental health issues?

  She needed to keep busy while they were gone, to stop fretting. Opening the blinds in her sewing room to let in natural light, she spread the half-finished quilt over the table, smoothing out the creases with her hands.

  The patchwork was constructed of pieces of fabric of odd shapes, sizes and colors. A winding trail—or maybe it was a stream—of predominantly blue and green, meandered diagonally through a multicolored background. Where the trail or stream led she didn’t know, she simply followed the twists and turns as fancy took her.

  After studying where she’d left off for a few minutes, she up-ended her bag of scraps and sifted through them for suitable pieces. It was like doing a jigsaw puzzle. Piecing together the fabric occupied her mind and was soothing at the same time, almost like a meditation.

  She was pinning a piece of green and blue paisley fabric to the trail when the phone rang. Her first thought was disaster. She snatched up the phone. “Is everything all right?”

  “Everything is wonderful,” Nick said. “Did Jamie like his new toy car?”

  “You.” Paula paced the small room, one arm wrapped around her waist. “How dare you break into my house? I could have you arrested.”

  “But you won’t,” he replied silkil
y. “Why is that?”

  Paula kicked aside the big plastic bag of fabric scraps. Because she knew he was too smart to have left fingerprints and because she couldn’t prove he was the one who’d broken and entered. All of which he knew very well. “When you go back to jail I want it to be for a very long time.”

  “Have you thought about my request to see Jamie?”

  “I don’t need to think. The answer is still no. And always will be no.”

  “Is he there? May I speak with him at least?”

  “He’s not here. And no, you may not speak with him.”

  “I could apply to the Children’s Court for an access visit. But it would be a pity to subject him to all the rigmarole unnecessarily. Why not let me come by one afternoon for coffee so we can meet?”

  He made it sound so normal, so reasonable. She couldn’t let herself forget who and what he was. If he wasn’t a dangerous criminal, if he hadn’t acted like a bully and broken into her house, she might have agreed. But he did break in because that was his mentality—he wanted something so he took it—and in doing so he’d threatened her son. No one threatened her son and still got what he wanted.

  “You’ll never get access. You’re a criminal.”

  “I told you, I’ve turned over a new leaf. I bought a new restaurant—”

  “Bully for you.” She didn’t believe for a second he’d cleaned up his act.

  “—in Summerside.”

  Paula stumbled across the room on rubbery legs and sank onto the bed. “Which restaurant?”

  “Not a restaurant so much as a café and ice cream parlor. It’s on the main street, a thriving business. Kids like ice cream. What boy can resist a father who can give him unlimited access?”

  Paula felt as if a net was closing around her. Nick had invaded not only her home, but also her town. She walked down the main street half a dozen times a week—at least half of those times with Jamie. Imagine Nick standing in the shop doorway, luring Jamie in with an offer of treats…

  Not only that, he could use the shop to launder drug money.

  That thought reminded her she wasn’t just a mother—she was a cop and she had a job to do. And she had to prove to John—and Riley—she could be trusted. “Give me your number. I need to think about this.”