by EMILIE ROSE
She was going to have to speak to Jan. Hannah lifted her paper bag. “I brought a sandwich.”
“Eat it tomorrow. Lou’s is only a half block away.”
She loved the mom-and-pop-style burger joint he’d mentioned, but if she wanted Belle to be able to take dance lessons, eating out more than once a week wasn’t in her budget, and she and the kids would be eating out tonight after the lesson. “We won’t be able to get a table. The place is standing room only at lunch.”
“Lou’s holding one for us. I need to talk to you about Mason.”
“What about Mason?”
“Over lunch.”
Not thrilled by the prospect of spending even thirty minutes with the man after she’d vowed to keep her distance, she hesitated. But his resolute expression told her she couldn’t get out of this, so she began walking. “We couldn’t have had this conversation Saturday?”
“We had other things going on then.”
She kept pace beside him. People stood by the door waiting for a seat, but Brandon headed for a table in the back corner with a discreet Reserved sign and two menus already on it.
“How did you rate a table with no wait?”
“I’ve been coming here for years. Their onion rings are still the best in the state,” he said. “I recommend those and the Lou Special.”
She flipped the menu and didn’t see the item. “What is the Lou special?”
“Whatever Lou feels like cooking. You can ask the waitress, but it’s always good and it’s fast.”
The waitress appeared. Hannah made the safe and less expensive choice and ordered a salad. Once their orders were placed, Hannah turned to Brandon. “What about Mason?”
“He doesn’t remember Rick.”
She blinked. Whatever she’d been expecting, that wasn’t it. She’d been bracing herself for...something else, and had even been hoping Brandon had figured out what was going on with her son. “Of course he does.”
“He told me he didn’t. I want to take him by SLED and show him how important his father’s job is—was—and next time you come to my parents’ house, I’d like to show him Mom’s photo albums. Rick’s in almost as many pictures as I am.”
She wouldn’t be returning to the Martins’. That entire afternoon had been too...cozy. She fiddled with her silverware and tried to find the words to explain her reluctance to let Brandon take Mason to the SLED offices. Would he understand that she feared he’d ignite an interest in law enforcement in her son? She wanted Mason to do something safer with his future, something that wouldn’t take him from her. In that, she understood her in-laws concerns for their son and their anger with Brandon for “leading him astray.”
“I’ll introduce Mason to the team and give him an abbreviated description of what each does. I’ll watch him for tells.”
“Tells?”
“He’ll give a physical sign if I hit too close to home or if something makes him uncomfortable.”
She should have known this wasn’t just about reminding her son about his father. Brandon never forgot his assignments. Rick had often remarked about his partner’s single-minded determination.
“I forgot you’re a body language expert. But you’re assuming his problem is computer-related, and I’m not convinced it is.”
“It’s hard to get convictions without being able to read the clues. And I’m following the clues now. If I’m wrong, I’ll be the first to admit it. The team is ready for Mason. I’ll pick him up from school today and return him home when we’re done. Could you call the school and relay the plan?”
“Belle has ballet tonight.”
“That’s why tonight is perfect for him to hang out with me. I’ll get his dinner, too.” Again, she hesitated. More bonding wasn’t in Mason’s best interest long-term, especially after Saturday. Both of her children had talked nonstop about their trip to the Martins’. But in the short-term...?
“Hannah, I won’t let anything happen to him.”
“You’ve made that promise before.” About Rick.
Brandon went rigid then opened his mouth as if to speak but closed it again. His nostrils flared. He remained silent while the waitress set their plates on the table and refilled their cups. “If you want my help with Mason, then this is my strategy.”
Did she have a choice? No. “I’ll call the school when I get back to the office and ask them to tell Mason you’ll be picking him up.”
Hannah looked from her salad—a very nice colorful salad with dressing on the side—to Brandon’s plate of hamburger steak, mushroom gravy and a pile of inch-wide onion rings. Her salivary glands kicked into overdrive, and for a moment she wished she’d ordered the calorie-rich special, but she dutifully dug into her healthier meal.
“Try this.”
Before she realized his intent he’d reached across the small table and nudged her lips with the golden onion ring. The delicious aroma prompted her to take a bite. The ring was crisp and a little spicy and so juicy she had to grab her napkin to mop her chin. Then the flavor exploded in her mouth, and her absentee appetite returned full force. He carried the remainder to his mouth and devoured it in two bites. She realized she’d fixated on his actions—specifically, his lips—and averted her gaze.
“Now try this.” He held out a bite of hamburger steak dripping with gravy.
The act of him feeding her seemed...intimate, a thought reinforced when she caught an older woman watching them with a smile softening her face. Hannah’s cheeks heated. She pushed his hand away. “I don’t need you to feed me.”
The heat of his skin permeated her palm and sent an electric current up her arm as if she’d grabbed a TENS unit pad. She sat back. But unlike the electrical stimulating device she used on patients, when she broke the connection with Brandon the tingle didn’t subside. It just relocated to swirl in a most unsettling way in her lower abdomen.
Brandon made her feel things she shouldn’t. And she didn’t like it. She didn’t ever want to feel desire again and definitely not for a cop—not for Brandon.
He shrugged. “I wanted you to know what you’re missing. Lou learned to cook in the navy like his father did before him. He takes his job seriously. Next to my mom, he’s the best cook I know. I’ve never had anything bad here. Next time we come, do yourself a favor and get the Lou’s special.”
“There’s not going to be a next time, Brandon. I can’t afford to eat out often.”
He frowned. “This is on me.”
“I’m not letting you buy my lunch.”
“How many times have you fed me in the past week?”
“That’s different. You’re helping me and it’s repayment.”
“Helping you. That’s right. Because that’s what friends do. And taking you to lunch where we can discuss Mason without being overheard is part of that.”
Frustrated, she stabbed her salad. How could she fight a man who made an illogical action sound logical?
* * *
“JEEZ, WOULD YOU take off the badge,” Mason grumbled to Brandon and slouched as they walked through the middle school halls. Mason’s initial happiness to see him had vanished when he spotted the badge clipped to Brandon’s belt.
“Why?”
“People are gonna think I’m a snitch. Why didn’t you go through the carpool line like a normal person?”
“Because the cars were backed up a half mile down the street. We don’t have all day. The team’s waiting for you.”
Mason’s gaze turned wary. “What team?”
“The guys who worked with your father.”
His expression turned even sourer. “Aw, man. I’d rather go to after-school care.”
“Then you’ll miss out on the wing restaurant tonight, and you’ll have to go to ballet with your sister.”
Mason groaned. “Can’t you just tell me about my dad’s job? I don’t want to go
to the station.”
“It’s important for you to know how important your father’s work was and how much his team members respected him.”
They exited the building. Mason scanned the parking lot then grimaced. “Please tell me you drove your truck.”
“I’m in this unmarked vehicle.” He pointed at the sedan by the front entrance.
The boy looked ready to make a run for it.
“Mason, you’ll be sitting up front, not in the back. No one will think anything of it.”
“Right,” he mumbled, sounding unconvinced, and looked around.
“Are you searching for someone in particular?”
“No.”
“I wanted to make sure you didn’t have a friend you needed to say goodbye to.”
“I don’t.”
Brandon unlocked the vehicle. Mason quickly ducked into the passenger seat and slid down until he’d be invisible to anyone outside. He didn’t speak as Brandon navigated his way out of the busy lot. Keeping one eye on traffic and one on the boy, Brandon watched to see if Mason reacted to any of the kids they passed. He didn’t. But then he probably couldn’t see over the door.
“Does your mom ever talk about your dad?” he asked as he pulled onto the road.
“No. I used to ask about him after he died, but it always made her cry. So I quit.”
“That’s pretty perceptive of you.”
Mason shrugged. “I’m not stupid.”
“No. You’re not. Your dad was one of the smartest people I know, and you take after him. You can ask me anything about him.”
“And you won’t cry?” A trace of sarcasm laced the words.
“Probably not. I won’t lie. I cried when your dad died. More than once. Rick and I had been friends for so long I never thought he wouldn’t be here. It didn’t help that I knew if one decision had been made differently, he probably would be.”
“Are you saying it was your fault he got shot?”
Brandon hesitated. He couldn’t reveal the whole truth. It was better for Hannah to blame him. “It was a combination of unfortunate decisions. Sometimes you make a choice that seems harmless at the time. And then it blows up in your face. And no matter what you do, you can’t make it right. You know what I mean?”
Mason stared out the window. “Maybe.”
I’ll take that as a yes. “Need me to act as a sounding board?”
“No.”
“If you’re hungry, I have cookies and bottled water in that cooler at your feet.”
Mason dove for the insulated carrier. “Oh man, are these the ones your mom had on Saturday?” He shoved one into his mouth—whole.
Brandon nodded. “She sent a bag home with me.”
“She makes the best cookies,” the boy muttered with a full mouth. By the time they reached the red brick building holding the SLED offices, Mason had consumed a half dozen of Brandon’s oatmeal cookies and guzzled a bottle of water. When Brandon parked Mason stilled then gulped.
Brandon reached into the backseat and grabbed two jackets. He passed one to Mason. “Put this on.”
“Why? It’s like eighty degrees out there.”
“We keep the computer lab cold to prevent static charge from frying the equipment.” He shrugged on his jacket and waited for Mason to do the same then led him inside the building. A couple of security doors and a guest badge later they stood outside the computer forensics lab. “Ready for the meat locker?”
“Huh?”
“Cold room. Where we find evidence to arrest guilty people.” He reached for the door handle.
Mason moaned and rubbed his stomach. “I think I ate too many cookies.”
Brandon searched his face, noting his pasty complexion. “Need a minute?”
“I’m gonna throw up.”
Shit. “Bathroom’s this way.”
He clamped a hand on Mason’s shoulder and hustled him down the hall and into the men’s room. The boy barely made it into the stall before puking.
Brandon had zero experience with vomiting kids. He waited by the sinks. Had Mason really eaten too many cookies? Or did he have a virus? “Need anything?”
“No,” the boy groaned then hurled again.
Brandon fingered the phone in his pocket and debated calling Hannah. But she hadn’t wanted Mason to visit the lab, and this would only reinforce her hesitancy.
Finally, the toilet flushed and the stall opened. Mason wiped his mouth with the sleeve of Brandon’s jacket, making Brandon wince. “You okay?”
“Can you take me home?”
“I don’t have a key.”
“Mom keeps one hidden. I know where.”
If Mason had a virus then Brandon couldn’t expose the team or take Mason to after-school care. That left two choices: call Hannah or take him home and stay with him until Hannah arrived. Not thrilled with either option but not knowing what else to do, Brandon nodded. “I’ll take you home.”
* * *
THE UNMARKED SEDAN in the driveway raised Hannah’s anxiety level from a six to a nine as she returned home from work. Rick had driven one of the vehicles home often enough that she recognized the make, model and plates that SLED used. Brandon was supposed to have Mason. Was Brandon driving this car? Why was it here? Was he so convinced Mason’s issues were computer-related that he’d brought equipment to examine the laptop without telling her? Brandon always put the job first—ahead of anything and anyone else.
She scanned her yard and porch. Nothing seemed out of place. With her mouth dry, she didn’t even bother pulling into the garage. She parked in the driveway and hurried Belle to the front door. It wasn’t locked. She never left the door unsecured and had taught her children the same precaution. She pushed it open, heard an unfamiliar male voice in the den and followed the sound. Brandon and Mason sat on the sofa watching a baseball game on the television. They looked...normal. The strange voice was the announcer’s.
“Belle, honey, go to the kitchen and get out your homework.”
Both males turned at the sound of her voice. “Hey, Mom.”
Brandon rose and nodded. “Hannah.”
“I thought you were taking him to work then dinner today after school?”
Brandon’s features froze. “I took him to the office. Then I brought him home.”
There was something in his eyes that she couldn’t identify. What wasn’t he telling her? “In your work vehicle?”
“I’m off today, but on call.”
“I barfed my guts out,” Mason announced with relish, filling in the blanks.
Alarm shot through her. “What? When?”
She rushed forward and pressed a hand to his brow. He wasn’t feverish and his color was good.
“At his office.” Mason jerked a thumb to indicate Brandon.
Hannah scowled at Brandon. “Why didn’t you call me?”
He shrugged. “There was nothing you could do. He ate too many cookies.”
“Cookies? What cookies?”
“I brought a bagful that my mother sent home with me. I remember how hungry I always was after school, and I packed him a snack. Mom’s cookies have never made anyone sick before. He only vomited the one time. He didn’t need a doctor and there was no reason for you to miss work.”
She tried to appreciate his consideration and failed. “That wasn’t your decision. You should have let me know.”
“He’s fine, Hannah.”
She pushed her hair off her face. “I’ll call Lucy and see if she can take Belle to dance.”
“Aw, Mom, Brandon promised me wings.”
Brandon’s head whipped toward Mason. “You’re hungry?”
“Heck, yeah. I mean, I blew everything. My stomach’s empty.”
A deep chuckle rumbled from Brandon’s chest. It sent a shiver of something through H
annah. Then his wide grin hit her with a double whammy that weakened her knees. “You heard the boy, Hannah. Take Belle to her lesson. I’ve got Mason.”
“What happens if you get called in?”
“Then I’ll drop him off at the dance studio.”
“I don’t think he should go out if he’s been sick.”
“Mooooom, I’m starving.”
“He’s kept his ginger ale down for a couple of hours. I’m willing to risk it.”
She didn’t know many men who would volunteer to keep a vomiting child or who’d be smart enough to give them ginger ale. But parenting was her job. Not his.
“Wings are too greasy for an upset stomach. You’ll have to wait until another night for those.” She turned a stern gaze to Brandon. “And no greasy pizza, either.”
“Mooooom,” Mason wailed predictably.
“Get your homework done. You have a presentation to give Friday, and I know you’re not finished. I’ll see what I can rustle up for dinner.”
Mason turned “save me” pleading eyes toward Brandon, who merely shook his head. “You heard her, kid. How about I make some banana sandwiches and we finish watching the game?”
“You promise you’ll take me for wings another night?”
Brandon lifted a hand, his expression as solemn as if he were about to testify in court. “I swear I will take you out for all-you-can-eat wings another time.”
“Deal.” Mason flopped back down on the couch without argument.
Hannah blinked. Once again Brandon had handled her son perfectly. She had to be careful. She could get used to his help.
Chapter Seven
MASON MET HANNAH at the door when she returned from Belle’s dance class. He was bright-eyed and didn’t look as if he’d been sick again in her absence. “Brandon makes the most awesome banana sandwiches ever! He puts peanut butter and potato chips in ’em.”
So much for a bland meal. Her gaze lifted to the man standing behind her son in the kitchen. “Potato chips? Really?”
Brandon’s wide shoulders lifted. “Salt keeps you hydrated.”
“I ate two,” Mason added. “I wanted three, but he said he didn’t want me puking again.”
