Читать книгу A Cop's Honor - Emilie Rose - Страница 11
ОглавлениеHANNAH SANK DEEPER into her Adirondack chair and stretched out her legs. Her foot bumped the empty fire pit, and a few flakes of rust rained onto her ankles. She shifted again, hoping to find a more comfortable position on the hard seat. Her fingertips brushed across the chair’s peeling paint and a sense of futility rose within her.
The furniture and fire pit, like everything else around the house behind her, needed work. A lot of work. More than she could handle or afford, yet she was tackling it one project at a time. But sometimes she felt like a hamster on a wheel, spinning ’round and ’round and getting nowhere.
The old house was home—the first real home she’d ever had. Not that the places she and her parents had lived as her father climbed the army’s noncommissioned officer ranks had been bad, but they’d all been temporary. She hadn’t been free to paint or make any changes in the rented accommodations. And she had never, ever put down roots until she and Rick had bought this fixer-upper.
Rick. She closed her eyes and let the loss roll over her. Five years ago today he’d been taken from her. His death had robbed them of so many future plans as a family, and it had jeopardized their dream of turning this old house into the kind of home their children would remember fondly and always return to. She was trying to hold on to it, but life seemed determined to undermine that goal.
She took a deep breath of humid, hyacinth-and lilac-scented April air and tilted her head to stare at the full moon hanging like a fat beacon in the sky between towering oaks. A gentle breeze swayed the budding branches framing the orb. She pressed her bare soles against the still-warm brick pavers and endeavored to follow the advice she gave clients every day.
Inhale deeply to the count of ten, then exhale slowly. Release the tension by relaxing each muscle group sequentially: her forehead, her cheeks, her jaw, her neck, her shoulders. Knots loosened. Her pulse slowed and her grief settled back to a bearable level.
The click of the back door latch halted her progress. She’d thought both kids asleep before she’d slipped out for a moment of peace. Twisting, she leaned to look around the high back of her chair. The door eased open. Mason stepped onto the deck. Guilt pinched. Was he looking for her?
She opened her mouth to ask what he needed then noticed his backpack and remained silent. Why was he carrying it at this time of night? Where was he planning on going? He turned the knob and silently pulled the door closed. An uneasiness pricked through her. The feeling amplified when he furtively glanced around then tiptoed down the steps, carefully avoiding the squeaky middle tread. He turned for the side gate and clicked on a flashlight.
He wasn’t looking for her. Concern turned into alarm. “Mason, where do you think you’re going?”
He jumped, dropping the flashlight with a clank. The beam flickered and died. “Mom! What are you doing out here?”
The dismay on his face and in his voice confirmed that finding her hadn’t been his objective. Her heart thumped hard and fast in her chest. She rose and crossed the yard. “The question is where are you going at ten o’clock? You should be sleeping. It’s a school night. Your bedtime was nine.”
The sound of crickets filled the air.
“Mason Brandon Leith! Answer me.”
His gaze skittered away. “I...um... I...was going to camp out in the treehouse.”
Lying and sneaking out. Anxiety dried her mouth. She jabbed a thumb over her shoulder. “The treehouse is that way.”
“I...um...was looking for frogs first.”
Another lie. “Inside. Now.”
“Mooooom,” he wailed.
“Move it!” What had turned her sweet, easygoing ten-year-old son into trouble looking for a place to happen? He’d been suspended twice from school in the past three months for making inappropriate comments to other students then to his teacher, and finally, for sassing the school principal. She knew middle school kids were supposed to be difficult, but she hadn’t expected sixth grade to change her little boy into someone she didn’t recognize.
She followed him into the kitchen. “Where were you going?”
“I told you.”
“You lied. Try the truth.”
His chin jutted out. “I was going to meet a friend...for homework help.”
“At this hour? Who?”
“No one you know.”
That concerned her. “I’ve told you more than once that you’re not allowed to go to anyone’s house unless I’ve met them and their parents—and definitely not after bedtime and without permission.”
“How’s that supposed to happen? You work all the time. Even Grandmother Margaret says—”
“Do not throw your grandmother in my face. I work because I have to. And you’re only required to spend a couple of hours a day in after-school care. It won’t kill you. Anyway, you’re supposed to use that time to get help with your homework.” But the guilt of not being there for them the way her mother had been for her, ate at her.
“You treat me like a baby. I’m not!”
She didn’t bother arguing that he would always be her baby. “You know the rules, Mason. You’re grounded for the week. No TV and definitely no video games.”
“You’re mean! I hate you!”
The dart hit home. Her heart ached and her eyes stung. She knew he was only striking out in anger, but his words still hurt. She stiffened her spine. “Go to your room.”
He charged out of the kitchen and stomped up the stairs. His bedroom door slammed. She winced and hoped he hadn’t woken his sister.
She had to figure out what had triggered the drastic change in his behavior before he ended up in serious trouble. But who could she turn to? Not to the school counselor who’d warned her that the next time her son misbehaved he’d be expelled. Not to her in-laws who’d insisted more than once that Hannah wasn’t a good parent to their grandchildren. Their constant criticisms were hard to swallow.
And she definitely couldn’t turn to a professional—not only because of the cost. She feared her in-laws might warp whatever a psychologist learned into something that could be used against her to make good on their threat to pursue partial—if not full—custody. She didn’t think they had a legal leg to stand on, but Mr. Leith had been golfing buddies with numerous lawyers and judges over the years. She couldn’t even afford to hire an attorney if her in-laws took action. And after witnessing a coworker lose custody of her kids due to something her ex-husband had trumped up, Hannah was afraid to take chances.
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 too 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 heavily 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.”
“I have a best friend. Her name is Sydney. She sits beside me at school. Mommy packs extra snacks for Sydney because her family can’t ’ford them and the Bible says we hafta share with those less fort’nate.”
He—a master interrogator—had no idea what to say. He glanced at Hannah. Pride and love for her daughter glistened in her eyes. “That’s uh...nice,” was all he could muster.
“Let’s see if Mason remembers Brandon, Belle.”
Rick’s little girl curled her fingers trustingly around Brandon’s then she pulled him inside, towing him across the scarred hardwood floor that Rick had once planned to refinish. A strange feeling, similar to the sixth sense that prickled up his spine before a dangerous encounter, crawled over him. But there was nothing to fear from this house, Hannah or her children. He attributed the weirdness to the fact that he hadn’t been inside since before Rick’s death, and being here now without his buddy felt wrong somehow.
From the moment Hannah had laid eyes on the place she’d wanted it, and with Brandon’s help, she’d sold Rick on the idea of turning the old house into a dream home for him and the big family the two of them had planned to have.
The foyer was clean but worn. A dark wood intricately carved banister curved upward. Rick had wanted to paint it all white. Correction: he had wanted to con Brandon into doing it or pay someone else to. Rick hadn’t been much on manual labor. He’d been more of an egghead who could visualize the most efficient way for others to implement his plan unless it was a computer program. With those he’d been a tireless genius at building them or picking them apart.
But Brandon had been tied up with his first rental property and couldn’t help, and hiring someone required cash—something cops didn’t have a surplus of. Which meant that jobs had to be prioritized and spread out. So Rick had drawn up a five-year renovation plan and been killed two years into it.
Belle released his hand to grab a toy pony. “This is Molly. I’m going to have a horsey like her when I get big.”
“I like horses, too. We have them in the orchard where I grew up. Your dad and I used to race them between the trees.”
“Daddy could ride?”
“Yeah. I taught him how.”
Brandon spotted a dark-haired boy sitting at a desk in the den, staring into a laptop. He didn’t turn when they entered.
“Mason, come and meet Officer Martin.”
The kid jumped, then punched buttons and quickly shut down the computer. Too quickly? He twisted their way and déjà vu hit Brandon hard, hurling him back to his childhood. Mason was a miniature Rick. Those familiar blue eyes were wary. The cop in Brandon immediately asked why and if it was related to his school issues? But he dismissed the questions. Hannah had introduced him as an officer and a lot of people were uncomfortable around cops.
Brandon crossed the room and stuck out his hand. “Mason, you probably don’t remember me. I’m Brandon, a friend of your dad’s.”
Mason showed no sign of recognition. His expression soured. “My dad’s dead.”
Brandon suppressed a flinch at the inevitable stab of pain. “I know. I’m sorry.”
He was sorry in more ways than the boy would ever know.
Hannah cleared her throat. “Mason.”
“Nice to meet you, sir,” Mason added at the prompt and shook Brandon’s hand.
“Your dad was good with computers. What do you like to do on them?”
The kid froze then snatched his hand back. His gaze slid left. “Nothing. Just look at stuff.”
That warning prickle intensified. “What kind of stuff?”
Mason swallowed and shrugged. He focused on a point beyond Brandon’s ear.
“Games? Instant messaging? Chat rooms?” Brandon prompted, endeavoring to keep his tone friendly and casual, but red flags were flapping wildly in his subconscious.
Mason shook his head vigorously. “Mom doesn’t allow any of that. It’s just research. For papers I have to write.”
Hannah patted her son’s shoulder. “Mason’s in the accelerated Language Arts class.”
“Your dad was smart in Language Arts. He really liked to read. Sometimes he helped me with book reports.”
The kid rolled his eyes. “Is dinner ready? I’m starving.”
Hannah opened her mouth as if to protest her son’s rudeness, but Brandon caught her gaze and shook his head. No point in alienating someone he was here to study. “I’m hungry, too. Lead the way.”
Hannah’s expression turned apologetic. “I hope you don’t mind baked spaghetti. It’s one of the few things my picky eaters like.”
“Sounds good.” He stopped on the threshold of the dining room. The once dark walls and wainscoting gleamed white. “You painted in here.”
“We’re working our way through the list, slowly, but surely.”
“We’re going to paint my room ’morrow,” mini Hannah chirped.
Brandon heard opportunity knocking. “Oh yeah? Maybe I can help. I like to paint.”
He glanced at Hannah for confirmation. She nodded.
“I’ll be here first thing in the morning.”
Hannah shook her head. “We won’t get home from church until 12:30.”
“I’ll be here when you get home.”
“Don’t you go to church, Occifer Brandon?”
Was the half-pint channeling his mother? “I’m usually working. But tomorrow I’m off. And I can’t think of a better way to spend the day than painting with you.”
Belle beamed. Hannah and Mason looked less than thrilled. But Hannah had asked for his help, and she was going to get it.
