Читать книгу Protecting Her Son - Joan Kilby - Страница 10
ОглавлениеCHAPTER TWO
RILEY STACKED HIS guitar case on top of a box of kitchen stuff and carried it from his car up the gravel driveway to the single story weatherboard home. Purple bougainvillea trailed over the veranda, annuals bloomed in loamy beds next to the house.
He set the box on the wood floor in the entry hall and went exploring. It felt weird, walking through the empty rooms. So many years had gone by since he’d lived here, so many changes in both himself and his family. Mum had passed, his father remarried…
The living room was smaller than he remembered, the dining room, tiny. He would need to knock a few walls out. He wandered in and out of his old room, Katie’s room, the master bedroom, peeked into the bathroom, then went down the hall to the kitchen, the center of their family life. At least it had been while his mother was alive.
On the doorframe of the laundry room were the incremental marks where Dad had measured his and Katie’s growth. God, had he ever been that short? He twisted his head sideways to look at the dates.
One stood out from the rest.
The year Mum died he’d been twelve years old, and five foot six inches tall.
There was a big gap after that, as if normal activities had ceased for a time. Riley dragged his gaze away.
The old-fashioned kitchen looked exactly as he remembered. White-painted cupboards, worn linoleum, green-tiled walls up to shoulder height, then yellow paint above that. It was cramped, not enough counter space.
You’d never know a professional cook had worked there. His mother’s weekdays had been spent testing recipes and typing up notes for her next cookbook, her electric typewriter all but lost among the clutter on the counter while two or three pots bubbled on the stove. Her brown hair would be tied back, her brow lightly creased in concentration as she tasted, adding a bit of this or that, then tasted again.
Riley especially loved the dessert section of Mary Henning’s healthy-lifestyle cookbooks. The red ceramic cookie jar was always full when he came home from school. He’d grab a handful of oatmeal and raisin cookies then run outside to play cricket or footy with his mates.
He glanced at the mark on the doorframe and ran his thumb across it, feeling the indentation of the pen in the soft wood. The beginnings of a headache stabbed his right temple.
Why hadn’t he hung around and talked to her more often, just for a few minutes? She’d always stop what she was doing when he or Katie came into the room, ready to chat or give tastings. It pained him to think how he’d brushed her off. He’d give anything now to be able to ask how her day was, if her work was going well. To hear the sound of her voice.
A lump formed in his throat, making swallowing difficult. Kids didn’t think like that, though. At twelve he’d thought his mum would be around forever.
“Riley?” Katie called through the open front door. She’d followed him from his rental unit in her car.
“In the kitchen.” Riley blinked rapidly. Jeez, any minute now he’d break down and cry like a girl.
Katie carried in a box of dishes. To help him move she’d worn old jeans and a shirt with the sleeves rolled up, her dark hair swinging in a ponytail.
“Dad and Sandra just pulled up. The moving truck isn’t far behind—” She set the box on the floor. “Hey, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” But he and his little sister were close. She always knew what he was thinking.
Katie’s gaze swept over the kitchen. Her arm stole around his waist. Softly she said, “It almost feels as if Mum’s still here.”
Riley cleared his throat. “This room is too poky. I think I’ll knock this wall down between the kitchen and dining room.” He swept a hand across as if waving a magic wand. “New appliances, new flooring, the works. What do you think?”
“It’s your place now.” Katie gave him a one-armed hug. “Do what you want.”
“Are you sure? By rights, you should get half the house.”
“I’m happy with my little cottage. I—I couldn’t live here.”
The catch in her voice wasn’t only about their mother. Katie had gotten breast cancer in her early twenties and come home to live while undergoing treatment—and to nurse her broken heart after John had abandoned her.
“But I’m glad you’re here,” Katie said. “I think Mum would have liked knowing one of us, at least, was still living in the family home. She was so much a part of this place, especially the kitchen.”
“Yeah. Moving in is a bit more emotional than I expected.” Riley sucked in a breath. “Let’s get the rest of the load.” He led the way back through the dining room. “How was the first day of school?”
“The children are so gorgeous. I know, I say that every year but it’s true. Grade one is such a cute age.”
“My new partner has a kid in your class. Small world, huh? Her name is Paula Drummond.”
“Drummond…” Katie frowned, thinking. “I haven’t got all the names memorized yet. Boy or girl?”
“Boy.”
“Ah, Jamie. He’s sweet.”
Riley hauled a box out of the trunk of his car and placed it in Katie’s arms then picked up his army boot locker.
“I’m planning our annual bike safety lesson,” Katie said as they went inside. “Do you know who at the station will be doing it this year?”
“Not a clue.”
“Well, since your partner’s son is in my class and you’re my brother, what if you two did it? What do you think?”
Riley didn’t particularly want to spend any more time than necessary with uptight Paula and since events like the bike safety lesson were usually conducted on their own time, this was a particularly unwelcome idea. But he didn’t like letting his little sister down. “Sure, that sounds like fun.”
Katie beamed at him. From this angle with her oval face framed by long black hair, and her green eyes, she reminded him of someone… . A stab of pain made him wince. He pressed his fingers to his temple.
“Are you all right?” Katie asked, pausing in the foyer. “You went pale all of a sudden.”
“A bit of a headache. I’m fine.” Outside, a car door shut. “I think the others have arrived.”
His dad’s white Ford sedan was parked at the curb. Then a truck rumbled to a halt, its air brakes hissing. Barry Henning’s voice carried as he issued instructions to the driver backing up the narrow curving driveway.
“How did you accumulate enough stuff to fill a moving van in less than a year?” Katie said.
Riley leaned against the veranda post. “Imagine a man living out of a footlocker for ten years. Then imagine him moving into his own home, even if it’s just a two-bedroom rental unit. A trip to the home furniture store is like taking a kid to a candy shop.”
“Hey, you two.” Sandra, their stepmother, came across the lawn, avoiding the truck. Her gray-blonde hair was softly waving, her smile big and bright. She presented Riley a casserole dish. “Your mother’s famous chicken cacciatore. You won’t have time to cook today.”
“Thanks.” He gave her a peck on the cheek. “You shouldn’t have.”
He exchanged a furtive grimace with Katie. Since she married their father Sandra had taken up cooking out of their mother’s cookbooks. It was nice of her, but in her hands the recipes didn’t always turn out—to put it mildly.
“Save that for another time,” Barry ordered, striding up onto the porch. His gray hair and moustache were regulation army length, his carriage erect. “We’ll order pizza after we get him moved in.”
“Yes, sir, Major Dad.” Katie saluted. She gave Sandra a wink.
“We’ve eaten out twice already this week.” Sandra was briefly crestfallen. Then she put on a brilliant smile. “Never mind, I’ll tuck this in the fridge.” She carried the casserole into the house.
One of the moving men trundled the first dolly-load—a walnut dresser—to the steps. “Where do you want this?”
“Right this way.” Riley led them into his house, rubbing his aching temple. What was up with the headache? He rarely got them and then only when he occasionally drank too much. There weren’t even any painkillers in his belongings. But the pain was nothing compared to what he’d experienced in Afghanistan. He would soldier on.
* * *
“MORNING, PATTY,” Paula called out as she passed Dispatch on Monday morning. The young Irish woman waved.
After the phone calls last week, Nick had gone quiet. When Paula had arrived home that night with Jamie, her house had been exactly as she’d left it, every door and window locked and untampered with. It should have reassured her. Instead, all weekend she’d been jumpy, obsessively checking over her shoulder, looking for Nick’s face in the crowd, keeping Jamie in sight as they wandered through the monthly outdoor market in the village.
She wasn’t naive enough to think Nick had gone away. He seemed to be biding his time, trying to make her nervous. What did he want from her? Did he hate her for betraying him? Did he want revenge?
Or did he want Jamie?
This morning she’d called Sally, Jamie’s afterschool caregiver, and asked her to be at the school at 3:00 p.m. on the dot. Then Sally’s toddler started crying and the other woman had to go. This afternoon, when Paula picked up Jamie, she needed to have a proper talk with Sally.
She found a desk and a spare computer and got caught up on paperwork, working steadily for an hour before her shift started. She and Riley were supposed to be equal partners but from things the guys said she’d deduced he was the boss’s best bud. And even though she was senior in years on the force, her past tainted her. She didn’t know if it was her imagination or her insecurities showing but she had the uncomfortable feeling that Riley was watching her every move, waiting for her to slip up. Well, she would show him. She would show everyone. She would work twice as hard as any one of them.
John came through the door heading for his office. He carried an athletic bag with a beach towel stuffed inside and his hair was damp. His early morning ocean swims were legend around the station.
“Excuse me, boss. Can I have a quick word?”
“Sure.” He glanced at her computer and at the clock. “You know we don’t have the budget for overtime, don’t you?”
“I know.” She saved her report and rose to follow him. “I hate getting behind on the report writing.”
“The trouble with policing today isn’t the crime, it’s the paperwork.” He opened his office door and flung his bag in the corner. “What can I do for you?”
“I wondered if you’ve heard anything from District Headquarters about my application to detective.”
It was too early to be asking about a promotion but chances were Moresco would revert to his old ways. She didn’t know if she’d be allowed to work on any case that involved him but if she was, she wanted to be ready. This time she would take him down for good. She couldn’t do that sitting on the side of the road working a radar gun.
“I reviewed your application when you joined Summerside,” John said. “Your qualifications are excellent.”
She studied his face, trying to decide if he genuinely supported her career ambitions or if he was like her previous commanding officers, letting her put in time till she could be sent on her way. “But?”
“All promotions are on hold due to budget cutbacks.” His expression was open and frank. “Funding cuts have been looming for some time but the memo came yesterday afternoon. The economy dips and the government tightens up on new spending. I’m sorry. There’s nothing I can do.”
Paula struggled to hide her disappointment. She believed him about the budget cuts but she’d been burned before and she wanted to know where she stood with him. “This knockback doesn’t have anything to do with my past, does it?”
“I know very little about your past.” John’s gaze was steady, inviting her to open up to him.
The silence stretched. Sounds of the outside office filtered through the door. Her fists balled on her thighs. What did he expect her to say? Did her future at Summerside depend on whether she told him her history right this minute? It sucked that her career still hung on one stupid choice she’d made years ago.
She could see his point of view. John didn’t know those days were over, but she’d be a fool to expose herself in case he had some discretionary spending or the economy turned around. He sure as hell wouldn’t be in a hurry to promote her if he knew what she’d done. But she wouldn’t whine that she’d learned her lesson. She would have to bust her hump and prove to him she deserved her detective stripes. If that meant taking Nick down on her own time, so be it.
Speaking of Nick, should she tell John that Moresco had contacted her? Not yet. Not till she knew what Nick wanted. She was in no hurry to associate herself with that loser. No, the past was still a closed subject.
“I should go finish my report before shift.” She rose. “Boss.”
Paula walked over to the coffee machine, nodding at bleary-eyed officers from night duty on their way home. Third-time lucky? Ha. She’d been dreaming. She stirred cream into her cup and took a sip, taking a moment to collect herself.
She checked the big wall clock over the copy machine. Almost time to hit the locker room—a daily ordeal she hoped would pass if and when she became accepted. The station was so small she was the only female cop. That in itself showed how far she’d dropped since she’d been part of a big bustling city station, in charge of her own vice unit and leading a major undercover drug investigation. Add in the fact that she had to share locker space with the guys and Summerside P.D. started to look more like a boys’ outdoor camp than a fully fledged police department. Mind you, she would never say such a thing to John who was proud of his little band of brothers.
But she was a big girl; she could handle the arrangement. It was the guys who seemed to have a problem with it. Whether they resented her for disrupting their routine or they simply didn’t like her, she had no idea.
Take the issue of changing into their uniform at work. Jackson was on the pudgy side and self-conscious. He waited until she left the room to get dressed. Crucek grumbled and turned his back as he quickly shucked his civvies. Delinsky obviously worked out and thought he was hot stuff. He liked to parade around bare-chested, flaunting his sculpted body at her. In your dreams, mate. She didn’t go for that over-developed look. Or the leering attitude.
Riley was the odd one out. Every morning he was there when she arrived, already fully kitted out. She might have thought he slept in his uniform except that it was always immaculately cleaned and pressed.
Sighing, she set her dirty cup by the sink. Time to man up.
“Morning, gentlemen,” she proclaimed loudly as she pushed open the door and stepped inside.
“Morning.” Riley was seated at the table, shining his already spit-polished shoes.
Despite the fact they hadn’t exactly hit it off the first week, he was a prime example of a good cop. Always professional, always smartly decked out, every detail of his uniform top notch. He was good looking, too, since she was noticing. His shoulders filled out his shirt nicely and the fabric of his pants stretched over long thigh muscles. Smarten up, Drummond. Mind on your job. The last time she’d given in to an inappropriate attraction it had cost her her career.
Instead of greeting her, Delinsky, Jackson and Crucek retreated to the far side of the room and began whispering like teenage girls. Normally she ignored their behavior—she had bigger things to worry about than guys acting goofy—but since Nick’s phone calls her control was stretched thin.
She twirled the combination lock. “So much for my high hopes of working with men instead of boys.”
More giggles.
It sucked being the new person. But she was damned if she would let the guys think their treatment bothered her or that she was going to kiss their collective asses.
Paula swung her locker door open. A plastic bag containing white crystals fell onto the floor. She jumped. In the background excited whispers rose in volume. Slowly she bent to pick up the ziplock bag. Her stomach turned over.
“Hey, watcha got there?” Crucek swaggered forward and took the bag from her hand. “Lookie here, guys. Our new constable is into drugs.”
“Don’t be an idiot!” She made a swipe for the bag but Crucek whipped it out of her reach, holding it high so she would have had to jump to get it.
Delinsky and Jackson crowded around. “Does Sergeant Forster know about this?” Jackson said, eyes wide. “Maybe we ought to get him in here. Let him know what his new constable has been up to.”
“Screw you.” What the hell was this about? Were they teasing? Was this a lame joke because she was a woman or because she was new? She should laugh it off but she couldn’t find her sense of humor.
“We know about you,” Delinsky crowed.
How could they know about her past? That was supposed to be a secret. Was she imagining the menace in Delinsky’s voice? Were they trying to get rid of her? Whatever they knew, or thought they knew, would they tell John? If so, there went any hope of her promotion, if not her job.
“Nothing to know.” Her voice was too loud, bouncing off the pale green walls. “Piss off, jerks, and let me get ready for work. Shift is about to start.”
“We think there’s plenty to know, don’t we guys?” Crucek glanced around for support and received grunts of assent and nodding heads.
Had Nick gotten to them? No, that was plain paranoid. She swallowed. Wasn’t it?
They had her surrounded, Crucek and Jackson in front, Delinsky’s hot breath on the back of her neck. These men were supposed to be her coworkers, her support system. Yet at this moment she felt that if she showed any weakness they would tear her apart like a pack of wolves.
“Back. Off.” She spoke more forcefully, spinning to snap at Delinsky. “You, too, hotshot.”
Jackson took a step closer. As if by agreement, the others did, too. “We don’t like bent cops.”
“Do you know what happens to bent cops?” Crucek sneered.
Paula scowled, adrenaline rushing through her body, making her feel sick. Her heart was beating so loudly she could barely hear them. She had a crazy urge to pull out her gun and start firing. Maybe that’s what they wanted, for her to lose control.
Riley rose and walked over. Although he was junior to the others he had a battle-hardened air that gave him an innate authority. “Give me that.” He reached between Jackson and Crucek and yanked away the plastic bag. He held it up to the light, turned it this way and that.
Paula clenched her fists. If her partner was in on the plot to break her, she would never forgive him. If she was found in possession of drugs, all her credibility was gone. Whatever the guys’ motivation was, this had the potential to hurt her. Badly.
Riley opened the bag and shook a large irregular crystal into his palm. He brought his hand to his mouth and took a lick. Ran the taste around in his mouth. “Rock sugar. The kind some people put in their coffee.”
Sugar. Relief flooded her, weakening her knees. She hadn’t been set up with real drugs. They didn’t know anything. No one was out to get her. Nick hadn’t infiltrated the station. John wouldn’t find out about her past.
The men erupted in roars of laughter.
Jackson slapped her on the back. “We got you good, Drummond!”
“Welcome to Summerside P.D.” Crucek had tears in his eyes from laughing so hard.
“You’re a good sport.” Delinsky grinned and squeezed her arm.
The men drifted away, still crowing. “She took it so seriously.” “Did you see her expression?” “I could hardly keep a straight face.”
Paula stood where she was, trembling and trying not to show it. Bloody bastards thought they were so clever. She’d love to give them a dose of their own medicine. But she didn’t dare, not with even a faint possibility of her detective stripes dangling in front of her. She had to keep on the straight and narrow, regardless of how much she’d like to grind these backwoods amateur cops into the dirt.
Riley took her arm and led her to the bench, gently pushed her onto it. He sat beside her and put a hand on her shoulder. “It was just a joke.”
She shook off his hand, turning her pent-up fury on him. “Stay out of it. I can fight my own battles.”
“They hid my gun the first week I was here,” Riley went on as though she hadn’t bitten his head off. “I thought I’d lost it. I was shitting myself. Idiot that I was, I didn’t even get that they were hazing me. They waited until I wrote up a missing-equipment report and was about to give it to John before they brought out my revolver from wherever they’d hidden it.”
“What did you do?” Paula asked. Was there a way to get even without cost to her? Doubtful. She knew how hazing worked. If you got mad, you were a poor sport. If you tried to get even, the jokes escalated.
“Nothing. There’s nothing you can do. But it’s not so bad here in Summerside. I’ve seen army squadrons where newcomers are hazed for months. But these guys will do it only once. They called you a good sport—after today you won’t have to worry about them.” Riley paused. “You did take it awfully seriously.” He waited, as if for an explanation.
“I was never treated like that in my other units.” She didn’t mention the moving of files, the swapping of her hat for one three sizes too big. But those pranks happened years ago, when she was a rookie. This seemed malicious. Or was she being overly sensitive? “Were you in on it?”
“No. I’m not a fan of practical jokes.” Riley drew a thumbnail along the grain of the bench, making a shallow crease in the wood. “I don’t think they meant to upset you. Maybe they inadvertently hit close to the bone.” He searched her face. “Did they?”
Really? He wanted her to cozy up and confide in him? Think again, mate. He might be handsome and sexy and professional and a whole lot of things she admired, but they had a job to do and that’s where their connection ended. Besides, she’d rather do a month of solid paperwork than trust someone she’d just met with her past.
Paula got to her feet. She unclenched her fingers and felt the blood flow into them. “Shouldn’t we be out on traffic patrol, nailing speeders?”
Riley continued to regard her with that measured gaze. She shifted edgily, twisting her cap. Finally he rose and tipped a sardonic finger to his brow. “Okay. Partner.”
* * *
PAULA KNOCKED ON THE open classroom door, arriving for her parent-teacher interview. The walls were lined with brightly colored student artwork. Tables, not desks, were used for seating. At the back of the room beanbags formed a reading circle next to the bookshelf. Her new job might be less than she’d hoped for but at least for Jamie the atmosphere was warm and welcoming.
Katie Henning, seated at her desk, glanced at her schedule. “You must be Paula, Jamie’s mum. Please come in.”
“It’s nice to have a parent-teacher meeting early in the year,” Paula said, taking a seat. Katie had her brother’s dark hair, high cheekbones and sculpted mouth. But instead of dark brown eyes, Katie’s were pale green.
“We like to get parents involved in their child’s education right from the start.” Katie leafed through the stack of folders on her desk. “I’ve got some of Jamie’s work to show you.”
“We have someone else in common besides Jamie,” Paula said. “Your brother, Riley.”
“I know, he told me.” Katie pulled a folder with Jamie Drummond written across the top. “I asked Riley if you two would give my class a lesson in bike safety. Would you be up for that? I’ll bet your son would be thrilled to show off his mum, the cop.”
Paula wasn’t sure she wanted to draw attention to Jamie being her son. But she guessed if Nick were going to find out about the boy, he would do so regardless of a bike safety talk. “That sounds fine.”
“We’ll schedule it in a few weeks, when the kids have settled in.” Katie smiled. “Jamie’s a lovely boy.”
Katie probably said that to all the parents but Paula couldn’t help feel a rush of maternal pride. “He’s enjoying school. Is it too early to ask how he’s doing in class?”
“He’s adjusting well, playing with the other children. Judging from his drawings he has excellent fine motor skills.”
“So you have no concerns at this point?”
“There is one thing. The other day I asked the children to draw pictures of their parents’ occupations. He depicted you in a police uniform. All good there.” Katie removed a drawing from Jamie’s folder and passed it across the desk. “But is his father really an astronaut?”
Paula pressed her fingers to her mouth at the cartoon-like figure of a man in a space suit. Poor Jamie. School activities and interacting with other students would inevitably highlight his lack of a father. She’d tried to prepare him but she couldn’t foresee every contingency.
“I’m sorry. I should have spoken to you about Jamie’s father before.”
“You can tell me now,” Katie said. “This meeting is for parents and teachers to talk about any issues or special problems.”
“Jamie’s never met his father. N-Nicholas and I separated before Jamie was born. He isn’t an astronaut. He’s…a businessman,” she lied, choosing her words carefully. “He’s not in our lives. Never has been and never will be. I have full custody. I’ve provided a copy of the court order to the school office. If Jamie’s father were ever to come to Summerside, he’s not to have any contact with Jamie. That’s extremely important. No contact. At all.”
“We have a couple of students where custody is an issue,” Katie said. “Jamie’s not alone there.”
Paula doubted her son’s situation was remotely similar to the other pupils’. She didn’t want to be one of those overprotective helicopter mothers hovering over her child, but Nick’s re-emergence had spiked her sense of vulnerability. She gripped her purse as Katie once again leafed through Jamie’s folder.
“Ah, yes. I see you’ve noted on his information sheet that you, Karen Drummond and Sally Leeds are the only people authorized to pick him up from school.”
“Karen is my mother. Sally is Jamie’s after-school caregiver,” Paula explained. “I’ve spoken to her about the situation. Sally’s very reliable. But in the event that she’s late, what safeguards are in place to prevent someone else taking Jamie before she gets here?”
“A teacher is always on duty outside at the front of the school at home time,” Katie said. “With so many students it’s difficult to ensure each child goes with the correct adult. It’s up to the authorized person picking up to get there on time.”
“As I said, Sally’s dependable. However, I’d like this information to be circulated to every teacher.” Paula pressed her hand on the sheet. “I can’t stress how important this is.”
“I’ll make a note of that.” Katie wrote a brief memo on the info sheet. “Cops. You’re so security-conscious. Riley is always installing some new alarm in my house. I’m not complaining. It’s good to know someone’s looking out for you.”
Paula nodded politely, unable to relate. She looked out for herself.
“I don’t blame you,” Katie added. “Children are precious and so vulnerable.”
“Do you have kids?”
Katie shook her head wistfully. “Someday. If I meet the right guy.”
“It’s not easy, is it?” Paula gave her a wry smile, one single woman in her thirties to another.
Katie’s dry lift of her eyebrows acknowledged the truth of that. “However, I’m too busy right now with work to be looking for anyone permanent.”
“Same.” Although it was more complicated than that. She would love to find a wonderful man and have another child or two. But a proper home and a family felt out of reach with Nick lurking in her background. Oh, by the way, Jamie’s dad is a drug lord but don’t worry, I’m over him. Understandably, any worthwhile man would run a mile once he knew that about her. What was wrong with her that she could have fallen for a criminal?
“Anything else I can tell you?” Katie asked.
Paula would have welcomed knowing why Riley shunned questions about his past. What badass thing had he done? But that probably wasn’t what Katie meant. “No, I think that’s it. I know you have a lot of parents to see tonight. It was nice to meet you.”
Katie got to her feet and shook hands. “I’ll be in touch to organize for the bike safety class in a few weeks. Thanks for agreeing.”
“I’m happy to do it.” Paula said good-night and walked through the corridors, thinking ahead to picking up Jamie from Sally’s house, then going home. After she got Jamie into bed, she might treat herself to a nice hot bath. Riley was right. She had been tense lately—for good reason—and the incident with the rock sugar hadn’t helped.
Thirty minutes later she turned into her driveway, half listening to Jamie’s chatter about the game of hide and seek he’d played at Sally’s house. Nearly eight o’clock, it was still light. Her glance automatically went to the front door—
Her hands tightened on the wheel. Sitting on the mat was a bright red remote-controlled racing car. She couldn’t afford toys that expensive. Her mother would never splurge unless it was a birthday or Christmas present. Nor would she leave it sitting on the front porch. It definitely wasn’t Christmas and Jamie’s birthday was in July.
Only one person would have given such a gift.
Nick.
