“Was she afraid for herself on Wednesday?”
“No.”
“Then her knowing the truth wouldn’t have changed anything. I imagine she’s suffering from some form of PTSD. Or at least memory-related stress. Wednesday’s incident was a trigger, and there’s no guarantee that will ever end for her.”
Tad let the anger surging inside him burn silently for a few seconds. And saw the reason in what the chief was saying.
But did he have to be so...cold, so scientific about the whole thing? This was his daughter they were talking about. If he’d seen Miranda, seen his own daughter teetering in a hell of her own and yet managing to stay afloat, to tend to others...it would break his heart.
Which was why the chief had to approach the situation from a cerebral place. Understanding dawned on Tad as he stood there in his bedroom, looking at the open sock drawer from which he’d pulled the burner phone.
Brian O’Connor might be a hero, might seem larger than life, but he was just a man, too. One who’d lost his wife to illness and then his only child to a fiend who’d beaten her to the point of fearing for her life. Running for her life.
Like his daughter, the chief might grieve, but no matter how intense his personal pain, he managed to stay afloat. To tend to others.
“You two need each other,” he told his superior.
“I’m not at all sure she’d agree with you on that.” O’Connor’s tone was less robust than Tad had ever heard. “I haven’t been completely forthright with you, Detective.”
Heading out to his balcony, Tad counted the black bars across the front of the space by rote. There were twenty-four of them, mounted on top of a four-foot-high stucco wall. Spaced four inches apart.
Do not tell me her husband’s still alive. Not trusting himself to speak, knowing he had to learn the facts before he acted, Tad waited.
“The truth is, finding out that I know where she is could trigger Dana to disappear again,” he said. “I don’t think it would. If she’s as far along in her healing as you’ve reported, then she almost certainly wouldn’t. Trouble is, I’m not ready to take even that minute chance of losing her again.”
Tad was trying to keep pace with him. And to understand what was being said behind and inside the words, too.
“You think that anyone from her past life finding her could trigger the fight-or-flight reaction?” he guessed. Miranda in no way seemed to him to be so vulnerable that she’d run without first seeking assistance. Her whole world was filled with professionals trained to help those in her situation.
That was no mistake, he realized. Even the doctor she worked for was dedicated to the fight against domestic violence; not only that, he was a donor to The Lemonade Stand.
And the man she’d befriended, with the clear indication that she’d be open to more, the first man she’d, by her own admission, been interested in since her ex’s death, was a detective on leave volunteering on the High Risk Team.
As far as he knew, none of them had any idea about her past—except him, and she didn’t realize that—but she’d planted herself in the middle of a fortress.
A surge of emotion flooded him—like nothing he’d felt in many, many years. Deeply warm. And fiercely protective. The woman impressed the hell out of him over and over again.
“I think my daughter could still be hugely angry with me.”
Not at all the words he’d been expecting. Or any version thereof.
“Excuse me?”
“We didn’t part on good terms,” the chief said, giving Tad a feeling he didn’t like at all. Like when an investigation took a bad turn. A really bad turn.
“Mind explaining that one?” He didn’t consider himself subordinate at the moment. Or the receiver of a paycheck. This was news to him and he didn’t like being misled.
“I was trying to get her to leave the bastard,” O’Connor said. “She said I didn’t understand, that she loved him and he loved her...”
Lips pressed firmly together, Tad waited.
“The truth is, he turned her against me, Tad. I couldn’t believe it was happening at first. Didn’t believe it. I thought she was just having a hard day or was taking it all out on me. She said she could handle him. That I was making things much worse. Said she wanted her space, so I did my best to give it to her. And she’d go longer and longer between phone calls. Too late I realized he was isolating her from me, the one person who could protect her. She had few friends, had been a quiet child ever since her mother died. Didn’t date in high school or go out much. She was ripe for him and no matter what I tried to do to help her, it was always the wrong thing.”
Tad slumped into one of the two chairs on the balcony, elbows on his knees as he stared at the artificial-grass-covered floor. Having spent close to four months studying the insidious hell of domestic violence from all sides, he could hear the truth in every single unbelievable word O’Connor was saying.
His heart went out to the guy.
“I’m sorry, sir.”
“No. No. Don’t you be sorry,” he said in return. “You being there, what you’re doing, you’ll never know how much it means. I just need you to be patient, Detective. Give me insights into her current situation. Give me a little time to get to know her again, through you. To figure out a way to approach this. But if she finds out I’ve got you looking out for her, it could ruin everything. Unless she understands that in the past, I wasn’t butting in or trying to control her, but to save her life. And that now, I just want to give her life back to her. To see her again. To love her and Jeffrey and do everything I can to help them be happy. Keep doing what you’re doing. When the time is right, I’ll know.”
“Okay.”
The last thing he wanted was to screw up Miranda’s life further. He’d read a ton, witnessed a small fraction firsthand, but he had no real experience with how either Miranda or her father would be feeling.
He was superimposing his own feelings onto theirs, colored by his own experiences.
He didn’t like feeling he was spying on her. But there was no way he was leaving her, either. Whether he worked for her father or not. He had to know for certain that her ex was dead. That all the danger from her past was gone. That she had a chance to know real freedom, and to have her father in her life again.
He could quit working for the chief. But then O’Connor would find someone else. Someone who might not care about Ethan and Miranda as much as Tad did. Be as respectful of them. Someone who might tip her off and send her running again as her father feared.
He hadn’t learned enough yet. So he was trapped.
“She told me Jeffrey’s father was killed in a car accident,” he said aloud. “Do you have any idea if that’s true? Do you know how the guy really died?”
She’d also told him she’d never been married.
“He died of an overdose,” O’Connor said. “And I’m not sure anymore that they were ever legally married. She told me they were. That they’d flown to Vegas, did it at one of those wedding chapels.”
He could never, in a million years, see Miranda doing that.
But he’d never known Dana.
“Problem is, I haven’t been able to find any record of the marriage.”
Even in Vegas you had to apply for a marriage license.
Clearly there was more investigating to do. And he wasn’t in a position to do it. O’Connor had been right on that score. If by chance a search was noted, if it was somehow traced back to Santa Raquel, someone could come looking. He’d done a lot more reading on identity change over the past week—including the risks.
And if Miranda and Ethan’s father really hadn’t been married, did it mean other things weren’t the way they seemed, either? Like the man’s death?
“Another concern has been brought to my attention,” O’Connor said. “There could be others, besides the brother
in prison, who know that Dana’s the mother of this guy’s son, and who aren’t the most upstanding citizens, if you get my drift. Maybe this guy owed someone drug money. Anyone could be out there, knowing that she’s my daughter, knowing the position I’ve reached, that I’ve amassed a substantial amount of money, and try to get to that money through her or Jeffrey. We just don’t know enough yet.”
O’Connor clearly had someone good on the case. Looking at every angle. Out to protect Miranda and Ethan, Dana and Jeffrey. And the money—Chief O’Connor had been left a huge inheritance by a man whose family O’Connor had once saved. It had been all over the news. Anyone who knew Miranda was his daughter would know he’d be able to pay a tidy sum for her return...
The chief might not have told Tad the full details of his and Dana’s personal situation, but he hadn’t lied to Tad, either. Tad had understood all along that he got information on a need-to-know basis. Chief O’Connor was absolutely certain his daughter’s ex was dead. Tad had to go with that. Deal with feeling uneasy.
O’Connor didn’t get where he was without having to prove himself, again and again. He’d climbed the ranks based on his deeds, not on who he happened to know. He was a fireman, a lifesaver. He wasn’t going to risk his own daughter’s life or that of his grandson. On the contrary, he’d do everything possible to protect them.
“I’ve got your back, sir.”
He made the promise before ringing off.
“And your daughter’s, too,” he added after he disconnected the call.
Chapter 14
Ethan had a surprising request for Miranda when he came out of school on Friday. She’d spent the past two days, since hearing that Marie and Danny were home and fine, alternating between wanting to hold her son, never letting go—and needing to push both of them out into the world to live. Fear and paranoia versus strength and mental health.
“Can I spend the night at Jimmy’s tomorrow?” her son asked as he climbed into the car, shoving his backpack on the floor at his feet.
Spend the night away from her?
It was as if the universe was testing her. Ethan with Jimmy.
And her with Tad.
Could she be a normal mom? Give her kid a normal life?
And a normal woman? Surrender to the intense attraction she had for Tad Newberry?
“It’s his birthday and his mom said he could invite one friend and that’s me,” Ethan continued, taking an envelope out of the front pocket of his pack and handing it to her.
Wanting to put the car in gear and drive away, she took the envelope and pulled onto the street.
She’d met Jimmy Randolph’s parents a few times. The boys had participated in T-ball together the previous summer and James Randolph, Jimmy’s father, had helped coach the team.
The boys had never played together outside of school and sports, though. Ethan had never even been to Jimmy’s house.
“You’ve never spent the night away from home,” she said, still holding the sealed envelope with, she assumed, a birthday invitation inside, as she drove them toward home.
What did she do with this? Stay safe? Or take a chance?
“So?” Ethan’s defensive tone told her clearly what her son wanted her to do. She could coddle him, but only so much. He was growing into his own person. Would fight for the chance to live his life.
He was six and had no idea of the reality of their lives.
What should she do? She signaled a turn and made it around the corner.
“You’d have to follow Jimmy’s parents’ rules. Go to bed when they say. Get up when they say, even if it’s different from how we do it at home.”
“I know, Mom, I’m not dense.” The blue eyes peering over at her from behind those dark frames just took her breath away. God, how she loved him.
What should she do? There was a car slowing in front of her. She slowed, too.
“And if it sucks, I can call you and you can come get me,” he added. Practical. What she should have been.
“Don’t say sucks. You know I don’t like it.”
What should she do? What should she do?
Stop it, she told herself.
“I want to go, Mom.”
She knew what she had to do. What the rational part of her wanted to be able to do. “I’ll call Jimmy’s mom and work out the details,” she told her son. But she wasn’t thinking about Barbara Randolph as she turned into the driveway at home a few minutes later. She was thinking about Tad Newberry.
And wondering if, maybe, he’d be free to go on a date the next night.
She’d need some pretty stupendous distraction if she was going to survive this one—her first night ever without her son.
* * *
Tad stepped out of the shower Friday evening, having just come home from an extra workout at the gym—his third visit that day—to hear his phone ding an incoming text. Still dripping, he dried his hands, threw his towel around his neck and grabbed the phone. Very few people texted him anymore.
Recently, only one.
Miranda’s icon showed on his screen.
You free tomorrow night?
Funny how in an instant you could go from sore and irritable to...
Sure, he texted back. He wondered what she had in mind. Maybe invite him to the movies with her and Ethan? He would’ve been glad to go with them the previous weekend.
Or another picnic on the beach.
Maybe Ethan was bugging her about another round of Zoo Attack.
Hell, he’d be willing to sit in a puddle with them on the back porch. His, hers or someone else’s.
Feel like going out to dinner?
Sounds good. Uncle Bob’s again, probably. Or somewhere he hadn’t been that was equally pleasing to kids. Some pizza place where he and Ethan could play Skee-Ball or shoot hoops. Rubbing his hair while the rest of him drip-dried, Tad waited for more details.
And maybe a club or something? Adult time.
He read the screen while the phone lay on the bathroom counter, then pulled the towel from his head and wrapped it around his growing midsection.
At the word adult?
He stared at his phone, as though touching it would make it explode.
Unless you don’t want to.
The sudden hesitation struck him. He knew what it would have taken for Miranda to issue that invitation.
Picking up his phone, he typed, Of course I want to. Sorry, just getting out of the shower, went to the gym for supper tonight.
They were going out for “adult” time. Just the two of them. He felt like a randy teenager. And a fool. He was on a job.
With permission for fringe benefits.
But Miranda didn’t know that. Any of it.
Still, his feelings for her were as genuine as he could get...
If he pulled back now, she’d be hurt.
Ethan’s spending the night with a friend, she texted.
When should I pick you up?
I drop him off at five. How about six? Let’s dress nicely. My first time out in six years.
Images of Miranda in a form-fitting dress that showed some cleavage and shoulder immediately overwhelmed him.
Got it.
Got that they’d have all night, too. That she could very well be expecting the kiss he’d managed to avoid on the trail on Wednesday. And more.
Fully erect now, he noticed the bulge of his towel in the mirror’s reflection and knew he was in serious trouble.
* * *
Miranda’s Saturday off meant cleaning day, and she hit it like a maniac. Ethan went along with her plans to clean out his closet until he realized that meant getting rid of things he hadn’t worn or played with in at least a year.
He agreed to dust the living room and bedrooms. And to empty all the trash cans. He started to grumble when she suggested
he sort through his video games and choose some of them to donate—the ones he hadn’t played in quite a while.
She’d been spraying down the back patio, cleaning the table and chairs, and came back in to find him playing video games. Every one he hadn’t touched in what he figured was the past year.
Errands were next, and leaving a completely spotless house that now smelled like cleaning solution mixed with lavender, she got them through six stores, including the toy store where Ethan dawdled as they chose Jimmy’s present—an educational race car building kit. They were still back home with a couple of hours to spare before she had to drop him off.
She’d meant to shop for something to wear that night. Had glanced at some outfits as she breezed through the mall, but nothing had grabbed her.
Worried about shoes—mostly that she wasn’t sure she had any that wouldn’t make her look like a frumpy old mom—she tackled her own closet, rearranging, organizing, filling another bag of things to donate to The Lemonade Stand. What the women there couldn’t use, they could sell in their thrift shop.
And why the hell had she said that about dressing nicely?
Or—she cringed—used the word adult?
Why was she going at all?
With the beginnings of a panic attack tightening her chest, she walked out to find Ethan and conjured up another job for him. He could rearrange the cupboard so all the cereal labels faced out, and the boxed dinners were all stacked together.
But her son was sound asleep on the floor in front of the couch, his glasses skewed and pressed against the bridge of his nose.
She’d worn him out.
Too bad her energy crisis was stemming from nerves and wouldn’t give in to fatigue.
Back in her bedroom, she got practical. She had a dress, one she’d purchased to wear to a fund-raiser for The Lemonade Stand—a fancy wine tasting and auction put on by Hunter Rafferty’s company, A Time of Your Life. Hunter’s wife, Julie, was the sister of Colin Fairbanks, millionaire husband to Detective Chantel Harris of the High Risk Team. The event had been held the previous Christmas at the Fairbanks mansion, hosted by Julie and Chantel together, with wine from Tanner Malone’s local winery. Tanner’s then-fifteen-year-old sister Tatum had been a resident at The Lemonade Stand for a while.
Her Detective's Secret Intent Page 11