Just Once

by Addison Fox

  The steady veneer broke, Harlow’s shock betraying the calm façade. “She what? What’s this about?”

  “My business is in a loft in DUMBO. Last Wednesday morning I came in to find the office in disarray, but the only thing actually missing was two of my servers. Then they magically reappeared yesterday after someone broke in to put them back.”

  “And you think my mother’s involved?”

  “You tell us,” Fender parried. “Her calling card was on top of the servers.”

  Daphne walked into Moe’s and waited between the outer and inner doors so her eyes could adjust. She still hadn’t gotten a callback from Amber McGee, and she wanted to close down that thread.

  Or she at least hoped a conversation would close it down.

  With the more obvious connection to Gretchen Reynolds, it increasingly looked like Landon’s break-in had nothing to do with Amber McGee. Amber had told Landon as much, and questioning his birthmother felt exactly like the dead end that it was.

  But she did have to formally close the loop. At least that’s what she kept telling herself.

  Daphne was still adjusting to the absence of light before she pushed on into the darkened interior. A light, jazzy tune accompanied the bar staff as they buzzed around getting ready for the dinner crowd.

  “Sorry, we’re still closed.” One of the bartenders hollered over to her. His voice was firm but friendly.

  Daphne headed toward him, her hand on her badge. She’d traded yesterday’s dress for her more standard issue black slacks, white button-down, and a sporty suit jacket she’d gotten on sale at T.J. Maxx. While she wouldn’t necessarily call it the height of fashion, it was professional enough for her to pass as part of the evening crowd.

  “I’m not here for a drink. I’d like to speak to a member of the staff. Is your manager here?”

  The friendly smile dropped as she produced the badge. “Moe’s managing tonight. I’ll get him.”

  She waited where she was, observing the interior. Moe had gone into the restaurant business about six years earlier. A local shoe-store owner who’d always wanted to own a dining establishment, he’d seemed to carry his business skills from retailer to restaurateur with admirable success.

  Fulfilling one’s dreams had a way of doing that, she mused to herself as she took in the place. The dark interior, the quality food, and the good service had paid off, and in six years Moe had created a Park Heights institution. She hadn’t been here in a while, but looking around, she wondered why she and Jaz didn’t hit this bar every so often for happy hour.

  Moe himself walked out of a back office, his expression more curious than wary. “Can I help you?”

  Daphne introduced herself. “I’d like a few moments if I can.”

  With a reluctant nod, he walked her back to his office. No sooner had the door closed than he started in. “I run a good business. What do the cops want with me?”

  “I don’t want anything with you. And if this goes the way I think it will, I’ll be out of here in five minutes. But I do need to speak to one of your waitresses. Amber McGee.”

  Moe stilled, his eyes shooting downward before they leveled back up. “She’s a good woman. Doesn’t make any trouble.”

  “I’m not saying she did. But I do need to speak with her.”

  “Hired her almost two years ago. She works hard. Keeps her head down.”

  “This is just routine.”

  “Can you talk to her in here? Out of the way of everyone?”

  “Of course.”

  Daphne waited in the office while Moe went to get Amber. The man’s ready defense of his waitress went a long way to balance the scales against the lack of a return phone call, but Daphne still needed to clear Amber herself.

  In moments a tall yet slight woman entered the office, her outfit in the standard uniform of the rest of the staff: black button-down shirt, black slacks, sturdy shoes that would get her through an eight-hour shift.

  “Ms. McGee? I’m Detective Daphne Rossi.”

  Amber took the proffered hand, her gaze darting downward before she firmly leveled it on Daphne’s. Those dark eyes were a match for her son’s and Daphne stumbled for a moment, struck by the similarity biology could produce. And the very real truth that she wasn’t here just as a cop. She had curiosity in spades over Landon’s mother, and following up in person had offered a prime excuse to satisfy it.

  An uncomfortable itch settled at the base of her neck. She was the reason for Landon’s pain. She could argue all she wanted that questioning Amber was a part of her job—the right thing to do—but it didn’t change the fact that she had made the initial call that brought his past straight to his front door.

  “I know why you’re here.” Amber’s quiet words punctured the moment, resigned yet direct.

  “My message wasn’t all that specific.”

  “My son had a break-in. I heard the news and figured out that’s the reason you called.”

  Since she hadn’t left any details on her message, Daphne decided to see how Amber played the discussion. “How did you know he had a break-in?”

  “People talk in this place. Local gossip. I was handling the bar on Thursday night, and a few people were in talking about it.” Amber smiled, the tilt of her lips again vintage Landon. “People think Brooklyn’s such a big place, but in the neighborhood, not so much. Local goings-on are big news.”

  “The break-in happened in DUMBO,” Daphne pointed out.

  “But it happened to one of Park Heights’s favorite sons.”

  “Where were you when it happened?”

  “Wednesday night I was here late, helping out with the prep for an inventory order the next day. I left around four and took a cab home. I can show you the receipt. Yesterday I had lunch with my—” the hesitation was brief, barely there, but Daphne caught it all the same “—sponsor.”

  “If you can show me the receipt and provide me with a name for your sponsor I can make a few notes in my file and close this out.”

  “Of course.”

  “Daphne scribbled down the details as Amber left to get her purse, returning a few moments later with her wallet. The promised receipt followed, along with a name and cell-phone number for Amber’s sponsor.

  “Landon’s an amazing man,” Amber said as she handed the papers over.

  Daphne had her phone out to snap a photo of the receipt when she stilled, bobbling the phone. She took the picture, then handed the receipt back. “He is.”

  “He’s always been amazing. From the first moment I saw him, I knew. It’s why I didn’t make the right decision from the start and give him up for adoption like I’d planned. He deserved better than me, but it took me ten years to finally accept that.”

  Whatever Daphne been expecting—and more than a few scenarios had gone through her mind—this wasn’t it. “I’m not here to interrogate you about your past.”

  “I suppose not. But if you’re dating him, I figure you have a right to know.”

  “Why do you think that?”

  That small, wry smile had returned, the subtle tilt of lips that unquestionably marked her as Landon’s mother. “Like I said before. Local gossip. And right now, you and my son are a hot topic.”

  Daphne stared into her wine glass and tried to shake off her dismal mood. Even for a Monday evening in the middle of summer, the End Zone was doing a brisk business. Tables were full, people were laughing over drinks or dinner, and the distinct hum of relaxed enjoyment filled the air. Daphne tried to tap into it—tried to absorb some sense of that optimism and fun—and failed miserably.

  Even as she knew she should be celebrating.

  Landon’s case was showing movement. Katie had worked her magic and confirmed that the servers looked like they’d been accessed but not tampered with. Which also meant Landon would have them back soon and could tinker with them to his heart’s content.

  She’d spent her last hour at work briefing her lieutenant and walking him through the case file, includin
g her approach and goals to wrap things up. With the continued lack of response from Gretchen, Daphne would visit her in the morning, armed with photos of the calling card and the servers, and further armed with the implications of violating Internet security and privacy laws in the state of New York.

  Pending that outcome, the whole case might be one for the history books by tomorrow evening. A good, solid outcome on a situation that had garnered increased attention at the precinct for the political nature of the crime.

  Brooklyn protected its own.

  And her lieutenant further confirmed the extended decision on the terrorism task force would work in her favor as this case—and her discovery of the digital aspects—would line up on the plus side of the equation for her candidacy.

  Life was good.

  She was dating an interesting man who made her absurdly happy. She’d wrapped his case. She’d likely advanced her career in the process. She’d only had to go digging down a dead-end street, trying to make a random scapegoat out of Landon’s birth mother in order to do it.

  Although she’d avoided dwelling too hard on the events that had led up to their lovemaking the morning before, she couldn’t deny the pain or the fury that had dogged him from the moment he’d arrived at her apartment. They’d pushed past it, their need for each other more powerful than the past, but she’d be foolish and naïve to think they could perpetuate that myth.

  Or keep the past at bay forever.

  Unfinished business always had a way of returning. Whether it was the natural order of the universe or the stubborn inability of humans to move on without closure, now that the Amber McGee genie was out of the bottle, there was no putting her back.

  Daphne gazed into the bottom of her Cabernet. It didn’t entirely rest on her. The pain of Landon’s childhood had nothing to do with the break-in and everything to do with what he’d endured for the first decade of his life. It was poor timing that her job had been the conduit to opening that back up, but it wasn’t her fault.

  They could move past it. No, they would move past it. Once she finished things up and completed the job, they’d move on.

  The job. Her job.

  Why did it always come down to that? And why did she so often find herself choosing between it and everything else in her life?

  The breakup with Mike.

  Her family’s continued frustration with her chosen profession.

  And now Landon.

  Finding and questioning Amber McGee was a necessary step in closing his case. She’d have been a fool not to look there, and even more foolish to ignore the potential for danger from that corner. So what if she was also curious about his biological mother? She’d been curious about his adoptive mother and had found a warm, loving, caring woman on that front. It was only natural to want to understand where he came from. What had shaped and made him.

  Even if part of what made him was the stuff of nightmares.

  Although she’d not read anything sealed in the files, the fact there was anything to seal off was concerning. She’d been a cop too long to not know full well there was something hurtful locked away in those pages that pertained to a minor’s involvement in a case.

  To Landon’s involvement in a case.

  Yet none of that had changed her course of action. Or altered her determination to speak to his mother.

  She’d felt compassion in those loaded moments in Moe’s office. The quiet woman with the big, soulful eyes and the ocean of regret that swirled deep within them. Daphne respected all of Amber’s hard work to get sober and stay there. To turn her life around. The woman had been committed to the outcome and had paid dearly to do so.

  But it was impossible to miss the price it had exacted on her son.

  “Wow, L.” A long, low whistle echoed behind her, along with the distinct notes of genuine male appreciation. “She’s way too gorgeous to want to spend time with your ugly mug.”

  Although she’d positioned herself facing the door, Landon and what could only be his other brother, Fender, stood behind her. She turned with a smile, scattering the dark thoughts to the recesses of her mind. “Where’d you two come from?”

  “Snuck in the back.” Landon jingled a key ring still dangling from his fingertips. “The benefits of knowing the boss.”

  He bent down to give her a kiss, the solid, reassuring feel of those lips against hers going a long way toward calming the roiling seas she’d spent the past day tossing in. When he added a slight squeeze to the back of her neck—the touch full of promise and restrained passion—Daphne felt those seas calm a few notches more.

  They were okay. And they’d be okay.

  Until that moment she hadn’t understood just how much the fear they might not be okay had ruled her.

  “If my brother would unhand you a moment it would give me a chance to hug you myself. Fender Blackstone.” Before she could blink, Fender had her on her feet and in his arms, the move smooth, gentle, and a billion percent charming.

  “I see you’ve met the other one.” Nick said, his voice dry as he materialized seemingly out of nowhere. He had two longnecks in one hand and a fresh glass of wine for her. He set all three down on the table. “We do our best to keep him locked up or stuck underneath the cars he loves so much, but he surfaces every now and again.”

  “Fuck.” Fender lifted his beer and saluted Nick. “You.”

  “Right back at ya.” Fender directed his comment at Nick’s retreating back.

  Daphne had barely retaken her seat when Fender’s smile flashed wicked, his green eyes glowing with an unholy light. “My brothers don’t like to share is the more likely story.”

  “Somehow you don’t strike me as the sharing type, either.”

  “I keep what’s mine to myself.”

  Daphne reached for Landon’s free hand, giving it a light squeeze before keeping it firmly captured in hers. “Seems like a family trait.”

  Fender settled into his chair, the wicked fading as a solid layer of respect took its place. “Smart and gorgeous. I like your style, Detective Rossi.”

  She couldn’t help borrowing Nick’s parting words. “Right back at ya.”

  Fender did laugh at that, long and low. Their initial measures mutually taken, Daphne and Fender quickly fell into conversation. What started as a casual game of getting-to-know-you quickly became a who’s who of Park Heights. He knew her brothers. She knew the woman he’d hired last year as his fourth shop mechanic. His accountant was her partner’s brother-in-law. Her aunt was his latest customer to ask for a restoration job on her vintage Caddy.

  “Are you sure you two have never met before?” Landon asked as he reached for some of the cheese fries their waitress had dropped off at the table.

  “No.” Daphne said.

  “Never.” Fender added.

  “It’s weird, though,” Daphne added. “The connections. Park Heights isn’t all that big, yet we’ve never met before.”

  She’d considered that the prior week when she’d walked over to Landon’s office to handle the initial break-in call. She and Landon had lived in each other’s orbit for their entire lives, yet hadn’t crossed paths.

  Their friends had. Their siblings, too. But never each other.

  So why now?

  The thought haunted her throughout dinner, the opposite side of the same coin she’d been considering before he came in. One could argue her job brought them together. But one could also argue it was his break-in. Was it really just a simple matter of circumstance?

  Or something else?

  “Oh wow, that burger was good.” Fender leaned back in his chair and let his gaze drift over the bar. “I’m not sure where Nick found his latest cook, but the burgers keep getting better and better.”

  “It’s the beef,” Landon said. “Emma got him a new line on a local supplier. The cows are all grass-fed and raised organically.”

  Fender shook his head. “I need to go give him shit for that. Next thing you’ll be telling me is that he sources his
guacamole from avocado trees planted in the pristine and sustainably irrigated waters of underground Mexican springs, and his cheese is purchased from a goat herder upstate.”

  When Landon didn’t say anything, Fender rolled his eyes. “What has happened to the world? Good old-fashioned preservatives and copious reams of sugar should be fueling us all into middle age. Instead the entire borough is obsessed with things that are organic, natural, or grass-fed.”

  “Nick’s customers like it. And he can charge a premium for it all. So win-win.”

  “Et tu?” Fender asked.

  Daphne cut in. “If you want to see copious amounts of sugar, go visit a cop shop. I’m quite sure I’ve got colleagues who couldn’t even tell you what an avocado is, let alone where you grow one. But every single one of them can tell you how to get to every donut shop in Brooklyn and which have the best donuts.”

  “Lester’s on Maple—” Fender said.

  “Margie’s at Main and Sixth.” Landon quickly argued.

  “You’re both wrong. For my money it’s Donut Planet on Gunhill Road,” Daphne said.

  “Give it up for the men and women in blue. I love that place.” Fender dug into his jeans pocket for his phone and rolled his eyes when he read the bright screen.

  Landon leaned toward him, but Fender dragged the screen away. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. I just remembered I have to go.”

  “Hot date?” Daphne asked, amused when the screen in Fender’s hand lit up once more.

  Landon made a landgrab, snagging the phone and pulling it close. His forehead crinkled before he looked up at his brother. “You’ve been summoned to the bar.”

  “Why?” The words were no sooner out of her mouth than Daphne understood what was going on. “You don’t have to leave. Even if someone’s texting you from over there suggesting otherwise.”

  “Oh for fuck’s sake.” Landon shook his head. “I’m not even sure why we picked here.”

  “Supporting the local economy?” Fender offered helpfully.

  “We can fix that real quick.” Landon stood and had the money out of his back pocket before Fender could protest. “It’s on me. And thanks for your help earlier.”