10-Code (Rock Point, #4)

by Barker, Freya

  “He’s a talker,” she notes.

  “That he is.”

  “My youngest is like that. Came out flapping his lips. Not a moody bone in his body, unlike his older brothers.”

  “Yup. That’s Max,” I confirm, watching as the boys stop beside a beat-up Jeep. Presumably hers. I find I’m not quite ready to let her go so easily. “Look...” I stop her with a hand on her arm. “Not sure what next week’ll look like—my work can be a bit unpredictable, which means it’s possible my mom and stepdad show up with Max—but if I’m at the game, why don’t we try for that burger then?” I can tell before she even opens her mouth she’s going to blow me off, so I quickly add, “It’s just a burger, the kids’ll love it, and they have seriously fucking good milkshakes too.”

  A battle wages on her face, before she finally settles on resigned. “Okay. I guess we can do just burgers.”

  “Great. Look forward to it.”

  “I do...” She hesitates and then says, “I’ll see you later,” before joining the boys by her car.

  I call out to Max, who comes bounding to my side as I unlock my new Ford Bronco. Casting one last look over my shoulder, I just see Marya’s round ass disappear in her Jeep before hopping behind the wheel myself.

  I barely hear Max’s chatter on the way to Sonya’s Diner, my mind is on that sentence the pretty brunette left unfinished. I do too.

  CHAPTER 2

  Marya

  “Mom! He’s killing me!”

  I take a deep breath at the sound of my youngest screaming at the top of his lungs. Thank God we live in a small, detached house, otherwise I’d have the cops at my door daily for violating the noise ordinance.

  “What the hell is going on now?” I stomp my way down the stairs into the basement, where my boys have their pad.

  These last few weeks I’ve been rethinking my decision to ban all gaming from their bedrooms, in favor of turning the rec room downstairs into their PS4 lair. It was Mom’s idea last Christmas to set each of them up in their own semi-private area with beanbags and separate secondhand gaming systems. An advance on their inheritance, she’d claimed, but I knew that was a load of bull. Mom’s not much better off than I am in the financial department. It took some convincing before I caved to that extravagance, but when the boys’ fights over the single system we had at the time almost turned bloody, I gave in.

  The only brand-new purchases had been the beanbags and the paint, but the refurbished game consoles and office dividers Mom was able to snag at bargain prices, and the total revamp of the rec room cost less than eight hundred dollars. Still a whack, but as Mom argued, she’d have spent about two hundred on each of the kids for Christmas anyway, so she had it in her budget.

  The peace it created had been bliss until a few weeks ago—about the time Liam started moping around—when the frequency of conflicts picked up again. The fighting is usually between him and Harry. Theo seems unaffected; he just tunes everyone out with the help of his sound-cancelling headphones.

  “Enough!” I bark when I catch sight of Liam hauling back to punch his brother in the face. “What on earth has gotten into you?” I grab Liam’s arm and pull him off his younger brother, who already sports the mark of a successfully landed fist on his cheekbone.

  “He just came at me,” Harry hurries to explain. “I didn’t do nothing.” I’m not buying his innocence for a second, but that doesn’t excuse the scene I walked in on.

  “I’m talking to your brother,” I shut him up.

  At first Liam struggles, still seething and focused on his brother, until I clamp my hands on his shoulders and turn him so I’m the only person he sees.

  “Don’t make me ask again,” I threaten.

  “He’s an idiot,” Liam hisses, dropping his eyes to the ground.

  “Christ, kid. You’re all idiots from time to time; you don’t see me pummeling the snot out of you. That’s a piss-poor excuse and you know it.” I give him a little shake.

  “Harry called Liam a pussy,” Theo, pulling off his headphones, contributes. Apparently my oldest had been paying attention after all.

  My eyes fly to my youngest, but my hands keep hold of Liam. “First of all, we don’t use words like that in my house. You know it and it’s gonna cost you. Why would you call your brother that?”

  Harry throws Theo a dirty look, but knows better than to do any more than that. Theo would wipe the floor with him. He’s not just tall, but at thirteen, he’s already filling out. “You’re a snitch,” my baby hisses at his older brother.

  “I’m good with that, since you’re a liar and a pain in the ass,” Theo fires back.

  “All right! That’s enough,” I order. “Harry, up to your room. I’ll deal with you in a minute, and you’d better not give me lip,” I add, when I see the stubborn look on his face. “Or I’ll double your punishment.” I wait for him to stomp up the stairs before I turn to Liam. “You know better, kid. Whaling on your baby brother because he cussed you out is not acceptable. Ever. Do you get me?” He glares at me, but when I wait him out he eventually gives me a jerky nod. “Sticks and stones, buddy. Remember that. Now, I want you in your room as well, and you’d be smart to stay away from your brother. You hear me?” Another jerky nod. “I’ll be up shortly.” With that I let him go and he follows his younger brother, without the stomping.

  Then I turn to Theo.

  “Wanna clue me in?”

  Theo glances over at the stairs before his eyes return to me. “Liam plays online with some friends and Harry’s been bugging him to be included. Harry’s pissed because Liam won’t let him and has been poking at him all morning.”

  “Any idea why he won’t let him play?”

  He shrugs his shoulders and focuses on his screen, dismissing me. “I’m not a mind reader.”

  My firstborn is a smart-ass, but I’ll let that slide, since I have my hands full with his siblings.

  “Turn off their systems when it’s time to go, yeah?”

  He flicks me a quick glance. “Sure, Mom.”

  Then I haul my ass upstairs, so I can tell my other boys there’ll be no gaming for a week.

  It’s promising to be a fun Sunday night dinner at my mother’s.

  “GIMME HIM.”

  I wiggle my fingers at the cutest one-year-old in the world.

  Kerry, who just walked into the bookstore with baby Dante perched on her hip, grins at me. “Have at it, but he comes with a full diaper, so that’s yours too.”

  “That doesn’t scare me.” The little boy stretches his arms toward me and I pluck him off his mother and snuggle him close. “Whoa, little dude. How can something so cute and adorable produce the stink of an open sewer?”

  Kerry snickers as I reach out a free hand for the diaper bag and take Dante to the small office in the back of the store.

  I adore this boy. All smiles and happy babbles, I’ve never seen him in a bad mood. I’m hit with a wave of nostalgia, remembering my own babies at this age. I adored every minute of them being sweet and cuddly. They’re not that anymore, except perhaps Harry, who still snuggles with me on the couch every now and then.

  I soak up Dante’s gurgles and dimpled smiles while I can, since the mood at home this past week has been subzero. After last Sunday’s blowup, both younger boys were banned from their PlayStation, and have made sure I know how unhappy they are. I hate to admit it, but I’ll be glad when this week is over.

  “There you go, sweet cheeks,” I mumble at the baby, tucking him back into his onesie and bib overalls. “Now you smell as edible as you look.” For good measure I blow a raspberry in his neck and he dives his little fingers in my hair, pulling hard as he giggles.

  “Gah!”

  I can hear Kerry talking to a customer when I walk back into the store, but I don’t know who until I round the large bookcase and see Dylan leaning on the counter, smiling down at her.

  Of course, it would have to be him.

  I managed to quash any and all thoughts of him this p
ast week out of self-preservation. I don’t get why I always have to be attracted to men who are assholes, deadbeats, or way the hell out of my league. Dylan Barnes being case in point. The man is too young, too fit, too nice, and too good-looking. Did I mention young?

  I know this, and still I slow my pace as I take stock of my appearance. Especially in contrast to Kerry, who always looks fabulous with her bohemian clothes and kick-ass hair. My work wardrobe consists of bland monochromatic thrift store purchases, because there’s no extra money when you have three growing boys. The hair pulled back in a ponytail may not be flattering, but it’s practical. Except now—thanks to Dante—it lilts sideways and a chunk of hair hangs over my face, and the baby is chewing on the collar of my dress shirt, dripping drool down my front. I make a lovely picture, not that it should matter because I’ve sworn off men anyway.

  Lifting my chin a notch, I approach the counter.

  “Gah!” Dante gurgles when he spots Dylan, and promptly abandons my collar as he virtually launches himself out of my arms.

  The man is quick, catching Dante just as he slips from my hold.

  “Easy, kiddo,” he mumbles at him, tucking him close to his chest, and I feel my resolve melt at the gentle smile he directs at the baby. Then his eyes lift up and the corner of his mouth twitches as he takes in my disheveled state.

  Just fabulous.

  “Hey.” My voice comes out breathy, and I catch Kerry’s curious glance when I try to blow the chunk of hair Dante dislodged out of my face as I straighten my shirt.

  “Marya,” he rumbles in greeting.

  “Looking for coffee?” I ask, turning to the fancy machine Kerry invested in a few years ago, without waiting for an answer. “Americano, black?”

  “Sure.”

  Kerry leans her butt against the counter beside the espresso machine, and I feel her glare on me. I ignore her and focus on Dylan’s coffee. Anything to keep my eyes occupied and my hands busy.

  “I actually popped in to let you know I’ll be out of town for the next few days, so I won’t make the Chargers’ game.”

  I almost drop the small coffee filter but recover quickly. “Oh, okay,” I mutter, wondering if the elastic holding up these synthetic navy pants is bunching up in the back. My ass doesn’t need the added bulk.

  “My mother will be bringing Max,” he continues, and I risk a glance at Kerry while his coffee brews. The expression on her face tells me, the moment Dylan is out the door, I will be grilled. “So I hope you don’t mind a rain check on that burger?”

  “Don’t worry about it.” I wave my hand dismissively before pouring the coffee into a carryout cup and finally turning to face him.

  Despite Dante’s little fist pummeling his face, his eyes are on me and his expression is serious. “Not worried,” he clarifies. “Pissed. I was looking forward to it, but now I have to wait another week.”

  Alrighty then.

  An awkward three-way shuffle over the counter ensues when I try to hand him his cup without spilling, and he tries to hand the baby off to Kerry. We eventually manage without dropping coffee or Dante, and I watch him saunter to the door where he turns around.

  “See you next week and tell Liam good luck tomorrow.” I mutely nod in response. “Later, Kerry,” he adds, with a quick glance her way before he’s out the door.

  I can sense when Kerry turns her attention on me, and I reluctantly meet her eyes, bracing for what I know will be the third degree.

  She doesn’t make me wait long.

  “What the hell was that?”

  DYLAN

  “Got all your stuff?”

  I have to wave a hand in Max’s face before he clues in I’m talking to him. He pauses the game and pulls his headgear off. “What?”

  “We’ve gotta get going, bud. Do you have everything you need?”

  He gets up to shut off his PlayStation and the TV before walking over to me. “I’m ready.”

  “Don’t want to bring that?”

  I point at his discarded headphones with mic.

  “Don’t need it,” he says, which surprises me. Mom and Clint got him the same gaming system so he could play at their place, but he always drags his gear along.

  I should’ve been on the road a while ago, so I don’t have time to probe the wistful look on his face as he passes me. He grabs his backpack in the hallway, swings it over his shoulder, and tags his overnight bag. I pick up my duffel and his sports bag before following him out the door.

  “Son,” Clint rumbles with a nod at me when he opens the door to us. He barely manages to ruffle Max’s hair, who slips by him and into the kitchen, where I’m sure Mom is waiting.

  My mother and stepdad moved from Cedar Tree to Durango almost two years ago, when I was assigned the La Plata County FBI field office, mostly for Max’s sake. They took on the bulk of his rearing since his mother took off and I joined the FBI, and I’ll forever be grateful. I wouldn’t be where I am if not for their support after I cleared a not so stellar patch in my life.

  My biological father died before I was even born, and Mom raised me on her own. Max was already two before Clint came into her life. He’s a good man: salt of the earth and completely devoted to Ma. She deserves nothing less after putting her life on hold for me.

  Theirs is as much a home for Max as mine is, and for a single father in a career that’s anything but nine-to-five, it’s a huge bonus. Especially when I’m given last-minute notice I’m expected to report to the field office in Grand Junction for a task force meeting at eight tomorrow morning. Since there are no direct flights, it’s faster to drive the four hours through the mountains it’ll take me to get there. I just don’t particularly want to do it in the dark, which is why I’m eager to get going.

  “That his stuff for tomorrow?” Clint asks when I step inside and drop Max’s sports duffel in the hall.

  “Yeah. His game is at eleven thirty at the Farmington Complex, but he should be there fifteen to twenty minutes before game time for his warm-up.”

  “We’ll get him there.”

  “Sorry to dump this on you. I just got this assignment this afternoon.”

  Clint drops one of his massive paws on my shoulder and grins. “Not like it’s a hardship, Son. He’s a good kid and having him here makes your ma happy, which in turn means good things for me.”

  I roll my eyes and shove past him, trying not to grin at his teasing chuckle. Like I said, he’s a good man and worships my mother. Hard to find issue with that.

  “Those boots better be clean.” She’s already wagging her finger in my face before I have a chance to say hello. “That hellion of yours already dragged his dirt onto my floors.”

  I ignore her grumbles—that’s just her way—and wrap her up in a hug. “Thanks for doing this, Ma.”

  “Pfssht.” She dismisses me with a wave of her hand and pulls from my hold. “I made soup and quesadillas. You’re not getting on the road on an empty stomach.”

  “I don’t have time,” I tell her regretfully.

  “Knew you were gonna say that,” she says, grabbing a travel mug and a cooler bag and handing them over. “Potato leek soup you can drink, and I’ve wrapped up a bunch of quesadillas so you can eat on the road.”

  I lean down and kiss her cheek. “Thanks, Ma.”

  “Max!” she yells. “Your dad’s leaving!”

  His feet come stomping down the stairs and he slides across the floor on his socks, slamming into my midriff. “Bye, Dad.” He grins up at me, his arms around my waist.

  “Couple of days, bud. I’ll call you, okay?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Listen to your coach and play like you did last week, you hear?”

  “I will, Dad.”

  I kiss the top of his head and let him go. “Good.”

  “Dad?” he calls after me when I get to the door.

  “Yeah, Max?”

  “Get the bad guys before they get you, okay?”

  He’s told me this each time I’ve left
on an assignment, ever since I ended up in the hospital with a gunshot wound to my shoulder last year.

  “I will, buddy. Love you.”

  “Love you too, Dad.”

  Those words I tuck away when I walk out the door and get in my Bronco, and the entire way to Grand Junction I hope I can make good on my promise to get back home to my boy unharmed.

  CHAPTER 3

  Marya

  I don’t want to examine too closely why anticipation for my son’s soccer game has my stomach in knots.

  But it does.

  We’re on time today, judging by the parking lot. Last Saturday—Liam’s second game—we’d been late again when Harry hit his head on the edge of the coffee table in a wrestling match with his oldest brother, just as we were about to leave. Blood flowed copiously from the relatively small cut over his eyebrow, and it had taken me fifteen minutes I didn’t have to spare to calm him down, clean him up, and butterfly the heck out of his injury, before I managed to wrangle the boys into the Jeep.

  I swear I should’ve stopped after my second ended up a boy as well.

  This morning I took no chances and had the boys sit on opposite sides of the living room until I was ready to head out.

  “Can I head over to the playground?” Harry asks, skipping beside me as we walk over to the field.

  I look over to where a bunch of kids are already dangling from monkey bars and defying gravity on the swings. “If Theo goes with you, but I’m just gonna say, if either of you get injured there’ll be no first aid until halftime.”

  “Come on,” Harry punches his big brother, yelling over his shoulder as he takes off on a jog. “Bet I can swing higher than you.”

  “Fat chance,” Theo mumbles, before he runs after his baby brother.

  I watch after them with a sigh. If I could cover those kids in bubble wrap I would. In the past thirteen years, I’ve seen too many bloody noses, knee scrapes, concussions, black eyes, fat lips, cuts, and even a few broken bones. I’m over it.