10-Code (Rock Point, #4)

by Barker, Freya

  “Good luck, kid,” I call after Liam, who never slowed down his march to the field. There’s no reaction. Still moody, even though both he and his younger brother got their gaming privileges back. I’m blaming it on hormones. Mercy.

  My eyes drift to the bleachers. Plenty of room, but no Dylan. Instead, I spot his mother and stepfather, who Max excitedly introduced last weekend. I’d already met Beth, in the bookstore, but had no idea she was Dylan’s mother. Clint, his stepdad, seemed a nice guy, and I spent a few minutes chatting with them after the game. Still, I try not to acknowledge the letdown I’m feeling at the lack of Dylan as disappointment. I should know better.

  “Marya! Over here!” Beth calls out, and I climb up the bleachers to sit down beside her.

  “Good morning.”

  “Mornin’,” Clint returns, but his eyes on the field where the boys are warming up.

  “Dylan’s held up with this case, he couldn’t make it back in time,” Beth voluntarily shares, and I glance over catching her scrutinizing me. “Wasn’t sure why he asked me to share that with you, but seeing your face when you spotted us here instead’a him, I figure I’ve got a good idea.”

  “Beth,” Clint’s warning rumble falls on deaf ears.

  “My Dylan, he had a bitch for a wife and has buried himself in work and raising Max ever since she took off. Time he had some fun.”

  “Bean,” Clint tries again. “Quit your meddlin’.”

  “I’m not meddling,” she fires back. “Just friendly conversation.”

  “You’re as subtle as an earthquake, woman.”

  “Whatever.” She dismisses her husband by turning her back on him, focusing her attention on me. “I’m just saying; it’s clear you’re not the only one who would’ve preferred it to be my boy sittin’ here.”

  Oh my. Last week it had been Kerry, who—after grilling me on Dylan—spent twenty minutes trying to convince me what a good guy he is. Now I have his mother trying to play Cupid. I’m going to have to nip this in the bud.

  “There’s a simple explanation,” I start, causing Beth to raise her eyebrows questioningly. “Max invited Liam for an after-game burger a couple of weeks ago, and I’m sure Dylan doesn’t want to disappoint the boys.”

  “Mmm hmm...”

  “Really,” I try to be convincing, but that clearly falls way short.

  “Sorry, sweetheart,” Clint apologizes over his wife’s shoulder. “The woman’s got something stuck in her head, it ain’t easy to dislodge. Got plenty of experience with that. Best just to ignore that. Oomph...” He suddenly doubles over when Beth spears him with a swift elbow.

  “Ignore that,” she mumbles under her breath before straightening in her seat, as if nothing happened, and watches the start of the game.

  From my vantage point, I can check on my boys in the playground. Harry is dangling upside down from a jungle gym and Theo is sitting on a swing, playing on his phone.

  Yes, I’d caved. For his thirteenth birthday I got him a phone, turning into a teen and all, but he also pays part of the cell phone bill with money he makes delivering the paper and mowing the lawn for a few of our neighbors. Until the other boys can find a way to contribute, they’ll have to wait to get one.

  The boys only show up once, during halftime, complaining they’re starving. I warned them before we left the house to stick a granola bar in their pockets, but they didn’t, so now they can go hungry.

  “You’re tough,” Beth points out when the kids slink off, realizing their mom’s not going to budge.

  I shrug my shoulders. “I warned them there was no concession stand. I suggested they bring something from home and they didn’t. Not like they weren’t warned. Besides, there’s no way they’re hungry after the stacks of pancakes and panful of bacon they tore through this morning. They’ll live.”

  Clint chuckles but Beth is back to scrutinizing me. “You do this on your own,” she concludes before asking, “How long has it been?”

  Funny how I know exactly what she wants to know. “Little over five years. I know I can be strict on some things, but there’s no other way to be. It’s three to one, and I don’t hold firm, I may as well throw in the towel.”

  Beth opens her mouth to respond, when my phone rings in my pocket and I fish it out. Unknown number. I lift a finger in apology as I get up and climb down the bleachers, answering the call.

  “Hello?”

  The voice on the other end has my blood freeze in my veins. “It’s me.” When I don’t respond, mainly because my voice is stuck in my throat, he adds, “Jeremy.” He sounds disgruntled, and that turns the ice in my veins to boiling lava.

  “I got that,” I snap. “What I don’t get is why, after five years of blissful silence, you suddenly feel the need to connect. Especially since I have nothing to say to you, and there is nothing I can even imagine would interest me coming from your mouth.”

  “Still with the attitude, I see.”

  This acerbic tone is more familiar and I feel it slicing the top layer of my skin. There was a time those cuts would wound to the bone, but not anymore.

  I suck in a breath before responding, “Unless you have anything of value to convey—”

  “I wanna see the boys.”

  “You’re kidding, right?” comes flying out of my mouth at higher than conversational volume, but I don’t even notice the eyes turning on me with curiosity. “Suddenly you want to see the boys? I can’t believe you’d have the gall to even think this is something I would allow.”

  “I’m their father,” he says stubbornly.

  “No. That’s where you’re wrong. You were their father, but now you’re nothing more than a sperm donor. That’s what happens when you disappear for five years!”

  “Marya...”

  “Don’t call me that. Don’t call me anything. In fact, don’t call me at all.”

  “You don’t want to make this harder than in needs to be.”

  I bark out a bitter laugh at that threat. “You’re kidding, right? Harder? For your information, anything you think you can do to me now is a cakewalk compared to what you’ve already done.”

  With that I end the call, shove the phone back in my pocket, tilt my eyes to the sky, and take in a lungful of air.

  Sonofabitch.

  “Guessing that was one blast from the past you woulda gladly passed up on,” Clint’s deep rumble sounds behind me, just as I feel a large hand settle in the small of my back.

  “You wouldn’t be wrong.” I turn to find his warm, concerned eyes on me.

  “You okay?”

  I glance over his shoulder to catch Beth’s intense look among the many curious ones. Guess I drew an audience. Shit. “I’m good,” I quickly reassure Clint, even though I’m far from good. I’m almost vibrating; I’m so livid. Still, I plaster on a smile, give him a little nod, and climb back up to my spot beside Beth, who remains surprisingly silent.

  It’s not until the final whistle blows that she leans over and presses something in my hand.

  “My number and Dylan’s number. Any more calls from that fucktard, you use one of them.”

  “Beth, I’m sure—”

  “Promise me.”

  “I’ll be—”

  “Promise,” she repeats firmly, folding my fingers over the card in my palm.

  I watch my boys jog over from the playground and wait by the gate to the field for their brother, and that’s when fear, tucked away somewhere deep in my chest, slowly unfurls its tentacles.

  “I promise.”

  DYLAN

  I had foresight.

  Like the first early game when she was late, looking harried for lack of caffeine and nutrition, Marya looks much the same, hurrying after a running Liam toward the field. This time, however, I’m prepared, having made a quick stop at Sonya’s to pick up reinforcements.

  Clint pulled me aside the moment I came to pick Max up the day before yesterday. Filled me in on what happened at the soccer field last weekend, when he and Ma w
itnessed Marya take a distressing call they concluded was from her ex. Apparently not an amicable parting of ways, and he said Marya was clearly rattled by the call.

  If Clint hadn’t mentioned the fact Ma gave her my number—as well as hers—in case of emergency, along with the tidbit of wisdom an independent woman like Marya may not be impressed to have me step in and take over, I might’ve done something rash.

  Instead I held back and, more or less patiently, waited for today to make sure with my own eyes she’s okay.

  Her eyes find me and widen when I hold up the coffee cup and brown paper bag for her. There’s no hesitance this time as she dives in the seat beside me, making a grab for her coffee.

  “Bless you,” she manages to mumble before putting her lips to the carryout cup and gulping down the still hot coffee.

  I don’t bother holding back the grin when she eyes the bag in my hand.

  “Pancakes this time,” I offer, handing her one of the Styrofoam containers.

  “I will worship at your feet.”

  I try not to fidget in my seat when my cock wakes up at the visual her words bring up. The soft moans as she digs into her food are not helping either.

  “I’m guessing you’re not a morning person,” I suggest, trying for a distraction. This catches me a squint of her pretty honey-colored eyes.

  “I am so a morning person,” she argues. “Unlike my sons, who like to sleep like the dead on weekends. I couldn’t get my oldest out of bed at all, so Mom had to rush over to my place while I chased Liam around to get ready.” A deep sigh escapes her lips. “Some days I wish there were two of me.”

  A sentiment I get. I often wish I could be two place at the same time, one of them being at home with and for Max. I love what I do, but it would be so much easier if I didn’t have to hustle Max around whenever I’m needed on the job.

  It’s been a long almost two weeks, since I got called in on this case that turned out to be a little more involved than I’d been told. Half that time I spent surveilling a strip club, where a known arms dealer liked to do business. In order to blend in, I had to contend with more pussy being shoved in my face in the past two weeks than I’d seen in all my adult years before.

  I got some ribbing from some of the other guys, calling me a lucky bastard for having caught that particular assignment, but all I’d been able to think about was the only pussy I’d be interested in examining close up.

  The job came to a conclusion three days ago, when the guy we were after finally showed up at the KitKat Club. We were able to catch him red-handed trying to sell twelve cases of military-grade assault rifles, two grenade launchers, and twenty-five anti-personnel mines to a local militia group. I don’t even want to think what those rednecks had in mind with that kind of armory on home turf.

  The bust did not go without a hitch and bullets went flying, one catching a CBI guy in the gut, but last report was he’s recovering well.

  Still, I got the bad guys and got home to my boy unharmed.

  “Everything okay?”

  Marya’s soft inquiry surprises me. She is watching me closely, the plastic fork with her next bite suspended in front of her mouth.

  “It’s all good.” I shoot her what I hope is a convincing smile, before opening my own container and digging in.

  “I get you can’t talk about your super-secret spy work, but I’m a good listener. You know, if you needed to unload. Or something.” I glance sideways and watch her tuck a hank of hair behind her ear as she presses her lips together. She’s nervous, and just caught herself rambling. It’s cute.

  “We usually leave the super-secret spy work for the CIA,” I tease, bumping her shoulder. “And I don’t want to spoil the best meal I’ve had in two weeks.”

  She looks down at her pancakes before turning a smile on me. “They are really good. Thank you.”

  “Food’s good. Company is better,” I tell her, stuffing another piece of pancake in my mouth. I keep my focus on the field where the ref drops the ball in the circle for kick-off, but I can feel her eyes on me.

  After a lengthy pause I hear her softly say, “Agreed,” and I grin around my next bite.

  Definitely liking this Marya better.

  CHAPTER 4

  Dylan

  “What does 10-CODE mean?”

  I lower the burger I was just about to take a bite from and look up at Liam. It’s the first thing he’s said to me since we got to the diner.

  It had taken a bit to convince Marya to come. She’d tried to use the excuse she wasn’t dressed to go out to a restaurant—a load of bull if you ask me, she looks just fine as she is—but when I pointed out Sonya’s is hardly some fine restaurant, she finally conceded.

  Max had been elated and Liam didn’t seem opposed to the idea either, which is how we ended up at the diner, baskets with burgers and fries covering the table.

  “It’s a radio code,” I answer him. “It’s used by law enforcement officers to communicate without words.”

  “Are you a law enforcement officer?”

  “Dad’s an FBI agent,” Max proudly responds before I can.

  His buddy’s eyes grow big. “Like Uncle Damian?”

  “He’s my boss.”

  I watch as Liam seems to process that information. “Isn’t it easier just to use words?” he comes back with.

  “Not always. Code can be faster, which is handy when you find yourself in an emergency. Sometimes we use it when we’re not alone and don’t want the other person to know what we’re saying.”

  “10-4 means message received,” Max shares, eager to impart with his knowledge. “Dad taught me. 10-0 means be careful, and 10-78 is when you need help, right, Dad?”

  “You bet, kid.”

  “Cool,” Liam mutters, diving back into his fries.

  I glance over at Marya, who is observing the interaction with mild amusement. I catch her eye and she grins full out, mouthing, “You have a new fan.”

  I wink and take a bite of my burger.

  It’s when the waitress drops the bill—ending in a brief tug of war with Marya, which I win—Max pipes up.

  “You should come to my birthday!” he announces with a big grin at Liam. “It’s gonna be so cool. We’re gonna dig for gold!”

  “Pan for gold, Max,” I correct him automatically, while mentally assessing if there’s enough space in my four-door Bronco to fit another kid in.

  “Whatever,” he dismisses me before turning back to his buddy. “We’re gonna go down in the mining tunnels, and we get to wear helmets with lights and everything. It’s gonna be awesome.”

  While Max rambles on about the plans for his birthday in two weeks, I decide to take Clint and Ma up on their offer to drive to Silverton so they can take some kids too.

  “I’m sorry,” Marya whispers, putting her hand on my forearm.

  “For what?”

  “Well, uh...”

  I lean across the table and share, in a low voice, “My son may not think before he speaks, but this time his idea is a good one. Come. Bring the other two boys as well; they’ll get a kick out of it. You’ve already met Clint and Ma.”

  “Oh, I don’t know.”

  “Have you ever been?” I ask, changing tactics.

  “Well, no, not yet, but—”

  “The boys?”

  “No, but—”

  “Perfect. We planned it for a weekend when the team has a bye.” I plow right over her again, hiding my grin at her disgruntled look. “Ma took me when I was twelve, and I remember that trip to this day. It’s a pretty unique experience. Your boys will love it.”

  “Look, I don’t even know my work schedule yet for that weekend. Kerry sometimes needs me to cover for a half day.” Her protest is not very convincing, especially not when she glances at her son beside her. Liam is grinning wide, listening to Max’s excited babble, and Marya is looking at him like she’s witnessing a miracle. “I’ll check with Kerry,” she mumbles without taking her eyes off the boy.


  I grab her hand and give it a little squeeze. “Fair enough,” I concede, but I do it smiling. I have a feeling Liam’s enthusiasm will go a long way to making up her mind.

  The boys run ahead of us to her Jeep and my truck, parked side by side in the parking lot. I tag Marya’s elbow and hold her back, turning her to me. “You have my number?” The top of her head comes to my chin and she has to look up. Her eyes are guarded.

  “Your mom gave me a card with both your numbers. I put it in the console in my car.”

  “Right. Give me your number.” I pull my phone from my pocket. “I want you to call me after you talk to Kerry.”

  “Then why do you need my number?” she snaps, tilting her head in challenge.

  “So I don’t ignore you when you call and I don’t recognize the number,” I fire back.

  “You make a habit of that? Ignoring your calls?”

  “I do if I’m in the middle of something, unless it’s someone on my team, my parents, or the school. I know it’s you calling, I’ll pick up too.”

  She rolls her eyes but rattles off her number anyway. I store it under her name, dial it, and watch as she fishes her ringing phone from her pocket.

  “Save it.”

  “Bossy,” she mutters, as she adds me to her contacts. I pointedly ignore her comment.

  “I’ll pop in for coffee this week,” I tell her when we start walking to the cars, which causes her to stop again.

  “Look...” She appears a little uncomfortable as she faces me. “Thank you for lunch, but I’m not...I mean I don’t really get...” She stops talking, takes in a deep breath and starts again, “I’ll just put this out there, but I’m not really interested in dating. You’re a great guy. Super nice and all, but aside from the fact I’m much too old for you, I’ve sworn off men.”

  “Now there’s a challenge,” I tease her, tugging on that chunk of hair that keeps falling in her face.

  “Dylan...”

  “Relax, Sweetheart. We just had a friendly lunch with the kids, me popping in for coffee is nothing new, and the trip to Silverton will be chaperoned by a gaggle of kids and my parents. If I make a move, I can assure you it won’t be with the kids or Mom and Clint in attendance.”