Falling for the Brother

by Tara Taylor Quinn

  A glance in her rearview mirror as she exited the lot told her he was still watching. It kind of comforted her, that studied way he kept an eye on them. They were his family. He’d die for them. Divorced or not, there wasn’t a doubt in her mind on that score.

  * * *

  MASON HAD A choice to make. He had to decide whether to follow his brother, to make sure Bruce stayed in town or to follow Harper and see that she got safely out of town. Instinctively drawn to protect Harper and her little one, he listened to the stronger part of him—his mind—and stayed on his brother.

  Not that he really thought Bruce would hurt his ex-wife. But he’d never expected Bruce to hurt Gram, either.

  And maybe he hadn’t, Mason reminded himself.

  Until he heard that Grace had clearance and he could take her down to visit Gram, his immediate agenda was Elmer Guthrie. He couldn’t question the man yet, but he could investigate him...starting with county records and the purchase of his home. He already knew the man had no criminal history, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t been involved in previous domestic violence incidents. More went unreported than not.

  Still, seeing his brother pull into his garage, Mason passed the turn onto the street, and used voice commands to dial Harper.

  “I realize you can’t say much with your daughter in the car,” he said as soon as she picked up. “I just want to check that you’re okay.”

  “Fine!”

  “Did he mention Miriam?”

  “Nope.”

  “Does he ever mention her to you?”

  “Nope.”

  “Anything I need to know?”

  “No.”

  “I called a lab in LA. They’ll run the DNA test for me. Three-day turnaround. There’s a lab in Santa Raquel...” He named it quickly, not pausing to see if she knew it. “If you leave your samples there, a courier will get them to LA the same day.”

  “I’d like to have Lynn collect them at the Stand.” The resident nurse practitioner. Obviously someone Brianna knew, which could make it easier to get a sample from her without raising a million questions.

  “That’s fine, too. I can send the courier to her.”

  “I’ll have her courier them to LA. Just send me the address.”

  She was in the car with an incredibly bright and curious four-year-old. There was only so much conversation they could have. Still, her cooperation meant...probably more than it should. “Thank you.”

  “You have the right to know.”

  There was so much not being said. He wished he felt more confident that Brianna’s presence was the only reason.

  “I’ll talk to you later, then.”

  Ending the call, he felt like a damned voyeur in his brother’s life. No matter how deeply he might think he wanted things to be different, the truth was, he didn’t belong in Harper’s life.

  But he still had to have that paternity test done.

  The sooner the better.

  * * *

  SHE HADN’T GONE into the Stand that day before leaving town, since Friday was her day off that week. What sounded good to Harper was an afternoon at the beach with her little one. Warm sun on her skin, holiday mood, people having fun, water and sand to occupy Brie’s enthusiastic energy—no adult conversation needed. Brianna was already wearing her swimsuit under the play dress she’d had her throw on that morning. They had a blanket and leftover drinks in their cooler from the picnic with Bruce.

  And in the end, as she’d taken the Santa Raquel exit with nearly two hours of Brianna’s incessant stream of sweet chatter ringing in her ears, the picnic with Bruce was the reason Harper opted for the Stand, then, instead of the beach. She’d had enough beach for that day.

  She’d also needed to get DNA swabs done before she faced another long, dark night. Her soul felt torn apart. Her duty to be loyal to Bruce, as Brie’s father. And the bone-deep need she had to know who Brie’s father really was.

  When Mason was out of the picture, showing no interest, offering no hope that he’d acknowledge Brie as his own, there’d been no alternative but to honor Bruce. Her own feelings meant little compared to the welfare of her daughter.

  But now...

  Now what?

  Bruce was a great dad. When he was with Brianna, she had his full, undivided attention. There was no doubt the child felt loved by him. Secure in her life. Plus, he always paid his fair share, on time, every time. Never squabbled about covering half of any extra expenses that came up.

  Sitting outside Miriam’s in her shorts and flowing shirt, her loaded gun still at her hip, Harper tried to focus on the sun’s calming warmth as she kept watch. Thoughts trickled through anyway.

  She’d needed the DNA sample. Hadn’t wanted Brianna to ask what it was or why they were doing it. Couldn’t take a chance that the little girl would have enough interest to store that information—and share it. Lynn had been the obvious answer. She’d treated Brianna for an ear infection over the holidays and for various other childhood ailments through the years. She’d been due for an ear check. Holding a swab in her mouth at the same time hadn’t fazed her. She’d been more curious about looking through the lighted microscope that went in her ear, and listening to her own heartbeat through Lynn’s stethoscope.

  Because Lynn, understanding the situation, had made certain that she’d captured and held the four-year-old’s attention. That was how things were at The Lemonade Stand. Everyone worked together, bent over backward to help each other, did what had to be done.

  They all knew the sanctity of their sisterhood saved lives.

  Drawing on the strength that thought gave her, Harper experienced a guilt-free second. A brief moment without a knot in her stomach. Then she saw movement inside Miriam’s bungalow, which she was watching through the living room window. Tasha, Brianna’s guard that afternoon, had taken a seat in Harper’s view and was smiling at her.

  Harper was grateful to know things were okay inside.

  Tasha had been on Miriam duty that afternoon, but when Harper decided to return to the Stand—telling Brianna she could swim in the pool there and after her checkup go see her Gram—she’d made a quick schedule change. Rather than calling in an extra guard, she’d taken the outdoor duty herself. Her officers were taxed enough.

  Maybe the round-the-clock Miriam watch was overkill. She didn’t think so. The second they let up, Miriam would be out of there. But she wasn’t going anywhere with someone on guard outside.

  If that was what it took to possibly save a life, to save a woman from further abuse, she’d gladly guard her all day every day.

  She could imagine Miriam’s vitriolic reaction if she knew that Harper had just taken Brie for a paternity test.

  And yet, Mason was her grandson, too. It shouldn’t make a difference. But she knew it would. During the year Brianna had lived with Bruce after her marriage, the year Mason hadn’t been around once, Miriam had never taken his side. Even when Oscar had suggested having Mason over for Christmas dinner, Miriam, with one look at Bruce, had quietly told him she’d rather do their dinner with him separately. She’d made some comment about the timing for him being off due to the job he was on.

  Harper hadn’t thought much of it at the time—not knowing about the “agreement.” But now she wondered... Had Bruce said something to Miriam about Harper and Mason, in spite of his promise that he wouldn’t if Mason stayed away from them?

  All that time she’d thought Mason really was just working—married to his job—putting the job first. Oscar had seemed to think the same.

  She’d known Bruce wouldn’t have wanted Mason around her, of course, but she hadn’t thought he’d told anyone else that. And there’d been a little part of her that suspected Mason had chosen to stay away because of her.

  She’d only been with the family for a year...

  But had Miriam known? And yet,
she’d always been so loving with Harper. Until she’d left Bruce. Miriam wouldn’t have been like that, doting on her, if she’d known.

  After the divorce, Miriam had suddenly hated her.

  What if Bruce had told her then?

  Mason’s words, saying Bruce always spun things in his favor, to make himself the victim, to gain sympathy and therefore power, came back to her. She wanted to push them away. Keep an open mind.

  She’d already betrayed Bruce by sleeping with Mason. And now...after five years of hating what she’d done to the man she’d sworn to be faithful to for the rest of her life, here she was, betraying him again.

  She’d taken their daughter for the DNA test he’d expressly refused.

  Mason had a right to know—just as she’d told him.

  But the truth was, she’d also agreed because Mason had unknowingly given her the opportunity, the means, to do what she’d wanted to do all along. What she’d needed to do.

  From the moment she found out she was pregnant, in her heart of hearts she’d wondered if that one incredible night had given her a lifelong gift. If maybe, despite her attempts to reassure herself all these years, there hadn’t been a condom...

  It was so unlike her to have sex without protection from disease. She hadn’t let Bruce make love to her without one until they’d gotten engaged.

  The knot in her stomach became a cramp.

  Only the thought of the test showing a negative for Mason eased the cramp. What a relief it would be to know that Bruce really was his daughter’s biological father.

  What a relief it would be from the debilitating guilt that had been attacking her for far too long.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  MASON SAW THE text from Harper, telling him their samples had been collected and picked up by the courier, just as he was pulling into the parking lot of a coffee shop on the outskirts of Albina. He’d never been to the place.

  Bruce had suggested it.

  There was no way he could tell Harper he was meeting his brother. And yet, it felt...wrong to do it without telling her. As though the two of them—he and Harper—were a team.

  They weren’t.

  He was the investigator—albeit on the quiet and unpaid; she was a witness. And now, Bruce was a witness, too—as well as a person of interest.

  Used to going into interviews without knowing what to expect, he had his professional barriers firmly in place as he approached the shop. Bruce’s car was in the lot, as he’d expected it to be. His brother always arrived early. He picked out the meeting place. Kept the advantage—and control—in any way he could.

  The shop was bustling up front and had a patio out back where a guy could make a drug deal without being overheard. No cameras. No electronic devices at all. Just an old, run-down patio with chairs. Didn’t face the beach. And you had to go inside to use the john.

  Just the sort of place an undercover cop would need to know about. His brother had told him to walk through and meet him outside. He stopped to order coffee, first.

  He didn’t really want it, but he wanted to order it. Simply because it hadn’t been one of Bruce’s instructions. He didn’t kid himself about that.

  Nor did he doubt that his brother would catch the significance.

  If they were going to play cat and mouse, if Bruce truly wanted to challenge him, Mason would have to be the cat on this one.

  “Hey!” Bruce stood as Mason pushed through the door to the patio five minutes early, coffee in hand. The heat coming through the cardboard cup was pretty intense, but that wasn’t the reason he set it down on the first table he came to. He did that because of the hand his brother was reaching out to him.

  They shook and Bruce pulled him in for a hug, their hands still between them.

  Affection. Man-to-man.

  Mason had to admit that the greeting was better than any he’d been prepared for.

  “Good to see you,” Bruce said, still holding his hand as he drew back, looking Mason in the eye. The affection was there, too, in his brother’s gaze.

  Soaking him. Sucking him in.

  Aware, and yet...not as tense, Mason picked up his cup and followed Bruce to the far table. His brother had said no cameras. Didn’t mean there weren’t any. Was Bruce playing it up for someone watching?

  He used to be able to tell. Reading Bruce had been one of his gifts.

  The affection felt completely real.

  “I can’t tell you how relieved I am,” Bruce said as Mason sat.

  “How so?” Their conversation was like sitting on the edge of beckoning water, but not falling in.

  “Look, we both know as soon as you called telling me Gram’s X-rays showed abuse that I had to be the first suspect, and that you had to investigate.”

  He nodded. No point in not acknowledging it.

  “I figure since you were at the house, you’d have some idea of what’s been going on... I’ve done all of my own checking, but you’re a better investigator than I am.”

  True.

  Mason sipped at the coffee he still didn’t want.

  “I knew I didn’t do it, but you had to find that out on your own. Same thing any good cop would’ve done.”

  Mason nodded again. The back of the shop opened out onto a field of golden wheat-like growth. In the shining sun, it gave the impression of sparkling gold. Probably just weeds. Things weren’t always what they seemed.

  “Now that we’re through with that part, we can take this on together. You said you wanted to talk to me. I’m ready.”

  No questions about Gram. Shouldn’t there have been, if Bruce truly believed they were on the same side? Why not ask where she was? Or how she was?

  “First.” Bruce maintained conversational control when Mason didn’t immediately respond. “How’s Gram?”

  About time he asked.

  “Doing okay,” he said, taking another sip of the dark coffee. She didn’t know that Harper had just submitted samples for a paternity test.

  Neither did his brother.

  Mason wasn’t sure how Gram would feel about that, but he was positive Bruce would be livid.

  He’d thought, when Bruce was growing up, that there’d come a time when his brother would mature and they’d be equals—friends, even. Trusted brothers fighting crime.

  If he was honest with himself he’d admit that he’d still like that.

  And yet he saw the implausibility of it. The night he’d slept with Harper had ruined that chance forever. No matter who’d fathered Brianna.

  He’d taken Bruce’s woman. His fiancée. Admittedly his brother had screwed up royally and Harper had owed him nothing at that point—but Mason had gone after Harper on Bruce’s behalf.

  “What do you know about Elmer Guthrie?” he asked abruptly.

  Bruce shrugged nonchalantly, then raised his brow as he shook his head. “He’s an older guy. Moved in down the street a year or two back. Quiet. Retired army.”

  He was widowed. Had a daughter who’d died of kidney disease three years before. No grandchildren. Was active with the local veterans’ administration. And had a decent enough pension to be comfortable for the rest of his life.

  All of which could hide another side of the man. The fighting side.

  “You ever see him outside? Hear neighbors talk to him? Any run-ins?”

  Bruce didn’t answer immediately. Mason didn’t like that.

  “We’re talking about Gram’s abuse?” his brother asked, gaze speculative.

  “We’re talking about Elmer Guthrie.”

  Bruce leaned forward. If he hadn’t been Mason’s little brother, Mason might have been intimidated by the look in his eyes. “You think he was at the house Monday night when I left for the bar? You think he hurt Gram?”

  Even if that was what Mason was thinking, he wasn’t ready to tell his
brother as much.

  “He must have seen me leave,” Bruce said next.

  “Has he been to the house before?”

  Bruce sat back again. Threw a hand in the air. “He and Gram met a while ago. She’d dropped some mail when he was walking past. He stopped and picked it up for her. She had him over for dinner a time or two, said he was all alone in that house of his. That was it, as far as I know.”

  It was more than either Bruce or Gram had told him before.

  Mason’s puzzle pieces floated more clearly into view. Not settling yet, but hovering.

  “Why would you think he’d seen you leave? Had you given him some kind of indication that he wasn’t welcome? That you’d have to be away for him to visit?” He might suck as a brother, but he was good at what he did—zeroing in on the nuances.

  “Of course not.” Bruce leaned back, his ankle over his knee. “It’s the timing. Based on the timing you described, he must have arrived just after I left. And if he had some bone to pick with Gram, which would be indicated by the broken arm and the bruises on her face that you told me about, he’d have waited until he knew she was alone. He’s not dumb enough to mess with me.”

  Bruce was a good cop, too. His theory had merit.

  “You have the feeling he’d mess with anyone?” he asked. He was after a character assessment. More than background checks could give him. But it wouldn’t be as much as he’d get as soon as he had a warrant to question the guy.

  “You never can tell.” Bruce’s remark was fair. The personal sting Mason felt was likely his own doing.

  “Our business makes that clear, doesn’t it?” he returned.

  Bruce nodded. Mason wished he was in Santa Raquel, at the bar with Harper.

  She’d sent in their samples. So had he.

  Behind Bruce’s back.

  Just like the sex they’d had.

  “Beyond those few dinners, you’re not aware of any association between the two?”

  Jutting out his chin, Bruce shook his head.

  “How long ago was the last dinner?”

  “A month. Maybe two.”

  “Any special occasion?”