by Jo Davis
The increasing volume of his protest had garnered some attention. Shane shifted, looked away, anger rising to almost override the wrenching sadness. Lacey’s attempt to placate him didn’t help.
“Listen, you know better than anyone that people will do all kinds of things they wouldn’t normally do with the right amount of motivation. Especially stress.”
“I do know, but don’t write him off as another statistic.”
The detective’s tone softened in warning. “I know how to do my job, Ford. And I’m good at it.”
Fuck! There was hardly room to swallow his pride with all the other emotions stuck in his throat. “My apologies. I’m just . . .”
“Yeah. Forget it, okay? I’ll give you a call when we get the ME’s report. How’s that?”
“It’s more than I have a right to ask,” he said gratefully. “Thank you. Now, if it’s all right, I’d like to run upstairs and get some clothes and things for Drew.”
“Sure.” Lacey called out to one of the uniforms to escort him upstairs.
Seemed professional courtesy only went so far. But Shane couldn’t blame the detective for being careful with the scene. The man didn’t want anyone loose in the house, snooping—which he knew perfectly well Shane would be back to do at the very first opportunity.
With one last look toward the study, he turned and jogged up the stairs. In Drew’s room, he ignored the presence of the officer at the door, grabbing a gym bag from the walk-in closet. Drew had brought it to his house many times when Brad was out of town and he stayed over. He stuffed it with socks, underwear, jeans, shirts, toiletries. Everything he could think of to get the boy through a few days. He believed he had what they needed.
Then his gaze fell on Drew’s mini laptop resting on top of his desk. He really shouldn’t take it until he had the okay, but the boy might like having something familiar at hand.
And if there was the slightest chance it contained any valuable insight as to what had happened to Brad, he wasn’t leaving without it.
The officer at the door was now standing with his back against the doorjamb, facing the hallway. Quickly, Shane unplugged the net book, wrapped the cord around it, and stuffed it in the bag, between piles of clothes. He’d examine the contents and browsing history before giving it to Drew.
All set, he hefted the bag over one shoulder and met the cop in the hallway. “All done.”
The officer escorted him downstairs, giving him a brief nod before moving away to talk to some of his colleagues. A stretcher was being rolled in, an empty black body bag on top, and a chill of horror washed down Shane’s spine. He froze and stared as it was wheeled into the study.
Lacey stepped into view, carrying a backpack. “Here’s the boy’s school stuff we found in the kitchen. There’s nothing more you can do,” he said gently. “Get the kid out of here before they’re ready to take his dad from the house. I’ll call you, probably tomorrow.”
Oh, God. He nodded, taking the backpack. “Thanks again.”
The hardest thing he’d ever done was turn and walk away. To leave Brad alone with strangers who didn’t know him. Didn’t love him. Who would now reduce him to nothing more than flesh and bone to be studied, dissected, even derided.
Any second, Shane was going to lose it. Fly apart and never be put back together.
Then he spotted Drew standing next to his truck and forced himself to do the impossible. To shore himself up for the boy he loved like a son and who was depending on him. “I’ve got you some things to hold you over. Ready to go?”
Drew swallowed hard, wiped his wet face. “Yeah.”
After setting the gym bag and backpack in the bed of the truck, Shane climbed in, scooting to the middle, leaving room for Drew on the passenger’s side. Before Daisy drove toward the front, they had him crouch as far under the dash as possible—not easy considering the boy’s height. But it worked well enough to throw off the press, and their vehicle was hardly spared a glance as they drove through the gate and past the crowd.
Once they were on the road, Shane gestured to him. “You can get up now.”
The boy scooted into the seat and stared out into the night for several minutes. “What do they think happened to my dad?” he finally asked, his voice surprisingly flat.
“They don’t know yet. That’s the truth.”
“I asked what they think. They hounded me with all these questions about what kinds of medications he was taking.” The boy barked a surprisingly grown-up, bitter laugh. “I’m not a little kid and I’m not stupid, Shane. Tell me.”
“No, you’re definitely not stupid. I just don’t think this is the time—”
“It’s never going to be the time. Is it?” Drew snapped.
Shane paused, wondering if the sharp comment referred to his dad’s death or something else. Whatever it was, he understood Drew’s need for some scrap of information that made sense now that his world had gone insane.
Christ. He cut a sharp look at Daisy, silently asking her opinion, and she gave a barely perceptible nod. Drew was smart; would be seventeen soon. One short year from being a legal adult, no matter that Shane still thought of him as a boy. If Shane treated him as less than a man when it mattered, he’d lose ground real fast.
Digging deep, he found his resolve. “They suspect an overdose, but it’s early yet. We might know something more solid by tomorrow.”
Drew made a soft noise of distress. Daisy reached over and squeezed the boy’s knee in support, but he simply turned his head, staring out the window at the night. He said nothing more. Shane had questions of his own, but this wasn’t the place and tonight was too soon. Answers, if there were any, could rest until the morning.
Finally, Daisy pulled into his garage and shut off the ignition. It seemed like a hundred years since she had shown up with the horrible news. The whole tragedy was surreal.
As they got out, Shane grabbed Drew’s belongings from the bed of the truck and they filed inside. Shane carried the bags down the hallway to the spare bedroom that his godson always used and set them on the floor. Then he returned to find Drew sitting on the sofa, face buried in his hands, shoulders shaking. Daisy was sitting on one side of him, arm around his shoulders, talking to him softly.
Shane hurried over and sat on the other side, placing a palm on the boy’s leg. “I wish I knew the right thing to say,” he managed.
“Just don’t tell me again that it’s going to be okay, because it won’t.” Tears leaked from between his fingers, dripped onto his lap.
“All right.” In fact, he’d been about to repeat that very thing. “Do you want to talk?”
The boy shook his head, shoulders hunching in. It was a posture of self-protection, and Shane could physically feel his withdrawal. Drew was fast approaching the stage where he’d want to be left alone, and Shane had no clue how much space to give him. How far was too far?
“Have you eaten?” Daisy asked the boy quietly.
“No.” He sniffled. “I’m not hungry.”
She met Shane’s eyes, searching. “That’s okay. Why don’t I find something to heat up, and maybe by the time it’s done you’ll be able to get something in your stomach.”
Drew didn’t reply. Shane gave her a grateful half smile and she rose, heading into the kitchen. He couldn’t believe she’d been willing to hang around, to help him deal with this sort of crisis when he’d given her no reason to care. Guilt ate at his gut. He had to find a way to express how much this meant to him, but didn’t know if she’d accept anything in the way of thanks.
As Daisy made sounds in the kitchen, he sat with his godson, feeling totally out of his depth. Drew wasn’t open to talking, and Shane didn’t know if his presence was any comfort at all. Gradually, the boy’s tears stopped and he leaned back on the sofa, eyes red and staring into space. But his expression was far from blank.
Emotions roiled there like a distant storm, a tempest the kid was barely holding back. Anger, shock, grief—all so easy to read. All
would need to be purged eventually. When was the time right to push? Shane was damned good at his job, at working with people, getting them to spill secrets they didn’t want to share. But his instincts failed him now. Completely.
“Come eat, guys,” Daisy called from the kitchen.
Drew shook his head. “I can’t.”
Standing, Shane offered him a hand. “At least try, for me.”
For a long moment, Shane thought he’d refuse. Then the boy took his hand, allowed himself to be hauled up, and followed him to the breakfast table off the kitchen. Daisy had three bowls of tomato soup accompanied by grilled cheese sandwiches. Comfort food. It smelled good, and Shane’s traitorous belly growled.
“Looks good,” he told her. “Thanks.”
“Yeah, looks great if you’re ten years old.” Drew snorted and sat back, arms crossed over his chest.
“A person never gets too old for soup and grilled cheese,” Shane said, trying to lighten things up a shade. “I practically survive off food like this in the winter.”
“Then I guess I’ll starve.”
Silence descended, heavy, awkward. Daisy bit her lip, exchanged a worried glance with Shane, then started on her meal. He followed suit, hoping the boy would be tempted to eat at least a few bites. After five agonizing minutes, Drew pushed from the table and simply walked out without a word. Shane rose to go after him, but Daisy grabbed his wrist.
“It might be best to give him some space for a while. Give him time to process what’s happening.”
“Yeah? And how would you know what’s best for a kid I’ve known all his life?” he snapped. Immediately he felt like shit.
“I’m in a better position than you because you’re too close,” she said, unfazed. “Working with kids is my job, and from his body language I’m reading that he needs some time alone. Just for a little while.”
With a sigh of frustration, he sat down again and took her hand. “I’m sorry for biting your head off.”
“Don’t worry. It’s an occupational hazard, so I’m used to it.” She gave him a soft smile, which he returned.
As he studied her, he had an epiphany. It was like a curtain being lifted. “The kids you get are such lost souls. How do you do this, every single day?” he asked, waving a hand in the general direction Drew had gone.
“That’s what we ask ourselves about you guys in homicide.”
“Yeah, but it’s different. How do you deal with at-risk children who’ve endured so much they’re in danger of going down the wrong path, and with parents who don’t care?”
She leaned forward, expression intense with passion for the subject. “That’s a misconception. Most parents do care a great deal, just like you do for Drew. Most of them desperately want to save their kids, but don’t have the skills or resources to help them. I’ve seen abuse, sure, and parents who couldn’t care less what happens to their children, but they aren’t the rule. You just hear more about them than the good ones, that’s all.”
“Still, I couldn’t do your job. I don’t see how you keep sane.”
“You want to know how? Because every kid I save from ending up a statistic in your division makes it worthwhile.”
That simple statement struck him hard. What she did was so damned important. How could he have failed to really see her before? To appreciate her not only as a woman, but as a friend and colleague who was making a difference?
He was humbled at his shortsightedness—and shamed.
They finished their meal and Daisy rose. “I’ll clear the dishes. Why don’t you go check on Drew?”
“Okay. And thank you.”
She waved him off, and he went in search of his godson. The boy wasn’t in the living room, so he made his way to Drew’s room. Pushing open the door slowly, he saw the boy’s figure curled on the bed on his side. His body was relaxed, breathing deep and even. As Shane moved closer, he saw Drew really was asleep. Probably the best thing for him right now.
Drawn forward, Shane knelt by the bed. Reached out and touched the boy’s hair. Stroked gently, his heart broken for Drew. And for himself. He’d never imagined anything happening to Brad. Had never seriously entertained having children. But both had come to pass.
In the blink of an eye, Shane was parent to a grieving sixteen-year-old boy he had no idea how to raise.
Or how to protect.
3
Daisy hovered in the doorway to Drew’s room, breath caught in her throat.
Shane was on his knees beside the bed, stroking the boy’s hair. His expression was grief stricken, but there was such love, too. This wasn’t a man fulfilling an obligation. This was a man who truly loved the people he allowed into his life, a man who would do anything for them.
And she longed to be one of those people.
How selfish can I be? It wasn’t Shane’s fault she’d enjoyed a couple of rolls in the sack and had gotten her heart broken when she expected more. She blamed herself. He’d made it clear she wasn’t going to be someone he wanted to keep, and she had no business hanging around here longer than necessary.
Quietly, she backed away and returned to the living room to wait for him. Over and over, her mind replayed what she’d just witnessed and the fact that Shane wasn’t the cavalier, happy-go-lucky slut he pretended to be. He was so much more.
He came back into the room just then, looking worn-out. “He’s resting.”
“He’ll need a lot of that to get through the next few weeks.” She paused. “Is there anything else I can do?”
“No,” he said, moving to stand right in front of her. “But thank you for being here.”
The clear dismissal had her throat tightening in disappointment. She shoved it down and mustered a small smile. “Well, if you need me, don’t hesitate to call.”
“All right.”
He wouldn’t, she knew. She squeezed his hand, then turned to leave. But she was brought up short when he didn’t let go. Instead he pulled her back, slid an arm around her waist. Surprised, she met his gray gaze. He was staring at her like she was the last drink of water in the desert, and her heart hammered in her chest.
He was going to kiss her. He hesitated once, in silent question, and receiving no protest, lowered his mouth to hers. Every cell in her body ignited in flames, scorching her from head to toe. And everywhere in between.
No man had ever kissed her the way Shane did—with his entire being. Rational thought fled, swept to sea in a tide of desire. And just as quickly it was over. Her former lover pulled back, studying her as though he wanted to say something else.
Ask me for that beer again. This time I won’t say no.
But he didn’t. “Good night, sugar.”
“Night.”
She turned and headed down the porch steps, and the door closed with a soft snick behind her. I’m my own worst enemy sometimes. Why do I let him tie me in knots?
She’d been hung up on him for so long and finally she’d gotten him. But not forever. No more. Best to let him fade away and rest with all the other pipe dreams.
Like falling for a man who actually understood and appreciated her job. Getting along with her dad. Not feeling so alone. Not watching life pass her by. Having children of her own.
Right. With a sigh, she started the car and pulled out of the drive. Glancing in the rearview mirror, she could’ve sworn she saw the curtain flick closed.
But it was probably her imagination.
• • •
The day after Brad’s death dawned obscenely bright. After switching on the coffeepot, Shane stood staring out the window overlooking the back of his property and the river. A couple of fishermen were trolling the bank in a boat, hoping for an early-morning catch. Birds were singing. A typical lazy Saturday.
For some, anyway. It didn’t seem possible that the world could simply go on when lives were shattered. But it did, and he couldn’t think what to do next. Not without coffee to revive his exhausted brain.
Drew had woken up screaming, cov
ered in sweat, twice last night. The second time, Shane had broken down and given the boy a mild over-the-counter sleep aid to help him rest. It worked, but sleep was lost on Shane by then and, wanting to be alert in case Drew needed him, he didn’t dare take the same medication. He’d been up since four, prowling back and forth to the kid’s room to make sure he was all right. How did parents do this?
Suddenly it hit him that this was forever. Socked him hard in the gut and filled him with fear. This wasn’t just a visit, and Brad would never come to fetch his son. Drew was his responsibility now, just as Brad had wanted if anything ever happened. Shane and Drew had always been close, but the rules were going to change along with their relationship. It was inevitable.
The crunch of tires outside snagged his attention. Walking to the front window, he half-expected to see Daisy returning, demanding to help in some way. Instead he was greeted by the sight of Tommy pulling up in his truck, Shane’s twin sister riding shotgun. In his shock last night, Shane hadn’t even thought to call them, so they’d probably rushed over as soon as they heard the news this morning.
Not wanting the doorbell or a knock to awaken Drew, he went out on the porch to meet them. Shea practically flew out of the truck and up the steps, launching herself into his outstretched arms. He caught her and held her close, burying his nose in her curly brown hair, and inhaled the familiar, comforting scent of his twin.
“Oh, my God, Shane,” she breathed. “We just heard when we turned on the television this morning. Why didn’t you call us?”
“It was an awful scene, sis. I wasn’t thinking.” He hugged her tighter, grateful for her presence. “I would have this morning after I got my head on straight.”
Releasing her, he turned and offered his hand to his tall, blond brother-in-law, who promptly ignored the gesture and pulled him in for a bear hug. Jesus, he was so damned grateful for his family. His eyes stung as he stepped back and jerked a thumb toward the house.
“Ya’ll want some coffee? I sure could use some.”
That suggestion met with approval, and the couple followed him inside, waiting until they had mugs of fragrant brew and were seated in the living room before beginning the interrogation.