What was the wrong idea?
“Besides, I need help packing. All Bree did was drink my wine and talk me into letting her buy a huge-ass play set for the kids.”
She pointed to her house and he begrudgingly started his truck. Checking the side mirror, he pulled into the road then her short drive.
Shutting off the engine, he set the parking brake. “You don’t want them to have a play set?”
“It’s not that. The one she wants to get is a couple grand and will take up half the yard. Plus, I know she’s taking a lot less in rent than what she can get for the house.”
She hopped down from the truck and eased the door shut so it didn’t slam. He did the same and rounded the front end.
“Is she getting them a play set?” Stealing the opportunity touch her, he rested his palm on the small of her back as she led the way to the door. Walking behind her, he couldn’t help but appreciate the way her leggings hugged her hips and showed off her legs.
“I told her she could get it for them as a combined birthday and Christmas present.” She pushed through the door and kicked her shoes off onto the small stand behind it. She waited for him to clear the threshold, then closed the door and threw the deadbolt.
He added his shoes to the pile and followed her toward the kitchen, sitting on the stool he’d occupied during the wake. The house seemed much larger now that there weren’t a few dozen people crammed into it.
“You want something to drink?” she asked.
“Water’s fine. How close are their birthdays?”
She opened the fridge she’d just closed and pulled out two beers, closing the door with her hip. “I’m going to need more than water if we’re going to talk about this.”
“Okay…” He wasn’t sure what this was or why he was going to need a beer to hear it.
Her gaze moved behind him, to where he knew the kids’ bedroom was. “They asleep?”
“Yeah.” She twisted off the top and took a pull from the bottle, her soft lips pursing around the opening. The label caught his eye. It was the same microbrew he’d brought to her house the first time they’d had sex and he pressed his lips together to keep from smiling.
Setting the bottle on the counter, she took a deep breath. “They’re eleven months apart. Their birthdays are March and February.”
“You called them Irish twins.”
She nodded. “Eddie raped Sarah three weeks after she’d given birth to Kaden. She found out she was pregnant at her six-week postpartum checkup. He started beating her in the car on the way home, blaming her for another mouth to feed. When he stopped for gas, the guy on the other side of the pump saw Sarah and asked if she needed help and offered to call the police.” She finally looked up from the counter. “Eddie beat him to death.”
“Fuck.” The Good Samaritan. He twisted off the cap of his beer and took a long swallow.
“He was twenty-eight, he was engaged, and he was on his way to get fitted for his tux for his wedding.”
Taking another swallow, he tried not to gag as it trickled past the knot in his throat.
“I was in Iraq when it happened. Sarah was hospitalized for a week and I went home on emergency leave.”
All the pieces fell into place. “That’s when that boy—Ali—died.”
Her eyelashes lowered, hiding her eyes and nodded.
“Denise.” He couldn’t form any words. What did he even begin to say to something like that?
“To the FBI, Eddie’s just another criminal. A small cog in a bigger piece of machinery you’re trying to stop.” She looked back at him, her eyes ablaze with fury and unshed tears. “But to me? He’s the piece of shit that almost took my family from me and is trying to again. I’d as soon shoot him as look at him, but I can’t because it’s not just me I have to worry about anymore.”
Her hands fisted on the counter. “I promised myself I would never be helpless again. That I would never be in a position where a child’s life was threatened. So tell me what the fuck I’m supposed to do now.”
He covered her fists with his hands and used his thumbs to rub the meaty pad of her palm until her hands relaxed. “You trust me to help you. You trust me to do the right thing for you and Kimber and Kaden.”
He held her gaze, silently pleading with her to take the help he was offering. He wasn’t lying. He would do the right thing to protect her, even if the right thing didn’t fall in line with the FBI’s agenda.
She nodded tightly and a wave of relief washed over him. He’d never do anything to make her regret her decision. To make her regret giving him a second chance.
Chapter 15
He was being stared at. And not in the soft and sultry way he wanted Denise to stare at him while she mentally undressed him. Or physically—he wasn’t picky. This stare was hard and suspicious.
Cracking open an eyelid, he found Kaden sitting on the coffee table. Opening both eyes fully, he angled his head on the pillow Denise had left him and rubbed his eyes. “Good morning.”
“Why are you asleep on our couch?”
Shit. The last thing he expected to wake up to was an interrogation. Denise was supposed to have woken him before she got the kids up so he could leave without them seeing him.
“Uh. I was helping your aunt pack last night and it got really late. I was too tired to drive home, so she let me sleep on the couch.”
“Aunt Denny’s still asleep.” Kaden at with his hands tucked between his knees as if he expected Chris to have a solution to the problem.
He checked his watch and sat up fully, swinging his feet to the floor. “What time do you have to catch the bus? Do you take the bus or does Denise take you?”
“We take the bus. Aunt Denny walks us to the bus stop at seven-thirty. No one else’s parents walk them to the bus stop. Aunt Denny said it’s because those parents don’t like their kids as much as she likes us. I don’t know if that’s true. Except for maybe Justice. He’s a bully. He tries to take everyone’s toys if they bring one to school. He tried to pull Kimber’s hair one day, but I told him I’d punch him in the ball sac if he did it. My mom said it was my job to protect her because all little girls deserve protection. Except when she plays with my Power Rangers and makes them marry her Barbie. Then I don’t want to protect her.”
Holy word vomit. Did all little kids talk that much? He scrubbed a hand over his head. “Uh, I don’t know how much other parents like their kids, but I know Denise likes you and your sister a whole lot. Why don’t we let her sleep for a few more minutes and I’ll help you with breakfast?”
Kaden gazed at him somberly, as if weighing the pros and cons of his decision. “Okay.”
Chris smiled. “Okay. Is Kimber awake?”
“Not yet.”
“Why don’t you wake her up and get dressed and I’ll fix your breakfast. What do you normally have?”
“Scrambled eggs and toast with peanut butter and milk.”
Chris nodded and found a whole new level of respect for what Denise had to handle since she’d taken on the care of Kaden and Kimber. “I should be able to figure that out. You got your part covered?”
Kaden nodded back.
“Let’s do it.” He held his fist up for a bump. Kaden stared at it, stared at Chris, then back at his fist. For one awkward moment, he thought the little boy would leave him hanging. He didn’t think his ego would take being dissed by a nine-year-old, but Kaden finally bumped his fist with his own.
Pride swelled in his chest like he’d been given a special, once-in-a-lifetime gift. Hell, maybe he had been. Kaden stood and shuffled down the hall. Chris scratched at the stubble on his chin. His whole existence had just been validated by a fist bump from a kid. Shaking his head, he pushed to his feet and checked on Denise.
She’d left the door to her room cracked, probably so she could hear the kids if they woke up during the night. Pushing it open a little more, he found her sprawled on her stomach, wrapped around a pillow with her hair spread out behind her. He cou
ld see the sweet spot next to her where he’d fit perfectly—his face tucked into the curve of her neck, arm thrown over her, his leg nestled between hers.
Sprocket raised her head from her position at the end of the bed and regarded him with her large brown eyes.
Great. Now he was being judged by a dog.
Easing the door closed, he went into the small galley kitchen. Opening and closing the few lower cabinets, he found a skillet for the eggs. Kaden and Kimber climbed onto the stools at the small eat-at counter that formed an “L” on one side of the kitchen while he pulled eggs and milk from the fridge.
Setting the ingredients on the counter, he braced his hands on the edge. “Let’s talk eggs. Hard or soft?”
Kimber rubbed her eyes and yawned. “Huh?”
“Do you like them a little runny or cooked really well?”
“Really well,” Kaden said.
“Runny eggs are gross,” Kimber added.
“Runny equals gross. Got it.” Chris nodded and opened more cupboards until he found a bowl. Pulling a fork from the drawer in front of him, he scrambled eggs under the intense scrutiny of two kids. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been in such a nerve-wracking situation—not even when he’d been going through evaluation at the FBI Academy.
They whispered to themselves while he stirred the eggs. He made eggs almost every morning, but this morning he felt like he was auditioning for a cooking show, presenting his creation to the top foodies in the country. Maybe they were the Gordon Ramsay of second and third grade and they were critiquing his technique.
“Where can I find plates?” he asked, turning the burner off and moving the skillet over.
“Our plates are in the big bottom drawer,” Kaden said.
“You have your own plates?”
“Mine’s the purple one,” Kimber said.
Sure enough, a stack of plastic colored plates and utensils took up the bottom drawer. Still hunched over, he asked, “Kaden, what color do you want?”
“Orange.”
Chris pulled out the requested plates and matching forks. When he rose from his crouch, Kimber was whispering in Kaden’s ear. “What’s up? Are these the wrong plates?”
Kaden shook his head. “No. She wants to know if you’re going to do her hair for school.”
He…what? No. He was not trained for that. “Uh, I think we’ll wake your aunt up to do that. I would probably make a horrible mess of it.” There was no probably about it. Even the idea of trying to figure out what he was supposed to do with Kimber’s waist-long hair had him longing to be hunkered down behind a makeshift barrier taking fire from an unseen enemy. Taliban ambush in the wilds of Afghanistan? Bring it on. Fixing a little girl’s hair? No, sir-ee.
A muffled “shit” followed closely by a bark from Sprocket derailed his thought train.
“Looks like Denise is awake.”
Kimber giggled behind her hand and he winked at the little girl. Taking the pan from the stove, he divided the eggs between the two plates. He set the pan on the stove and popped bread into the toaster.
“Kaden! Kimber! Wake up, guys. We’re late.” Denise rushed out of her room and across the small living room, dining room combo, pulling her hair up into a messy bun on her head.
Long hair was absolutely her territory. No one said anything as she went down the short hallway. Kimber giggled quietly and Kaden smiled before taking a bite of eggs. It was like they were all part of an inside joke, none of them willing to be the first one to call attention to themselves in the kitchen. Inexplicable warmth spread through Chris’s chest.
Shit. He had no business feeling this comfortable with these kids.
“Kaden? Kimber? Where—?” She stopped in the living room, hands her hips, having finally spotted them.
Kaden laughed and Kimber giggled again. Denise smiled, thankfully. “What are you guys doing?” she asked.
“Eating breakfast, silly,” Kimber said.
“I see that. Did you guys make that or did Mr. Chris make it for you?” Her eyebrows rose in question.
Shit. He might have made a huge error in judgment. He looked at it from Denise’s point of view and realized he should have woken her up as soon as Kaden went to get Kimber. He’d only been trying to do something nice for Denise by letting her sleep a few more minutes, but now he thought she might look at it as him trying to manipulate the kids.
Fuck.
“Mr. Chris made eggs,” Kaden said. “We were going to wake you up to do Kimber’s hair. He looked a little freaked out when she asked if he was going to do it for her.”
“He did, huh?” She joined them in the kitchen. “Don’t suppose he made coffee too, did he?”
He couldn’t tell if she was pissed that he’d overstepped his bounds. “No, unfortunately I haven’t gotten around to that.”
She grabbed the carafe from the coffee maker, filling it with water from the sink. She quickly set the coffee up to brew. “You guys good with buying lunch today or do you want me to make you something real quick?”
“Can I take my lunch?” Kimber asked. “I don’t like the stuff they give us at school. It’s always mushy.”
“Yeah, baby. I’ll make you lunch.” She pulled down a jar of peanut butter and held it out to Chris.
“What’s this for?”
“Toast.” She pointed behind him.
The bread had popped up while he’d been assessing her level of anger. He took the jar and grabbed a knife from the drawer. She didn’t appear to be angry at all. Either that, or she was hiding it well. Given he’d never been able to read her under normal circumstances, he’d probably have to wait until the kids were on the bus before she unloaded on him.
He set the toast on the kids’ plates and moved out of the kitchen. Leaning against the counter across from the kids, he watched Denise prepare their lunches. She seemed to do everything at once—taking coffee mugs down, pulling out fruit and vegetables, bread and lunch meat, sandwich bags and lunch containers. In less time than it took for him to find their colored plates, she had their lunches packed and ready to go.
“Okay, guys. Plates in the sink, then brush your teeth. We’ve got to hurry or you’ll miss the bus.”
“Aunt Denny, will you braid my hair today?” Kimber asked.
“Sure. Bring me your brush when you’re done brushing your teeth.”
“Okay.” The kids hopped down from the stools and dropped their plates in the sink, before running to the bathroom.
Chris wasn’t sure if he should offer to help with something else or stay out of the way of their routine. He gathered up the remaining dirty dishes from breakfast and set them in the sink, running water over them so the food wouldn’t stick.
“You can leave those, I’ll wash them later.”
“It’s no problem,” he said.
She didn’t say anything as Kimber returned with a brush and some hair clips. She climbed back up on the stool and folded her hands on the counter while Denise brushed out her hair. Denise’s nimble fingers gathered up sections of Kimber’s hair and quickly had it braided down her back. After securing the end, she clipped barrettes into the sides.
“There you go. Shoes on. Jacket on. Get your backpack. Kaden! Let’s go, buddy.”
“I’m ready, Aunt Denny.”
Denise herded them toward the door, slipping into flip-flops, pulling a hoodie over her head, and grabbing her keys as she ushered the kids outside.
The silence when they left was deafening after the commotion of the last few minutes. He stared down at Sprocket, curled up on a dog bed in the corner of the dining room. “Am I supposed to wait for her or am I supposed to leave.”
The dog licked her chops, whined, and rolled to her side.
“Thanks. That clears that up.”
Chapter 16
“I like Mr. Chris,” Kimber said.
Denise looked down at her. “You do?”
“Uh huh.” She swung their hands as they walked.
“
What do you like about him?”
“He makes good eggs.”
She smiled at the simplicity of Kimber’s statement. If only the rest of life was as simple as whether or not someone could scramble eggs.
“Did he ask you guys any questions?”
“Yes,” Kaden said.
Her stomach dropped and she worked to control her initial reaction. She hadn’t expected the answer to be yes. Had he used her oversleeping as an opportunity to get information from the kids? “What kinds of questions?”
“How we like our eggs,” Kaden said.
The sense of relief was instant and almost euphoric and she hated that for one short instant she’d doubted his intentions, but old habits died hard. Expect the worst and you won’t ever be disappointed. Funny…she’d still been disappointed when she’d thought the worst.
“He had to ask where our plates were,” Kimber added. “And he didn’t want to do my hair.”
The image of Chris trying to braid Kimber’s hair flashed through her mind. A small, hard knot in her chest unfurled at the picture it created. She mentally shoved the whole idea back into its metaphysical corner.
“Is he your boyfriend?” Kaden asked.
Denise coughed, choking on the spit that found its way down the wrong pipe with her surprise. “Why would you ask that?”
“‘Cause he was asleep on the couch.”
“No. He’s not my boyfriend.” Truthfully, she didn’t know how to describe Chris. They’d had something a few months ago that could have been more. They had…something…now, but she had no idea what it was or how to categorize it. All of which was too complicated to tell a nine- and eight-year-old.
“He’s just a friend.”
“Oh,” Kimber said with a good deal of disappointment.
“Why do you say it like that?” Denise asked.
“Amber’s mom has a boyfriend and he takes them to dinner and movies sometimes.”
“Do you want to go to dinner and movies sometimes?” Of course they did. Damn, she hadn’t really done anything fun with them, had she? They’d been so focused on getting through Sarah’s cancer, she completely forgot they were just kids and needed to do fun things.
Locked-Down Heart (Combat Hearts Book 3) Page 10