Protecting the Single Mom

by Catherine Lanigan

  “Partner?” Trent said aloud.

  Richard remained cool. “Did he ever name this guy?”

  “Triple X. From Detroit.”

  Trent curled his body around the roof and side of the car, wishing he could meld into the metal and hear every nuance, every breath, every tick of Miguel’s eyelids lowering. Triple X was the biggest cartel in Detroit. For years, the Feds, the Detroit Police Department and CPD had tried to connect the Detroit gang to the drugs being run out of Chicago.

  “Le Grande say he leaving Chicago and move to Indiana.” Then Miguel laughed.

  “What’s so funny?” Richard asked.

  “Le Grande say he has family in Indiana. He live with them now.”

  Trent leaned down and looked in the window. Miguel was shaking his head. Chuckling. Slapped his palm against his thigh. “Loco. He told my gang brothers long time ago he has no family. That why he make all of us in the gang never to see family again. Le Grande is the family.” Miguel leaned his head back and laughed, tension and disbelief spilling out of him.

  Richard stood and looked Trent squarely in the eye. “We need to talk. While my detectives take Miguel downtown and process him, let’s get something to eat.”

  * * *

  ROSE’S DINER WAS open all day and night, and everyone in South Chicago knew that their late-night cook served up extra gravy and larger portions, ostensibly to sober up the drunks before they drove home. Illegally. But then in South Chicago, few people cared. Except the cook.

  Trent slid into the red plastic booth, and before he’d picked up the menu from behind the jukebox selector, a gray-haired waitress with deep wrinkles around her eyes and red lipstick bleeding into the lines around her lips had plopped down two ceramic mugs and asked, “Coffee? Leaded or unleaded.”

  “Leaded,” Trent replied.

  “Same,” Richard said. “I’ll have steak and eggs. Gravy on the biscuits.”

  “I remember, honey,” the waitress said, and winked at Richard.

  Trent smiled. “Come here a lot, I see.”

  “What about you, handsome?” the waitress asked, taking out her pad and pen.

  “Same. No gravy. But the cheese grits.”

  “Good choice. I’ll be back with the coffee in a sec.” She left.

  Trent leaned back in the booth. “You need to shut up.”

  “I haven’t said a word,” Richard said with splayed hands. “What?”

  “You want me to close it down.”

  Richard looked at his watch. “Ten minutes and I’m off duty. On duty, I have to say yes.”

  Trent rubbed the back of his neck. “Le Grande has upped the ante.”

  “Certainly has.”

  Plopping his arm on the table, Trent said, “I agree with you. I should flush this whole strategy of using Cate to lure him into the open. Le Grande is slippery as an eel. He plays a wicked game of chess.”

  “Your busted-up bust didn’t help. But this... Trent, we’re talking homicide now. And if what Miguel says is true—”

  “I believe him.”

  “Me, too.”

  “That’s why I’m not going to stop now.” Trent curled his fingers in to a fist. “I’m nearly there. He’s walking into my trap.” Trent stared at his hand. All he saw was Cate’s face. He heard Danny’s voice, saying his name the way he did—suffused with hero worship.

  “You can’t do this, Trent. Think about it. Le Grande is now wanted for murder. If he crosses the state line, the Feds will be all over this. It will be out of our hands.”

  Trent drummed his fingers on the table. “What if he lied to Miguel to throw everyone off? What if he’s moving to Detroit? Or Toronto?”

  “Possible.”

  “But not likely. He’ll show up in Indian Lake. He wants Cate. But what if you get your inside man to tell Le Grande that there’s a new buyer for his drugs from Detroit? We set up another sting, using the fifty grand we recovered from Le Grande’s warehouse. Then I use undercover cops to pose as the Detroit buyers. I could put a day and time on it.”

  “Trust me,” Richard said, “Le Grande names his own days and times. That’s how he stays invisible. Even to his own guys. My man in there says he gives them orders to make a buy at a certain time, then changes it. If I didn’t know better, I’d say there’s a cop on the take somewhere.”

  “You suspect your man?”

  “No. Never.”

  “How can you know?”

  “He’s my son.”

  Trent’s eyes widened. “I didn’t know you had a kid.”

  Richard smiled. “I’m even married. I do have a life, you know.”

  Trent ground his jaw. That was more than he could say for himself. “That’s great.”

  Richard finished his coffee. “I’m in this to win, but my worry now is that to our knowledge, this is Le Grande’s first murder. Once he has tasted first blood, he’ll be unstoppable. I want him off the street, and my son will be out of there.”

  Trent stared at his fork. “It’s risky. But we need to force Le Grande to action. I say we do it.”

  Richard leaned closer. “The Feds find out about a cockamamie gig like this, we’re both busted back to patrol cops.”

  “Who’s gonna tell ’em? Not me. If I lost this job, I don’t know what I would do. Because if that happened, I’d lose Cate, too.”

  Richard’s eyes flew open. “Lose Cate? What are you talking about?”

  Trent felt like he was hemorrhaging emotions. Hot. Oozing. Draining. Losing Cate. The thought of never seeing her again. Holding her. Kissing her. It was too much to endure. He would just as soon be dead himself.

  Le Grande had now committed murder—just to make a point. He’d done it blatantly. An in-your-face snub at the cops. CPD with their billion-plus-dollar budget didn’t faze the guy. Le Grande was a sociopath with no sense of consequence or boundaries.

  “Richard,” Trent began, “I don’t know how it happened, but this woman and her boy have come to mean something to me.”

  Richard dropped his forehead to his hand. “Don’t say it.”

  “I love her. I know that now.”

  Richard looked up. “Then you gotta take yourself off the case.”

  “She doesn’t know how I feel. In fact, she thinks I’m...well, indifferent. I need to keep it that way. At the same time, I know the only way I can protect her is to be even closer to her. I’ll put myself on twenty-four-hour detail. I won’t let her out of my sight.”

  “You’re in too deep. Shut it down.”

  Trent stared back at Richard. Willful. Rigid.

  “Once the Feds come in, you have to step away.”

  “When that happens, I will. I know the protocol, Richard. Trust me, I’m not going to be foolish. And I’m not going to lose my job over this. At the same time, I will get Le Grande.”

  Trent felt conviction rattle through his body. He’d never been so sure of anything in his life. Bringing down Le Grande would happen. He would risk his life for Cate. Die for her. He didn’t know when or how he could tell her that.

  Maybe never.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CATE HAD NEVER seen anything like it. Thanksgiving à la Mrs. Beabots was a production worthy of a Broadway opening. When Mrs. Beabots asked Cate to help her with shopping, flower arrangements and food preparation, Cate had gladly agreed. Little did she realize that Mrs. Beabots would need help for a full week.

  “I’ve counted twenty-five guests,” Mrs. Beabots said as Cate placed Royal Worcester casserole dishes on the island. Mrs. Beabots dragged a box filled with sacks of potatoes, carrots with long green tops, mesh bags of white pearl onions and enormous butternut squash out from under the island. “Thank goodness my table seats twenty-four.” Mrs. Beabots beamed as she put the potatoes
in the sink.

  Cate gulped and looked at Danny, who stood on a step stool, an apron tied around his waist, as he polished silverware. He turned his head, his eyes wide. “All twenty-four? Eating in the same room? At the same time?”

  “Why, yes, dear,” Mrs. Beabots said. “I have leaves upon leaves to open it up. Luke is coming over tonight to help put the table together. I haven’t had this many people since Raymond was alive. Oh, how he loved to entertain. We had such lavish parties. I decided this was the year I was going to do it again.”

  “What’s so special about this year?” Danny asked.

  Cate was curious, as well. “Yes. Why now?”

  Mrs. Beabots fluffed the ruffled edge of her apron and winked at Cate. “I’m not getting any younger. That’s the truth of it. One of these days, all you girls will be married off and gone, and I won’t have anyone to share this with.”

  Cate saw sadness in Mrs. Beabots’s face. Like the slap of reality that it was, Cate had taken Mrs. Beabots’s presence for granted. They were more than just friends. For Cate, maybe for Danny, too, in the few weeks that she’d been living in this house, she felt as if Mrs. Beabots was family.

  She put her arms around Mrs. Beabots. “I’m glad you chose this year. And I’m so glad we’re here to help you.”

  Mrs. Beabots lifted her hand and wiped away Cate’s tears. “Me, too.” Cate saw that Mrs. Beabots was about to cry.

  She watched as Mrs. Beabots lifted her chin, shook off her gloom and turned to Danny. “You don’t mind doing the silver, do you, Danny? If you do, Annie will polish it. She tells me she likes cleaning silver.”

  “She does?” Danny halted. “I mean, I like it, too. It’s kinda fun to get the black stuff off. And I can see myself in the spoons.”

  “Good boy,” Mrs. Beabots said. “Now, Cate, you know how to make cranberries, don’t you?”

  “Open the can?”

  “Blasphemy!” Mrs. Beabots chuckled. “They’re so easy and so good. Here’s a three-quart saucepan. We’ll make two batches. Everyone eats mine like crazy. The sugar is there in the canister on the center of the island.” She pointed to a blue-and-white porcelain French canister that read Sucre.

  Mrs. Beabots used a small potato peeler and skinned a large orange. Then she took out two nutmegs. “Here, Cate. Chop the rinds very fine and add them to the cranberries, sugar and water. Then grate nutmeg into them. Put them on the stove on medium-high heat and cook the berries until they pop.”

  “That’s it?” Cate asked as she did as she was instructed. “This is amazing.”

  “After the berries cook, we let them sit and gel. Now, on to the creamed pearl onions in sherry sauce. We’ll make the broccoli soufflés and put them in the second refrigerator in the pantry. I make my stuffing ahead...letting the sage sit a couple days enhances the flavor. Sarah and Luke are doing the two turkeys.”

  “Two turkeys!” Danny exclaimed.

  Cate could practically see his mouth watering.

  “Of course. And a ham. I have a lot of people to feed. That’s why Sarah said she’d do the turkeys. I don’t have enough oven space. Honestly, I’ve thought about having another oven put in. Over there where the baker’s rack is.”

  “Wow. Two turkeys,” Danny repeated. “So cool.”

  “Then we’ll make the pies tomorrow.”

  “Pies?” Danny whirled. “You aren’t buying them? Mom always does”

  Cate had just placed the saucepan on the stove. “He’s right, you know. I’ve never seen a Thanksgiving like this. I was raised differently, I suppose.” Cate’s Thanksgivings hadn’t been all that different from any other day. Except for the parades on television. Her father slept all day on the sofa since it was his day off. Her mother bought a turkey, mashed potatoes and gravy, and a pumpkin pie at the grocery store already cooked. Cate’s sole job was opening the can of cranberries and leading her parents in a Thanksgiving blessing that she learned when she’d stayed overnight at Mary Kelly’s house, where they prayed all the time over food.

  Mrs. Beabots’s smile was knowing and gracious as she looked at Cate. “I’ll bet if we compared notes, our backgrounds might be quite similar. I wasn’t raised to cook or entertain, either. I learned it. That’s what life is all about. Going down different roads. Exploring new ways. After all, it’s the only life you have. Why not do it up!”

  Cate felt her smile encompass her entire body. Yes. Why not do it up right? Hadn’t she been doing that? Since the day she’d left Brad, she’d been doing the right thing. But was she still on that path? She’d agreed to help the Indian Lake Police capture him. But was it the right thing for her? For Danny? What if her decision was the wrong one?

  Mrs. Beabots had lived so many more years. She had eagerly agreed to step up and help Trent. In fact, it had been Mrs. Beabots’s willingness that pushed Cate forward. Even now, Cate wondered if she would have done this alone, without encouragement.

  Probably not. She would have run.

  In the end, she wondered if she was courageous at all. Maybe she’d just joined the enthusiasm in the room that night she and Trent had come to Mrs. Beabots.

  Cate’s thoughts scattered. She jumped when Mrs. Beabots said her name.

  “Cate, I didn’t think you’d mind.”

  “Mind?”

  “I asked Trent to join us for Thanksgiving dinner.”

  The dust motes dancing on the beams of sunlight that streamed through the window seemed to stop. The grandfather clock in the hallway ticked. Then tocked. Swung its pendulum. Time had not stood still. “Trent.”

  “Yes, dear. He has no family in town, and he’s practically glued to the house these days. I see him in a different car day and night.”

  “You do? I didn’t. I thought he’d disappeared.”

  “Oh, he changes vehicles every few hours.”

  “Really? How wily of you to notice,” Cate said, her curiosity piqued.

  “I notice a lot of things,” Mrs. Beabots replied in a sweet singsong tone.

  “I see that,” Cate replied. “I thought his clipped answers to my texts were because he was undercover somewhere. You know, smoking out the bad guys.”

  “Oh—” Mrs. Beabots smiled as she picked up a ham-size butternut squash and raised a chef’s knife “—I think he’s doing precisely that.”

  * * *

  TRENT TOOK A picture of the dazzling Thanksgiving table, resplendent with dozens of glowing tapers and votives in fall colors, and the center sprinkled with miniature gourds, fresh ivy and sunflowers in squat vases. He texted the photo to his mother, then shoved the phone in his jacket pocket. “What can I help with?” he asked Cate as she carried the cranberries to the table.

  “Gabe is opening the wine. Will you make sure everyone has a glass? We’re still making vegetables.”

  “Still?” He glanced over her shoulder toward the kitchen. “I thought I saw at least a half a dozen casseroles in there.”

  “Oh, you did,” she assured him. “Now we’re making fresh green peas. Grilled Brussels sprouts and steamed broccoli.”

  “Amazing.”

  “You have no idea,” Cate replied as Danny rushed out of the kitchen. “What have you got there, Danny?”

  “Turkey-shaped butter. Annie made them. Her mom showed her. They have a mold, she said.” Danny handed them to Trent. “Here. I’ll get more.”

  Trent smiled as he looked at the butter. Then at Cate. “He’s excited.”

  “We’ve never had a Thanksgiving—or any holiday—quite like this,” she said, taking the butter plates from him and placing them at each end of the table. “Living with Mrs. Beabots has been a revelation for him. He likes it here.”

  “He’s with good friends.” He moved closer, thinking that every argument he’d used to keep his distance from Cate had been faulty.
“And what about you?”

  “It’s been—” she held her hands in front of her “—magic.”

  “What?” He couldn’t have heard her correctly.

  “It’s like a fairy tale being here.”

  “But in the middle of a nightmare, as well.”

  “Aren’t all fairy tales threatening? The dark villain? The white knight saving the princess?”

  She was driving him mad standing this close. Each time she glanced at him with her aqua eyes, brimming with trust in him, hope in him, his breathing rattled in his chest. If he touched her, he’d be branded for life, and he’d never escape her.

  He was in love with her. Completely. He was all in. She could crook her finger and he’d come running. Dance to her strings. Play her games. He didn’t care. He would walk through eternity to find her.

  Yet he was the one who just might have signed her death sentence. And if they all lived, the kindest thing for him to do was to walk away. She deserved a guy who was fresher. His PTSD hadn’t abated over the years, though the military therapists said that it could.

  He’d been so immersed in his work that he’d learned to live with his flashbacks and night terrors. He’d accepted his situation because there’d been no reason to try anything new.

  There hadn’t been Cate. Or Danny. There hadn’t been a reason to heal himself.

  He could hear everyone in the parlor clapping for Gabe and Liz as they poured their first bottles of last year’s trial burgundy and pinot noir. Gabe was making a speech. Scott Abbott laughed. Liz cooed to her baby. He heard Nate tease Gabe. He heard Jack and Austin McCreary coming from the kitchen talking about tennis as they challenged Rafe to doubles. From inside the kitchen were the sounds of female voices—Mrs. Beabots, Sarah, Maddie, Olivia, Katia, Isabelle and Sophie—talking over each other. Children’s laughter.

  They all had a story. They all had their own fairy tale. Now Trent found himself in the middle of his own. But was he the white knight or the evil dragon keeper?

  “I know why you haven’t called me. Or texted much,” Cate said, putting her hand on his wrist.

  He wished she wouldn’t do that. She’d feel his pulse, tripping like a jackhammer. “You do?”