by Laura Scott
Mike nodded, watching as she walked away to check on their son. He stood for a long moment wondering how she felt about their kiss. She hadn’t pulled away, but she hadn’t looked him directly in the eye afterward, either.
Did she regret kissing him? He sincerely hoped not. Shrugging off the hint of unease, he headed over to the door to greet his brother Mitch and brother-in-law, Noah Sinclair. Shayla disappeared with Brodie into the kitchen to cook the pizza.
“Thanks, guys,” he said, taking the keys to Hawk’s SUV. “I appreciate the help.”
“Not a problem,” Mitch assured him. “You helped bail me out of trouble when I was framed for murder, remember?”
“Yeah.” He’d always been there for his siblings and it struck him how much easier it was for him to offer his help than to accept it. “I may need more assistance from you tomorrow. If you’re up for it?”
Noah and Mitch exchanged surprised glances. “Absolutely. I can free myself up tomorrow,” Mitch said. “I’m sure I can convince the others to come out, too.”
“Agreed,” Noah added. “Do you want to start tonight?”
It was a good idea. Mike hesitated and then shook his head. “No, I need to do a little research on my own first. Get my thoughts together. Tomorrow afternoon will be soon enough.”
“Okay, sounds like a plan.” Mitch grinned. “Two requests for help in one day, must be a new record.”
Mike rolled his eyes at his brother’s lame attempt at humor. “Whatever. Oh, and let me give you a different number for you to use to reach me.” He crossed the living room to pick up the second disposable phone. Returning to where they stood, he rattled off the number. Noah and Mitch dutifully typed the information into their respective phones.
“I’ll pass this along to the others,” Mitch said, replacing his phone in his pocket.
“I’ll make sure Maddy has it,” Noah added.
“Thanks again.” Mike knew he was fortunate to have such a supportive family. And as he watched Mitch and Noah drive away, he couldn’t help but wonder if Shayla’s family had once been the same way.
He knew what he’d overheard the day of his father’s funeral. The words had echoed over and over in his mind. Was it possible there was a logical explanation?
Deep down, he prayed there was. He needed to understand what had happened to his father and why.
But even more so, he needed to find a way to keep Shayla and Brodie in his life. And uncovering the truth about her father and brother being involved in criminal activity would not help.
In fact, it could ruin his relationship with Shayla forever.
* * *
Disconcerted by Mike’s kiss, Shayla put the pizza into the oven without preheating it. Mumbling “Idiot” under her breath, she pulled it out and turned the oven on.
She found comfort in the muted voices of Mitch, Noah and Mike coming from the living room. Knowing that the Callahan family was rallying around Mike provided a feeling of security.
They weren’t in this alone.
Her brother and father would have done the exact same thing. If her father wasn’t in the hospital recovering from open-heart surgery. And if her brother wasn’t hiding from imminent danger.
Unfortunately, Mike didn’t believe in her family the way he did his own.
“I’m hungry,” Brodie announced, interrupting her thoughts.
“I know,” she responded. “The pizza will be ready soon.”
“Goody,” Brodie said clapping his hands. Normally she didn’t like giving him junk food, especially since he was already big for his age. She winced whenever the pediatrician weighed him. Dr. Pikna has assured her that Brodie was fine, despite being off the charts for both his height and his weight, but she still worried about him.
Yet, today wasn’t the time to be concerned about junk food. Not after the way they’d barely escaped with their lives.
When the oven had preheated, she placed the pizza inside and set the timer. Mike returned to the kitchen and began packing everything back inside the box.
“Are Mitch and Noah gone?”
“Yep.”
“You’re not going to review that stuff tonight?” she asked, her brow wrinkling in confusion.
“Not until after we eat.” After setting the box aside, he pulled out plates and cups and silverware, setting the table as if they were a family.
Which, technically, they were. She drew in a deep breath, reminding herself of her earlier promise. After dinner she and Mike would sit with Brodie to tell him the truth about Mike being his father.
Fifteen minutes later, the pizza was done. She pulled it out of the oven and sliced it. She cut Brodie’s into smaller pieces, so that the sauce would cool and to encourage him not to eat too fast.
She carried the plates to the table while Mike filled their glasses with milk. Then he sat and held out a hand to her and to Brodie.
Confused, she placed her hand in his.
“Dear Lord,” Mike said, bowing his head. “Thank You for providing this food we are about to eat. We also thank You for keeping us safe in Your care today when danger was near. We ask that You continue to bless us and to keep us safe from harm as we seek the truth. Amen.”
“Amen,” Shayla murmured. Mike’s prayer touched her heart. She lifted her gaze and gently squeezed his hand. “That was nice, Mike. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” His smile reminded her of happier times. The few short days they’d had together when they’d promised to marry each other, to care for each other and to love one another.
“Dig in, Brodie,” Mike said, releasing his son’s hand.
Brodie didn’t hesitate. “Yum.”
Shayla shook her head wryly. “He acts as if he hasn’t eaten in days rather than hours.”
“He has one voracious appetite,” Mike agreed.
“We’ll, um, talk after dinner, okay?”
He glanced at her curiously before recognition dawned in his green eyes as he understood the implication. “I’d like that.”
She smiled and nodded, unable to shake an odd sense of uncertainty. Telling Brodie was the right thing to do, but even though she’d promised to find a way to make things work, she wasn’t so sure there would be an easy answer.
Shared custody? The thought of giving Brodie up for weekends with his dad was unnerving. She told herself plenty of people did it all the time and survived, but the mere thought of spending so much time without her son had her curling her fingers into fists.
Would she have to move back to Milwaukee? Give up her life as she’d known it for the past four years in Nashville? And what about Aunt Jean? She depended on her aunt to help care for Brodie while she worked.
Her heart tripped and stumbled in her chest and she felt short of breath. Really? Another panic attack? What was wrong with her?
Stop it, she told herself sternly.
Mike frowned when he noticed she was picking at her pizza. “Something wrong?”
Wordlessly, she shook her head.
“More pizza?” Brodie asked hopefully.
She stood, took his plate and went over to cut up another slice. “Here you go.”
“Thanks, Mommy.” He ate another piece of pizza, grinning broadly. “My favorite.”
“I think all food is your favorite,” Mike said dryly. “Is there anything you don’t like, Brodie?”
He scrunched up his nose. “’Shrooms and ’sparagus.”
“Vegetables,” Mike said with a smile. “Figures.”
“But you like the little trees, don’t you?” There was no reason to feel defensive of her son’s eating preferences, but that was exactly how she sounded. “What about peas and green beans?”
Brodie nodded. “All good. Just not ’shrooms and ’sparagus.”
“Well, then, next time we’re at the store we’l
l have to pick up some broccoli,” Mike said with a smile. “Little trees are one of my favorites, too.”
She rose from the table, carrying her half-finished plate to the counter. Nerves had stolen her appetite.
Mike and Brodie chatted while they finished eating, Mike asking questions about how Brodie liked preschool. She listened to her son’s answers with a mixed sense of pride and dismay.
Being a single mother hadn’t been easy, but Brodie was clearly a well-adjusted little boy. She hated the idea of tearing him from friends he’d made at the pre-K program.
“Are you all finished, Brodie?” Mike asked.
She steeled her resolve and turned to face her son and the man she’d once loved. “Let’s sit in the living room for a while. I’ll take care of the dishes later.”
“I can help,” Mike added, searching her gaze. He was so in tune to her emotions now, she found herself wondering why he hadn’t been that way four years ago.
Maturity? Maybe.
She took a damp cloth and wiped the smears of tomato sauce from Brodie’s hands and face. Mike went into the living room and lit a fire in the fireplace.
“Brodie, we have something exciting to tell you,” she said. She sat on the sofa and brought Brodie up next to her. Mike took a seat on Brodie’s other side.
“We’re going to the park?” he asked, his brown eyes filled with hope. “I wanna go swimming!”
“Not right now, it’s almost bedtime.” She looked at Mike and then back down at Brodie. “Listen, Brodie, I want to tell you something important. Mike is your real daddy.”
“My daddy?” Brodie glanced at Mike in confusion. “For today?”
“For always,” Mike said. “I’m your daddy, Brodie. And I want you to know I love you very much.”
“I have a daddy!” Brodie kicked his feet with exuberance. “Just like Joey has a daddy.”
“That’s right. Just like Joey.” Shayla smiled, glad her son seemed to grasp the concept.
“Are you gonna live wif us, forever?” Brodie asked, turning his wide, hopeful brown eyes on Mike.
“Yes,” Mike said at the same time Shayla answered, “No.”
“Joey’s daddy lives with him,” Brodie said, his gaze perplexed.
“But Carol’s daddy doesn’t,” she swiftly pointed out. “Some daddies do but others don’t. It won’t matter, though, because you’ll get to see your daddy all the time, right?”
Brodie seemed to consider that angle. “Right.”
Mike frowned, pinning her with his gaze, but she ignored him.
“Maybe you and your daddy can play for a bit while I clean up the kitchen.” She slowly rose to her feet, forcing herself to give Mike and Brodie some time alone.
“Can we play wif the blocks?” Brodie asked.
“Absolutely.” Mike lifted Brodie down onto the floor next to the blocks, then sat cross-legged beside him.
Shayla hurried into the kitchen, wiping at the sting of tears. They’d cleared this hurdle, but there were many more to come.
As she scrubbed the pizza pan, she grew angry with Mike for rashly insinuating that he’d be living with them. That was something he’d had no right to promise Brodie. They hadn’t even discussed co-parenting arrangements.
She took her frustration out on the pizza pan, washing with more elbow grease than what was required. Just as she finished with the dishes, she felt Mike come up behind her.
“We need to talk,” he said in a low voice.
“You think?” She knew her tone sounded terse and drew in a slow, deep breath before facing him. “I can’t believe you said that!”
“I was thinking we’d find a way to make it work. That’s what you said earlier today.”
“I didn’t say we’d live together,” she responded, keeping her voice down so Brodie wouldn’t overhear. “I haven’t agreed to move back to Wisconsin, either.”
Mike hesitated and then shrugged. “Okay, I get that. It’s reasonable that I be the one to relocate to Nashville.”
Her mouth dropped open in surprise. “I—we—that’s...” Her voice trailed off. She swallowed hard and tried again. “We shouldn’t make big decisions right now. Not while everything is up in the air.”
Mike searched her gaze, his expression serious. “Is this your way of telling me you don’t have feelings for me?”
The question hit her in the stomach like a sucker punch to the gut. Because the problem was, she did still have feelings for him.
But love? No way. She’d already promised not to give Mike her heart. Not after the way he’d trampled it the first time she’d entrusted it to him.
“I don’t know, Mike. Let me ask you a question. Do you still believe my father and brother have something to do with your father’s murder?”
He opened his mouth as if to deny it and closed it again without saying anything.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” She tossed the dish towel on the counter and brushed past him, hoping he’d stop her. That he’d tell her how wrong he was for thinking the worst all these years.
But he didn’t.
And that was an answer in and of itself.
TEN
Mentally kicking himself for not telling Shayla what she’d needed to hear, he listened as Shayla went into the living room to convince Brodie to put his blocks away. Their son made it clear he didn’t want to get ready for bed, but she didn’t take no for an answer.
He admired the way she stood her ground with Brodie. She was sweet, kind, gentle yet firm in her approach.
All in all, she was an amazing mother raising a well-adjusted three-year-old son. No thanks to any additional support from him.
“Say good-night, Brodie.” Shayla’s voice drew him from his thoughts.
His son came running over to him, proudly wearing his Spider-Man pajamas. “G’night.”
Brodie hadn’t said daddy, but Mike felt emotion well in his chest regardless. He scooped up the boy and hugged him close, pressing a kiss to the top of his head, breathing in the mingled scents of shampoo and toothpaste.
This. This right here was all he needed.
“Good night, Brodie.” He didn’t want to let the child go, but reluctantly set him on his feet.
“See you in the morning,” Shayla said, avoiding his gaze.
“Yeah. Sleep well, Shayla.” He wanted to go to her and beg for a second chance, but she was already taking Brodie into the bedroom, closing the door firmly behind her.
He sat for a moment, staring blindly into space. Why hadn’t he said the words she’d wanted to hear? He’d already told himself there could be a rational explanation for what he’d overheard the day of his father’s funeral. No reason he couldn’t have admitted that much.
Yet, deep down, he knew there was a connection between the O’Hares and the Dark Knights. He’d seen Duncan speaking with Lane Walters with his own eyes. And the meeting had been secretive, each man checking over their shoulders as if subtly aware they were being watched.
What did it all mean?
He scrubbed his hands over his face, battling despair. With steely determination, he picked up the box and began unpacking it again. If he examined all the pieces of the puzzle together, it was possible he’d find some sort of clue. Something they’d missed along the way.
Abruptly he straightened. What if he worked the case from another angle? Maybe from the assumption that Duncan and Ian O’Hare were innocent. A chill ran down his spine and he sat back in his seat for a moment, turning that idea over in his mind. For years now, he’d considered them guilty. Had that fact alone caused him to miss something important?
He couldn’t deny the possibility.
Okay, then. He sat forward and began putting his notes in chronological order.
The Dark Knights had begun killing alleged criminals let out on the streets beca
use the police and DA’s office had failed to make the charges stick. Mostly because there wasn’t enough evidence to prosecute or, in a rare case or two, where there was enough reasonable doubt that a jury had failed to convict.
The Dark Knights, proclaiming themselves a vigilante group of concerned citizens determined to make the city streets safe after dark, had killed their first criminal—a rapist known as Aaron Hine, who’d targeted college girls—six months before Mike’s father’s murder.
At the time of Hine’s murder, though, the Dark Knights hadn’t been a prime suspect and hadn’t taken credit for Hine’s murder. Mike had learned from various sources that Hine’s murder investigation had centered on the fathers of the three female victims and the girls’ respective boyfriends, but each one of them had had a solid alibi.
Hine’s case had gone dormant for a month when a second seemingly unrelated incident took place. This one involved a murder of an armed robber who’d shot a convenience store worker, another young woman. The perp had worn a ski mask but had been arrested because of a video showing a tattoo on his arm and a store patron’s recognition of his voice. Unfortunately the defense was able to prove others had the same tattoo, so he’d got off.
Mike spread out the two case notes. After the convenience store robbery, the clerk, who was a young woman named Lindsey Baker, had been left paralyzed. When the man who’d shot her ended up dead, the Dark Knights had claimed responsibility for the crime, pronouncing the streets were safer now for all young women. That had been five months before his father’s murder.
There had been another murder each of the next three months, until the night his father had been killed while at the scene of an officer-involved shooting.
Why had his father become a target? Had his father had an inkling of who was behind the killings?
Mike pulled out a fresh piece of paper to take notes. Working under the assumption that his father had suspected cops were involved, Mike drew a line from his father to Ian O’Hare, who at the time was the deputy chief over internal affairs. If Ian was innocent, then he would have assigned several officers to investigate.