Kitabı oku: «The Lawman's Secret Son», sayfa 3

The smile that broke Armstrong’s face was worse than his sneer. “That’ll be a start. We’ll see where it ends.”

Brady got on the bike and started the engine.

Was Armstrong a grieving man, more bark than bite, or was Brady’s gut feeling Lara was in terrible danger more than his guilty conscience at work?

At any rate, he wasn’t going to leave her alone tonight. He’d swing by his place and grab a toothbrush and some dry shoes and clothes. Trade the Harley for his truck in case they needed to go somewhere. Like it or not, she had a guard tonight.

WHAT WAS KEEPING Brady?

Lara stood by the front windows, freshly showered, wearing old sweats she’d found in a bottom drawer. She was still cold even though she knew it was a warm night, summer at its apex. When she closed her eyes, the cold river flooded her head.

Before the night was over she would tell Brady what she’d come back to Riverport to tell him.

She’d wanted to tell him forever.

The sitting room, as her mother called the room to the left of the foyer, was typical Victorian with very high ceilings and tall, stately windows. A rose and ivory Oriental carpet, its silk soft against Lara’s bare feet, covered the hardwood floor.

“Lara?” Lara turned at the sound of the housekeeper’s voice. “Everything is quiet upstairs,” Myra added. “I think I’ll turn in.”

“Of course. Thanks for your help today. I don’t know what I would have done without you.”

“I wouldn’t have missed it for the world. I’m just glad I didn’t go on that cruise with your mother like she wanted. I did that once a couple of years ago and if you don’t mind my saying, it wasn’t much of a vacation for me.”

Lara nodded. She could imagine. As Myra left the room, a pair of headlights pulled up in front of the house. Lara recognized Brady’s green truck parked under the streetlight and she left the room, headed for the front door, suddenly aware her feet tingled and her palms felt sweaty. She took a deep breath as she pulled open the door.

He looked up as he took the last few steps. He’d obviously taken a shower and changed clothes and in the porch light, dressed in black jeans and a gray Henley, he looked lean, capable and focused.

She stood aside and he entered the house. He paused in the foyer, his gaze traveling up the broad, curved staircase as though looking for an invading army. Then his eyes met hers.

“You left the hospital.”

“Myra called. She was having trouble—”

“What kind of trouble?” He covered the few steps between them and caught her arm. She recoiled and he dropped his hand.

“I’m sorry. I forgot about your wound.”

“It’s okay. There’s a huge bandage on it. The doctor said there might be a scar but there was no permanent damage.”

“Good. What kind of trouble did the housekeeper have?”

She looked away for a second, then back at him. “It didn’t have anything to do with tonight, Brady, honest. I found a cab outside the hospital and took it home. Myra had to pay the man. I’d forgotten I no longer have a purse or a wallet. Do you know how Jason is doing?”

“I called from my place. He’s out of surgery, but it’s still touch and go.”

She nodded. Touch and go. “Poor kid.”

They each stared at the floor for a moment, then spoke at the same time.

She said, “Let’s go sit down—”

And he said, “I’m staying here tonight—”

They both stopped talking, he turned his hand palm up as if to give her a turn first. She repeated herself. He sat down on the second from bottom step and patted the space next to him.

Lara understood that he felt uncomfortable in her mother’s house and was reluctant to stray too far inside.

“You’re nervous,” he said.

She nodded.

“I want you to know I didn’t follow you out to the river. You told me not to come, but I happened to see Jason riding his bike and—”

She put her hand on his arm and he met her eyes. “You saved my life. You saved Jason. How could you think I would resent you being there?”

“Well, you’re nervous.”

“Not about that.”

“And you’re angry with me.”

“Oh, Brady. It’s been a long year.” Tears stung the back of her nose and she struggled to keep them out of her eyes and her voice. Though they didn’t fall, the emotion behind them must have showed, because he covered her hand with his.

His face was very close. She could smell soap and aftershave and toothpaste. She stared at his lips. Flames licked her groin.

And just like that, their lips drifted together, inevitably, touching in a way that was at once familiar and bittersweet. These lips she’d thought she’d never touch again. Soft and warm with the power of life behind them.

But not for her. Not ever again.

She drew away and took a shaky breath.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“It’s me. My emotions are all over the map.”

“I won’t let it happen again,” he added. “I promise you.”

She nodded.

“What do you want to tell me?” His hand had slipped from hers.

She bit her lip and finally decided how she should share her news. “Come with me,” she said, standing. He stood as well and seemed startled when she led him up the stairs. Was he remembering the first time they’d climbed these stairs together, two and a half years ago when her mother had taken off for the Aegean Sea and Lara had used the opportunity to show him the room in which she’d grown up?

Things like that were impossible when her mom was in the house for the simple reason her mother didn’t like Brady. She was one of those people Brady talked about, one of those who based their opinion of him on his family name. To Lara’s mother, Brady was and always would be, “One of those worthless Skye boys.” Slightly less troublesome than the younger boy, Garrett, but not to be trusted just the same.

She led Brady into her old bedroom. The light was low, the bed was covered in white eyelet just as it had been years before when she lived at home with her mother. Knowing she was coming, Myra had filled vases with roses from the garden and placed them around the room. Their fragrance perfumed the air.

“This is why I rushed home from the hospital,” she said softly.

His brow furrowed as he looked at the bed, which suddenly seemed to glow with remembered passion. She moved aside so he could see what occupied the far corner.

So he could see the crib.

“Myra needed help getting Nathan to sleep,” she said.

She watched his face as realization dawned. It was like watching the sunrise. He glanced at her and she nodded once, sniffing back tears before they could glisten in her eyes.

He moved toward the crib like a sleepwalker and stood staring down at the slumbering infant within.

Chapter Four

“He was conceived on our wedding night,” Lara said. “His name is Nathan.”

He had a son?

Just like that? One moment alone in the world, the next moment, a son?

Very slowly, he lowered his hand until the backs of his fingers grazed the baby’s round cheek. How could skin be that soft? The baby tucked one tiny fist close to his chin. A bubble blew at his lips and then he made a sudden face, a frown, and scrunched up his tiny body before relaxing again, hands flung to the side.

His son. Nathan.

“You named him after your father,” he whispered.

“Yes.”

Brady kept his gaze glued to the infant because he didn’t trust himself to look at Lara. Men usually had a few months to prepare themselves for fatherhood. Time to get used to the idea of a baby, to merge the dreamy possibilities of the future with the uncertainties of the past. Time to reckon.

But she’d deprived him of this.

She hadn’t trusted him with the knowledge he was to become a father. She’d gone through pregnancy and birth and the first three months of his child’s life alone rather than trust him.

She’s here now, a small voice whispered in the back of his mind. They’re both here now.

He wasn’t ready to listen. He shoved his hands in his pockets as he turned to face her.

Their eyes locked for a heartbeat before she lowered her gaze. “I’m sorry, Brady,” she said so softly it might have been his imagination. “I was frightened.”

That made it better? Now she not only didn’t trust him and didn’t like him, she was afraid of him?

“Later,” he forced himself to say. He needed time to think.

“I just want you to know I didn’t know I was pregnant when I first went away, and when I found out—”

He held up a hand to still her.

The baby made a little noise and Lara leaned over, her shoulder brushing Brady’s arm. She grabbed her own arm, wincing, and he remembered her injury and how close he’d come to losing her. Good God, if she’d died tonight, would anyone have bothered to tell him about Nathan?

“Will you lift him for me?” she said, glancing up at him. “Or shall I call Myra?”

Brady blinked a time or two. “I can do it.”

“It’s easy, just make sure you support his head,” she said.

And so he lifted his son for the first time, careful to put one hand behind the little guy’s heavy head. The baby kicked and squirmed and Brady held on tight, terrified he’d drop him.

“Relax,” Lara said. “You’re doing fine.”

“What do I do now?”

“Just comfort him, Brady. Hold him closer. Don’t be afraid.”

He pulled Nathan against his chest, one hand all but covering the small boy’s back. He tried making soft noises and bouncing a little. One or the other of these tactics apparently worked because the baby settled down. Brady tipped him away from his chest for a moment, anxious to really look at these few pounds of humanity that had instantly redefined his life.

His throat tightened as he took in every amazing inch of his son’s face. The dark orbs as he opened one eye, then the other. The very small nose, the tip of a tiny tongue. What struck him was the baby’s total dependence. Was he ready for this?

He was still trying to work out his complicated relationship with his own father. What did he know about being a father to an innocent child? How could he teach what he’d never learned?

“Did you hear that?” Lara said, and he opened his eyes abruptly, yanked back from his thoughts.

“Did I hear what?”

“A noise downstairs. Maybe it was Myra.”

“I’ll go take a look,” Brady said.

The door flew open at that moment. The housekeeper, dressed in a voluminous green robe, took one look at them standing by the crib and crossed the room in a half-dozen sturdy steps. “Give me the little lamb,” she crooned. Brady looked at Lara, who nodded. Reluctantly, he handed the child over, amazed at how empty his hands and arms suddenly felt.

“I was downstairs in my room,” Myra said, expertly wrapping Nathan in a blanket. “I heard breaking glass. When I went to look, I found the window in the sitting room with a hole—”

Brady left without hearing the rest, taking the stairs two at a time. Armstrong had known Lara was back in town—did he also know about Nathan? He’d talked about an eye for an eye…

“The sitting room is to the right,” Lara said. She’d followed him down the stairs. There was no color in her face and her eyes were wide. He moved into the formal Victorian sitting room lit only by a glass-shaded table lamp. Shards of glass lay on the table and carpet and a rock with a paper tied around it had tumbled to a stop on the floor in front of the table.

Myra, still holding Nathan, arrived in the doorway as Lara leaned down to pick up the rock. Brady grabbed her hand. He looked around the room until he spied a small lace doily draped over the armrest of a floral love seat. Using a corner of the doily, he picked up the rock and slipped the paper from beneath the rubber band.

“What does it say?” Lara asked, her voice little more than a whisper.

He angled the paper toward the light. A few words had been cut from a magazine and glued in place. “‘Go home before it’s too late,’” he read.

“Mrs. Kirk will have a fit when she hears someone broke her window,” Myra fumed. She held Nathan against her polyester-covered bosom as though protecting him from the hounds of hell. “What is the world coming to? And that note can’t be directed at Lara. It must mean you, Mr. Skye. What trouble have you brought—”

“Get a paper bag big enough for the rock and the note, will you please?” Brady interrupted.

Myra looked from him to Lara. “That’s a good idea,” Lara said, holding out her good arm. Myra very gently placed Nathan in Lara’s embrace before leaving the room. Lara’s eyes glistened in the dim light as she rested her cheek atop Nathan’s fuzzy head.

Brady looked down at his shoes, not trusting his voice. What a sight the two of them made. His wife and his baby son. Her beauty, his innocence, elicited a cavalcade of emotions.

How had things gotten to this point? How had he so thoroughly screwed up?

How had he lost them?

He finally managed to say, “Someone wants you to leave Riverport,” and looked at Lara again. She’d closed her eyes as though she couldn’t stand to face another moment of this interminable night. She surprised him as she often did. Opening her eyes and pinning him with her gaze, she said, “That’s too bad. I’m not going anywhere until I’m damn good and ready.”

“Listen to me, Lara. This isn’t just about you and me anymore, it’s about Nathan now, too. Let me stay the night. Let me—”

“Okay.”

“No argument?” he asked, surprised she was agreeing so readily.

“No argument. I’m not a complete idiot. But who would do something like this?” She moved a few inches closer to him and he took comfort that she still found his presence reassuring. “You said Bill Armstrong would try to get back at you. Do you think it was him?”

“I don’t know,” he hedged. Of course he thought it was Armstrong. But the thought of giving Lara more ammunition to feed the fear behind her eyes just seemed cruel to him.

“Are you going to give the rock and the note to the police?”

“You should give them to the police and report this incident, but I doubt anything will come of it. Maybe Tom could talk to Armstrong, that might help.”

“Maybe I could talk to Mr. Armstrong.”

Brady looked from Nathan’s yawn to Lara’s eyes. “No. Absolutely not. The man isn’t thinking clearly. Please, stay away from him.” He touched Nathan’s tiny fist. “Think of this little guy.”

She instantly bristled. “I seldom think of anyone else,” she said.

He counted to ten under his breath, biting back the words that would just drive them further apart. But whose fault was it she felt alone in parenthood? Sure as hell wasn’t his, he hadn’t had a choice.

Sure you did. You sent her away.

She yawned, which destroyed the haughty look she’d affected. His defenses immediately fell. “Maybe you should try to get some sleep.”

She nodded as she gathered the baby closer. He fought off the desire to wrap his arms around them both. What would he give for an invitation to join her in her bed?

A right arm? A left leg? How about a heart?

“Good night, Brady.”

“Good night.”

She left as Myra entered, pausing just a second to ask Myra to get Brady a pillow and blanket and anything else he needed for the night. To Brady, it appeared Myra vacillated between delight that he wasn’t going back to Lara’s room and distress he would still be under the same roof.

Myra crossed the room and handed him the paper bag. He dropped in the rock and the note.

“What do you need for tonight?” Myra snapped. Her constant antagonism was beginning to wear a little thin.

“Not a thing,” he told her, relieved when she bustled off, muttering to herself under her breath.

LARA HAD THOUGHT she’d have a terrible time getting to sleep. She’d assumed unconsciousness would bring back those few moments in the submerged car. Plus, the burning pain in her arm made finding a good position to rest almost impossible.

But fall asleep she did and so deeply that she didn’t wake until the first light filtered through the bedroom window. As Nathan usually provided the morning get-out-of-bed alarm, she immediately got up and crossed the room to the crib, holding her injured arm against her side. The throbbing started the moment she stood.

“Hey, sleepyhead,” she crooned as she approached, her blue nightgown silky against her legs.

The crib was empty. She turned so abruptly she almost tripped on her own feet. Within a few seconds, she’d sprinted through her bedroom door and halfway down the stairs. “Myra,” she called, growing more and more frantic at the still, watchful feeling of the house. A million what-ifs? darted through her head.

Myra appeared from the direction of the kitchen, a dishrag in her hand, a finger against her lips. Lara caught herself on the last step. Myra nodded toward the study on the opposite side of the foyer from the sitting room.

Brady sat in the one man-size chair her mother had in the house. Nathan lay against his chest, his father’s big hands clutched around his tummy, his head tipped over to one side, like Brady’s. They were both sound asleep.

With a jolt that shook her deep inside, Lara stared at the two of them. This was what had been missing for the past three months: the two of them together.

Her husband, Nathan’s father. This was the picture that hadn’t been taken and tacked in the baby book, the image she’d never dared to contemplate.

“They were down here when I got up this morning,” Myra said. “I left well enough alone. I hope that’s okay.”

“Of course it’s okay,” Lara said, her heartbeat erratic as she fought a groundswell of inappropriate feelings. Father and son…

“You can’t trust him,” Myra said very softly. “He’s just like his father—”

“No,” Lara said succinctly. “No, Myra, he is not just like his father. And more importantly, he is Nathan’s daddy. Brady and I aren’t together anymore, but that doesn’t mean you can be rude to him. If that’s too much to ask of you, I’ll go to a motel.”

“Now, Miss—”

Lara rubbed her forehead. The beginnings of a headache pulsed behind her eyes. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t snap at you. This is more your house than it is mine.”

“If he’s good enough for you, well, then…” Myra’s voice faded as though she couldn’t bear to complete the phrase. She cast a raised eyebrow at Lara’s scanty nightgown and added, “If you want to get dressed, I’ll start breakfast.”

“Thanks,” Lara said.

She went back upstairs and dressed. Myra appeared after a few minutes, Nathan in her arms, her face set in yet another frown. “That man took over the cooking,” she said.

“He has a way with fried potatoes,” Lara said as she started diapering Nathan.

Myra shooed her away. “I’ll take care of the angel, you take care of the devil in the kitchen,” she snapped.

Lara couldn’t help but laugh.

Brady knew exactly how she liked the potatoes, crispy and redolent with onion. He executed their preparation perfectly. They sat across the informal kitchen table from each other without saying much. The trouble wasn’t a lack of conversational material, Lara reflected as she buttered her toast. The trouble was there was too much that needed to be said.

The domesticity of sharing a meal, especially breakfast, at a small table in a room filled with homey smells, was daunting. It reminded Lara of other days, of other dreams. A half-dozen times she opened her mouth and closed it without speaking. She owed him an explanation, she knew that, but where to start, how to justify her actions? They’d made sense at the time. Now she wasn’t so sure.

“I called the hospital,” Brady said.

She looked up. “How’s Jason?”

He laid down his fork and picked up the coffee mug. “He’s still alive but unconscious. The police have stationed a guard at the boy’s door. They want you to come by this morning, to the station, I mean. You need to give them a statement about last night. So do I.”

“Okay. It’s good about the guard, though, right?”

“It’ll keep whoever shot him from finishing the job.” He took a swallow of Myra’s hair-on-your-chest brew and added, “You might as well know I don’t intend to sit around waiting for something else to happen.”

“Good. What’s step one?”

“Ask questions. Ruffle feathers, starting with Bill Armstrong.”

“Is it smart for you to talk to him yourself?”

“Probably not. I don’t want to egg him on. I’ll get Tom to have a chat with him. And then I intend to question Jason’s old girlfriend. Maybe he told her whatever it was he was going to tell you last night. If Armstrong is losing control, the sooner he’s stopped, the better.”

“I still don’t know what he hoped to gain by throwing that rock and making idle threats.”

“Maybe they weren’t idle threats. Anyway, even though the note had to be thought out ahead of time because of the way it was constructed, I don’t think Armstrong really has a plan, I think he’s just reacting to everything as it happens.” He put the cup down and added, “Do you know this Wylie girl?”

“From the teen center, you mean? I think so. I think she hung out with Jason’s sister. There was a small group of girls from the same neighborhood who used to come in together.”

Myra stepped into the kitchen. “The little darling went back to sleep,” she said. “I swear, Miss Lara, that baby is perfect.”

“Even though he’s a Skye?” Brady asked with a little of the old glint in his dark eyes.

Lara shot him a warning look.

“As far as I’m concerned, he’s a Kirk,” Myra said, banging a few pots in the sink.

Attempting to defuse a potential bomb, Lara addressed the surly housekeeper. She’d known the woman wouldn’t be able to keep her antagonism at bay. “Do you know the Wylie girl’s first name?”

“The older one or the younger one?”

“The one who’s sixteen or seventeen?”

“Seventeen. Her name is Karen. The older one is married and lives in Portland. The mother takes in sewing at her house.”

“I’m going to drop the note off with Tom and then go talk to Karen Wylie,” Brady said, pushing his plate away. “It’s summer vacation, maybe she’s helping her mother.”

“If Myra will watch Nathan for a little while, I’ll go with you,” Lara said. Maybe alone in a car, Brady and she could begin the delicate business of coming to grips with shared parenthood.

“The girl might feel more comfortable talking to you,” Brady said. “But I have to go by work first and make sure everyone is on target.”

“Good thing we’re getting an early start.”

Myra, scraping plates into the sink, looked over her shoulder. “After Nathan’s nap, I’ll put him in that fancy stroller you brought and we’ll go next door to meet my friend, Barb. That would be okay, wouldn’t it, Miss Lara?”

Lara could see that Brady was about to come up with a reason that wouldn’t be okay, so she quickly jumped in with an answer. “That would be fine.”

Brady glowered.

THEY ARRIVED at the Good Neighbors house at the same time as the supply truck filled with used brick. Brady spent a few minutes signing papers and double-checking job assignments before informing his foreman he’d be back later.

The drive out to Tom’s place was full of starts and stops conversation wise. Brady could tell Lara was trying to find a way to talk to him about Nathan. He couldn’t think of one thing she had to say that he wanted to hear, at least not about how she’d hidden her pregnancy and his baby from him. Not right now.

He’d lingered outside Lara’s room most of the night, sitting in an uncomfortable chair so he wouldn’t fall asleep. When he’d heard the baby fussing, he’d tiptoed into the room and plucked him from the crib, carrying him down the stairs, anxious for just a few moments alone with the little guy before he was forced to wake Lara to take care of needs Brady wasn’t sure how to fill.

But Nathan hadn’t kept fussing, he’d calmed right down and been wide awake. There in the study, his knees drawn up to make a lap, Brady had spent the better part of an hour interacting with his son. Eventually, they’d both fallen asleep in the chair. Brady hadn’t woken until Lara’s voice invaded his dreams.

He’d heard her defending him to the housekeeper. He’d kept his eyes closed, but her words had been comforting. She’d defended him and he didn’t want her ruining it now by trotting out a bunch of lame excuses. So he switched on the radio and kept his eyes on the road and eventually she gave up trying to be heard over the country-western station. Fine with him.

Tom lived in a small house at the end of a long driveway. The house, painted white twenty years earlier, was dingy now. There was no garage but there was a large shop that Kenny used to work on cars.

The new red SUV was parked in front of the house. Lara stayed in the truck as Brady knocked on the door. Tom didn’t answer, which didn’t surprise Brady. He knew from his own shift work that Tom had worked most of the night and would probably sleep away most of the morning.

Brady made a cursory check of the shop just to make sure Tom wasn’t out pulling an all-nighter on one of his projects. He saw a dark sedan with the engine hood open and a small car under a tarp, but no Tom. He was halfway back to the truck when the house door opened a crack and Tom looked out.

Brady veered toward the house. Tom, opening the door a few inches, called, “Thought I heard someone pounding on my door.”

“Sorry about that,” Brady said.

“You been out at the shop?”

“Yeah. Looks like you’ve got several projects going on out there.”

“I like to keep busy.”

“What’s under the tarp?”

“I’m putting in a new clutch for Caroline,” he said, rolling his eyes, his usual reaction when referring to his ex-wife. “Her warranty just ran out. The damn woman drives like a maniac. What brings you out here?”

Brady told him about the night before and his suspicions about who was behind the incident.

“Damn fool,” Tom said around a yawn.

“I was going to talk to him—”

Tom shook his head. “Absolutely not. Stay away from Bill Armstrong.”

“That’s why I’m here,” Brady said, jaw clenched. “To ask you to talk to him.” His temper was right at the edge, and whether it was there because of lack of sleep or Tom’s attitude or tension over Lara, he didn’t know.

“Just you stay away from him. After following the Briggs kid last night, all you need to do is to get in Bill Armstrong’s face today. Dixon would love that. Leave it to me. Get Lara to take the rock and note to the station and report the incident so it’s on record just in case. And Dixon is expecting you to come in and talk to him.”

“I know.”

They drove back into town in more silence. Brady made a quick stop to get the glass to fix Lara’s mother’s window, then parked at the station. They separated at the door. Brady cooled his heels for thirty minutes before Dixon had time to talk to him.

In his fifties, Chief Dixon was as tall as Brady but twenty-five pounds lighter. He sported a beak nose, dangerous little black eyes, thin lips and teeth stained by tobacco.

“Sit down, Skye,” Dixon said, using his smoldering cigarette to point at the empty chair across his desk.

Brady leaned against the wall. “This is fine.”

Dixon got to his feet, thumbed open a file on his desk, scanned the pages and closed the file. “What were you doing following Jason Briggs?”

Brady repeated his story in as much detail as possible. He knew Dixon had already read the reports and nothing he said was new. The fact he’d spent so many hours less than a year ago standing in this office having similar conversations with Dixon about Billy Armstrong just made the situation all the more uncomfortable.

Dixon led him through his story another time or two. “You’re sure you weren’t jealous?” Dixon finally said.

“Of what?”

“Of this kid spilling his guts to Lara Kirk instead of you.”

“Jealous enough to shoot him and leave her and him both to drown?”

Dixon puffed on his cigarette and didn’t blink.

Brady finally said, “No. I wasn’t jealous. And I don’t carry a gun around, you know that.”

Dixon stubbed his cigarette out with Smokey the Bear thoroughness. “Yesterday you told Tom James to watch out for the Kirk woman and the Briggs boy. That was smart. But last night you got creative and put yourself on the scene of an attempted murder. That was dumb, even for you.”

Brady pushed himself away from the wall. “If I hadn’t ‘gotten creative’ as you say, you’d have a double homicide on your hands. Two dead bodies instead of two wounded ones. You do know that, right?”

Dixon sprang to his feet and leaned over his desk. “The Riverport Police Department doesn’t need help from people like you, Mr. Skye.”

“People like me,” Brady mused. “Oh, you mean people who rescue other people from certain death?”

“What I mean is civilians. Stay away from everyone involved in this case, because it seems a little peculiar you were on hand on two separate occasions when two kids took a bullet. Any more little coincidences and I’ll have you sitting in my jail. It wouldn’t be the first time I entertained a Skye.”

What could you say to that? “What about Bill Armstrong? Has anyone asked him where he was last night?”

“That’s none of your business.”

Knowing there was nothing to be learned from Dixon, Brady left the office. He was annoyed with himself for letting Dixon goad him into bragging. When he’d first become aware Dixon didn’t like him, he’d tried to figure out why. Talk about hitting your head against a brick wall. All he knew was his father and Dixon had a history of sorts and loathed one another.

Apparently, Dixon had taken that hatred and passed it along to his nemesis’s sons. There was no way to fight an unreasonable hatred like that, especially when it was your boss. You learned to live with it. After Brady quit, he’d heard tales Dixon took the department out to celebrate.

Lara waited in the lobby and just looking at her did a lot to calm the raging-lava flow in his gut. She carried a plastic bag through which he could see her soggy handbag and one ruined sandal.