Protecting Her Son
Protecting Her Son
Joan Kilby
Paula Drummond is finally back on a police force. And with so much at stake–she's a single mom atoning for an almost career-ending mistake–she's not risking anything but stellar performance. That means, regardless of whatever attraction is brewing between her and her partner, Officer Riley Henning, she will not get involved.Still, working side by side with a man as hot as Riley and not giving in to temptation isn't easy. Especially when he goes above and beyond to help keep her son safe. With all that evidence piling up, it seems as though her partner on the job is destined to become her partner in bed…and maybe even in life.
Crossing the thin blue line
Paula Drummond is finally back on a police force. And with so much at stake—she’s a single mom atoning for an almost career-ending mistake—she’s not risking anything but stellar performance. That means, regardless of whatever attraction is brewing between her and her partner Officer Riley Henning, she will not get involved.
Still, working side by side with a man as hot as Riley and not giving in to temptation isn’t easy. Especially when he goes above and beyond to help keep her son safe. With all that evidence piling up, it seems as though her partner on the job is destined to become her partner in bed…and maybe even in life.
This was crazy…insane…and everything she wanted
A sweet hot rush of desire swept over Paula. She’d wanted to kiss Riley for so long. She’d held back for a whole lot of good reasons.
The reasons hadn’t gone away.
Reason itself had disappeared.
He began to undo her buttons. She pushed his hands away.
“You’re right. This is inappropriate. I’m so—”
“Don’t you dare apologize.” And to prove she had no intention of stopping, she whipped her shirt over her head.
Inappropriate or not, she didn’t care. His touch felt like heaven. His kisses were better than chocolate. She liked him, she liked what he was doing to her. And she wanted more.
She was tired of being cautious. Tired of examining every feeling to see if she should act or clamp down on her desires. Riley was an honorable man and he was hot for her. So what if they gave each other a bit of release this once? If they were adult about this, they could have sex without it interfering with their work.
Feeling his corded muscles and broad shoulders, she’d imagined what it would be like skin to skin. Now she knew, and it was good. He claimed her mouth again and rose to his feet, pulling her up with him.
“Come with me.” She took his hand and led him to her bedroom.
Dear Reader,
When my editor suggested making my hero and heroine police officers (instead of newspaper reporters) I agreed immediately. Higher stakes, more excitement—fabulous! As I began to think about the story and flesh out the characters I realized just how high the stakes could go.
What if my detective heroine Paula Drummond had a son by a drug lord she’d put in jail? What would happen when that criminal got out of jail and wanted his son? What if, by association, Paula is inadvertently responsible for hard drugs coming to her adopted town of Summerside?
That’s a lot for any woman to cope with. Paula is probably the strongest and most assertive heroine I’ve written. She needed—and deserved—a strong partner, so I created ex-Special Forces soldier, Riley Henning. Because we writers like to make life difficult for our characters, I decided Riley had to battle his own demons—post-traumatic stress disorder from his tour of duty in Afghanistan—even as he helped Paula protect her little boy, Jamie, from his criminal father.
Protecting Her Son is the fourth book set in my fictional Australian seaside town of Summerside. In it, I introduce a new set of characters with cameo appearances from old favorites. This book stands alone but expands and enriches the picture of village life in Summerside.
I love to hear from readers. Drop me a line at joan@joankilby.com or write snail mail to, c/o Harlequin Enterprises Ltd, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, CANADA, M3B 3K9. Check out my website, www.joankilby.com.
Happy reading!
Joan Kilby
Protecting Her Son
Joan Kilby
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Joan Kilby is a great believer in law and order, but like many people, gets nervous for no reason when she sees a police car following her on the highway. So it was with some trepidation that she wrote a story about a couple of cops. She felt better once she was done. Somehow the police seemed more human now that she knew them better. (Yes, she knows she’s writing fiction and these people aren’t real. They just seem that way.) Joan lives in Melbourne, Australia, with her husband and three children. She’s the law-abiding and award-winning author of more than twenty Harlequin Superromance books.
To police officers everywhere
who put their lives on the line to serve and protect the community.
Contents
CHAPTER ONE (#uf0824fc2-e8d1-59e9-8ee8-db1f62abb2cb)
CHAPTER TWO (#u139cc83c-9f87-528c-aea2-05353b3160dc)
CHAPTER THREE (#ud66eb901-8081-576d-a4f4-3124f4be7f12)
CHAPTER FOUR (#u7780d2c9-2779-505b-808f-79cf1aa80bb5)
CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE
Seven years earlier
DETECTIVE PAULA DRUMMOND’S long-legged stride through the bull pen was more of a wiggle than a walk in her tight skirt and teetering high heels. Her clinging silk blouse with plunging neckline displayed a generous cleavage.
Catcalls and wolf whistles erupted in her wake. Paula grinned, flipped up her middle finger and exaggerated her hips’ sway as she carried on to the detective sergeant’s office.
Tim Hudson’s shiny bald head was bent over his computer keyboard as he typed furiously with two fingers. Knocking once, Paula entered and lowered herself onto a guest chair. She crossed her legs, one rhinestone-studded shoe bobbing briskly. “What’s up, boss? Why did you call me in?”
Hudson hit save, leaned back and squinted at her. “Drummond, is that you? I barely recognize you.”
“That’s the idea.” Paula pushed back the blond hair streaked with mink hanging over her heavily made-up eyes. “Nick’s ready for his daily massage. He doesn’t like it when I’m late.”
She inspected her nails, kept short and blunt. Her prep for this operation had included six weeks intensive training in therapeutic massage. Once they’d learned Moresco had a chronic shoulder injury, her cover ID was a cinch.
“I wanted to know if that slimeball is pressuring you,” Hudson said. “Sexually, I mean.”
Nick Moresco was a drug lord but he liked to think of himself as a businessman. He was rich, handsome, charming, sophisticated and intelligent. He liked women. Of course he was pressuring her.
Paula shrugged. “Nothing I can’t handle.”
The detective sergeant leaned forward, his brown eyes glittering. “I hear he’s hot stuff. An Italian stallion.”
Paula met Hudson’s leer with a steady gaze. “Nick’s a criminal. Like you say, a slimeball.”
“You’re sure you’re not losing your objectivity? Horowitz is transcribing the tapes. He reckons you’re flirting with Moresco. And liking it.”
“I’m doing my job. And Horowitz wouldn’t know whether a woman was liking it if she held up an Olympic score card.” Paula picked a fleck of lint off her mini skirt. But yeah, flirting with Nick was disturbingly easy. The man had charisma.
Hudson leaned back, flicking a pencil between his fingers. “I think we should pull you off the case.”
Paula’s hand tightened on her purse strap. “This op has been going for nearly a year now. Nick’s close to making a major deal on meth production. If I suddenly quit his therapy, it’ll look suspicious. He’s always asking me questions as it is, testing me.”
“As long as you remember you’re a cop. There are lines you don’t cross.”
“Jeez, boss. What do you think I am? Nothing is going to stop me from the satisfaction of hearing those handcuffs click into place when we arrest the bastard.”
Hudson was silent for a long ten seconds, studying her. “All right. Just don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Present day
“JAMIE, ARE YOU DRESSED for school? You don’t want to be late on your first day.” Paula paused the hair dryer to listen for a reply. Across the hall in his bedroom her six-year-old son was playing with his cars.
“Vrooom! Smash! Ka-blam!”
Paula put down the dryer and went to look. Jamie was sprawled on his stomach in the middle of the carpeted floor, creating a fifteen Matchbox car pileup. He had on the school navy polo shirt, superhero underpants and one navy sock. His school shorts and the other sock were still on the bed where Paula had laid them out half an hour ago. Young for his age and easily distracted, Jamie could be a challenge.
“Look, Mum.” Jamie’s curly dark hair bounced as he made a giant plastic T. rex stomp over the wreckage.
“Right you go, mate.” She hauled him up by his armpits with him clinging to the T. rex, grabbed the shorts and helped his knobby-kneed legs into them. “You’re a great big boy in grade one. You shouldn’t need your mum to dress you.”
Jamie clamped the T. rex’s jaws around his own forearm. Through the gap where his right front tooth had been, spit sprayed as he made sound effects. “Chomp, chomp, chomp.”
“Get your other sock on,” Paula said. “And come eat breakfast.”
In the kitchen, the phone rang.
Great, another distraction. Jamie wasn’t the only one who couldn’t be late this morning. Today was her first day on the job at Summerside Police Station. She hurried down the hall, tucking her blue uniform shirt into pressed navy pants. Her hair, still only half dried, swung around her shoulders.
Paula leaned across the counter and grabbed the receiver on the fifth ring. “Hello?”
The phone went dead.
Odd. She slotted the receiver into the wall mount. Then set out a bowl of cereal and glass of milk for Jamie and dropped a couple of pieces of bread in the toaster for herself.
Back she went to the bathroom, passing Jamie in the hall carrying a plastic brontosaurus. She ruffled his hair. “Your cereal bowl is not a prehistoric swamp.”
She tied her hair back tightly and turned her head to check in the mirror for stray wisps. First impressions were important and hers had to be stellar. Busted back to uniform, she’d been transferred twice since Nick’s arrest and both times she’d copped flack from the other cops. She was tough—she could have dealt with the animosity. But the commanding officer at each station eventually moved her on, like a vagrant they wanted off their clean streets.
Well, screw them all. She was fed up with being jacked around, tired of dragging her son from town to town. It was bad enough that she was raising him on her own without a father. Now that Jamie was starting school she couldn’t be moving every couple of years.
This time things would work out. She would survive long enough at Summerside to make detective again. She jammed in a last hairpin and looked herself hard in the eye. Third time lucky.
“Mummy, your toast popped,” Jamie called, his speech garbled by a mouth full of Weetabix.
The phone rang again as she entered the kitchen. If this was one of those automated marketing programs dialing her number repeatedly…
Tucking the receiver between her ear and shoulder, she put the hot toast onto a plate, grabbed a knife and started buttering. “Hello?”
Silence.
The fine blonde hairs on Paula’s arms stood up, her fair skin pimpled. Like most cops, her number was unlisted.
“Hello,” she repeated sharply. “Who’s there?”
“Mio amore,” a silky male voice said in her ear.
Nick Moresco. The butter knife clattered from her hand onto the counter. “What do you want?” she whispered, her throat suddenly dry.
“Just to know that you are there.”
The phone went dead.
Paula fumbled the receiver onto the hook. Her gaze shot to the wall calendar. February 1. Which meant Nick had been out of jail for a month. In all the confusion of moving house, Jamie starting school and her starting a new job she’d completely forgotten.
Her stomach churning, Paula tossed her uneaten toast into the garbage. “Are you finished, Jamie? We have to go. Quickly brush your teeth.”
Jamie took one more mouthful, grabbed his brontosaurus and ran down the hall. Paula swiftly put the breakfast dishes in the dishwasher, dismayed to see her hands trembling.
Get a grip! Think. How had Nick gotten her phone number? Only a handful of people knew it—her mother, a couple of friends, Senior Sergeant John Forster at the Summerside Police Department and Jamie’s school. None of them would have given her number to a stranger.
She ran her hands over her chilled arms. Nick had ways and means that were beyond those available to ordinary folk. He had a vast network of employees, spies and bodyguards. Plus an enormous extended Italian family who were loyal to every member.
Paula spent the next ten minutes going around the small one-story house making sure every window and door was locked. She’d meant to have a deadbolt installed on the exterior door in the laundry room door but she’d had so many other things to take care of she’d put it off. Wincing, she pressed the flimsy button lock in. First chance she had…
“Ready, Mum.” Jamie stood before her, baring his gap-toothed grin to show her he’d cleaned his teeth.
Her heart melted. His freckled face was scrubbed shiny. His small shoulders were squared to bear the weight of his backpack. His Toy Story lunch box, which she’d packed the night before, was clutched tightly in his hand. He was still in his sock feet, one navy, one black, but there was no time for him to change.
“Bring me your shoes. I’ll help you with the laces.”
“I can do them myself.” Off he ran again, his lunch box banging against his side.
If Nick had found out her phone number, he could find out her address.
Paula pulled back the drapes and glanced around the quiet court. Across the street her neighbor was backing his car out of the driveway. Farther up the road some teens in the sage green and brown high school uniform were walking to school.
Jamie returned and plumped himself down on the foyer tiles. He yanked his black leather shoes over his wrinkled socks. The tip of his tongue tucked in the corner of his mouth, he concentrated on laboriously tying his laces in a bow.
“You’re doing great,” Paula said, her voice too tight to really be encouraging. “You’ve nearly got one. Do you want me to do the other?”
“Nope.” He moved on to the other shoe, his small fingers clumsily manipulating the black laces.
The phone rang again.
Paula walked slowly to the doorway to the kitchen. What did he want from her? A chill flowed over her. Jamie?
“Aren’t you going to answer it?” Jamie demanded, still struggling with his shoelaces.
Her crepe-soled shoes squeaked slightly on the tiled floor. Her heart thudded in her chest. Her hand shook as she answered the phone for the third time that morning.
“H-hello?”
“Hello, darling,” her mother said in the cheery voice she used when she wanted to settle down for a good long chat.
Paula’s knees gave way and she leaned her elbows on the counter for support. “Mum, I can’t talk now. Jamie’s school starts in ten minutes and I’m late for work. I’ll call you tonight.”
* * *
POLICE CONSTABLE RILEY HENNING opened his locker and took down his protective vest and checked over his equipment—baton, pepper spray, ammunition, handcuffs, police radio and a semi-automatic .38 Smith and Wesson—making sure every component was clean and operational.
The order and discipline, the camaraderie of the guys at the station, reminded him of the army. He liked that. He also liked that pleasant leafy Summerside, his hometown, was light years away from bleak, dusty Afghanistan.
His cell phone rang. Shift hadn’t started yet so he answered it. “Hello?”
“Dude, did you get my email about the reunion in Canberra for the ANZAC Day parade?” Gazza, his old army buddy from the Special Air Service, said. “It’s less than two months away. If you want to get a cheap airline ticket, you should book now.”
Riley sat on the bench in front of the row of lockers. He and Gazza had trained together and fought together. They were bonded as only soldiers in combat could be—like brothers. And yet he’d avoided answering that email.
“Sorry, I meant to reply but it’s been hectic. I’m in the middle of moving houses. You know how it is.”
The truth was he didn’t relish attending the annual ceremony to honor Australian soldiers. He’d been out of the SAS for nearly a year. His injuries from the suicide bomb explosion that sent him home had healed. A reunion would mean an inevitable swapping of stories, reminiscing about the dangerous and difficult tour of duty in Kabul. Maybe one day he’d be open to that, but right now he wanted to forget, to enjoy his new life.
“So are you coming?” Gazza said. “The guys are all going to be there.” He paused briefly and his voice went quiet. “We’re worried about you, dude. After the bomb explosion you disappeared—didn’t answer anyone’s emails or phone calls.”
“I’m fine.” Riley didn’t need to force the note of contentment. “Don’t worry about me. I’m healthy, happy. Glad to be back here among friends and family. Got a great job. I’m living the dream.”
“Cool.” Gazza sounded doubtful. “But if you ever want to talk about stuff, I’m here. Kabul, the explosion, it’s a lot to process by yourself.”
“To be honest, I don’t remember much about that so it doesn’t worry me—”
The door to the locker room opened. Delinsky, Crucek, and Riley’s partner, Jackson arrived. Lockers clanged. Laughter and boisterous talk rang out.
“Gaz, I’m going to have to call you back sometime. Shift is starting.”
“Okay. But you think about ANZAC Day.”
“Sure.” Riley said goodbye and hung up. He turned his phone off and put it away. Then he strapped on his vest, adjusting it so the weight settled evenly over his torso.
“You’re always here first, Henning. Did you even go home last night?” Jackson, his partner, said good-naturedly. “What do you do with your time?”
Jackson was forty-three-years old and comfortably married with the beginnings of a paunch and a receding hairline. No doubt he spent his evenings happily watching TV with his family.
“I did some target practice at the shooting range last night, if you really want to know.” Riley closed his locker and spun the combination lock. “This morning I got up at six and went for a run. Early bird gets the perp. Anything else?”
“Guys, I’m starting a football pool.” Crucek straddled the bench with a clipboard in hand. With his large nose, carroty hair and mottled complexion, he was no male model. “Who’s in?”
“Put me down,” Riley said.
“Me, too.” Delinsky, who had blond good looks and a buff body Jackson and Crucek could only envy, was stripped down to his boxers. “The new cop starts today. I saw her in John’s office as I came in.”
“I wonder which of us lucky stiffs will get her as partner.” Jackson pulled on a starched navy short-sleeve police shirt.
“Better not be me,” Riley said. “I hear she’s trouble.”
Rumors had been flying about this woman for weeks that she was bent. Until her fall from grace seven years ago she’d been a hotshot detective at the Melbourne Police Department. Her infraction, related to her final investigation, a covert drug bust, was apparently so serious it was never made public. No one knew exactly what she’d done but they all agreed it had to be bad.
“I’ll take her.” Delinsky combed his hair in front of the mirror. “She’s a babe. You should see her ass.”
The door opened and Senior Sergeant John Forster entered. “Delinsky, I hope you weren’t referring to our new recruit in such crass manner. These walls aren’t soundproof.”
John Forster was tall, with a swimmer’s shoulders and sun-streaked blond air. He might look like a surfer dude but he commanded the men’s respect.
Delinsky wiped the leer off his face. “No, boss.”
“Listen up, men.” John looked to each in turn.
Jackson hastily tucked in his shirt. Crucek rose from the bench and put his clipboard with the footy pool in his locker. Even Riley, who’d been best mates with John since high school, came to attention.
“I want to go over the new roster,” John said. “Jackson, from today you’re partnered with Crucek. Delinsky, Stan Grant is switching from night shift to partner you. You boys okay with that?”
The men exchanged glances then nodded. But Riley knew no one liked a shake-up, least of all him. He was a little pissed, to tell the truth. Over the past six months he’d gotten to know Jackson, liked and respected him. He’d expected they’d be partners for a good long time. Now the stability and continuity he craved since getting out of the army had been ripped away.
John turned to Riley. “Come with me. I’ll introduce you to your new partner, Paula Drummond.”
A chorus of whoops and jeers from all but Riley met this news. John cleared his throat pointedly and the noise died down. “Dismissed.”
The men went about the business of getting ready to go on duty. Riley followed John out to the bull pen, an open area of desks, computers, photocopiers and filing cabinets. Over in Dispatch, red-haired Patty answered the telephone with her distinctive Irish lilt. A couple of admin staff were talking by the copier.
“Why me?” Riley asked as he and John wove through the desks to John’s office on the far side of the bull pen. “I’m the new guy on the block.”
“Our new recruit has had a rough road over the past seven years,” John said. “She’s had trouble fitting in. I picked you because you get along well with people. I want you to turn on the charm. Make her feel welcome.”
Riley was tempted to play the friendship card and ask to stay with Jackson. But he’d been trained to follow orders, to put on his soldier face and say yes, boss. Still, he couldn’t resist a dig. “So this is my reward for being Mr. Nice Guy? Thanks, mate.”
John glanced around to make sure they weren’t being overheard. No one was paying attention. “I also want you to keep an eye on her. This is strictly off the record. I know I can trust you to be discreet.”
Riley considered that. John trusted him with extra responsibility—good. But having to watch another cop for wrong-doing? Bad. Who wanted a partner who wasn’t straight up? “Are you afraid that whatever she did, she’ll do again?”
“I’m not going to prejudge her. But I have the integrity of this station to consider. My attitude is welcoming but cautious.”
“What’s the deal with her anyway? What kind of wrong turn did she take?” Riley didn’t have a lot of time for people who screwed up professionally. In the army, if you screwed up, people could die.
“I wasn’t given the details. She doesn’t talk about her past. She’s a single mum with a young son who wants to start fresh. We’re going to give her a fair go. You probably won’t be with her for long. She applied for detective and sat the exams at her last station. Most likely she’ll get the promotion and be out of your hair in a few weeks. Okay?”
“Who’s in charge, her or me?” Going from leading a platoon to being a beat cop meant Riley had taken a step down, career-wise. For the moment he was okay with that but he liked to know where he stood.
“She’s got years more experience. But you’ve been with the department longer.” John mulled it over. “Let’s just say you’re equal partners.”
“Suits me.”
Riley passed young rookie Simon Peterson seated at a computer laboriously typing out a report, and gave him a commiserating grin. The endless paperwork of police work was annoying. But the Summerside force was a good place—too small for corruption to flourish the way it did in some of the big city stations. Riley felt at home here. And he liked working with a small team of dedicated people who believed in what they were doing.
Which begged the question, how was he going to believe in what he was doing partnered with a cop who might not be trustworthy? He and this woman were supposed to be equal and yet he was being asked to keep an eye on her. How did he do that and still develop the bond of trust he needed to do his job?
The more he thought about it, the more distasteful he found his situation. He didn’t blame John, who was only trying to do what was best for the station. No, it was Paula Drummond who had gotten herself in trouble. There was no smoke without a fire, as the saying went. And now he had to compromise his integrity for her.
Inside John’s office, a woman in uniform stood with her back to them, gazing through the partially open blinds at the main street of the village. She was tall and athletic-looking with her blonde hair pinned tightly back. Her stance appeared casual but for the rigid set of her shoulders and her white-knuckled grip on the window ledge.
Outside, the morning rush hour was in full swing. Riley guessed there must be, oh, four or five cars backed up at the town’s only set of traffic lights. It was a typical morning in late summer—shoppers going about their business, newly-liberated mums having coffee in the sidewalk cafés, seniors gossiping on the wrought-iron benches beneath shady trees. Nothing Riley could see that would cause the new recruit to be so tense.
Hearing their footsteps she turned. She had blue eyes with enough crinkle at the corners to suggest she’d seen everything yet still found humor in life, an assertive nose and full lips lightly glossed. Riley schooled himself not to react. Delinsky was right. She was hot. Put a dress on her, let her hair down, and she’d be right…kissable. Not that he’d ever get busy with a coworker. He happened to agree with the unspoken rule that cops didn’t screw their partners—in any sense of the word.
John made the introductions. A phone call interrupted and he excused himself to take it. His murmured conversation faded into the background.
Riley nodded to Paula, extending his hand. “G’day.”
Her gaze took in the rank on his uniform. “A rookie. Excellent.” Not, her blue eyes added silently. Her firm grasp brought a jolt of awareness, a primal zing of flesh on flesh he wasn’t expecting.
“An ex-detective,” he replied with subtle emphasis. He squeezed hard, feeling the softness of the skin on the backs of her fingers. “I’m sure you can teach me a lot.”
Riley had never gotten into a pissing contest with a woman before, especially not a woman this attractive. It kind of threw him. Those eyes that had his stomach in free fall contrasted oddly with a bone-crushing handshake. They were still eyeing each other warily when John finished his call.
“All acquainted?” John walked around his desk and headed for the door. “Let’s introduce Paula to the gang.”
“After you.” Riley gestured to Paula. Despite his good intentions his gaze dropped to the trim round butt encased in snug navy trousers. Again, Delinsky was right. She had a great ass.
Eyes front, solider. Paula Drummond would probably pull out her gun and shoot him if he made a pass.
John summoned Delinsky, Jackson, Crucek and Grant who were hanging around the coffee machine, waiting to go out on patrol. The guys checked her out covertly while they said all the nice things, like welcome and glad to have you aboard.
“Delinsky and Grant, follow up the liquor-store break-in,” John said, moving on to the morning debrief. “Jackson and Crucek, you’re liaising with Frankston P.D. on the new drug task force. Detectives Leonard and Cadley will meet with you at ten o’clock. Drummond and Henning, you’re on traffic patrol.”
The crew began to disperse.
“Excuse me, boss,” Paula said. “I’ve had extensive experience in large-scale covert drug investigations.”
“I’m aware of that, Constable,” John said evenly. “The bend on the highway after you exit the village is a good spot to set up the radar.”
Paula’s wide mouth tightened. “I only meant, if the team wanted to make use of my expertise—”
“Thanks, we’ll keep that in mind.” John nodded a dismissal and went to his office.
At the counter in Dispatch, Riley signed out a patrol car. Patty picked the keys off the Peg-Board and tossed them in Riley and Paula’s general direction. Riley raised his hand to catch them. Paula snatched them out of the air.
“So, it’s going to be like that, is it?” Riley said, teasing.
“Like what?” She gave him a blank stare.
Hadn’t even been aware she was taking control. Okay, he could be magnanimous. “You can drive.”
* * *
PAULA PROPPED AN ELBOW on the car window ledge and stared at the highway. They were parked behind a large ti tree, radar gun mounted on the dash. Nearly two hours had passed without them collaring a single speeder. During that time her partner had chatted endlessly, trying to draw her out. Normally she wouldn’t be quite so uncommunicative. After all she had to work with this guy and she couldn’t afford to put anyone off—but she couldn’t stop thinking about Nick Moresco’s phone call.
Just to know you are there. What had he meant by that? Was he planning something? Did he know about Jamie? She hadn’t been showing when she’d given evidence at the hearing and by the time the case had gone to trial she’d given birth. But Nick had spies everywhere. It gave her shivers to think he might know where she lived, where Jamie went to school…
“How long have you lived in Summerside?” Riley passed her the thermos of coffee they’d filled at a local café.
“Sorry? Oh, less than a month.” She dug out her cup wedged next to her on the seat and filled it.
“You’re going to love it here. John said you had a kid. Boy or girl?”
“Boy.”
Riley crossed his arms behind his head and leaned back. “Summerside is a terrific place to raise children. Parks, the beach, trails through the bush…loads of places for your son to explore.”
Isolated areas where a small boy on his own could be snatched. “You don’t have children, do you?”
“Me? Nah. I’d like to someday,” Riley said. “I’ve been too busy till now but I’m ready to settle down. I’m moving into my childhood home this weekend now that my father and stepmother bought a unit close to the village. They haven’t done much to the old place over the years so I’m planning to renovate…”
Paula tuned out. He was probably trying to put her at ease but the constant stream of words was making her more uptight. What was she going to do about Nick? There was nothing she could do until he made another move.
If he made another move.
Riley had stopped talking. He seemed to be waiting for a response from her.
“Sorry, I missed that last bit.”
“You’re not one for chitchat, are you?”
“I’m worried about my son,” she admitted guardedly. “It’s his first day of school.”
“How old is he? My sister Katie teaches at the primary school.”
“He’s in grade one.” She’d met Jamie’s teacher briefly. Now that she knew Katie Henning and Riley were related she swiveled to study him more closely, noting his dark hair, dark eyes and rugged features. Her gaze lingered a moment on his sensual mouth. Something tugged deep inside, desires half-forgotten, wishes unfulfilled. Nope, not going there. “I can see a family resemblance. Your sister, huh?”
“There, you see? I knew we could find something in common.” Riley leaned against his door, as if settling in for a long chat. “What’s your son’s name?”
“Jamie.” She lifted the cup to her mouth, conscious a second later she was exposing her bare ring finger. Sure enough, Riley had noticed—and quickly looked away. For crying out loud, it was the twenty-first century. If there was one thing in her life she wasn’t ashamed of, it was giving birth to her son. “I’ve never been married.” She hoped her cool tone would deter further questions.
Riley’s hand shot up. “Hey, it’s none of my business. Live and let live.”
“You’re older than most rookies,” Paula said, turning the conversation away from herself. “What did you do before you joined the police force?”
“I was a bouncer at a nightclub in Frankston.”
“A bouncer,” she repeated dubiously. Riley was tall and strongly built, in his mid- to late-thirties. His skin had the deeply tanned look of someone who’d spent a lot of time outdoors. Bouncers usually looked pasty, as though they’d crawled out from a cave. She doubted he’d worked nights long term. “Before that?”
He faced forward again, turning his gaze away from her. “Special Air Services Regiment.”
Her eyebrows rose. Impressive. “Were you deployed overseas?”
“I was in Kabul.” It might have been a trick of the dappled light flickering through the ti tree, but a shadow seemed to cross over Riley’s face.
Before she could ask another question, he smiled easily. “So, what sports do you like?”
Maybe they did have something in common. He didn’t like to talk about his past, either.
“I used to play basketball—”
A school bell chimed in the distance. She glanced at her watch. Lunch hour was over. She imagined the kids filing into class. Had Jamie made any friends? Had he eaten the sandwich she’d packed for him?
What if Nick showed up at the school?
Paula shifted restlessly. “I don’t know how much more of this thrilling police work I can handle.” She fiddled with the radar gun settings. “Is this thing even working?”
Riley let a beat go by. “Why are you so tense? I noticed that back at the station. Is something wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong. I’m not tense.” Tapping the steering wheel, Paula watched the curve in the road.
What if Nick was driving down this highway? He always obeyed the speed limit so he didn’t get pulled over. That could be him coming toward her right now, in that black sedan, and she wouldn’t know. She felt for her gun, snug and reassuring in its holster.
“We’re partners,” Riley said. “Partners are supposed to bond. That means opening up to each other, getting to know and trust each other. Be friendly.”
“All we need to know is that when the going gets tough, we have each other’s back.” Turning to face him, she leaned forward a little, gripping the steering wheel. “Can I? Can I count on you?”
Riley drew back, shaking his head. “Lady, you are tense.”
A bright red Ferrari screamed past so fast the draft shook the patrol car and rattled the branches of the ti tree.
“Finally, some action.” Paula locked in the clocked speed on the radar gun and started the car engine. “Let’s get this jerk.”
CHAPTER TWO
RILEY STACKED HIS guitar case on top of a box of kitchen stuff and carried it from his car up the gravel driveway to the single story weatherboard home. Purple bougainvillea trailed over the veranda, annuals bloomed in loamy beds next to the house.
He set the box on the wood floor in the entry hall and went exploring. It felt weird, walking through the empty rooms. So many years had gone by since he’d lived here, so many changes in both himself and his family. Mum had passed, his father remarried…
The living room was smaller than he remembered, the dining room, tiny. He would need to knock a few walls out. He wandered in and out of his old room, Katie’s room, the master bedroom, peeked into the bathroom, then went down the hall to the kitchen, the center of their family life. At least it had been while his mother was alive.
On the doorframe of the laundry room were the incremental marks where Dad had measured his and Katie’s growth. God, had he ever been that short? He twisted his head sideways to look at the dates.
One stood out from the rest.
The year Mum died he’d been twelve years old, and five foot six inches tall.
There was a big gap after that, as if normal activities had ceased for a time. Riley dragged his gaze away.
The old-fashioned kitchen looked exactly as he remembered. White-painted cupboards, worn linoleum, green-tiled walls up to shoulder height, then yellow paint above that. It was cramped, not enough counter space.
You’d never know a professional cook had worked there. His mother’s weekdays had been spent testing recipes and typing up notes for her next cookbook, her electric typewriter all but lost among the clutter on the counter while two or three pots bubbled on the stove. Her brown hair would be tied back, her brow lightly creased in concentration as she tasted, adding a bit of this or that, then tasted again.
Riley especially loved the dessert section of Mary Henning’s healthy-lifestyle cookbooks. The red ceramic cookie jar was always full when he came home from school. He’d grab a handful of oatmeal and raisin cookies then run outside to play cricket or footy with his mates.
He glanced at the mark on the doorframe and ran his thumb across it, feeling the indentation of the pen in the soft wood. The beginnings of a headache stabbed his right temple.
Why hadn’t he hung around and talked to her more often, just for a few minutes? She’d always stop what she was doing when he or Katie came into the room, ready to chat or give tastings. It pained him to think how he’d brushed her off. He’d give anything now to be able to ask how her day was, if her work was going well. To hear the sound of her voice.
A lump formed in his throat, making swallowing difficult. Kids didn’t think like that, though. At twelve he’d thought his mum would be around forever.
“Riley?” Katie called through the open front door. She’d followed him from his rental unit in her car.
“In the kitchen.” Riley blinked rapidly. Jeez, any minute now he’d break down and cry like a girl.
Katie carried in a box of dishes. To help him move she’d worn old jeans and a shirt with the sleeves rolled up, her dark hair swinging in a ponytail.
“Dad and Sandra just pulled up. The moving truck isn’t far behind—” She set the box on the floor. “Hey, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” But he and his little sister were close. She always knew what he was thinking.
Katie’s gaze swept over the kitchen. Her arm stole around his waist. Softly she said, “It almost feels as if Mum’s still here.”
Riley cleared his throat. “This room is too poky. I think I’ll knock this wall down between the kitchen and dining room.” He swept a hand across as if waving a magic wand. “New appliances, new flooring, the works. What do you think?”
“It’s your place now.” Katie gave him a one-armed hug. “Do what you want.”
“Are you sure? By rights, you should get half the house.”
“I’m happy with my little cottage. I—I couldn’t live here.”
The catch in her voice wasn’t only about their mother. Katie had gotten breast cancer in her early twenties and come home to live while undergoing treatment—and to nurse her broken heart after John had abandoned her.
“But I’m glad you’re here,” Katie said. “I think Mum would have liked knowing one of us, at least, was still living in the family home. She was so much a part of this place, especially the kitchen.”
“Yeah. Moving in is a bit more emotional than I expected.” Riley sucked in a breath. “Let’s get the rest of the load.” He led the way back through the dining room. “How was the first day of school?”
“The children are so gorgeous. I know, I say that every year but it’s true. Grade one is such a cute age.”
“My new partner has a kid in your class. Small world, huh? Her name is Paula Drummond.”
“Drummond…” Katie frowned, thinking. “I haven’t got all the names memorized yet. Boy or girl?”
“Boy.”
“Ah, Jamie. He’s sweet.”
Riley hauled a box out of the trunk of his car and placed it in Katie’s arms then picked up his army boot locker.
“I’m planning our annual bike safety lesson,” Katie said as they went inside. “Do you know who at the station will be doing it this year?”
“Not a clue.”
“Well, since your partner’s son is in my class and you’re my brother, what if you two did it? What do you think?”
Riley didn’t particularly want to spend any more time than necessary with uptight Paula and since events like the bike safety lesson were usually conducted on their own time, this was a particularly unwelcome idea. But he didn’t like letting his little sister down. “Sure, that sounds like fun.”
Katie beamed at him. From this angle with her oval face framed by long black hair, and her green eyes, she reminded him of someone… . A stab of pain made him wince. He pressed his fingers to his temple.
“Are you all right?” Katie asked, pausing in the foyer. “You went pale all of a sudden.”
“A bit of a headache. I’m fine.” Outside, a car door shut. “I think the others have arrived.”
His dad’s white Ford sedan was parked at the curb. Then a truck rumbled to a halt, its air brakes hissing. Barry Henning’s voice carried as he issued instructions to the driver backing up the narrow curving driveway.
“How did you accumulate enough stuff to fill a moving van in less than a year?” Katie said.
Riley leaned against the veranda post. “Imagine a man living out of a footlocker for ten years. Then imagine him moving into his own home, even if it’s just a two-bedroom rental unit. A trip to the home furniture store is like taking a kid to a candy shop.”
“Hey, you two.” Sandra, their stepmother, came across the lawn, avoiding the truck. Her gray-blonde hair was softly waving, her smile big and bright. She presented Riley a casserole dish. “Your mother’s famous chicken cacciatore. You won’t have time to cook today.”
“Thanks.” He gave her a peck on the cheek. “You shouldn’t have.”
He exchanged a furtive grimace with Katie. Since she married their father Sandra had taken up cooking out of their mother’s cookbooks. It was nice of her, but in her hands the recipes didn’t always turn out—to put it mildly.
“Save that for another time,” Barry ordered, striding up onto the porch. His gray hair and moustache were regulation army length, his carriage erect. “We’ll order pizza after we get him moved in.”
“Yes, sir, Major Dad.” Katie saluted. She gave Sandra a wink.
“We’ve eaten out twice already this week.” Sandra was briefly crestfallen. Then she put on a brilliant smile. “Never mind, I’ll tuck this in the fridge.” She carried the casserole into the house.
One of the moving men trundled the first dolly-load—a walnut dresser—to the steps. “Where do you want this?”
“Right this way.” Riley led them into his house, rubbing his aching temple. What was up with the headache? He rarely got them and then only when he occasionally drank too much. There weren’t even any painkillers in his belongings. But the pain was nothing compared to what he’d experienced in Afghanistan. He would soldier on.
* * *
“MORNING, PATTY,” Paula called out as she passed Dispatch on Monday morning. The young Irish woman waved.
After the phone calls last week, Nick had gone quiet. When Paula had arrived home that night with Jamie, her house had been exactly as she’d left it, every door and window locked and untampered with. It should have reassured her. Instead, all weekend she’d been jumpy, obsessively checking over her shoulder, looking for Nick’s face in the crowd, keeping Jamie in sight as they wandered through the monthly outdoor market in the village.
She wasn’t naive enough to think Nick had gone away. He seemed to be biding his time, trying to make her nervous. What did he want from her? Did he hate her for betraying him? Did he want revenge?
Or did he want Jamie?
This morning she’d called Sally, Jamie’s afterschool caregiver, and asked her to be at the school at 3:00 p.m. on the dot. Then Sally’s toddler started crying and the other woman had to go. This afternoon, when Paula picked up Jamie, she needed to have a proper talk with Sally.
She found a desk and a spare computer and got caught up on paperwork, working steadily for an hour before her shift started. She and Riley were supposed to be equal partners but from things the guys said she’d deduced he was the boss’s best bud. And even though she was senior in years on the force, her past tainted her. She didn’t know if it was her imagination or her insecurities showing but she had the uncomfortable feeling that Riley was watching her every move, waiting for her to slip up. Well, she would show him. She would show everyone. She would work twice as hard as any one of them.
John came through the door heading for his office. He carried an athletic bag with a beach towel stuffed inside and his hair was damp. His early morning ocean swims were legend around the station.
“Excuse me, boss. Can I have a quick word?”
“Sure.” He glanced at her computer and at the clock. “You know we don’t have the budget for overtime, don’t you?”
“I know.” She saved her report and rose to follow him. “I hate getting behind on the report writing.”
“The trouble with policing today isn’t the crime, it’s the paperwork.” He opened his office door and flung his bag in the corner. “What can I do for you?”
“I wondered if you’ve heard anything from District Headquarters about my application to detective.”
It was too early to be asking about a promotion but chances were Moresco would revert to his old ways. She didn’t know if she’d be allowed to work on any case that involved him but if she was, she wanted to be ready. This time she would take him down for good. She couldn’t do that sitting on the side of the road working a radar gun.
“I reviewed your application when you joined Summerside,” John said. “Your qualifications are excellent.”
She studied his face, trying to decide if he genuinely supported her career ambitions or if he was like her previous commanding officers, letting her put in time till she could be sent on her way. “But?”
“All promotions are on hold due to budget cutbacks.” His expression was open and frank. “Funding cuts have been looming for some time but the memo came yesterday afternoon. The economy dips and the government tightens up on new spending. I’m sorry. There’s nothing I can do.”
Paula struggled to hide her disappointment. She believed him about the budget cuts but she’d been burned before and she wanted to know where she stood with him. “This knockback doesn’t have anything to do with my past, does it?”
“I know very little about your past.” John’s gaze was steady, inviting her to open up to him.
The silence stretched. Sounds of the outside office filtered through the door. Her fists balled on her thighs. What did he expect her to say? Did her future at Summerside depend on whether she told him her history right this minute? It sucked that her career still hung on one stupid choice she’d made years ago.
She could see his point of view. John didn’t know those days were over, but she’d be a fool to expose herself in case he had some discretionary spending or the economy turned around. He sure as hell wouldn’t be in a hurry to promote her if he knew what she’d done. But she wouldn’t whine that she’d learned her lesson. She would have to bust her hump and prove to him she deserved her detective stripes. If that meant taking Nick down on her own time, so be it.
Speaking of Nick, should she tell John that Moresco had contacted her? Not yet. Not till she knew what Nick wanted. She was in no hurry to associate herself with that loser. No, the past was still a closed subject.
“I should go finish my report before shift.” She rose. “Boss.”
Paula walked over to the coffee machine, nodding at bleary-eyed officers from night duty on their way home. Third-time lucky? Ha. She’d been dreaming. She stirred cream into her cup and took a sip, taking a moment to collect herself.
She checked the big wall clock over the copy machine. Almost time to hit the locker room—a daily ordeal she hoped would pass if and when she became accepted. The station was so small she was the only female cop. That in itself showed how far she’d dropped since she’d been part of a big bustling city station, in charge of her own vice unit and leading a major undercover drug investigation. Add in the fact that she had to share locker space with the guys and Summerside P.D. started to look more like a boys’ outdoor camp than a fully fledged police department. Mind you, she would never say such a thing to John who was proud of his little band of brothers.
But she was a big girl; she could handle the arrangement. It was the guys who seemed to have a problem with it. Whether they resented her for disrupting their routine or they simply didn’t like her, she had no idea.
Take the issue of changing into their uniform at work. Jackson was on the pudgy side and self-conscious. He waited until she left the room to get dressed. Crucek grumbled and turned his back as he quickly shucked his civvies. Delinsky obviously worked out and thought he was hot stuff. He liked to parade around bare-chested, flaunting his sculpted body at her. In your dreams, mate. She didn’t go for that over-developed look. Or the leering attitude.
Riley was the odd one out. Every morning he was there when she arrived, already fully kitted out. She might have thought he slept in his uniform except that it was always immaculately cleaned and pressed.
Sighing, she set her dirty cup by the sink. Time to man up.
“Morning, gentlemen,” she proclaimed loudly as she pushed open the door and stepped inside.
“Morning.” Riley was seated at the table, shining his already spit-polished shoes.
Despite the fact they hadn’t exactly hit it off the first week, he was a prime example of a good cop. Always professional, always smartly decked out, every detail of his uniform top notch. He was good looking, too, since she was noticing. His shoulders filled out his shirt nicely and the fabric of his pants stretched over long thigh muscles. Smarten up, Drummond. Mind on your job. The last time she’d given in to an inappropriate attraction it had cost her her career.
Instead of greeting her, Delinsky, Jackson and Crucek retreated to the far side of the room and began whispering like teenage girls. Normally she ignored their behavior—she had bigger things to worry about than guys acting goofy—but since Nick’s phone calls her control was stretched thin.
She twirled the combination lock. “So much for my high hopes of working with men instead of boys.”
More giggles.
It sucked being the new person. But she was damned if she would let the guys think their treatment bothered her or that she was going to kiss their collective asses.
Paula swung her locker door open. A plastic bag containing white crystals fell onto the floor. She jumped. In the background excited whispers rose in volume. Slowly she bent to pick up the ziplock bag. Her stomach turned over.
“Hey, watcha got there?” Crucek swaggered forward and took the bag from her hand. “Lookie here, guys. Our new constable is into drugs.”
“Don’t be an idiot!” She made a swipe for the bag but Crucek whipped it out of her reach, holding it high so she would have had to jump to get it.
Delinsky and Jackson crowded around. “Does Sergeant Forster know about this?” Jackson said, eyes wide. “Maybe we ought to get him in here. Let him know what his new constable has been up to.”
“Screw you.” What the hell was this about? Were they teasing? Was this a lame joke because she was a woman or because she was new? She should laugh it off but she couldn’t find her sense of humor.
“We know about you,” Delinsky crowed.
How could they know about her past? That was supposed to be a secret. Was she imagining the menace in Delinsky’s voice? Were they trying to get rid of her? Whatever they knew, or thought they knew, would they tell John? If so, there went any hope of her promotion, if not her job.
“Nothing to know.” Her voice was too loud, bouncing off the pale green walls. “Piss off, jerks, and let me get ready for work. Shift is about to start.”
“We think there’s plenty to know, don’t we guys?” Crucek glanced around for support and received grunts of assent and nodding heads.
Had Nick gotten to them? No, that was plain paranoid. She swallowed. Wasn’t it?
They had her surrounded, Crucek and Jackson in front, Delinsky’s hot breath on the back of her neck. These men were supposed to be her coworkers, her support system. Yet at this moment she felt that if she showed any weakness they would tear her apart like a pack of wolves.
“Back. Off.” She spoke more forcefully, spinning to snap at Delinsky. “You, too, hotshot.”
Jackson took a step closer. As if by agreement, the others did, too. “We don’t like bent cops.”
“Do you know what happens to bent cops?” Crucek sneered.
Paula scowled, adrenaline rushing through her body, making her feel sick. Her heart was beating so loudly she could barely hear them. She had a crazy urge to pull out her gun and start firing. Maybe that’s what they wanted, for her to lose control.
Riley rose and walked over. Although he was junior to the others he had a battle-hardened air that gave him an innate authority. “Give me that.” He reached between Jackson and Crucek and yanked away the plastic bag. He held it up to the light, turned it this way and that.
Paula clenched her fists. If her partner was in on the plot to break her, she would never forgive him. If she was found in possession of drugs, all her credibility was gone. Whatever the guys’ motivation was, this had the potential to hurt her. Badly.
Riley opened the bag and shook a large irregular crystal into his palm. He brought his hand to his mouth and took a lick. Ran the taste around in his mouth. “Rock sugar. The kind some people put in their coffee.”
Sugar. Relief flooded her, weakening her knees. She hadn’t been set up with real drugs. They didn’t know anything. No one was out to get her. Nick hadn’t infiltrated the station. John wouldn’t find out about her past.
The men erupted in roars of laughter.
Jackson slapped her on the back. “We got you good, Drummond!”
“Welcome to Summerside P.D.” Crucek had tears in his eyes from laughing so hard.
“You’re a good sport.” Delinsky grinned and squeezed her arm.
The men drifted away, still crowing. “She took it so seriously.” “Did you see her expression?” “I could hardly keep a straight face.”
Paula stood where she was, trembling and trying not to show it. Bloody bastards thought they were so clever. She’d love to give them a dose of their own medicine. But she didn’t dare, not with even a faint possibility of her detective stripes dangling in front of her. She had to keep on the straight and narrow, regardless of how much she’d like to grind these backwoods amateur cops into the dirt.
Riley took her arm and led her to the bench, gently pushed her onto it. He sat beside her and put a hand on her shoulder. “It was just a joke.”
She shook off his hand, turning her pent-up fury on him. “Stay out of it. I can fight my own battles.”
“They hid my gun the first week I was here,” Riley went on as though she hadn’t bitten his head off. “I thought I’d lost it. I was shitting myself. Idiot that I was, I didn’t even get that they were hazing me. They waited until I wrote up a missing-equipment report and was about to give it to John before they brought out my revolver from wherever they’d hidden it.”
“What did you do?” Paula asked. Was there a way to get even without cost to her? Doubtful. She knew how hazing worked. If you got mad, you were a poor sport. If you tried to get even, the jokes escalated.
“Nothing. There’s nothing you can do. But it’s not so bad here in Summerside. I’ve seen army squadrons where newcomers are hazed for months. But these guys will do it only once. They called you a good sport—after today you won’t have to worry about them.” Riley paused. “You did take it awfully seriously.” He waited, as if for an explanation.
“I was never treated like that in my other units.” She didn’t mention the moving of files, the swapping of her hat for one three sizes too big. But those pranks happened years ago, when she was a rookie. This seemed malicious. Or was she being overly sensitive? “Were you in on it?”
“No. I’m not a fan of practical jokes.” Riley drew a thumbnail along the grain of the bench, making a shallow crease in the wood. “I don’t think they meant to upset you. Maybe they inadvertently hit close to the bone.” He searched her face. “Did they?”
Really? He wanted her to cozy up and confide in him? Think again, mate. He might be handsome and sexy and professional and a whole lot of things she admired, but they had a job to do and that’s where their connection ended. Besides, she’d rather do a month of solid paperwork than trust someone she’d just met with her past.
Paula got to her feet. She unclenched her fingers and felt the blood flow into them. “Shouldn’t we be out on traffic patrol, nailing speeders?”
Riley continued to regard her with that measured gaze. She shifted edgily, twisting her cap. Finally he rose and tipped a sardonic finger to his brow. “Okay. Partner.”
* * *
PAULA KNOCKED ON THE open classroom door, arriving for her parent-teacher interview. The walls were lined with brightly colored student artwork. Tables, not desks, were used for seating. At the back of the room beanbags formed a reading circle next to the bookshelf. Her new job might be less than she’d hoped for but at least for Jamie the atmosphere was warm and welcoming.
Katie Henning, seated at her desk, glanced at her schedule. “You must be Paula, Jamie’s mum. Please come in.”
“It’s nice to have a parent-teacher meeting early in the year,” Paula said, taking a seat. Katie had her brother’s dark hair, high cheekbones and sculpted mouth. But instead of dark brown eyes, Katie’s were pale green.
“We like to get parents involved in their child’s education right from the start.” Katie leafed through the stack of folders on her desk. “I’ve got some of Jamie’s work to show you.”
“We have someone else in common besides Jamie,” Paula said. “Your brother, Riley.”
“I know, he told me.” Katie pulled a folder with Jamie Drummond written across the top. “I asked Riley if you two would give my class a lesson in bike safety. Would you be up for that? I’ll bet your son would be thrilled to show off his mum, the cop.”
Paula wasn’t sure she wanted to draw attention to Jamie being her son. But she guessed if Nick were going to find out about the boy, he would do so regardless of a bike safety talk. “That sounds fine.”
“We’ll schedule it in a few weeks, when the kids have settled in.” Katie smiled. “Jamie’s a lovely boy.”
Katie probably said that to all the parents but Paula couldn’t help feel a rush of maternal pride. “He’s enjoying school. Is it too early to ask how he’s doing in class?”
“He’s adjusting well, playing with the other children. Judging from his drawings he has excellent fine motor skills.”
“So you have no concerns at this point?”
“There is one thing. The other day I asked the children to draw pictures of their parents’ occupations. He depicted you in a police uniform. All good there.” Katie removed a drawing from Jamie’s folder and passed it across the desk. “But is his father really an astronaut?”
Paula pressed her fingers to her mouth at the cartoon-like figure of a man in a space suit. Poor Jamie. School activities and interacting with other students would inevitably highlight his lack of a father. She’d tried to prepare him but she couldn’t foresee every contingency.
“I’m sorry. I should have spoken to you about Jamie’s father before.”
“You can tell me now,” Katie said. “This meeting is for parents and teachers to talk about any issues or special problems.”
“Jamie’s never met his father. N-Nicholas and I separated before Jamie was born. He isn’t an astronaut. He’s…a businessman,” she lied, choosing her words carefully. “He’s not in our lives. Never has been and never will be. I have full custody. I’ve provided a copy of the court order to the school office. If Jamie’s father were ever to come to Summerside, he’s not to have any contact with Jamie. That’s extremely important. No contact. At all.”
“We have a couple of students where custody is an issue,” Katie said. “Jamie’s not alone there.”
Paula doubted her son’s situation was remotely similar to the other pupils’. She didn’t want to be one of those overprotective helicopter mothers hovering over her child, but Nick’s re-emergence had spiked her sense of vulnerability. She gripped her purse as Katie once again leafed through Jamie’s folder.
“Ah, yes. I see you’ve noted on his information sheet that you, Karen Drummond and Sally Leeds are the only people authorized to pick him up from school.”
“Karen is my mother. Sally is Jamie’s after-school caregiver,” Paula explained. “I’ve spoken to her about the situation. Sally’s very reliable. But in the event that she’s late, what safeguards are in place to prevent someone else taking Jamie before she gets here?”
“A teacher is always on duty outside at the front of the school at home time,” Katie said. “With so many students it’s difficult to ensure each child goes with the correct adult. It’s up to the authorized person picking up to get there on time.”
“As I said, Sally’s dependable. However, I’d like this information to be circulated to every teacher.” Paula pressed her hand on the sheet. “I can’t stress how important this is.”
“I’ll make a note of that.” Katie wrote a brief memo on the info sheet. “Cops. You’re so security-conscious. Riley is always installing some new alarm in my house. I’m not complaining. It’s good to know someone’s looking out for you.”
Paula nodded politely, unable to relate. She looked out for herself.
“I don’t blame you,” Katie added. “Children are precious and so vulnerable.”
“Do you have kids?”
Katie shook her head wistfully. “Someday. If I meet the right guy.”
“It’s not easy, is it?” Paula gave her a wry smile, one single woman in her thirties to another.
Katie’s dry lift of her eyebrows acknowledged the truth of that. “However, I’m too busy right now with work to be looking for anyone permanent.”
“Same.” Although it was more complicated than that. She would love to find a wonderful man and have another child or two. But a proper home and a family felt out of reach with Nick lurking in her background. Oh, by the way, Jamie’s dad is a drug lord but don’t worry, I’m over him. Understandably, any worthwhile man would run a mile once he knew that about her. What was wrong with her that she could have fallen for a criminal?
“Anything else I can tell you?” Katie asked.
Paula would have welcomed knowing why Riley shunned questions about his past. What badass thing had he done? But that probably wasn’t what Katie meant. “No, I think that’s it. I know you have a lot of parents to see tonight. It was nice to meet you.”
Katie got to her feet and shook hands. “I’ll be in touch to organize for the bike safety class in a few weeks. Thanks for agreeing.”
“I’m happy to do it.” Paula said good-night and walked through the corridors, thinking ahead to picking up Jamie from Sally’s house, then going home. After she got Jamie into bed, she might treat herself to a nice hot bath. Riley was right. She had been tense lately—for good reason—and the incident with the rock sugar hadn’t helped.
Thirty minutes later she turned into her driveway, half listening to Jamie’s chatter about the game of hide and seek he’d played at Sally’s house. Nearly eight o’clock, it was still light. Her glance automatically went to the front door—
Her hands tightened on the wheel. Sitting on the mat was a bright red remote-controlled racing car. She couldn’t afford toys that expensive. Her mother would never splurge unless it was a birthday or Christmas present. Nor would she leave it sitting on the front porch. It definitely wasn’t Christmas and Jamie’s birthday was in July.
Only one person would have given such a gift.
Nick.
CHAPTER THREE
PAULA DROVE INTO the carport, hoping Jamie hadn’t seen the toy. Somehow she had to get him into the house through the back door.
“What’s that on the porch?” Jamie unbuckled his seat belt even before the car had stopped.
“Nothing. Jamie—”
Too late. He was out of the car and running across the lawn and through the flower bed. “It’s a car.”
“Jamie, honey, don’t get excited.” She hurried after him, dropping her purse in her haste. She grabbed it from among the petunias, wasting precious seconds. “It’s probably a mistaken delivery.”
“It’s for me,” Jamie said. He kneeled on the mat, a gift card in his hand. “My name’s on it, see?”
Jamie might not be able to read yet but she’d taught him to recognize his name and phone number and to print both. He also knew the alphabet.
“It’s from…” His small brow furrowed as he laboriously spelled out, “D…A…D.” He looked up at her. “What does that spell?”
Paula gazed into her son’s small trusting face and felt her heart break. She never lied to him. Ever.
“Mum?” His eyes searched hers.
Taking a deep breath, she swallowed. Her hands felt clammy. “D-dad. It spells, Dad.”
Jamie went still, his eyes wide and unblinking. “But I thought— You said he was overseas.”
Okay, maybe that one lie.
“Um, he was.” Her fingers curled into her palms. How dare Nick disturb their peace? How dare he think he could buy his child? “He must be back.”
“Yay!” Jamie stood and ran down the steps as if expecting to see his father out on the sidewalk. “Where is he?” Looking up the street he took a step forward and called tentatively, “Dad?” Another step. “Dad! I’m home.”
Though it was a fine evening, it was past dinnertime and no one was outside. There were no strange cars parked nearby that she didn’t recognize. Through the curtains in the houses across from hers came the blue flicker of TV screens. Chances were no one had seen who’d placed the toy car on her step.
“Jamie.” Paula ran to take his hand and tugged him toward the porch. “He must have gone.”
Jamie dragged his feet, looking over his shoulder. “He’ll come back, right?”
“No.” Her free hand curled into a fist she would dearly love to smash into Nick’s face for raising a little boy’s expectations.
Jamie stopped dead, crestfallen. “But he’ll want to see me if he’s back from his trip. Won’t he?”
Oh, God. “I don’t know. He’s not—” She thought desperately, agonized at seeing her son hurt. “His job doesn’t allow him to be a family man.”
“But he came here. We weren’t home. He’ll come back,” Jamie said logically.
“Let’s go inside,” she said, leading him up the steps. “You’ll have your bath and get ready for bed. Then we’ll talk about your father.”
“I want to play.” Jamie crouched beside his new toy. Gripping the slick red hood of the racing car with small fingers he tried to pull off the wires holding it on to the cardboard packaging.
“No!” Paula snatched up the toy. “I’m sorry. You can’t have it.”
“It’s mine!” He scrambled to his feet, his arms reaching upward. Tears rolled down his cheeks. “My dad gave it to me.”
Paula fumbled with the key, stabbing it into the lock as she held the car high, feeling like the world’s meanest mother. She got the door open and dragged Jamie, kicking and screaming, into the house. She put the car on top of the bookshelf in the living room.
“Why won’t you give it to me? I hate you!” Jamie yelled, his face red.
Paula crouched and took him by the shoulders. “Listen to me. I know you’re angry and upset. But your father is not part of our lives. We can’t accept presents from him.”
“Why not?” Jamie wailed, rubbing his eyes. “Why can’t I see him? He wants to see me.”
“Just because.”
Because he’s a bad man. I’m afraid he’ll hurt you.
“I want my car. My daddy brought it to me!” He was working himself into a full-blown tantrum such as he hadn’t had since he was three years old.
Paula tried to fold him in a hug to rock him but he tore away from her and flung himself face down on the carpet, his ribcage heaving.
“You have to trust me, sweetheart,” she pleaded. Only me.
A knock sounded at the door. Great. All she needed was some nosy neighbor thinking she was beating her kid.
She left Jamie pounding his fists on the floor while she answered the door. “This isn’t a good t—” Riley stood there wearing a pair of faded jeans and a black polo shirt. “What are you doing here?”
Riley began to speak but Jamie’s howls were too loud to ignore. He peered past her, into the house. “Is something wrong?”
“Did you come by for a reason? Because I’m pretty busy. As you can hear.”
Suddenly Jamie stopped howling. His footsteps thudded behind her. “Is that Dad?” Seeing Riley he stopped short, suddenly going shy. His anxious gaze tore at Paula’s heart. “Is he…?”
“No, sweetheart.” Her cheeks burning, she said to Riley, “You should go.”
Instead, Riley crouched, eye level with Jamie. “I’m Riley, your mum’s partner at the police station. What’s your name?”
Jamie pressed back into Paula’s legs. Her arms went around his shoulders. His small chest jerked as he hiccupped.
“My sister Katie is your teacher at school.” Riley spoke with the studied casualness of a cop talking down an out-of-control offender. Any other time Paula would have admired his technique.
Jamie sniffled. “Ms. Henning?”
“That’s right. What’s your name?”
“Jamie,” he mumbled.
“Nice to meet you.” Riley held his hand.
Jamie hesitated then placed his small hand in Riley’s to be given a hearty man-shake. Wiping his eyes with his sleeve, he stood a little taller. “Do you have a gun? Mum won’t let me hold hers.”
Oh, no, not the gun conversation. Jamie asked at least once a week to see her gun despite her constantly telling him it wasn’t a toy. At least he seemed to have forgotten the car—for the moment. “Not now, Jamie.”
“When I’m not on duty my gun is locked up,” Riley said. “Your mum’s right. No one but a police officer is allowed to touch our weapons. One day I might show you my gun.”
“Cool,” Jamie said shyly.
“It’s time for Jamie to get ready for bed.” Paula rubbed his arms. “Go on, mate. Into your pajamas.”
“Aw, do I have to?”
“I’ll read you the dinosaur story tonight.”
Jamie went, dragging his heels and glancing over his shoulder at Riley. Paula watched him with a tiny frown. With her father dead and her only brother living in Sydney, Jamie didn’t have many male role models in his life.
“So,” she said, turning back to Riley. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“I was passing on my way home from the shooting range and thought I’d see how you were doing after the hazing.” He shoved his hands in his back pockets, making his shirt stretch across his chest, hinting at some serious pecs. “You seemed to take it hard.”
“I didn’t take it hard.” Paula lifted her gaze—and her chin—a fraction. “I simply wasn’t expecting it.”
“Okay.” He studied her, relaxed but assessing, then seemed to decide to take her words at face value. “Nice kid, Jamie. Something upset him before I came?”
“It’s really none of your business.” Riley’s earlier words sank in. If he was at the shooting range he would have his gun in his car. When it counted he’d backed her up. A small thing, but she liked him for it.
“I appreciate you not bringing out your gun. Jamie can make a pistol out of a slice of bread but I don’t want him anywhere near a real weapon.” She sighed. “Plus, you made him forget what he was crying about.”
“I guess he was disappointed at not seeing his father.” Riley tilted his head, his eyes narrowing. “Doesn’t he know what his dad looks like?”
“His father is not in our lives.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “That’s all I’m going to say. I don’t mix work and home.”
“No worries.” Riley held up his hands, palms out. “Just curious.”
“‘Curiosity killed the cat.’” The phrase she threw at Jamie when he got into stuff she didn’t want him exploring popped out.
“Satisfaction brought it back.” Riley’s sudden, sexy grin made her think of a tomcat, whiskers dipped in cream, sensual, sleek and satisfied.
Sensual? Yessiree. With the porch light gleaming on his dark hair, his broad shoulders and long-limbed athletic stance, there was no getting around the fact that Riley was hot. And tonight he’d shown he was sensitive to her wishes regarding her son. But he was her partner, out of bounds on every level. She was trying to get her career on track, not become sidelined by another inappropriate attraction.
“I need to go to Jamie. He’s waiting for me to read a story.”
Riley nodded, and backed through the door. “See you tomorrow.”
Paula resisted watching his butt move in snug jeans as he walked to his black sports car. Instead she closed the door firmly.
Before she went to Jamie she removed the toy from the high shelf and carried it out to the carport. She started to lift the lid on the rubbish bin then changed her mind and put it in the trunk of her car to take to the thrift shop tomorrow. No reason some other little boy couldn’t benefit from Nick’s largesse.
After she read Jamie a bedtime story she stayed in his room until long after he fell asleep, watching over him. A glimmer of moonlight through the curtains shone on his mussed hair and bunched pajama top. She might not be enough for him anymore but he was everything to her.
Please, don’t let anything happen to my boy. Don’t let anyone hurt him or try to take him away from me.
* * *
FROM THE SQUAD CAR’S passenger’s seat Riley watched Paula covertly through his dark glasses. They were parked on the side of the highway again, in the shade of the ti tree. Without the air-conditioning the heat of the day was almost unbearable, even with the windows rolled all the way down.
Paula was preoccupied, staring intently out the window in silence, a slight frown marring her near-flawless complexion. Was she thinking about her ex, Jamie’s father? What was the story there—love of her life or rat bastard?
Last night in her foyer, for a moment, a spark had jumped between him and Paula. It must have been seeing her in a clinging blouse and short skirt instead of her uniform that had him noticing her breasts, her legs and pretty much everything in between. Their little verbal exchange toward the end had been out of character. Not professional, almost flirting.
She’d realized it, too, and backed off so quickly she’d practically left skid marks. And if she hadn’t, he would have. He liked how she was strong as a cop and as a mother, but they worked together—a no-go zone as far as he was concerned. And it didn’t take a genius to work out that she had issues with her ex. He didn’t want to get in the middle of that.
The radio crackled.
“Code twelve on Nepean Highway at Wooralla Drive.” Patty’s Irish accent became more pronounced the more urgent the situation. “Repeat, code twelve, Nepean at Wooralla. Fire and ambulance dispatched to the scene. Car sixteen, do you read me?”
Paula started the engine and hit the switch for the flashing red and blue lights. Siren blaring she forced her way into the stream of traffic.
“Copy that, Dispatch,” Riley said into the radio. “Estimated time to scene, five minutes.” He glanced at Paula. “Correction. Officer Drummond at the wheel. Make that two minutes.”
“Right outside the primary school,” Paula muttered through gritted teeth, as she slowed behind a vehicle whose driver was oblivious. “Idiot.”
“That intersection is notorious.” Riley braced a hand on the dash as she swerved to pass on the wrong side. “It’s worse now Summerside has gotten so big.”
“Big?” Paula spared him a brief glance sideways. “I’d hate to have seen it when it was small.” She fixed her gaze on the road again. “School lets out now. You’d think people would drive more carefully.”
“Must be hard having a young kid,” Riley said. “Every time there’s an accident near the school, wondering if your child has been injured.”
“Let’s not go there, okay?” Paula crested a slight hill and slowed as she approached the intersection.
Heat shimmered off the pavement, making wavy lines in front of the crashed vehicles—a black SUV and an electric blue Holden sedan. The fire engine was there, the crew swarming over the road, directing traffic, putting out cones to block off one lane.
Children, teachers and parents congregated on the corner nearest the school. Some stood and watched while others hurried away.
Riley’s vision blurred suddenly in a haze of red and black. A convulsive shudder ran through his body. Dizzy, he dropped his head forward. Dozens of school children. Innocent, defenceless.
Paula screeched to a halt diagonally across the intersection. She frowned at him. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” He raised his head, tried to shake off a lingering chill. Good thing he hadn’t been behind the wheel or there might have been another accident.
Paula gave him a hard look. “Take over from the firefighter directing traffic.”
Still dazed, Riley didn’t quibble with Paula taking command. He waved cars through the intersection, watching events unfold as if watching a movie. An ambulance siren wailed, approaching rapidly. In the Holden a man in his early twenties was slumped behind the wheel, unconscious. A blonde woman was climbing out of the SUV, her arm bleeding. She was crying. Her two kids were in the backseat, also crying. The fire crew brought out the Jaws of Life to pry open the Holden’s smashed-in door.
Riley was beset by a feeling of unreality, of being disconnected to events going on around him. What was going on? Had he come down with some sort of flu bug? He didn’t feel sick so much as disoriented. And that damned headache was back. He’d left his cap in the squad car and the hot afternoon sun beat on his unprotected head.
Another squad car pulled up. Crucek and Jackson climbed out.
“Take a break.” Crucek jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “You’re white as paste. Thought you would have seen worse in Afghanistan.”
Riley started to protest then gave up and walked to the Holden where Paula and the paramedics had congregated. The medics were loading the unconscious driver onto a gurney. His hair was stringy and lank, his emaciated arms covered from shoulder to wrist in tattoos. He had the sallow, unhealthy look of an addict.
“Alive?” Riley asked one of the paramedics.
“Barely.”
“Are you taking blood samples? Testing for alcohol and drugs.”
“I can tell you right now he’s using.” The paramedic nodded to the track marks on the driver’s arms.
Paula held up a used syringe between gloved fingers. “This goes to the lab for analysis. Somehow I don’t think the guy’s injecting insulin. And I want this car back at the station so we can search it properly.” She unclipped the radiophone on her vest and pressed buttons. “Patty, get a tow truck out here.”
She turned to Riley. “Hey, rookie, are you okay? You seem like you’re about to faint.”
He tried to pull himself together. He and Paula were supposed to be equal partners but he’d just behaved like the greenest recruit who’d ever thrown up at an accident scene while she had effortlessly taken control and directed operations. He had no problem with women being in the police force or in command. He did have a problem with himself looking like a pansy ass.
Protecting people was what he did. If he couldn’t do that, who was he?
“I’m fine,” he growled. “Just a touch of sun.”
* * *
IN THE PARKING LOT behind the police station Paula popped the trunk on the blue Holden. From the interior of the car came the sound of cloth ripping as Riley tore apart the backseat. Simon Peterson was on a dolly underneath, shining a flashlight into crevices.
The direct afternoon sun turned the pavement and brick building into a recipe for heatstroke. Paula barely noticed she was perspiring. Finding that syringe had given her a rush of adrenaline. Mentally she ran through the illicit injectable drugs—speed, heroin, crack cocaine…
Finally she was involved in a task she’d been trained for, a potential drug investigation. This could be her break-out opportunity, a chance to shine, to earn her detective stripes, budget constraints or no.
She stuck her head inside the trunk, letting her eyes adjust to the shaded cavity. It was loaded with junk—oily rags, empty black garbage bags, a pair of worn leather boots and a stack of tattered men’s magazines. Her hands protected by gloves, she threw these items onto a large tarp spread on the pavement.
An ancient first-aid kit was tucked at the rear of the trunk. She opened that and pulled out rolled bandages and dressings encased in yellowing paper. She threw them on the tarp, too.
Paula wiped the sweat dripping down her neck with the back of her hand and called to Riley. “Find anything?”
“Not yet,” came his muffled reply.
With everything out of the trunk the stained mat lining looked lumpy. Paula tried to lift it. The clips holding it down were rusted shut on one side. The other side of the mat was stuck beneath the spare tire. She pulled on the tire. It was wedged in tightly. Bracing her foot against the bumper, she hauled on it harder.
Riley backed out of the car, his hair mussed, a smear of dirt across one cheek. “Need a hand?”
“Nope.” With a grunt she gave a final tug. “Got it.” She staggered backward. The tire flew out of her hands, bounced across the tarmac. Something fell out—a plastic bag half full of white crystals. “Jackpot.”
Riley walked over and picked up the bag. He opened it, tasted a bit and grimaced. “This ain’t no coffee sugar. It’s crystal meth.”
Crystal methamphetamine. Her skin prickled. Nick Moresco had built an empire around this drug.
Paula tore the trunk liner away. Approximately two dozen plastic bags of crystal meth were lined up in neat rows, flattened to avoid detection.
Riley whistled. “We’ve got ourselves a dealer.”
Peterson, a skinny twenty-two-year-old with pimply skin, asked more eagerly than was seemly, “Do you think he’s local?”
“We’ve never seen this junk in Summerside before.” Riley gestured to a peeling bumper sticker. “But Bayside Holden is in Frankston.”
Paula felt the heat now. She wiped her forehead again. It was clammy. Moresco was fresh out of jail. Hard drugs had come to town. Her town. Where she lived and worked, where Jamie went to school.
Coincidence, or something more sinister? Suddenly light-headed, she bent over, her hands on her knees.
“Hey, what is it?” Riley gripped her shoulder. “You okay?”
“It’s frickin’ déjà vu,” she mumbled.
“Sorry, I didn’t quite catch that.”
“It’s the heat.” She tried to suck in a breath. Spots danced before her eyes. If those bags of crystal meth were Nick’s doing…
She dug deep and found the resolve to straighten her spine. If the drugs were his doing, he would be caught and punished. “Let’s get these bags logged and put in the evidence room.”
More paperwork. At least it took her mind off Moresco. It was after five o’clock before she and Riley had filed the last report. She pushed away from the computer. “I’m beat.”
“Let’s take a walk,” Riley suggested. “Have you tried the ice cream on the corner yet?”
“Not yet.” Ice cream. Cold, sweet, tempting. The man doing the offering was sexy, smart and strong.
Wouldn’t it be nice to do something simple like go for ice cream with a man she was not only attracted to but beginning to like and respect? But her life wasn’t simple. And Riley had never given the slightest indication he’d like to hang with her after work. He had to have an agenda. And she suspected she knew what it was.
“I have to pick up Jamie.” She made a show of checking her watch.
“Fifteen minutes.” He gave her a disarming smile. “My treat.”
Might as well get this over with. She put in a quick call to Sally to let her know she’d be there by six at the latest. No problem according to Sally. Jamie was happily playing with another little boy in her care.
Outside the station Riley turned into the arcade that led through to the main street. In the narrow shadowed lane she was more aware than usual of his sheer physicality. His height and the breadth of his shoulders were accentuated. His stride seemed longer, his demeanor relaxed but alert.
“What’s your favorite flavor?” Riley asked. “Chocolate, vanilla, rocky road…?”
“Pistachio.”
“You can tell a lot about a person by the ice cream they choose,” he confided, his head tilted toward her.
“Bull.” He was softening her up. Even knowing that, she grinned, fascinated.
“You have a taste for the exotic. You’re not afraid to be different. You don’t care what people think of you as long as you do what you believe is right.”
“You’re making this up.”
His dark eyes danced. “Am I wrong?”
Not entirely, but she wasn’t going to give him that. “What’s your favorite flavor?”
“I have no favorite. I love them all.”
“Ah, you’re a commitment-phobe. You flit from ice cream to ice cream.”
“No, I’m a man who keeps his options open.”
“Same thing.” She gave him a nudge, her bare elbow making contact with the damp cotton of his shirt, and below the cloth, his rib cage.
Teasing felt surprisingly good. The moment would be fleeting so she allowed herself to relax and enjoy for a change. The scorching heat of the day had died, leaving the air pleasantly warm as the shadows lengthened. They strolled down the sidewalk, Riley nodding and greeting people as they passed.
A bell over the door tinkled as they entered the air-conditioned ice-cream parlor.
A blonde fiftysomething woman behind the counter had a ready smile for Riley. “How did you enjoy the casserole?”
“Um, yeah, it was great,” Riley said, scratching the back of his neck. “Paula, this is Sandra, my stepmother. Paula’s my partner,” he said to Sandra. “She has a craving for pistachio.”
“I don’t—” Paula started to protest then got distracted by the twinkle in his eye. Hmm, maybe she did have a craving. But she would have to be satisfied with a frozen treat. Her awareness of him was growing, no doubt due to spending hours sitting in the squad car together. She would have to be careful not to encourage him.
Sandra handed Paula a waffle cone piled with three fat scoops of pistachio ice cream. “Complimentary to Summerside police officers.”
“Thank you.” Paula took a lick and her eyes closed briefly. “Heavenly.”
Sandra began to construct a second cone for Riley at his instruction—raspberry, butterscotch and licorice. “Are you all settled in at the house?”
“That’s a way off. Tonight I’m going to start tearing apart the kitchen.” He was nodding at the display of fresh cakes and pastries under glass covers on the counter. “You’re selling desserts now.”
“The new owner wants to expand the fresh-food line,” Sandra said.
“New owner?” Riley’s eyebrows rose. “Shane Kennedy has owned this place since I was in high school. Never thought he would give up such a prime location.”
“Apparently he was offered a price he couldn’t refuse,” Sandra said. “It was all very sudden. I didn’t even know the shop was up for sale.”
The bell above the shop tinkled. A teenage boy with blond curly hair and a pretty dark-haired girl in school uniform entered holding hands.
“I’ll let you go,” Riley said to his stepmother. “Catch you later.”
“Thanks again for the cone,” Paula called.
Outside Paula lapped at the cone to stop the rapidly melting ice cream from dripping onto her hands. “It’s a bit undignified, don’t you think, for cops to be eating ice cream on the street corner?” She couldn’t conceive of doing this in her city precinct.
“The locals are used to it. But let’s go sit.” He started walking toward the grassy square and a wrought-iron bench beneath a shady gum tree.
Paula sank onto the slatted seat. For a few minutes she concentrated on her cone, enjoying the cool sweetness of the pistachio confection.
“You have a bit of ice cream…” Riley touched her nose.
She batted his hand away and fished in her pocket for a tissue. “Have I got it all?”
He pretended to scrutinize her, his eyes amused.
“Never mind.” She threw the remains of her cone in a nearby bin and wiped her fingers.
“Feeling better?” Riley was sober now.
“Yes,” she said warily.
“Good.” He looked away, at the row of shops and cafés, post office and supermarket, then at her. “Suppose you tell me what you meant by déjà vu.”
Paula stilled. Pedestrians walked through the little park but she couldn’t have said whether they were male or female, young or old. She knew Riley had picked up on her muttered comment. He came across as laid-back but he was always on alert.
“I didn’t want to say anything until I was sure…”
“Maybe I can help.”
She studied his intelligent eyes, his determined jaw, his sensitive mouth. “Maybe you can. I think I know who’s behind the crystal meth we found in the Holden.”
“Who?” Riley prompted.
“Nick Moresco, the drug lord I put in jail seven years ago.”
CHAPTER FOUR
RILEY KNEW IT, knew she’d been hiding something earlier. Her doubling over hadn’t been due to the heat but to the drug cache itself. And maybe to its discovery in Summerside. She’d gone quiet while they’d documented the haul, her mouth pulled down in a grim expression. Did she still have connections to Moresco? Was this why John was worried about her?
She was innocent until proven guilty, Riley reminded himself. “What makes you think Moresco is involved?”
Paula gripped the iron slats on either side of her knees. “He got out of prison last month.”
Riley thought about that. “Didn’t he operate out of the inner city? Why would he come all the way to the peninsula to set up shop?”
She shrugged, eyes down. “I don’t know.”
Riley was no detective but he’d been trained in interrogation techniques. He could tell when someone was lying. The rumors about Paula came to mind. She’d done something so bad that it couldn’t be talked about.
“A woman and her two children were almost wiped out today by a sleazebag shooting a light. If Moresco has something to do with the drugs in that car, and if you know something, you’d better tell me about it.”
“I can’t be positive the crystal meth came from him. I’m only speculating. But—” She glanced up. “He called me the day I started at Summerside P.D. He has my phone number. He knows where I live.”
No wonder she’d been tense. Riley lifted his cap and dragged a hand through his hair. “What did he want?”
Again she hesitated. Riley got the feeling she was choosing her words carefully.
“He…didn’t say. Maybe just to scare me. Maybe he wants revenge.” She straightened and scowled at Riley as though he were the villain. “He’d better look out before he tangles with me again.”
Riley studied her, frowning. One minute she was hesitant and uncertain, the next minute she was full of bravado. Was she hiding her own wrongdoing, laying the groundwork for a cover-up by admitting Moresco had called her? Or was she simply justifiably anxious because a drug lord was contacting her?
“Have you told John? If you’re in trouble, the police force will back you up.”
She gave him a look that was part scorn, part pity for his naivety. “Yeah, right.”
“What happened seven years ago to get you busted back to uniform?” Riley asked. “You reacted strongly to the hazing. Did you get caught pilfering drugs from the evidence room? Are you an addict?”
“No! Are you nuts? I would never do drugs.” She was really angry now. “My father was killed by a junkie while he was trying to resuscitate the man’s girlfriend.”
“Oh.” Riley sat back. “I’m sorry. Was he a doctor?”
“Paramedic.” Her shoulders squared. “I went into policing so I could bring creeps like the one who killed my dad to justice.”
“Then what did you do?” He returned to his initial question. “Why has your past followed you here?”
“I don’t talk about it. I made that clear to John. What’s done is done.”
“But it’s not, is it? Not if crystal meth is showing up in our sleepy little town because you’re living here.”
She shrank away, her face pale and drawn.
“You need me to watch your back?” Riley said. “I need to know what I’m watching out for. A soldier doesn’t go into a dangerous situation without intel. His mates wouldn’t let him.” He hardened his voice. “So what’s the story?”
“I’m not required to divulge that information to you, or anyone.” She got to her feet. “I’ve got to go. My son is waiting for me.”
Riley watched her stride off. Was she really bent, as rumor had it? Why else would she have moved from station to station? In a long, deep-cover investigation sometimes the line between good guys and bad guys blurred. Boundaries shifted, cops began to see the law from the dark side. Maybe she had money problems. A cop’s salary wasn’t that great. Undercover vice cops were vulnerable to all sorts of illegal temptations besides drug use. Taking bribes, selling drugs or protection, tampering with the evidence. She had definitely overreacted to the bag of sugar in her locker.
Was Moresco threatening her with violence if she spoke up? Paula didn’t seem like she scared easily. Or maybe it was the other way around. Maybe she’d gotten too close to Moresco.
Riley had known from the beginning that Paula wouldn’t be an easy partner. She could be abrupt, she had a giant chip on her shoulder and at times, talking to her was like chatting to the sphinx. Then there was her attitude to traffic duty. Clearly she felt it was beneath her and what a joy that was to work with.
On the other hand, she was gutsy and he liked a bit of attitude. Being a single parent couldn’t be easy, dealing with the guys at the station was a pain sometimes and she had to be disappointed that her career was at a low ebb. But she worked hard and didn’t complain—unless it was that there was too little to do.
He’d expected she’d be difficult, but he hadn’t thought she’d bring her problems to Summerside. She was his partner, yes, but if her actions violated his moral code, if he found any evidence of illegal activity on her part, either now or in the past, he was going to John, he was taking her down.
Riley pushed off the bench. She’d dodged his questions but the interrogation wasn’t over.
* * *
HOURS LATER RILEY was still mulling over the drug haul and what exactly Paula’s deal was. After she’d left he’d made a trip to the Frankston hospital hoping to question the driver of the Holden. Timothy Andrews had severe internal injuries and kept slipping in and out of consciousness. The nurse told Riley to call in the morning.
Paula thought there was a connection between Moresco and the crystal meth. What was the connection between her and Moresco? Her behavior didn’t add up. Was it merely a coincidence that Jamie must have been conceived around the time she was working on the Moresco case? Surely she was too smart, and too classy to get mixed up with a lowlife like Nick Moresco.
Hell. Why was he wasting his free time trying to figure out his partner when she so obviously intended to keep her secrets?
Instead he took out his frustrations by dismantling his kitchen. He disconnected the plumbing to the sink. The stove he’d removed to the corner of the room. There was a gaping hole where the fridge had been.
Riley levered a crowbar deep into a gap between the wall and the cabinet. Bracing his foot on the wall, he hauled on the crowbar. With an ear-piercing screech, the screws holding the unit pulled out of the wood and the cabinet shifted, buckling the ancient linoleum.
Riley staggered backward, panting, to survey his efforts. His mother’s kitchen was well and truly on its way to being destroyed. In a way it felt wrong, as if he were being disloyal to her memory. But she’d be the last person to want him to make worn cabinetry and old-fashioned appliances a shrine to her.
Damn, the pain in his right temple had started up again. His heart raced with an irregular, thready pulse. He must be breathing in too much dust. The paint was so old it might even have lead in it. He hadn’t thought of that. He could be getting brain damage.
He opened the back door and sank onto the steps. The air, cooler now it was evening, was heavy with the scent of the red roses climbing the trellis on the wall next to him. Mum had planted the rose bush the first year she and his dad had moved into the house. Riley picked up a petal and held it to his nose.
His dad and Sandra hadn’t changed much about the house and grounds over the past ten years. The huge fig tree that shaded a corner of the backyard still held remnants of the cubby house he and John had built in its branches when they were ten years old. His mum used to bring out cookies and lemonade and they’d winched them up in a bucket.
In the other corner of the yard was her gardening shed where she grew seedlings for the vegetable patch on the sunny side of the property. Smack in the middle of the grass was the rotary clothesline where she’d hung out the laundry. Summers had been cricket on the lawn, barbecues, the sound of his parents’ conversation continuing into the warm night as he lay in bed lulled to sleep by his father’s deep rumble and his mother’s soft musical laughter.
Heat pricked the back of his eyes. Part of him was grown up and practical. He recognized the value of the property and wanted to improve it, making a nice home for himself in the process. Another part of him wanted to preserve the small shabby dwelling as a time capsule, a tribute to the golden days of his youth and, yes, as a shrine to his mother.
His head throbbed harder. He let the petal in his fingers fall to the overgrown grass and pushed to his feet. He couldn’t stay a kid forever. And he didn’t have time to sit around being sentimental.
He would take a couple of painkillers and get back to work. The kitchen wasn’t going to renovate itself.
* * *
PAULA STOOD BEFORE the bathroom mirror, pinning up her hair while Jamie brushed his teeth at the sink. Nick and his crystal meth had followed her to Summerside. She couldn’t be positive he was the source but the timing was too close to be a coincidence. Was he taunting her? Trying to get her blamed for his presence in the community?
Freshly washed, her hair was slippery and unmanageable. She jammed a hairpin in only for it to pop out immediately. Already on edge, she swept the box of pins off the counter. She’d been aiming for the garbage but most of them scattered over the tile floor.
Jamie’s eyes went round at her uncharacteristic loss of control. Toothpaste foam dripping from his mouth, he crowed, “You’ve got to pick those all up.”
“Yes, sir.” She pulled her hair into an ugly ponytail, ignoring the flyaway wisps. Then crouched to retrieve the pins.
The house needed a good tidying. She picked up the book she’d been reading in the bath last night, Get Out Of Your Mind and Into Your Life. She was a sucker for self-help books, not that they ever seemed to fix her. If she could figure out what exactly her problem was, that would be half the battle. She knew where she’d gone wrong—getting involved with Nick—but not why. Until she understood that she was in danger of falling into the same trap in the future.
She put the pins in the cabinet and carried the book to the spare bedroom. There she kept her private bookshelf crammed with titles like, The Courage to Be Yourself, Women Who Worry Too Much, Get Out Of Your Own Way. But pride of place went to her sewing table and quilting materials.
A half-finished crazy quilt was spread over the table. She touched the patchwork wistfully, itching to piece a few scraps and forget about everything for a while. Ironically, quilting did for her what the books couldn’t do. Fully absorbed in sewing, she didn’t have time to dwell on herself.
She dropped Jamie off at school and went in to work early to have a chat with Patty. As well as operating Dispatch she was in charge of requisitions. Paula handed Patty a list of items she thought she and Riley would need for the investigation.
Patty looked at the list and laughed. “You’re pulling my leg.”
“No. It’s not an ambitious list. A camera, a high-powered flashlight, a dedicated laptop—”
“Half the time we don’t even have spare batteries. Most officers use their own cameras.” Patty shrugged. “The station doesn’t have the resources toward the end of the financial year.”
“I see. I’ll file this, then.” She crumpled the list and dropped it into the rubbish bin.
She started to leave then noticed her reflection in the window onto the bull pen behind Patty’s desk. Her hair was already springing out of the elastic band. Using the glass as a mirror she rearranged some hairpins. She was so focused on what she was doing she didn’t notice Riley on the other side of the glass until he rapped on it.
“Inside,” he mouthed, and jerked his head as if to tell her to get her butt in there.
What happened to Mr. Affable this morning? If she hadn’t been on unofficial probation, if Riley wasn’t the senior sergeant’s best mate, she would slap him down and put him in his place. “Gotta go. The rookie commands my presence.”
“Riley?” Patty swiveled in her seat, discreetly craning her neck. “He’s hot.”
“Is he? I hadn’t noticed,” Paula lied. She finished with her hair and jammed on her cap. Oh, yes, Riley was hot. In another world, another life, she would have been the first girl in line at his kissing booth. But since Nick, she’d learned her lesson. Compartmentalize. Trouble was, between the box surrounding her job, and the one containing her as a mother, there wasn’t any room left in her life for a romance box.
Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.
Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».
Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/joan-kilby/protecting-her-son/) на ЛитРес.
Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.
Joan Kilby
Paula Drummond is finally back on a police force. And with so much at stake–she's a single mom atoning for an almost career-ending mistake–she's not risking anything but stellar performance. That means, regardless of whatever attraction is brewing between her and her partner, Officer Riley Henning, she will not get involved.Still, working side by side with a man as hot as Riley and not giving in to temptation isn't easy. Especially when he goes above and beyond to help keep her son safe. With all that evidence piling up, it seems as though her partner on the job is destined to become her partner in bed…and maybe even in life.
Crossing the thin blue line
Paula Drummond is finally back on a police force. And with so much at stake—she’s a single mom atoning for an almost career-ending mistake—she’s not risking anything but stellar performance. That means, regardless of whatever attraction is brewing between her and her partner Officer Riley Henning, she will not get involved.
Still, working side by side with a man as hot as Riley and not giving in to temptation isn’t easy. Especially when he goes above and beyond to help keep her son safe. With all that evidence piling up, it seems as though her partner on the job is destined to become her partner in bed…and maybe even in life.
This was crazy…insane…and everything she wanted
A sweet hot rush of desire swept over Paula. She’d wanted to kiss Riley for so long. She’d held back for a whole lot of good reasons.
The reasons hadn’t gone away.
Reason itself had disappeared.
He began to undo her buttons. She pushed his hands away.
“You’re right. This is inappropriate. I’m so—”
“Don’t you dare apologize.” And to prove she had no intention of stopping, she whipped her shirt over her head.
Inappropriate or not, she didn’t care. His touch felt like heaven. His kisses were better than chocolate. She liked him, she liked what he was doing to her. And she wanted more.
She was tired of being cautious. Tired of examining every feeling to see if she should act or clamp down on her desires. Riley was an honorable man and he was hot for her. So what if they gave each other a bit of release this once? If they were adult about this, they could have sex without it interfering with their work.
Feeling his corded muscles and broad shoulders, she’d imagined what it would be like skin to skin. Now she knew, and it was good. He claimed her mouth again and rose to his feet, pulling her up with him.
“Come with me.” She took his hand and led him to her bedroom.
Dear Reader,
When my editor suggested making my hero and heroine police officers (instead of newspaper reporters) I agreed immediately. Higher stakes, more excitement—fabulous! As I began to think about the story and flesh out the characters I realized just how high the stakes could go.
What if my detective heroine Paula Drummond had a son by a drug lord she’d put in jail? What would happen when that criminal got out of jail and wanted his son? What if, by association, Paula is inadvertently responsible for hard drugs coming to her adopted town of Summerside?
That’s a lot for any woman to cope with. Paula is probably the strongest and most assertive heroine I’ve written. She needed—and deserved—a strong partner, so I created ex-Special Forces soldier, Riley Henning. Because we writers like to make life difficult for our characters, I decided Riley had to battle his own demons—post-traumatic stress disorder from his tour of duty in Afghanistan—even as he helped Paula protect her little boy, Jamie, from his criminal father.
Protecting Her Son is the fourth book set in my fictional Australian seaside town of Summerside. In it, I introduce a new set of characters with cameo appearances from old favorites. This book stands alone but expands and enriches the picture of village life in Summerside.
I love to hear from readers. Drop me a line at joan@joankilby.com or write snail mail to, c/o Harlequin Enterprises Ltd, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, CANADA, M3B 3K9. Check out my website, www.joankilby.com.
Happy reading!
Joan Kilby
Protecting Her Son
Joan Kilby
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Joan Kilby is a great believer in law and order, but like many people, gets nervous for no reason when she sees a police car following her on the highway. So it was with some trepidation that she wrote a story about a couple of cops. She felt better once she was done. Somehow the police seemed more human now that she knew them better. (Yes, she knows she’s writing fiction and these people aren’t real. They just seem that way.) Joan lives in Melbourne, Australia, with her husband and three children. She’s the law-abiding and award-winning author of more than twenty Harlequin Superromance books.
To police officers everywhere
who put their lives on the line to serve and protect the community.
Contents
CHAPTER ONE (#uf0824fc2-e8d1-59e9-8ee8-db1f62abb2cb)
CHAPTER TWO (#u139cc83c-9f87-528c-aea2-05353b3160dc)
CHAPTER THREE (#ud66eb901-8081-576d-a4f4-3124f4be7f12)
CHAPTER FOUR (#u7780d2c9-2779-505b-808f-79cf1aa80bb5)
CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE
Seven years earlier
DETECTIVE PAULA DRUMMOND’S long-legged stride through the bull pen was more of a wiggle than a walk in her tight skirt and teetering high heels. Her clinging silk blouse with plunging neckline displayed a generous cleavage.
Catcalls and wolf whistles erupted in her wake. Paula grinned, flipped up her middle finger and exaggerated her hips’ sway as she carried on to the detective sergeant’s office.
Tim Hudson’s shiny bald head was bent over his computer keyboard as he typed furiously with two fingers. Knocking once, Paula entered and lowered herself onto a guest chair. She crossed her legs, one rhinestone-studded shoe bobbing briskly. “What’s up, boss? Why did you call me in?”
Hudson hit save, leaned back and squinted at her. “Drummond, is that you? I barely recognize you.”
“That’s the idea.” Paula pushed back the blond hair streaked with mink hanging over her heavily made-up eyes. “Nick’s ready for his daily massage. He doesn’t like it when I’m late.”
She inspected her nails, kept short and blunt. Her prep for this operation had included six weeks intensive training in therapeutic massage. Once they’d learned Moresco had a chronic shoulder injury, her cover ID was a cinch.
“I wanted to know if that slimeball is pressuring you,” Hudson said. “Sexually, I mean.”
Nick Moresco was a drug lord but he liked to think of himself as a businessman. He was rich, handsome, charming, sophisticated and intelligent. He liked women. Of course he was pressuring her.
Paula shrugged. “Nothing I can’t handle.”
The detective sergeant leaned forward, his brown eyes glittering. “I hear he’s hot stuff. An Italian stallion.”
Paula met Hudson’s leer with a steady gaze. “Nick’s a criminal. Like you say, a slimeball.”
“You’re sure you’re not losing your objectivity? Horowitz is transcribing the tapes. He reckons you’re flirting with Moresco. And liking it.”
“I’m doing my job. And Horowitz wouldn’t know whether a woman was liking it if she held up an Olympic score card.” Paula picked a fleck of lint off her mini skirt. But yeah, flirting with Nick was disturbingly easy. The man had charisma.
Hudson leaned back, flicking a pencil between his fingers. “I think we should pull you off the case.”
Paula’s hand tightened on her purse strap. “This op has been going for nearly a year now. Nick’s close to making a major deal on meth production. If I suddenly quit his therapy, it’ll look suspicious. He’s always asking me questions as it is, testing me.”
“As long as you remember you’re a cop. There are lines you don’t cross.”
“Jeez, boss. What do you think I am? Nothing is going to stop me from the satisfaction of hearing those handcuffs click into place when we arrest the bastard.”
Hudson was silent for a long ten seconds, studying her. “All right. Just don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Present day
“JAMIE, ARE YOU DRESSED for school? You don’t want to be late on your first day.” Paula paused the hair dryer to listen for a reply. Across the hall in his bedroom her six-year-old son was playing with his cars.
“Vrooom! Smash! Ka-blam!”
Paula put down the dryer and went to look. Jamie was sprawled on his stomach in the middle of the carpeted floor, creating a fifteen Matchbox car pileup. He had on the school navy polo shirt, superhero underpants and one navy sock. His school shorts and the other sock were still on the bed where Paula had laid them out half an hour ago. Young for his age and easily distracted, Jamie could be a challenge.
“Look, Mum.” Jamie’s curly dark hair bounced as he made a giant plastic T. rex stomp over the wreckage.
“Right you go, mate.” She hauled him up by his armpits with him clinging to the T. rex, grabbed the shorts and helped his knobby-kneed legs into them. “You’re a great big boy in grade one. You shouldn’t need your mum to dress you.”
Jamie clamped the T. rex’s jaws around his own forearm. Through the gap where his right front tooth had been, spit sprayed as he made sound effects. “Chomp, chomp, chomp.”
“Get your other sock on,” Paula said. “And come eat breakfast.”
In the kitchen, the phone rang.
Great, another distraction. Jamie wasn’t the only one who couldn’t be late this morning. Today was her first day on the job at Summerside Police Station. She hurried down the hall, tucking her blue uniform shirt into pressed navy pants. Her hair, still only half dried, swung around her shoulders.
Paula leaned across the counter and grabbed the receiver on the fifth ring. “Hello?”
The phone went dead.
Odd. She slotted the receiver into the wall mount. Then set out a bowl of cereal and glass of milk for Jamie and dropped a couple of pieces of bread in the toaster for herself.
Back she went to the bathroom, passing Jamie in the hall carrying a plastic brontosaurus. She ruffled his hair. “Your cereal bowl is not a prehistoric swamp.”
She tied her hair back tightly and turned her head to check in the mirror for stray wisps. First impressions were important and hers had to be stellar. Busted back to uniform, she’d been transferred twice since Nick’s arrest and both times she’d copped flack from the other cops. She was tough—she could have dealt with the animosity. But the commanding officer at each station eventually moved her on, like a vagrant they wanted off their clean streets.
Well, screw them all. She was fed up with being jacked around, tired of dragging her son from town to town. It was bad enough that she was raising him on her own without a father. Now that Jamie was starting school she couldn’t be moving every couple of years.
This time things would work out. She would survive long enough at Summerside to make detective again. She jammed in a last hairpin and looked herself hard in the eye. Third time lucky.
“Mummy, your toast popped,” Jamie called, his speech garbled by a mouth full of Weetabix.
The phone rang again as she entered the kitchen. If this was one of those automated marketing programs dialing her number repeatedly…
Tucking the receiver between her ear and shoulder, she put the hot toast onto a plate, grabbed a knife and started buttering. “Hello?”
Silence.
The fine blonde hairs on Paula’s arms stood up, her fair skin pimpled. Like most cops, her number was unlisted.
“Hello,” she repeated sharply. “Who’s there?”
“Mio amore,” a silky male voice said in her ear.
Nick Moresco. The butter knife clattered from her hand onto the counter. “What do you want?” she whispered, her throat suddenly dry.
“Just to know that you are there.”
The phone went dead.
Paula fumbled the receiver onto the hook. Her gaze shot to the wall calendar. February 1. Which meant Nick had been out of jail for a month. In all the confusion of moving house, Jamie starting school and her starting a new job she’d completely forgotten.
Her stomach churning, Paula tossed her uneaten toast into the garbage. “Are you finished, Jamie? We have to go. Quickly brush your teeth.”
Jamie took one more mouthful, grabbed his brontosaurus and ran down the hall. Paula swiftly put the breakfast dishes in the dishwasher, dismayed to see her hands trembling.
Get a grip! Think. How had Nick gotten her phone number? Only a handful of people knew it—her mother, a couple of friends, Senior Sergeant John Forster at the Summerside Police Department and Jamie’s school. None of them would have given her number to a stranger.
She ran her hands over her chilled arms. Nick had ways and means that were beyond those available to ordinary folk. He had a vast network of employees, spies and bodyguards. Plus an enormous extended Italian family who were loyal to every member.
Paula spent the next ten minutes going around the small one-story house making sure every window and door was locked. She’d meant to have a deadbolt installed on the exterior door in the laundry room door but she’d had so many other things to take care of she’d put it off. Wincing, she pressed the flimsy button lock in. First chance she had…
“Ready, Mum.” Jamie stood before her, baring his gap-toothed grin to show her he’d cleaned his teeth.
Her heart melted. His freckled face was scrubbed shiny. His small shoulders were squared to bear the weight of his backpack. His Toy Story lunch box, which she’d packed the night before, was clutched tightly in his hand. He was still in his sock feet, one navy, one black, but there was no time for him to change.
“Bring me your shoes. I’ll help you with the laces.”
“I can do them myself.” Off he ran again, his lunch box banging against his side.
If Nick had found out her phone number, he could find out her address.
Paula pulled back the drapes and glanced around the quiet court. Across the street her neighbor was backing his car out of the driveway. Farther up the road some teens in the sage green and brown high school uniform were walking to school.
Jamie returned and plumped himself down on the foyer tiles. He yanked his black leather shoes over his wrinkled socks. The tip of his tongue tucked in the corner of his mouth, he concentrated on laboriously tying his laces in a bow.
“You’re doing great,” Paula said, her voice too tight to really be encouraging. “You’ve nearly got one. Do you want me to do the other?”
“Nope.” He moved on to the other shoe, his small fingers clumsily manipulating the black laces.
The phone rang again.
Paula walked slowly to the doorway to the kitchen. What did he want from her? A chill flowed over her. Jamie?
“Aren’t you going to answer it?” Jamie demanded, still struggling with his shoelaces.
Her crepe-soled shoes squeaked slightly on the tiled floor. Her heart thudded in her chest. Her hand shook as she answered the phone for the third time that morning.
“H-hello?”
“Hello, darling,” her mother said in the cheery voice she used when she wanted to settle down for a good long chat.
Paula’s knees gave way and she leaned her elbows on the counter for support. “Mum, I can’t talk now. Jamie’s school starts in ten minutes and I’m late for work. I’ll call you tonight.”
* * *
POLICE CONSTABLE RILEY HENNING opened his locker and took down his protective vest and checked over his equipment—baton, pepper spray, ammunition, handcuffs, police radio and a semi-automatic .38 Smith and Wesson—making sure every component was clean and operational.
The order and discipline, the camaraderie of the guys at the station, reminded him of the army. He liked that. He also liked that pleasant leafy Summerside, his hometown, was light years away from bleak, dusty Afghanistan.
His cell phone rang. Shift hadn’t started yet so he answered it. “Hello?”
“Dude, did you get my email about the reunion in Canberra for the ANZAC Day parade?” Gazza, his old army buddy from the Special Air Service, said. “It’s less than two months away. If you want to get a cheap airline ticket, you should book now.”
Riley sat on the bench in front of the row of lockers. He and Gazza had trained together and fought together. They were bonded as only soldiers in combat could be—like brothers. And yet he’d avoided answering that email.
“Sorry, I meant to reply but it’s been hectic. I’m in the middle of moving houses. You know how it is.”
The truth was he didn’t relish attending the annual ceremony to honor Australian soldiers. He’d been out of the SAS for nearly a year. His injuries from the suicide bomb explosion that sent him home had healed. A reunion would mean an inevitable swapping of stories, reminiscing about the dangerous and difficult tour of duty in Kabul. Maybe one day he’d be open to that, but right now he wanted to forget, to enjoy his new life.
“So are you coming?” Gazza said. “The guys are all going to be there.” He paused briefly and his voice went quiet. “We’re worried about you, dude. After the bomb explosion you disappeared—didn’t answer anyone’s emails or phone calls.”
“I’m fine.” Riley didn’t need to force the note of contentment. “Don’t worry about me. I’m healthy, happy. Glad to be back here among friends and family. Got a great job. I’m living the dream.”
“Cool.” Gazza sounded doubtful. “But if you ever want to talk about stuff, I’m here. Kabul, the explosion, it’s a lot to process by yourself.”
“To be honest, I don’t remember much about that so it doesn’t worry me—”
The door to the locker room opened. Delinsky, Crucek, and Riley’s partner, Jackson arrived. Lockers clanged. Laughter and boisterous talk rang out.
“Gaz, I’m going to have to call you back sometime. Shift is starting.”
“Okay. But you think about ANZAC Day.”
“Sure.” Riley said goodbye and hung up. He turned his phone off and put it away. Then he strapped on his vest, adjusting it so the weight settled evenly over his torso.
“You’re always here first, Henning. Did you even go home last night?” Jackson, his partner, said good-naturedly. “What do you do with your time?”
Jackson was forty-three-years old and comfortably married with the beginnings of a paunch and a receding hairline. No doubt he spent his evenings happily watching TV with his family.
“I did some target practice at the shooting range last night, if you really want to know.” Riley closed his locker and spun the combination lock. “This morning I got up at six and went for a run. Early bird gets the perp. Anything else?”
“Guys, I’m starting a football pool.” Crucek straddled the bench with a clipboard in hand. With his large nose, carroty hair and mottled complexion, he was no male model. “Who’s in?”
“Put me down,” Riley said.
“Me, too.” Delinsky, who had blond good looks and a buff body Jackson and Crucek could only envy, was stripped down to his boxers. “The new cop starts today. I saw her in John’s office as I came in.”
“I wonder which of us lucky stiffs will get her as partner.” Jackson pulled on a starched navy short-sleeve police shirt.
“Better not be me,” Riley said. “I hear she’s trouble.”
Rumors had been flying about this woman for weeks that she was bent. Until her fall from grace seven years ago she’d been a hotshot detective at the Melbourne Police Department. Her infraction, related to her final investigation, a covert drug bust, was apparently so serious it was never made public. No one knew exactly what she’d done but they all agreed it had to be bad.
“I’ll take her.” Delinsky combed his hair in front of the mirror. “She’s a babe. You should see her ass.”
The door opened and Senior Sergeant John Forster entered. “Delinsky, I hope you weren’t referring to our new recruit in such crass manner. These walls aren’t soundproof.”
John Forster was tall, with a swimmer’s shoulders and sun-streaked blond air. He might look like a surfer dude but he commanded the men’s respect.
Delinsky wiped the leer off his face. “No, boss.”
“Listen up, men.” John looked to each in turn.
Jackson hastily tucked in his shirt. Crucek rose from the bench and put his clipboard with the footy pool in his locker. Even Riley, who’d been best mates with John since high school, came to attention.
“I want to go over the new roster,” John said. “Jackson, from today you’re partnered with Crucek. Delinsky, Stan Grant is switching from night shift to partner you. You boys okay with that?”
The men exchanged glances then nodded. But Riley knew no one liked a shake-up, least of all him. He was a little pissed, to tell the truth. Over the past six months he’d gotten to know Jackson, liked and respected him. He’d expected they’d be partners for a good long time. Now the stability and continuity he craved since getting out of the army had been ripped away.
John turned to Riley. “Come with me. I’ll introduce you to your new partner, Paula Drummond.”
A chorus of whoops and jeers from all but Riley met this news. John cleared his throat pointedly and the noise died down. “Dismissed.”
The men went about the business of getting ready to go on duty. Riley followed John out to the bull pen, an open area of desks, computers, photocopiers and filing cabinets. Over in Dispatch, red-haired Patty answered the telephone with her distinctive Irish lilt. A couple of admin staff were talking by the copier.
“Why me?” Riley asked as he and John wove through the desks to John’s office on the far side of the bull pen. “I’m the new guy on the block.”
“Our new recruit has had a rough road over the past seven years,” John said. “She’s had trouble fitting in. I picked you because you get along well with people. I want you to turn on the charm. Make her feel welcome.”
Riley was tempted to play the friendship card and ask to stay with Jackson. But he’d been trained to follow orders, to put on his soldier face and say yes, boss. Still, he couldn’t resist a dig. “So this is my reward for being Mr. Nice Guy? Thanks, mate.”
John glanced around to make sure they weren’t being overheard. No one was paying attention. “I also want you to keep an eye on her. This is strictly off the record. I know I can trust you to be discreet.”
Riley considered that. John trusted him with extra responsibility—good. But having to watch another cop for wrong-doing? Bad. Who wanted a partner who wasn’t straight up? “Are you afraid that whatever she did, she’ll do again?”
“I’m not going to prejudge her. But I have the integrity of this station to consider. My attitude is welcoming but cautious.”
“What’s the deal with her anyway? What kind of wrong turn did she take?” Riley didn’t have a lot of time for people who screwed up professionally. In the army, if you screwed up, people could die.
“I wasn’t given the details. She doesn’t talk about her past. She’s a single mum with a young son who wants to start fresh. We’re going to give her a fair go. You probably won’t be with her for long. She applied for detective and sat the exams at her last station. Most likely she’ll get the promotion and be out of your hair in a few weeks. Okay?”
“Who’s in charge, her or me?” Going from leading a platoon to being a beat cop meant Riley had taken a step down, career-wise. For the moment he was okay with that but he liked to know where he stood.
“She’s got years more experience. But you’ve been with the department longer.” John mulled it over. “Let’s just say you’re equal partners.”
“Suits me.”
Riley passed young rookie Simon Peterson seated at a computer laboriously typing out a report, and gave him a commiserating grin. The endless paperwork of police work was annoying. But the Summerside force was a good place—too small for corruption to flourish the way it did in some of the big city stations. Riley felt at home here. And he liked working with a small team of dedicated people who believed in what they were doing.
Which begged the question, how was he going to believe in what he was doing partnered with a cop who might not be trustworthy? He and this woman were supposed to be equal and yet he was being asked to keep an eye on her. How did he do that and still develop the bond of trust he needed to do his job?
The more he thought about it, the more distasteful he found his situation. He didn’t blame John, who was only trying to do what was best for the station. No, it was Paula Drummond who had gotten herself in trouble. There was no smoke without a fire, as the saying went. And now he had to compromise his integrity for her.
Inside John’s office, a woman in uniform stood with her back to them, gazing through the partially open blinds at the main street of the village. She was tall and athletic-looking with her blonde hair pinned tightly back. Her stance appeared casual but for the rigid set of her shoulders and her white-knuckled grip on the window ledge.
Outside, the morning rush hour was in full swing. Riley guessed there must be, oh, four or five cars backed up at the town’s only set of traffic lights. It was a typical morning in late summer—shoppers going about their business, newly-liberated mums having coffee in the sidewalk cafés, seniors gossiping on the wrought-iron benches beneath shady trees. Nothing Riley could see that would cause the new recruit to be so tense.
Hearing their footsteps she turned. She had blue eyes with enough crinkle at the corners to suggest she’d seen everything yet still found humor in life, an assertive nose and full lips lightly glossed. Riley schooled himself not to react. Delinsky was right. She was hot. Put a dress on her, let her hair down, and she’d be right…kissable. Not that he’d ever get busy with a coworker. He happened to agree with the unspoken rule that cops didn’t screw their partners—in any sense of the word.
John made the introductions. A phone call interrupted and he excused himself to take it. His murmured conversation faded into the background.
Riley nodded to Paula, extending his hand. “G’day.”
Her gaze took in the rank on his uniform. “A rookie. Excellent.” Not, her blue eyes added silently. Her firm grasp brought a jolt of awareness, a primal zing of flesh on flesh he wasn’t expecting.
“An ex-detective,” he replied with subtle emphasis. He squeezed hard, feeling the softness of the skin on the backs of her fingers. “I’m sure you can teach me a lot.”
Riley had never gotten into a pissing contest with a woman before, especially not a woman this attractive. It kind of threw him. Those eyes that had his stomach in free fall contrasted oddly with a bone-crushing handshake. They were still eyeing each other warily when John finished his call.
“All acquainted?” John walked around his desk and headed for the door. “Let’s introduce Paula to the gang.”
“After you.” Riley gestured to Paula. Despite his good intentions his gaze dropped to the trim round butt encased in snug navy trousers. Again, Delinsky was right. She had a great ass.
Eyes front, solider. Paula Drummond would probably pull out her gun and shoot him if he made a pass.
John summoned Delinsky, Jackson, Crucek and Grant who were hanging around the coffee machine, waiting to go out on patrol. The guys checked her out covertly while they said all the nice things, like welcome and glad to have you aboard.
“Delinsky and Grant, follow up the liquor-store break-in,” John said, moving on to the morning debrief. “Jackson and Crucek, you’re liaising with Frankston P.D. on the new drug task force. Detectives Leonard and Cadley will meet with you at ten o’clock. Drummond and Henning, you’re on traffic patrol.”
The crew began to disperse.
“Excuse me, boss,” Paula said. “I’ve had extensive experience in large-scale covert drug investigations.”
“I’m aware of that, Constable,” John said evenly. “The bend on the highway after you exit the village is a good spot to set up the radar.”
Paula’s wide mouth tightened. “I only meant, if the team wanted to make use of my expertise—”
“Thanks, we’ll keep that in mind.” John nodded a dismissal and went to his office.
At the counter in Dispatch, Riley signed out a patrol car. Patty picked the keys off the Peg-Board and tossed them in Riley and Paula’s general direction. Riley raised his hand to catch them. Paula snatched them out of the air.
“So, it’s going to be like that, is it?” Riley said, teasing.
“Like what?” She gave him a blank stare.
Hadn’t even been aware she was taking control. Okay, he could be magnanimous. “You can drive.”
* * *
PAULA PROPPED AN ELBOW on the car window ledge and stared at the highway. They were parked behind a large ti tree, radar gun mounted on the dash. Nearly two hours had passed without them collaring a single speeder. During that time her partner had chatted endlessly, trying to draw her out. Normally she wouldn’t be quite so uncommunicative. After all she had to work with this guy and she couldn’t afford to put anyone off—but she couldn’t stop thinking about Nick Moresco’s phone call.
Just to know you are there. What had he meant by that? Was he planning something? Did he know about Jamie? She hadn’t been showing when she’d given evidence at the hearing and by the time the case had gone to trial she’d given birth. But Nick had spies everywhere. It gave her shivers to think he might know where she lived, where Jamie went to school…
“How long have you lived in Summerside?” Riley passed her the thermos of coffee they’d filled at a local café.
“Sorry? Oh, less than a month.” She dug out her cup wedged next to her on the seat and filled it.
“You’re going to love it here. John said you had a kid. Boy or girl?”
“Boy.”
Riley crossed his arms behind his head and leaned back. “Summerside is a terrific place to raise children. Parks, the beach, trails through the bush…loads of places for your son to explore.”
Isolated areas where a small boy on his own could be snatched. “You don’t have children, do you?”
“Me? Nah. I’d like to someday,” Riley said. “I’ve been too busy till now but I’m ready to settle down. I’m moving into my childhood home this weekend now that my father and stepmother bought a unit close to the village. They haven’t done much to the old place over the years so I’m planning to renovate…”
Paula tuned out. He was probably trying to put her at ease but the constant stream of words was making her more uptight. What was she going to do about Nick? There was nothing she could do until he made another move.
If he made another move.
Riley had stopped talking. He seemed to be waiting for a response from her.
“Sorry, I missed that last bit.”
“You’re not one for chitchat, are you?”
“I’m worried about my son,” she admitted guardedly. “It’s his first day of school.”
“How old is he? My sister Katie teaches at the primary school.”
“He’s in grade one.” She’d met Jamie’s teacher briefly. Now that she knew Katie Henning and Riley were related she swiveled to study him more closely, noting his dark hair, dark eyes and rugged features. Her gaze lingered a moment on his sensual mouth. Something tugged deep inside, desires half-forgotten, wishes unfulfilled. Nope, not going there. “I can see a family resemblance. Your sister, huh?”
“There, you see? I knew we could find something in common.” Riley leaned against his door, as if settling in for a long chat. “What’s your son’s name?”
“Jamie.” She lifted the cup to her mouth, conscious a second later she was exposing her bare ring finger. Sure enough, Riley had noticed—and quickly looked away. For crying out loud, it was the twenty-first century. If there was one thing in her life she wasn’t ashamed of, it was giving birth to her son. “I’ve never been married.” She hoped her cool tone would deter further questions.
Riley’s hand shot up. “Hey, it’s none of my business. Live and let live.”
“You’re older than most rookies,” Paula said, turning the conversation away from herself. “What did you do before you joined the police force?”
“I was a bouncer at a nightclub in Frankston.”
“A bouncer,” she repeated dubiously. Riley was tall and strongly built, in his mid- to late-thirties. His skin had the deeply tanned look of someone who’d spent a lot of time outdoors. Bouncers usually looked pasty, as though they’d crawled out from a cave. She doubted he’d worked nights long term. “Before that?”
He faced forward again, turning his gaze away from her. “Special Air Services Regiment.”
Her eyebrows rose. Impressive. “Were you deployed overseas?”
“I was in Kabul.” It might have been a trick of the dappled light flickering through the ti tree, but a shadow seemed to cross over Riley’s face.
Before she could ask another question, he smiled easily. “So, what sports do you like?”
Maybe they did have something in common. He didn’t like to talk about his past, either.
“I used to play basketball—”
A school bell chimed in the distance. She glanced at her watch. Lunch hour was over. She imagined the kids filing into class. Had Jamie made any friends? Had he eaten the sandwich she’d packed for him?
What if Nick showed up at the school?
Paula shifted restlessly. “I don’t know how much more of this thrilling police work I can handle.” She fiddled with the radar gun settings. “Is this thing even working?”
Riley let a beat go by. “Why are you so tense? I noticed that back at the station. Is something wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong. I’m not tense.” Tapping the steering wheel, Paula watched the curve in the road.
What if Nick was driving down this highway? He always obeyed the speed limit so he didn’t get pulled over. That could be him coming toward her right now, in that black sedan, and she wouldn’t know. She felt for her gun, snug and reassuring in its holster.
“We’re partners,” Riley said. “Partners are supposed to bond. That means opening up to each other, getting to know and trust each other. Be friendly.”
“All we need to know is that when the going gets tough, we have each other’s back.” Turning to face him, she leaned forward a little, gripping the steering wheel. “Can I? Can I count on you?”
Riley drew back, shaking his head. “Lady, you are tense.”
A bright red Ferrari screamed past so fast the draft shook the patrol car and rattled the branches of the ti tree.
“Finally, some action.” Paula locked in the clocked speed on the radar gun and started the car engine. “Let’s get this jerk.”
CHAPTER TWO
RILEY STACKED HIS guitar case on top of a box of kitchen stuff and carried it from his car up the gravel driveway to the single story weatherboard home. Purple bougainvillea trailed over the veranda, annuals bloomed in loamy beds next to the house.
He set the box on the wood floor in the entry hall and went exploring. It felt weird, walking through the empty rooms. So many years had gone by since he’d lived here, so many changes in both himself and his family. Mum had passed, his father remarried…
The living room was smaller than he remembered, the dining room, tiny. He would need to knock a few walls out. He wandered in and out of his old room, Katie’s room, the master bedroom, peeked into the bathroom, then went down the hall to the kitchen, the center of their family life. At least it had been while his mother was alive.
On the doorframe of the laundry room were the incremental marks where Dad had measured his and Katie’s growth. God, had he ever been that short? He twisted his head sideways to look at the dates.
One stood out from the rest.
The year Mum died he’d been twelve years old, and five foot six inches tall.
There was a big gap after that, as if normal activities had ceased for a time. Riley dragged his gaze away.
The old-fashioned kitchen looked exactly as he remembered. White-painted cupboards, worn linoleum, green-tiled walls up to shoulder height, then yellow paint above that. It was cramped, not enough counter space.
You’d never know a professional cook had worked there. His mother’s weekdays had been spent testing recipes and typing up notes for her next cookbook, her electric typewriter all but lost among the clutter on the counter while two or three pots bubbled on the stove. Her brown hair would be tied back, her brow lightly creased in concentration as she tasted, adding a bit of this or that, then tasted again.
Riley especially loved the dessert section of Mary Henning’s healthy-lifestyle cookbooks. The red ceramic cookie jar was always full when he came home from school. He’d grab a handful of oatmeal and raisin cookies then run outside to play cricket or footy with his mates.
He glanced at the mark on the doorframe and ran his thumb across it, feeling the indentation of the pen in the soft wood. The beginnings of a headache stabbed his right temple.
Why hadn’t he hung around and talked to her more often, just for a few minutes? She’d always stop what she was doing when he or Katie came into the room, ready to chat or give tastings. It pained him to think how he’d brushed her off. He’d give anything now to be able to ask how her day was, if her work was going well. To hear the sound of her voice.
A lump formed in his throat, making swallowing difficult. Kids didn’t think like that, though. At twelve he’d thought his mum would be around forever.
“Riley?” Katie called through the open front door. She’d followed him from his rental unit in her car.
“In the kitchen.” Riley blinked rapidly. Jeez, any minute now he’d break down and cry like a girl.
Katie carried in a box of dishes. To help him move she’d worn old jeans and a shirt with the sleeves rolled up, her dark hair swinging in a ponytail.
“Dad and Sandra just pulled up. The moving truck isn’t far behind—” She set the box on the floor. “Hey, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” But he and his little sister were close. She always knew what he was thinking.
Katie’s gaze swept over the kitchen. Her arm stole around his waist. Softly she said, “It almost feels as if Mum’s still here.”
Riley cleared his throat. “This room is too poky. I think I’ll knock this wall down between the kitchen and dining room.” He swept a hand across as if waving a magic wand. “New appliances, new flooring, the works. What do you think?”
“It’s your place now.” Katie gave him a one-armed hug. “Do what you want.”
“Are you sure? By rights, you should get half the house.”
“I’m happy with my little cottage. I—I couldn’t live here.”
The catch in her voice wasn’t only about their mother. Katie had gotten breast cancer in her early twenties and come home to live while undergoing treatment—and to nurse her broken heart after John had abandoned her.
“But I’m glad you’re here,” Katie said. “I think Mum would have liked knowing one of us, at least, was still living in the family home. She was so much a part of this place, especially the kitchen.”
“Yeah. Moving in is a bit more emotional than I expected.” Riley sucked in a breath. “Let’s get the rest of the load.” He led the way back through the dining room. “How was the first day of school?”
“The children are so gorgeous. I know, I say that every year but it’s true. Grade one is such a cute age.”
“My new partner has a kid in your class. Small world, huh? Her name is Paula Drummond.”
“Drummond…” Katie frowned, thinking. “I haven’t got all the names memorized yet. Boy or girl?”
“Boy.”
“Ah, Jamie. He’s sweet.”
Riley hauled a box out of the trunk of his car and placed it in Katie’s arms then picked up his army boot locker.
“I’m planning our annual bike safety lesson,” Katie said as they went inside. “Do you know who at the station will be doing it this year?”
“Not a clue.”
“Well, since your partner’s son is in my class and you’re my brother, what if you two did it? What do you think?”
Riley didn’t particularly want to spend any more time than necessary with uptight Paula and since events like the bike safety lesson were usually conducted on their own time, this was a particularly unwelcome idea. But he didn’t like letting his little sister down. “Sure, that sounds like fun.”
Katie beamed at him. From this angle with her oval face framed by long black hair, and her green eyes, she reminded him of someone… . A stab of pain made him wince. He pressed his fingers to his temple.
“Are you all right?” Katie asked, pausing in the foyer. “You went pale all of a sudden.”
“A bit of a headache. I’m fine.” Outside, a car door shut. “I think the others have arrived.”
His dad’s white Ford sedan was parked at the curb. Then a truck rumbled to a halt, its air brakes hissing. Barry Henning’s voice carried as he issued instructions to the driver backing up the narrow curving driveway.
“How did you accumulate enough stuff to fill a moving van in less than a year?” Katie said.
Riley leaned against the veranda post. “Imagine a man living out of a footlocker for ten years. Then imagine him moving into his own home, even if it’s just a two-bedroom rental unit. A trip to the home furniture store is like taking a kid to a candy shop.”
“Hey, you two.” Sandra, their stepmother, came across the lawn, avoiding the truck. Her gray-blonde hair was softly waving, her smile big and bright. She presented Riley a casserole dish. “Your mother’s famous chicken cacciatore. You won’t have time to cook today.”
“Thanks.” He gave her a peck on the cheek. “You shouldn’t have.”
He exchanged a furtive grimace with Katie. Since she married their father Sandra had taken up cooking out of their mother’s cookbooks. It was nice of her, but in her hands the recipes didn’t always turn out—to put it mildly.
“Save that for another time,” Barry ordered, striding up onto the porch. His gray hair and moustache were regulation army length, his carriage erect. “We’ll order pizza after we get him moved in.”
“Yes, sir, Major Dad.” Katie saluted. She gave Sandra a wink.
“We’ve eaten out twice already this week.” Sandra was briefly crestfallen. Then she put on a brilliant smile. “Never mind, I’ll tuck this in the fridge.” She carried the casserole into the house.
One of the moving men trundled the first dolly-load—a walnut dresser—to the steps. “Where do you want this?”
“Right this way.” Riley led them into his house, rubbing his aching temple. What was up with the headache? He rarely got them and then only when he occasionally drank too much. There weren’t even any painkillers in his belongings. But the pain was nothing compared to what he’d experienced in Afghanistan. He would soldier on.
* * *
“MORNING, PATTY,” Paula called out as she passed Dispatch on Monday morning. The young Irish woman waved.
After the phone calls last week, Nick had gone quiet. When Paula had arrived home that night with Jamie, her house had been exactly as she’d left it, every door and window locked and untampered with. It should have reassured her. Instead, all weekend she’d been jumpy, obsessively checking over her shoulder, looking for Nick’s face in the crowd, keeping Jamie in sight as they wandered through the monthly outdoor market in the village.
She wasn’t naive enough to think Nick had gone away. He seemed to be biding his time, trying to make her nervous. What did he want from her? Did he hate her for betraying him? Did he want revenge?
Or did he want Jamie?
This morning she’d called Sally, Jamie’s afterschool caregiver, and asked her to be at the school at 3:00 p.m. on the dot. Then Sally’s toddler started crying and the other woman had to go. This afternoon, when Paula picked up Jamie, she needed to have a proper talk with Sally.
She found a desk and a spare computer and got caught up on paperwork, working steadily for an hour before her shift started. She and Riley were supposed to be equal partners but from things the guys said she’d deduced he was the boss’s best bud. And even though she was senior in years on the force, her past tainted her. She didn’t know if it was her imagination or her insecurities showing but she had the uncomfortable feeling that Riley was watching her every move, waiting for her to slip up. Well, she would show him. She would show everyone. She would work twice as hard as any one of them.
John came through the door heading for his office. He carried an athletic bag with a beach towel stuffed inside and his hair was damp. His early morning ocean swims were legend around the station.
“Excuse me, boss. Can I have a quick word?”
“Sure.” He glanced at her computer and at the clock. “You know we don’t have the budget for overtime, don’t you?”
“I know.” She saved her report and rose to follow him. “I hate getting behind on the report writing.”
“The trouble with policing today isn’t the crime, it’s the paperwork.” He opened his office door and flung his bag in the corner. “What can I do for you?”
“I wondered if you’ve heard anything from District Headquarters about my application to detective.”
It was too early to be asking about a promotion but chances were Moresco would revert to his old ways. She didn’t know if she’d be allowed to work on any case that involved him but if she was, she wanted to be ready. This time she would take him down for good. She couldn’t do that sitting on the side of the road working a radar gun.
“I reviewed your application when you joined Summerside,” John said. “Your qualifications are excellent.”
She studied his face, trying to decide if he genuinely supported her career ambitions or if he was like her previous commanding officers, letting her put in time till she could be sent on her way. “But?”
“All promotions are on hold due to budget cutbacks.” His expression was open and frank. “Funding cuts have been looming for some time but the memo came yesterday afternoon. The economy dips and the government tightens up on new spending. I’m sorry. There’s nothing I can do.”
Paula struggled to hide her disappointment. She believed him about the budget cuts but she’d been burned before and she wanted to know where she stood with him. “This knockback doesn’t have anything to do with my past, does it?”
“I know very little about your past.” John’s gaze was steady, inviting her to open up to him.
The silence stretched. Sounds of the outside office filtered through the door. Her fists balled on her thighs. What did he expect her to say? Did her future at Summerside depend on whether she told him her history right this minute? It sucked that her career still hung on one stupid choice she’d made years ago.
She could see his point of view. John didn’t know those days were over, but she’d be a fool to expose herself in case he had some discretionary spending or the economy turned around. He sure as hell wouldn’t be in a hurry to promote her if he knew what she’d done. But she wouldn’t whine that she’d learned her lesson. She would have to bust her hump and prove to him she deserved her detective stripes. If that meant taking Nick down on her own time, so be it.
Speaking of Nick, should she tell John that Moresco had contacted her? Not yet. Not till she knew what Nick wanted. She was in no hurry to associate herself with that loser. No, the past was still a closed subject.
“I should go finish my report before shift.” She rose. “Boss.”
Paula walked over to the coffee machine, nodding at bleary-eyed officers from night duty on their way home. Third-time lucky? Ha. She’d been dreaming. She stirred cream into her cup and took a sip, taking a moment to collect herself.
She checked the big wall clock over the copy machine. Almost time to hit the locker room—a daily ordeal she hoped would pass if and when she became accepted. The station was so small she was the only female cop. That in itself showed how far she’d dropped since she’d been part of a big bustling city station, in charge of her own vice unit and leading a major undercover drug investigation. Add in the fact that she had to share locker space with the guys and Summerside P.D. started to look more like a boys’ outdoor camp than a fully fledged police department. Mind you, she would never say such a thing to John who was proud of his little band of brothers.
But she was a big girl; she could handle the arrangement. It was the guys who seemed to have a problem with it. Whether they resented her for disrupting their routine or they simply didn’t like her, she had no idea.
Take the issue of changing into their uniform at work. Jackson was on the pudgy side and self-conscious. He waited until she left the room to get dressed. Crucek grumbled and turned his back as he quickly shucked his civvies. Delinsky obviously worked out and thought he was hot stuff. He liked to parade around bare-chested, flaunting his sculpted body at her. In your dreams, mate. She didn’t go for that over-developed look. Or the leering attitude.
Riley was the odd one out. Every morning he was there when she arrived, already fully kitted out. She might have thought he slept in his uniform except that it was always immaculately cleaned and pressed.
Sighing, she set her dirty cup by the sink. Time to man up.
“Morning, gentlemen,” she proclaimed loudly as she pushed open the door and stepped inside.
“Morning.” Riley was seated at the table, shining his already spit-polished shoes.
Despite the fact they hadn’t exactly hit it off the first week, he was a prime example of a good cop. Always professional, always smartly decked out, every detail of his uniform top notch. He was good looking, too, since she was noticing. His shoulders filled out his shirt nicely and the fabric of his pants stretched over long thigh muscles. Smarten up, Drummond. Mind on your job. The last time she’d given in to an inappropriate attraction it had cost her her career.
Instead of greeting her, Delinsky, Jackson and Crucek retreated to the far side of the room and began whispering like teenage girls. Normally she ignored their behavior—she had bigger things to worry about than guys acting goofy—but since Nick’s phone calls her control was stretched thin.
She twirled the combination lock. “So much for my high hopes of working with men instead of boys.”
More giggles.
It sucked being the new person. But she was damned if she would let the guys think their treatment bothered her or that she was going to kiss their collective asses.
Paula swung her locker door open. A plastic bag containing white crystals fell onto the floor. She jumped. In the background excited whispers rose in volume. Slowly she bent to pick up the ziplock bag. Her stomach turned over.
“Hey, watcha got there?” Crucek swaggered forward and took the bag from her hand. “Lookie here, guys. Our new constable is into drugs.”
“Don’t be an idiot!” She made a swipe for the bag but Crucek whipped it out of her reach, holding it high so she would have had to jump to get it.
Delinsky and Jackson crowded around. “Does Sergeant Forster know about this?” Jackson said, eyes wide. “Maybe we ought to get him in here. Let him know what his new constable has been up to.”
“Screw you.” What the hell was this about? Were they teasing? Was this a lame joke because she was a woman or because she was new? She should laugh it off but she couldn’t find her sense of humor.
“We know about you,” Delinsky crowed.
How could they know about her past? That was supposed to be a secret. Was she imagining the menace in Delinsky’s voice? Were they trying to get rid of her? Whatever they knew, or thought they knew, would they tell John? If so, there went any hope of her promotion, if not her job.
“Nothing to know.” Her voice was too loud, bouncing off the pale green walls. “Piss off, jerks, and let me get ready for work. Shift is about to start.”
“We think there’s plenty to know, don’t we guys?” Crucek glanced around for support and received grunts of assent and nodding heads.
Had Nick gotten to them? No, that was plain paranoid. She swallowed. Wasn’t it?
They had her surrounded, Crucek and Jackson in front, Delinsky’s hot breath on the back of her neck. These men were supposed to be her coworkers, her support system. Yet at this moment she felt that if she showed any weakness they would tear her apart like a pack of wolves.
“Back. Off.” She spoke more forcefully, spinning to snap at Delinsky. “You, too, hotshot.”
Jackson took a step closer. As if by agreement, the others did, too. “We don’t like bent cops.”
“Do you know what happens to bent cops?” Crucek sneered.
Paula scowled, adrenaline rushing through her body, making her feel sick. Her heart was beating so loudly she could barely hear them. She had a crazy urge to pull out her gun and start firing. Maybe that’s what they wanted, for her to lose control.
Riley rose and walked over. Although he was junior to the others he had a battle-hardened air that gave him an innate authority. “Give me that.” He reached between Jackson and Crucek and yanked away the plastic bag. He held it up to the light, turned it this way and that.
Paula clenched her fists. If her partner was in on the plot to break her, she would never forgive him. If she was found in possession of drugs, all her credibility was gone. Whatever the guys’ motivation was, this had the potential to hurt her. Badly.
Riley opened the bag and shook a large irregular crystal into his palm. He brought his hand to his mouth and took a lick. Ran the taste around in his mouth. “Rock sugar. The kind some people put in their coffee.”
Sugar. Relief flooded her, weakening her knees. She hadn’t been set up with real drugs. They didn’t know anything. No one was out to get her. Nick hadn’t infiltrated the station. John wouldn’t find out about her past.
The men erupted in roars of laughter.
Jackson slapped her on the back. “We got you good, Drummond!”
“Welcome to Summerside P.D.” Crucek had tears in his eyes from laughing so hard.
“You’re a good sport.” Delinsky grinned and squeezed her arm.
The men drifted away, still crowing. “She took it so seriously.” “Did you see her expression?” “I could hardly keep a straight face.”
Paula stood where she was, trembling and trying not to show it. Bloody bastards thought they were so clever. She’d love to give them a dose of their own medicine. But she didn’t dare, not with even a faint possibility of her detective stripes dangling in front of her. She had to keep on the straight and narrow, regardless of how much she’d like to grind these backwoods amateur cops into the dirt.
Riley took her arm and led her to the bench, gently pushed her onto it. He sat beside her and put a hand on her shoulder. “It was just a joke.”
She shook off his hand, turning her pent-up fury on him. “Stay out of it. I can fight my own battles.”
“They hid my gun the first week I was here,” Riley went on as though she hadn’t bitten his head off. “I thought I’d lost it. I was shitting myself. Idiot that I was, I didn’t even get that they were hazing me. They waited until I wrote up a missing-equipment report and was about to give it to John before they brought out my revolver from wherever they’d hidden it.”
“What did you do?” Paula asked. Was there a way to get even without cost to her? Doubtful. She knew how hazing worked. If you got mad, you were a poor sport. If you tried to get even, the jokes escalated.
“Nothing. There’s nothing you can do. But it’s not so bad here in Summerside. I’ve seen army squadrons where newcomers are hazed for months. But these guys will do it only once. They called you a good sport—after today you won’t have to worry about them.” Riley paused. “You did take it awfully seriously.” He waited, as if for an explanation.
“I was never treated like that in my other units.” She didn’t mention the moving of files, the swapping of her hat for one three sizes too big. But those pranks happened years ago, when she was a rookie. This seemed malicious. Or was she being overly sensitive? “Were you in on it?”
“No. I’m not a fan of practical jokes.” Riley drew a thumbnail along the grain of the bench, making a shallow crease in the wood. “I don’t think they meant to upset you. Maybe they inadvertently hit close to the bone.” He searched her face. “Did they?”
Really? He wanted her to cozy up and confide in him? Think again, mate. He might be handsome and sexy and professional and a whole lot of things she admired, but they had a job to do and that’s where their connection ended. Besides, she’d rather do a month of solid paperwork than trust someone she’d just met with her past.
Paula got to her feet. She unclenched her fingers and felt the blood flow into them. “Shouldn’t we be out on traffic patrol, nailing speeders?”
Riley continued to regard her with that measured gaze. She shifted edgily, twisting her cap. Finally he rose and tipped a sardonic finger to his brow. “Okay. Partner.”
* * *
PAULA KNOCKED ON THE open classroom door, arriving for her parent-teacher interview. The walls were lined with brightly colored student artwork. Tables, not desks, were used for seating. At the back of the room beanbags formed a reading circle next to the bookshelf. Her new job might be less than she’d hoped for but at least for Jamie the atmosphere was warm and welcoming.
Katie Henning, seated at her desk, glanced at her schedule. “You must be Paula, Jamie’s mum. Please come in.”
“It’s nice to have a parent-teacher meeting early in the year,” Paula said, taking a seat. Katie had her brother’s dark hair, high cheekbones and sculpted mouth. But instead of dark brown eyes, Katie’s were pale green.
“We like to get parents involved in their child’s education right from the start.” Katie leafed through the stack of folders on her desk. “I’ve got some of Jamie’s work to show you.”
“We have someone else in common besides Jamie,” Paula said. “Your brother, Riley.”
“I know, he told me.” Katie pulled a folder with Jamie Drummond written across the top. “I asked Riley if you two would give my class a lesson in bike safety. Would you be up for that? I’ll bet your son would be thrilled to show off his mum, the cop.”
Paula wasn’t sure she wanted to draw attention to Jamie being her son. But she guessed if Nick were going to find out about the boy, he would do so regardless of a bike safety talk. “That sounds fine.”
“We’ll schedule it in a few weeks, when the kids have settled in.” Katie smiled. “Jamie’s a lovely boy.”
Katie probably said that to all the parents but Paula couldn’t help feel a rush of maternal pride. “He’s enjoying school. Is it too early to ask how he’s doing in class?”
“He’s adjusting well, playing with the other children. Judging from his drawings he has excellent fine motor skills.”
“So you have no concerns at this point?”
“There is one thing. The other day I asked the children to draw pictures of their parents’ occupations. He depicted you in a police uniform. All good there.” Katie removed a drawing from Jamie’s folder and passed it across the desk. “But is his father really an astronaut?”
Paula pressed her fingers to her mouth at the cartoon-like figure of a man in a space suit. Poor Jamie. School activities and interacting with other students would inevitably highlight his lack of a father. She’d tried to prepare him but she couldn’t foresee every contingency.
“I’m sorry. I should have spoken to you about Jamie’s father before.”
“You can tell me now,” Katie said. “This meeting is for parents and teachers to talk about any issues or special problems.”
“Jamie’s never met his father. N-Nicholas and I separated before Jamie was born. He isn’t an astronaut. He’s…a businessman,” she lied, choosing her words carefully. “He’s not in our lives. Never has been and never will be. I have full custody. I’ve provided a copy of the court order to the school office. If Jamie’s father were ever to come to Summerside, he’s not to have any contact with Jamie. That’s extremely important. No contact. At all.”
“We have a couple of students where custody is an issue,” Katie said. “Jamie’s not alone there.”
Paula doubted her son’s situation was remotely similar to the other pupils’. She didn’t want to be one of those overprotective helicopter mothers hovering over her child, but Nick’s re-emergence had spiked her sense of vulnerability. She gripped her purse as Katie once again leafed through Jamie’s folder.
“Ah, yes. I see you’ve noted on his information sheet that you, Karen Drummond and Sally Leeds are the only people authorized to pick him up from school.”
“Karen is my mother. Sally is Jamie’s after-school caregiver,” Paula explained. “I’ve spoken to her about the situation. Sally’s very reliable. But in the event that she’s late, what safeguards are in place to prevent someone else taking Jamie before she gets here?”
“A teacher is always on duty outside at the front of the school at home time,” Katie said. “With so many students it’s difficult to ensure each child goes with the correct adult. It’s up to the authorized person picking up to get there on time.”
“As I said, Sally’s dependable. However, I’d like this information to be circulated to every teacher.” Paula pressed her hand on the sheet. “I can’t stress how important this is.”
“I’ll make a note of that.” Katie wrote a brief memo on the info sheet. “Cops. You’re so security-conscious. Riley is always installing some new alarm in my house. I’m not complaining. It’s good to know someone’s looking out for you.”
Paula nodded politely, unable to relate. She looked out for herself.
“I don’t blame you,” Katie added. “Children are precious and so vulnerable.”
“Do you have kids?”
Katie shook her head wistfully. “Someday. If I meet the right guy.”
“It’s not easy, is it?” Paula gave her a wry smile, one single woman in her thirties to another.
Katie’s dry lift of her eyebrows acknowledged the truth of that. “However, I’m too busy right now with work to be looking for anyone permanent.”
“Same.” Although it was more complicated than that. She would love to find a wonderful man and have another child or two. But a proper home and a family felt out of reach with Nick lurking in her background. Oh, by the way, Jamie’s dad is a drug lord but don’t worry, I’m over him. Understandably, any worthwhile man would run a mile once he knew that about her. What was wrong with her that she could have fallen for a criminal?
“Anything else I can tell you?” Katie asked.
Paula would have welcomed knowing why Riley shunned questions about his past. What badass thing had he done? But that probably wasn’t what Katie meant. “No, I think that’s it. I know you have a lot of parents to see tonight. It was nice to meet you.”
Katie got to her feet and shook hands. “I’ll be in touch to organize for the bike safety class in a few weeks. Thanks for agreeing.”
“I’m happy to do it.” Paula said good-night and walked through the corridors, thinking ahead to picking up Jamie from Sally’s house, then going home. After she got Jamie into bed, she might treat herself to a nice hot bath. Riley was right. She had been tense lately—for good reason—and the incident with the rock sugar hadn’t helped.
Thirty minutes later she turned into her driveway, half listening to Jamie’s chatter about the game of hide and seek he’d played at Sally’s house. Nearly eight o’clock, it was still light. Her glance automatically went to the front door—
Her hands tightened on the wheel. Sitting on the mat was a bright red remote-controlled racing car. She couldn’t afford toys that expensive. Her mother would never splurge unless it was a birthday or Christmas present. Nor would she leave it sitting on the front porch. It definitely wasn’t Christmas and Jamie’s birthday was in July.
Only one person would have given such a gift.
Nick.
CHAPTER THREE
PAULA DROVE INTO the carport, hoping Jamie hadn’t seen the toy. Somehow she had to get him into the house through the back door.
“What’s that on the porch?” Jamie unbuckled his seat belt even before the car had stopped.
“Nothing. Jamie—”
Too late. He was out of the car and running across the lawn and through the flower bed. “It’s a car.”
“Jamie, honey, don’t get excited.” She hurried after him, dropping her purse in her haste. She grabbed it from among the petunias, wasting precious seconds. “It’s probably a mistaken delivery.”
“It’s for me,” Jamie said. He kneeled on the mat, a gift card in his hand. “My name’s on it, see?”
Jamie might not be able to read yet but she’d taught him to recognize his name and phone number and to print both. He also knew the alphabet.
“It’s from…” His small brow furrowed as he laboriously spelled out, “D…A…D.” He looked up at her. “What does that spell?”
Paula gazed into her son’s small trusting face and felt her heart break. She never lied to him. Ever.
“Mum?” His eyes searched hers.
Taking a deep breath, she swallowed. Her hands felt clammy. “D-dad. It spells, Dad.”
Jamie went still, his eyes wide and unblinking. “But I thought— You said he was overseas.”
Okay, maybe that one lie.
“Um, he was.” Her fingers curled into her palms. How dare Nick disturb their peace? How dare he think he could buy his child? “He must be back.”
“Yay!” Jamie stood and ran down the steps as if expecting to see his father out on the sidewalk. “Where is he?” Looking up the street he took a step forward and called tentatively, “Dad?” Another step. “Dad! I’m home.”
Though it was a fine evening, it was past dinnertime and no one was outside. There were no strange cars parked nearby that she didn’t recognize. Through the curtains in the houses across from hers came the blue flicker of TV screens. Chances were no one had seen who’d placed the toy car on her step.
“Jamie.” Paula ran to take his hand and tugged him toward the porch. “He must have gone.”
Jamie dragged his feet, looking over his shoulder. “He’ll come back, right?”
“No.” Her free hand curled into a fist she would dearly love to smash into Nick’s face for raising a little boy’s expectations.
Jamie stopped dead, crestfallen. “But he’ll want to see me if he’s back from his trip. Won’t he?”
Oh, God. “I don’t know. He’s not—” She thought desperately, agonized at seeing her son hurt. “His job doesn’t allow him to be a family man.”
“But he came here. We weren’t home. He’ll come back,” Jamie said logically.
“Let’s go inside,” she said, leading him up the steps. “You’ll have your bath and get ready for bed. Then we’ll talk about your father.”
“I want to play.” Jamie crouched beside his new toy. Gripping the slick red hood of the racing car with small fingers he tried to pull off the wires holding it on to the cardboard packaging.
“No!” Paula snatched up the toy. “I’m sorry. You can’t have it.”
“It’s mine!” He scrambled to his feet, his arms reaching upward. Tears rolled down his cheeks. “My dad gave it to me.”
Paula fumbled with the key, stabbing it into the lock as she held the car high, feeling like the world’s meanest mother. She got the door open and dragged Jamie, kicking and screaming, into the house. She put the car on top of the bookshelf in the living room.
“Why won’t you give it to me? I hate you!” Jamie yelled, his face red.
Paula crouched and took him by the shoulders. “Listen to me. I know you’re angry and upset. But your father is not part of our lives. We can’t accept presents from him.”
“Why not?” Jamie wailed, rubbing his eyes. “Why can’t I see him? He wants to see me.”
“Just because.”
Because he’s a bad man. I’m afraid he’ll hurt you.
“I want my car. My daddy brought it to me!” He was working himself into a full-blown tantrum such as he hadn’t had since he was three years old.
Paula tried to fold him in a hug to rock him but he tore away from her and flung himself face down on the carpet, his ribcage heaving.
“You have to trust me, sweetheart,” she pleaded. Only me.
A knock sounded at the door. Great. All she needed was some nosy neighbor thinking she was beating her kid.
She left Jamie pounding his fists on the floor while she answered the door. “This isn’t a good t—” Riley stood there wearing a pair of faded jeans and a black polo shirt. “What are you doing here?”
Riley began to speak but Jamie’s howls were too loud to ignore. He peered past her, into the house. “Is something wrong?”
“Did you come by for a reason? Because I’m pretty busy. As you can hear.”
Suddenly Jamie stopped howling. His footsteps thudded behind her. “Is that Dad?” Seeing Riley he stopped short, suddenly going shy. His anxious gaze tore at Paula’s heart. “Is he…?”
“No, sweetheart.” Her cheeks burning, she said to Riley, “You should go.”
Instead, Riley crouched, eye level with Jamie. “I’m Riley, your mum’s partner at the police station. What’s your name?”
Jamie pressed back into Paula’s legs. Her arms went around his shoulders. His small chest jerked as he hiccupped.
“My sister Katie is your teacher at school.” Riley spoke with the studied casualness of a cop talking down an out-of-control offender. Any other time Paula would have admired his technique.
Jamie sniffled. “Ms. Henning?”
“That’s right. What’s your name?”
“Jamie,” he mumbled.
“Nice to meet you.” Riley held his hand.
Jamie hesitated then placed his small hand in Riley’s to be given a hearty man-shake. Wiping his eyes with his sleeve, he stood a little taller. “Do you have a gun? Mum won’t let me hold hers.”
Oh, no, not the gun conversation. Jamie asked at least once a week to see her gun despite her constantly telling him it wasn’t a toy. At least he seemed to have forgotten the car—for the moment. “Not now, Jamie.”
“When I’m not on duty my gun is locked up,” Riley said. “Your mum’s right. No one but a police officer is allowed to touch our weapons. One day I might show you my gun.”
“Cool,” Jamie said shyly.
“It’s time for Jamie to get ready for bed.” Paula rubbed his arms. “Go on, mate. Into your pajamas.”
“Aw, do I have to?”
“I’ll read you the dinosaur story tonight.”
Jamie went, dragging his heels and glancing over his shoulder at Riley. Paula watched him with a tiny frown. With her father dead and her only brother living in Sydney, Jamie didn’t have many male role models in his life.
“So,” she said, turning back to Riley. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“I was passing on my way home from the shooting range and thought I’d see how you were doing after the hazing.” He shoved his hands in his back pockets, making his shirt stretch across his chest, hinting at some serious pecs. “You seemed to take it hard.”
“I didn’t take it hard.” Paula lifted her gaze—and her chin—a fraction. “I simply wasn’t expecting it.”
“Okay.” He studied her, relaxed but assessing, then seemed to decide to take her words at face value. “Nice kid, Jamie. Something upset him before I came?”
“It’s really none of your business.” Riley’s earlier words sank in. If he was at the shooting range he would have his gun in his car. When it counted he’d backed her up. A small thing, but she liked him for it.
“I appreciate you not bringing out your gun. Jamie can make a pistol out of a slice of bread but I don’t want him anywhere near a real weapon.” She sighed. “Plus, you made him forget what he was crying about.”
“I guess he was disappointed at not seeing his father.” Riley tilted his head, his eyes narrowing. “Doesn’t he know what his dad looks like?”
“His father is not in our lives.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “That’s all I’m going to say. I don’t mix work and home.”
“No worries.” Riley held up his hands, palms out. “Just curious.”
“‘Curiosity killed the cat.’” The phrase she threw at Jamie when he got into stuff she didn’t want him exploring popped out.
“Satisfaction brought it back.” Riley’s sudden, sexy grin made her think of a tomcat, whiskers dipped in cream, sensual, sleek and satisfied.
Sensual? Yessiree. With the porch light gleaming on his dark hair, his broad shoulders and long-limbed athletic stance, there was no getting around the fact that Riley was hot. And tonight he’d shown he was sensitive to her wishes regarding her son. But he was her partner, out of bounds on every level. She was trying to get her career on track, not become sidelined by another inappropriate attraction.
“I need to go to Jamie. He’s waiting for me to read a story.”
Riley nodded, and backed through the door. “See you tomorrow.”
Paula resisted watching his butt move in snug jeans as he walked to his black sports car. Instead she closed the door firmly.
Before she went to Jamie she removed the toy from the high shelf and carried it out to the carport. She started to lift the lid on the rubbish bin then changed her mind and put it in the trunk of her car to take to the thrift shop tomorrow. No reason some other little boy couldn’t benefit from Nick’s largesse.
After she read Jamie a bedtime story she stayed in his room until long after he fell asleep, watching over him. A glimmer of moonlight through the curtains shone on his mussed hair and bunched pajama top. She might not be enough for him anymore but he was everything to her.
Please, don’t let anything happen to my boy. Don’t let anyone hurt him or try to take him away from me.
* * *
FROM THE SQUAD CAR’S passenger’s seat Riley watched Paula covertly through his dark glasses. They were parked on the side of the highway again, in the shade of the ti tree. Without the air-conditioning the heat of the day was almost unbearable, even with the windows rolled all the way down.
Paula was preoccupied, staring intently out the window in silence, a slight frown marring her near-flawless complexion. Was she thinking about her ex, Jamie’s father? What was the story there—love of her life or rat bastard?
Last night in her foyer, for a moment, a spark had jumped between him and Paula. It must have been seeing her in a clinging blouse and short skirt instead of her uniform that had him noticing her breasts, her legs and pretty much everything in between. Their little verbal exchange toward the end had been out of character. Not professional, almost flirting.
She’d realized it, too, and backed off so quickly she’d practically left skid marks. And if she hadn’t, he would have. He liked how she was strong as a cop and as a mother, but they worked together—a no-go zone as far as he was concerned. And it didn’t take a genius to work out that she had issues with her ex. He didn’t want to get in the middle of that.
The radio crackled.
“Code twelve on Nepean Highway at Wooralla Drive.” Patty’s Irish accent became more pronounced the more urgent the situation. “Repeat, code twelve, Nepean at Wooralla. Fire and ambulance dispatched to the scene. Car sixteen, do you read me?”
Paula started the engine and hit the switch for the flashing red and blue lights. Siren blaring she forced her way into the stream of traffic.
“Copy that, Dispatch,” Riley said into the radio. “Estimated time to scene, five minutes.” He glanced at Paula. “Correction. Officer Drummond at the wheel. Make that two minutes.”
“Right outside the primary school,” Paula muttered through gritted teeth, as she slowed behind a vehicle whose driver was oblivious. “Idiot.”
“That intersection is notorious.” Riley braced a hand on the dash as she swerved to pass on the wrong side. “It’s worse now Summerside has gotten so big.”
“Big?” Paula spared him a brief glance sideways. “I’d hate to have seen it when it was small.” She fixed her gaze on the road again. “School lets out now. You’d think people would drive more carefully.”
“Must be hard having a young kid,” Riley said. “Every time there’s an accident near the school, wondering if your child has been injured.”
“Let’s not go there, okay?” Paula crested a slight hill and slowed as she approached the intersection.
Heat shimmered off the pavement, making wavy lines in front of the crashed vehicles—a black SUV and an electric blue Holden sedan. The fire engine was there, the crew swarming over the road, directing traffic, putting out cones to block off one lane.
Children, teachers and parents congregated on the corner nearest the school. Some stood and watched while others hurried away.
Riley’s vision blurred suddenly in a haze of red and black. A convulsive shudder ran through his body. Dizzy, he dropped his head forward. Dozens of school children. Innocent, defenceless.
Paula screeched to a halt diagonally across the intersection. She frowned at him. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” He raised his head, tried to shake off a lingering chill. Good thing he hadn’t been behind the wheel or there might have been another accident.
Paula gave him a hard look. “Take over from the firefighter directing traffic.”
Still dazed, Riley didn’t quibble with Paula taking command. He waved cars through the intersection, watching events unfold as if watching a movie. An ambulance siren wailed, approaching rapidly. In the Holden a man in his early twenties was slumped behind the wheel, unconscious. A blonde woman was climbing out of the SUV, her arm bleeding. She was crying. Her two kids were in the backseat, also crying. The fire crew brought out the Jaws of Life to pry open the Holden’s smashed-in door.
Riley was beset by a feeling of unreality, of being disconnected to events going on around him. What was going on? Had he come down with some sort of flu bug? He didn’t feel sick so much as disoriented. And that damned headache was back. He’d left his cap in the squad car and the hot afternoon sun beat on his unprotected head.
Another squad car pulled up. Crucek and Jackson climbed out.
“Take a break.” Crucek jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “You’re white as paste. Thought you would have seen worse in Afghanistan.”
Riley started to protest then gave up and walked to the Holden where Paula and the paramedics had congregated. The medics were loading the unconscious driver onto a gurney. His hair was stringy and lank, his emaciated arms covered from shoulder to wrist in tattoos. He had the sallow, unhealthy look of an addict.
“Alive?” Riley asked one of the paramedics.
“Barely.”
“Are you taking blood samples? Testing for alcohol and drugs.”
“I can tell you right now he’s using.” The paramedic nodded to the track marks on the driver’s arms.
Paula held up a used syringe between gloved fingers. “This goes to the lab for analysis. Somehow I don’t think the guy’s injecting insulin. And I want this car back at the station so we can search it properly.” She unclipped the radiophone on her vest and pressed buttons. “Patty, get a tow truck out here.”
She turned to Riley. “Hey, rookie, are you okay? You seem like you’re about to faint.”
He tried to pull himself together. He and Paula were supposed to be equal partners but he’d just behaved like the greenest recruit who’d ever thrown up at an accident scene while she had effortlessly taken control and directed operations. He had no problem with women being in the police force or in command. He did have a problem with himself looking like a pansy ass.
Protecting people was what he did. If he couldn’t do that, who was he?
“I’m fine,” he growled. “Just a touch of sun.”
* * *
IN THE PARKING LOT behind the police station Paula popped the trunk on the blue Holden. From the interior of the car came the sound of cloth ripping as Riley tore apart the backseat. Simon Peterson was on a dolly underneath, shining a flashlight into crevices.
The direct afternoon sun turned the pavement and brick building into a recipe for heatstroke. Paula barely noticed she was perspiring. Finding that syringe had given her a rush of adrenaline. Mentally she ran through the illicit injectable drugs—speed, heroin, crack cocaine…
Finally she was involved in a task she’d been trained for, a potential drug investigation. This could be her break-out opportunity, a chance to shine, to earn her detective stripes, budget constraints or no.
She stuck her head inside the trunk, letting her eyes adjust to the shaded cavity. It was loaded with junk—oily rags, empty black garbage bags, a pair of worn leather boots and a stack of tattered men’s magazines. Her hands protected by gloves, she threw these items onto a large tarp spread on the pavement.
An ancient first-aid kit was tucked at the rear of the trunk. She opened that and pulled out rolled bandages and dressings encased in yellowing paper. She threw them on the tarp, too.
Paula wiped the sweat dripping down her neck with the back of her hand and called to Riley. “Find anything?”
“Not yet,” came his muffled reply.
With everything out of the trunk the stained mat lining looked lumpy. Paula tried to lift it. The clips holding it down were rusted shut on one side. The other side of the mat was stuck beneath the spare tire. She pulled on the tire. It was wedged in tightly. Bracing her foot against the bumper, she hauled on it harder.
Riley backed out of the car, his hair mussed, a smear of dirt across one cheek. “Need a hand?”
“Nope.” With a grunt she gave a final tug. “Got it.” She staggered backward. The tire flew out of her hands, bounced across the tarmac. Something fell out—a plastic bag half full of white crystals. “Jackpot.”
Riley walked over and picked up the bag. He opened it, tasted a bit and grimaced. “This ain’t no coffee sugar. It’s crystal meth.”
Crystal methamphetamine. Her skin prickled. Nick Moresco had built an empire around this drug.
Paula tore the trunk liner away. Approximately two dozen plastic bags of crystal meth were lined up in neat rows, flattened to avoid detection.
Riley whistled. “We’ve got ourselves a dealer.”
Peterson, a skinny twenty-two-year-old with pimply skin, asked more eagerly than was seemly, “Do you think he’s local?”
“We’ve never seen this junk in Summerside before.” Riley gestured to a peeling bumper sticker. “But Bayside Holden is in Frankston.”
Paula felt the heat now. She wiped her forehead again. It was clammy. Moresco was fresh out of jail. Hard drugs had come to town. Her town. Where she lived and worked, where Jamie went to school.
Coincidence, or something more sinister? Suddenly light-headed, she bent over, her hands on her knees.
“Hey, what is it?” Riley gripped her shoulder. “You okay?”
“It’s frickin’ déjà vu,” she mumbled.
“Sorry, I didn’t quite catch that.”
“It’s the heat.” She tried to suck in a breath. Spots danced before her eyes. If those bags of crystal meth were Nick’s doing…
She dug deep and found the resolve to straighten her spine. If the drugs were his doing, he would be caught and punished. “Let’s get these bags logged and put in the evidence room.”
More paperwork. At least it took her mind off Moresco. It was after five o’clock before she and Riley had filed the last report. She pushed away from the computer. “I’m beat.”
“Let’s take a walk,” Riley suggested. “Have you tried the ice cream on the corner yet?”
“Not yet.” Ice cream. Cold, sweet, tempting. The man doing the offering was sexy, smart and strong.
Wouldn’t it be nice to do something simple like go for ice cream with a man she was not only attracted to but beginning to like and respect? But her life wasn’t simple. And Riley had never given the slightest indication he’d like to hang with her after work. He had to have an agenda. And she suspected she knew what it was.
“I have to pick up Jamie.” She made a show of checking her watch.
“Fifteen minutes.” He gave her a disarming smile. “My treat.”
Might as well get this over with. She put in a quick call to Sally to let her know she’d be there by six at the latest. No problem according to Sally. Jamie was happily playing with another little boy in her care.
Outside the station Riley turned into the arcade that led through to the main street. In the narrow shadowed lane she was more aware than usual of his sheer physicality. His height and the breadth of his shoulders were accentuated. His stride seemed longer, his demeanor relaxed but alert.
“What’s your favorite flavor?” Riley asked. “Chocolate, vanilla, rocky road…?”
“Pistachio.”
“You can tell a lot about a person by the ice cream they choose,” he confided, his head tilted toward her.
“Bull.” He was softening her up. Even knowing that, she grinned, fascinated.
“You have a taste for the exotic. You’re not afraid to be different. You don’t care what people think of you as long as you do what you believe is right.”
“You’re making this up.”
His dark eyes danced. “Am I wrong?”
Not entirely, but she wasn’t going to give him that. “What’s your favorite flavor?”
“I have no favorite. I love them all.”
“Ah, you’re a commitment-phobe. You flit from ice cream to ice cream.”
“No, I’m a man who keeps his options open.”
“Same thing.” She gave him a nudge, her bare elbow making contact with the damp cotton of his shirt, and below the cloth, his rib cage.
Teasing felt surprisingly good. The moment would be fleeting so she allowed herself to relax and enjoy for a change. The scorching heat of the day had died, leaving the air pleasantly warm as the shadows lengthened. They strolled down the sidewalk, Riley nodding and greeting people as they passed.
A bell over the door tinkled as they entered the air-conditioned ice-cream parlor.
A blonde fiftysomething woman behind the counter had a ready smile for Riley. “How did you enjoy the casserole?”
“Um, yeah, it was great,” Riley said, scratching the back of his neck. “Paula, this is Sandra, my stepmother. Paula’s my partner,” he said to Sandra. “She has a craving for pistachio.”
“I don’t—” Paula started to protest then got distracted by the twinkle in his eye. Hmm, maybe she did have a craving. But she would have to be satisfied with a frozen treat. Her awareness of him was growing, no doubt due to spending hours sitting in the squad car together. She would have to be careful not to encourage him.
Sandra handed Paula a waffle cone piled with three fat scoops of pistachio ice cream. “Complimentary to Summerside police officers.”
“Thank you.” Paula took a lick and her eyes closed briefly. “Heavenly.”
Sandra began to construct a second cone for Riley at his instruction—raspberry, butterscotch and licorice. “Are you all settled in at the house?”
“That’s a way off. Tonight I’m going to start tearing apart the kitchen.” He was nodding at the display of fresh cakes and pastries under glass covers on the counter. “You’re selling desserts now.”
“The new owner wants to expand the fresh-food line,” Sandra said.
“New owner?” Riley’s eyebrows rose. “Shane Kennedy has owned this place since I was in high school. Never thought he would give up such a prime location.”
“Apparently he was offered a price he couldn’t refuse,” Sandra said. “It was all very sudden. I didn’t even know the shop was up for sale.”
The bell above the shop tinkled. A teenage boy with blond curly hair and a pretty dark-haired girl in school uniform entered holding hands.
“I’ll let you go,” Riley said to his stepmother. “Catch you later.”
“Thanks again for the cone,” Paula called.
Outside Paula lapped at the cone to stop the rapidly melting ice cream from dripping onto her hands. “It’s a bit undignified, don’t you think, for cops to be eating ice cream on the street corner?” She couldn’t conceive of doing this in her city precinct.
“The locals are used to it. But let’s go sit.” He started walking toward the grassy square and a wrought-iron bench beneath a shady gum tree.
Paula sank onto the slatted seat. For a few minutes she concentrated on her cone, enjoying the cool sweetness of the pistachio confection.
“You have a bit of ice cream…” Riley touched her nose.
She batted his hand away and fished in her pocket for a tissue. “Have I got it all?”
He pretended to scrutinize her, his eyes amused.
“Never mind.” She threw the remains of her cone in a nearby bin and wiped her fingers.
“Feeling better?” Riley was sober now.
“Yes,” she said warily.
“Good.” He looked away, at the row of shops and cafés, post office and supermarket, then at her. “Suppose you tell me what you meant by déjà vu.”
Paula stilled. Pedestrians walked through the little park but she couldn’t have said whether they were male or female, young or old. She knew Riley had picked up on her muttered comment. He came across as laid-back but he was always on alert.
“I didn’t want to say anything until I was sure…”
“Maybe I can help.”
She studied his intelligent eyes, his determined jaw, his sensitive mouth. “Maybe you can. I think I know who’s behind the crystal meth we found in the Holden.”
“Who?” Riley prompted.
“Nick Moresco, the drug lord I put in jail seven years ago.”
CHAPTER FOUR
RILEY KNEW IT, knew she’d been hiding something earlier. Her doubling over hadn’t been due to the heat but to the drug cache itself. And maybe to its discovery in Summerside. She’d gone quiet while they’d documented the haul, her mouth pulled down in a grim expression. Did she still have connections to Moresco? Was this why John was worried about her?
She was innocent until proven guilty, Riley reminded himself. “What makes you think Moresco is involved?”
Paula gripped the iron slats on either side of her knees. “He got out of prison last month.”
Riley thought about that. “Didn’t he operate out of the inner city? Why would he come all the way to the peninsula to set up shop?”
She shrugged, eyes down. “I don’t know.”
Riley was no detective but he’d been trained in interrogation techniques. He could tell when someone was lying. The rumors about Paula came to mind. She’d done something so bad that it couldn’t be talked about.
“A woman and her two children were almost wiped out today by a sleazebag shooting a light. If Moresco has something to do with the drugs in that car, and if you know something, you’d better tell me about it.”
“I can’t be positive the crystal meth came from him. I’m only speculating. But—” She glanced up. “He called me the day I started at Summerside P.D. He has my phone number. He knows where I live.”
No wonder she’d been tense. Riley lifted his cap and dragged a hand through his hair. “What did he want?”
Again she hesitated. Riley got the feeling she was choosing her words carefully.
“He…didn’t say. Maybe just to scare me. Maybe he wants revenge.” She straightened and scowled at Riley as though he were the villain. “He’d better look out before he tangles with me again.”
Riley studied her, frowning. One minute she was hesitant and uncertain, the next minute she was full of bravado. Was she hiding her own wrongdoing, laying the groundwork for a cover-up by admitting Moresco had called her? Or was she simply justifiably anxious because a drug lord was contacting her?
“Have you told John? If you’re in trouble, the police force will back you up.”
She gave him a look that was part scorn, part pity for his naivety. “Yeah, right.”
“What happened seven years ago to get you busted back to uniform?” Riley asked. “You reacted strongly to the hazing. Did you get caught pilfering drugs from the evidence room? Are you an addict?”
“No! Are you nuts? I would never do drugs.” She was really angry now. “My father was killed by a junkie while he was trying to resuscitate the man’s girlfriend.”
“Oh.” Riley sat back. “I’m sorry. Was he a doctor?”
“Paramedic.” Her shoulders squared. “I went into policing so I could bring creeps like the one who killed my dad to justice.”
“Then what did you do?” He returned to his initial question. “Why has your past followed you here?”
“I don’t talk about it. I made that clear to John. What’s done is done.”
“But it’s not, is it? Not if crystal meth is showing up in our sleepy little town because you’re living here.”
She shrank away, her face pale and drawn.
“You need me to watch your back?” Riley said. “I need to know what I’m watching out for. A soldier doesn’t go into a dangerous situation without intel. His mates wouldn’t let him.” He hardened his voice. “So what’s the story?”
“I’m not required to divulge that information to you, or anyone.” She got to her feet. “I’ve got to go. My son is waiting for me.”
Riley watched her stride off. Was she really bent, as rumor had it? Why else would she have moved from station to station? In a long, deep-cover investigation sometimes the line between good guys and bad guys blurred. Boundaries shifted, cops began to see the law from the dark side. Maybe she had money problems. A cop’s salary wasn’t that great. Undercover vice cops were vulnerable to all sorts of illegal temptations besides drug use. Taking bribes, selling drugs or protection, tampering with the evidence. She had definitely overreacted to the bag of sugar in her locker.
Was Moresco threatening her with violence if she spoke up? Paula didn’t seem like she scared easily. Or maybe it was the other way around. Maybe she’d gotten too close to Moresco.
Riley had known from the beginning that Paula wouldn’t be an easy partner. She could be abrupt, she had a giant chip on her shoulder and at times, talking to her was like chatting to the sphinx. Then there was her attitude to traffic duty. Clearly she felt it was beneath her and what a joy that was to work with.
On the other hand, she was gutsy and he liked a bit of attitude. Being a single parent couldn’t be easy, dealing with the guys at the station was a pain sometimes and she had to be disappointed that her career was at a low ebb. But she worked hard and didn’t complain—unless it was that there was too little to do.
He’d expected she’d be difficult, but he hadn’t thought she’d bring her problems to Summerside. She was his partner, yes, but if her actions violated his moral code, if he found any evidence of illegal activity on her part, either now or in the past, he was going to John, he was taking her down.
Riley pushed off the bench. She’d dodged his questions but the interrogation wasn’t over.
* * *
HOURS LATER RILEY was still mulling over the drug haul and what exactly Paula’s deal was. After she’d left he’d made a trip to the Frankston hospital hoping to question the driver of the Holden. Timothy Andrews had severe internal injuries and kept slipping in and out of consciousness. The nurse told Riley to call in the morning.
Paula thought there was a connection between Moresco and the crystal meth. What was the connection between her and Moresco? Her behavior didn’t add up. Was it merely a coincidence that Jamie must have been conceived around the time she was working on the Moresco case? Surely she was too smart, and too classy to get mixed up with a lowlife like Nick Moresco.
Hell. Why was he wasting his free time trying to figure out his partner when she so obviously intended to keep her secrets?
Instead he took out his frustrations by dismantling his kitchen. He disconnected the plumbing to the sink. The stove he’d removed to the corner of the room. There was a gaping hole where the fridge had been.
Riley levered a crowbar deep into a gap between the wall and the cabinet. Bracing his foot on the wall, he hauled on the crowbar. With an ear-piercing screech, the screws holding the unit pulled out of the wood and the cabinet shifted, buckling the ancient linoleum.
Riley staggered backward, panting, to survey his efforts. His mother’s kitchen was well and truly on its way to being destroyed. In a way it felt wrong, as if he were being disloyal to her memory. But she’d be the last person to want him to make worn cabinetry and old-fashioned appliances a shrine to her.
Damn, the pain in his right temple had started up again. His heart raced with an irregular, thready pulse. He must be breathing in too much dust. The paint was so old it might even have lead in it. He hadn’t thought of that. He could be getting brain damage.
He opened the back door and sank onto the steps. The air, cooler now it was evening, was heavy with the scent of the red roses climbing the trellis on the wall next to him. Mum had planted the rose bush the first year she and his dad had moved into the house. Riley picked up a petal and held it to his nose.
His dad and Sandra hadn’t changed much about the house and grounds over the past ten years. The huge fig tree that shaded a corner of the backyard still held remnants of the cubby house he and John had built in its branches when they were ten years old. His mum used to bring out cookies and lemonade and they’d winched them up in a bucket.
In the other corner of the yard was her gardening shed where she grew seedlings for the vegetable patch on the sunny side of the property. Smack in the middle of the grass was the rotary clothesline where she’d hung out the laundry. Summers had been cricket on the lawn, barbecues, the sound of his parents’ conversation continuing into the warm night as he lay in bed lulled to sleep by his father’s deep rumble and his mother’s soft musical laughter.
Heat pricked the back of his eyes. Part of him was grown up and practical. He recognized the value of the property and wanted to improve it, making a nice home for himself in the process. Another part of him wanted to preserve the small shabby dwelling as a time capsule, a tribute to the golden days of his youth and, yes, as a shrine to his mother.
His head throbbed harder. He let the petal in his fingers fall to the overgrown grass and pushed to his feet. He couldn’t stay a kid forever. And he didn’t have time to sit around being sentimental.
He would take a couple of painkillers and get back to work. The kitchen wasn’t going to renovate itself.
* * *
PAULA STOOD BEFORE the bathroom mirror, pinning up her hair while Jamie brushed his teeth at the sink. Nick and his crystal meth had followed her to Summerside. She couldn’t be positive he was the source but the timing was too close to be a coincidence. Was he taunting her? Trying to get her blamed for his presence in the community?
Freshly washed, her hair was slippery and unmanageable. She jammed a hairpin in only for it to pop out immediately. Already on edge, she swept the box of pins off the counter. She’d been aiming for the garbage but most of them scattered over the tile floor.
Jamie’s eyes went round at her uncharacteristic loss of control. Toothpaste foam dripping from his mouth, he crowed, “You’ve got to pick those all up.”
“Yes, sir.” She pulled her hair into an ugly ponytail, ignoring the flyaway wisps. Then crouched to retrieve the pins.
The house needed a good tidying. She picked up the book she’d been reading in the bath last night, Get Out Of Your Mind and Into Your Life. She was a sucker for self-help books, not that they ever seemed to fix her. If she could figure out what exactly her problem was, that would be half the battle. She knew where she’d gone wrong—getting involved with Nick—but not why. Until she understood that she was in danger of falling into the same trap in the future.
She put the pins in the cabinet and carried the book to the spare bedroom. There she kept her private bookshelf crammed with titles like, The Courage to Be Yourself, Women Who Worry Too Much, Get Out Of Your Own Way. But pride of place went to her sewing table and quilting materials.
A half-finished crazy quilt was spread over the table. She touched the patchwork wistfully, itching to piece a few scraps and forget about everything for a while. Ironically, quilting did for her what the books couldn’t do. Fully absorbed in sewing, she didn’t have time to dwell on herself.
She dropped Jamie off at school and went in to work early to have a chat with Patty. As well as operating Dispatch she was in charge of requisitions. Paula handed Patty a list of items she thought she and Riley would need for the investigation.
Patty looked at the list and laughed. “You’re pulling my leg.”
“No. It’s not an ambitious list. A camera, a high-powered flashlight, a dedicated laptop—”
“Half the time we don’t even have spare batteries. Most officers use their own cameras.” Patty shrugged. “The station doesn’t have the resources toward the end of the financial year.”
“I see. I’ll file this, then.” She crumpled the list and dropped it into the rubbish bin.
She started to leave then noticed her reflection in the window onto the bull pen behind Patty’s desk. Her hair was already springing out of the elastic band. Using the glass as a mirror she rearranged some hairpins. She was so focused on what she was doing she didn’t notice Riley on the other side of the glass until he rapped on it.
“Inside,” he mouthed, and jerked his head as if to tell her to get her butt in there.
What happened to Mr. Affable this morning? If she hadn’t been on unofficial probation, if Riley wasn’t the senior sergeant’s best mate, she would slap him down and put him in his place. “Gotta go. The rookie commands my presence.”
“Riley?” Patty swiveled in her seat, discreetly craning her neck. “He’s hot.”
“Is he? I hadn’t noticed,” Paula lied. She finished with her hair and jammed on her cap. Oh, yes, Riley was hot. In another world, another life, she would have been the first girl in line at his kissing booth. But since Nick, she’d learned her lesson. Compartmentalize. Trouble was, between the box surrounding her job, and the one containing her as a mother, there wasn’t any room left in her life for a romance box.
Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.
Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».
Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/joan-kilby/protecting-her-son/) на ЛитРес.
Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.
Joan Kilby
Тип: электронная книга
Жанр: Современные любовные романы
Язык: на английском языке
Издательство: HarperCollins
Дата публикации: 16.04.2024
Отзывы: Пока нет Добавить отзыв
О книге: Paula Drummond is finally back on a police force. And with so much at stake–she′s a single mom atoning for an almost career-ending mistake–she′s not risking anything but stellar performance. That means, regardless of whatever attraction is brewing between her and her partner, Officer Riley Henning, she will not get involved.Still, working side by side with a man as hot as Riley and not giving in to temptation isn′t easy. Especially when he goes above and beyond to help keep her son safe. With all that evidence piling up, it seems as though her partner on the job is destined to become her partner in bed…and maybe even in life.