A Cop's Honor Page 17

  The program finished loading. He withdrew the memory drive, stuck it back in his pocket and shut down the device. Then he headed upstairs to give Mason’s room a more thorough search. The drawers yielded nothing unusual. Neither did the closet or bathroom.

  The front door clicked open. Brandon hustled to the landing. But Hannah, not Mason, entered the foyer below. Looking pale and rattled, she surveyed the area.

  “He’s not here,” he said.

  Startled, she glanced up. He’d seen that fearful, devastated expression countless times before, and it had never hit him as hard as it did now. Because this time, it was personal. This time it was Hannah and not a stranger.

  “I was hoping...”

  “I’m searching his room.”

  She stiffened. Her face filled with rebuttal. “Brandon—”

  “Hannah, you can respect his privacy and possibly never see him again. Or you can take action and help me look for clues.” He hated the horror on her face that his bluntness caused, but she needed to face facts. “Come up and let’s go through his drawers and closet together. You’re his mother. You have knowledge that I don’t. You might see something out of place that I missed. You’ll know if there are clothes missing.”

  After a moment’s hesitation, she climbed the stairs and followed Brandon into Mason’s room. “I have to find him.”

  Slowly, methodically, she went through each drawer then turned to the closet. She withdrew a shoebox from the back corner. Brandon knew from his earlier examination that it contained the usual boy trinkets, including the pocket knife Brandon’s father had given Rick for his thirteenth birthday. Brandon had one identical to it.

  He noted Hannah had carefully returned each item precisely to its place. With her shoulders rounded in defeat, she rose, looking so fragile he had to fight an urge to take her in his arms. “Nothing is missing. And he’d never voluntarily leave behind his pocket knife. It was Rick’s. I gave it to Mason on his tenth birthday. He carries it everywhere except to school.”

  Together, they lifted the mattress and the box spring and looked between each. When they found nothing, Hannah sank onto the bed. Her hands shook as she brushed back her hair—a habit she employed when nervous or agitated.

  “He and Belle overheard me Wednesday night telling you not to come back. He’s angry with me. But I didn’t think he’d run away. I can’t lose him, Brandon.”

  Mason hadn’t run away. But Brandon didn’t voice the words. A vise closed around his chest. The strong, confident woman who’d climbed the rope just days ago was nowhere in sight. Hannah was hurting and afraid, and it was his job to help her. For her sake. For Mason’s. For Rick’s.

  “We’ll do everything in our power to find him.” He’d repeated the phrase hundreds of times to other families of victims, but until now he hadn’t understood how empty and uninspiring the words were.

  “I’ve tried so hard to be both mother and father to Belle and Mason. But I’m failing, Brandon. My son is in trouble and now he’s missing, and I don’t know why. And this house—” Her voice broke. She blinked rapidly, fighting back tears. He had sisters and was no stranger to their emotional meltdowns. But this was different. He felt helpless and wired simultaneously.

  He sat on the bed beside her and lifted an arm to put it around her shoulders, but caught himself and lowered his fist to the bed behind her instead. Even that was risky. She was close. Too close. The heady combination of her flowery shampoo and her lemon-scented hand lotion ignited a spark of something he didn’t want to claim. Then she fell into his chest and he had no choice but to enfold her.

  She was scared and needed comfort. That was all this was, and he could offer that. But as he’d learned Sunday, holding Hannah wasn’t remotely similar to holding his sisters. Her left breast seared his pectoral like a hot coal, and a shower of sparks rained across his torso to settle unnervingly in his groin.

  “The place is a money pit. It’s falling apart and I can’t keep up the maintenance,” she whimpered, her breath steaming his collarbone with every word. “But it’s all they have left of Rick and the dream he and I had for them, for us. There aren’t enough dollars in the bank or hours in the day to get everything done and to also be there for Mason and Belle as often as they need me.”

  He fought his way out of the smoke circling his brain. “I can help with the house. I’m part of the reason you have it. And you do an amazing job with the kids, Hannah. Rick would be proud of them and of you.”

  She lifted her face. The tears she fought to keep from falling hit him ten times harder than an all-out cryfest. “Do you really think so? Because it feels like I’m not...enough. No matter what I do, I always feel inadequate. And now, Mason...”

  Couldn’t she see how strong she was? “You’re a great mom.”

  She bit her lip, and the action riveted him. Damn it. He rerouted his attention to safer territory, but when he stared into her eyes he saw something budding there—something curious and sensual that expanded her pupils and flushed her cheeks. She stilled, and the atmosphere in the room changed. The awareness he’d experienced that night on the landing and again in her bedroom came whooshing back like a brushfire breaching a firebreak. He tried to ignore the force propelling him toward her. Tried. And failed. Against his will, his head lowered, but he caught himself and stopped.

  Her sigh whispered across his lips then she lifted up to meet him. He lost the battle and sank into the softness of her mouth, into discovering the taste and sweetness of her. An ember of sanity floated to the surface and he tried to retreat, but then her fingers curled into his shirt and down he went, deep under her spell. Her tongue torched a quick path across his bottom lip. The hot, wet contact jolted him like a Taser, stalling his heart.

  Her mouth was slick and hot. Hunger raged in him. He’d never reacted this fast or this intensely to anyone before. Head reeling, he grasped her upper arms, like a drowning man would a passing log, in a last-ditch effort to save himself from drowning in her. Hannah splayed her palms across his chest and his skin burned as if she’d branded him. Then she cradled his face and the soft touch of her hands incinerated his good intentions.

  He tunneled his fingers into her silky hair and devoured her mouth, then greedily mapped the satiny skin of her cheeks, her neck, her shoulders, and her rib cage. He slid his hand between them to cup the soft mound searing his chest. A beaded nipple branded his palm. She gasped, sucking every last atom of oxygen from his brain, deflating his lungs and inflating his groin. Hunger engulfed him in a flash fire.

  Her arms encircled him, her short fingernails kneading his back like a cat. The nipple beneath his thumb hardened even more, and a quiet rumble, not unlike a purr, erupted from her.

  A click and thump penetrated his concentration. Peeling his mouth from Hannah’s, he dragged himself from the mental flood and put a few inches between himself and oblivion. She blinked at him, her desire-filled eyes questioning. He gulped sobering breaths. Muffled steps ascended the stairs. A different kind of adrenaline surged through him. He shot to his feet, stepping in front of Hannah to shield her, seconds before Mason appeared in the doorway.

  “What are you doing in my room?”

  Relief and remorse and self-disgust cycloned through Brandon. What had he just done? He’d betrayed Rick. He turned his anger outward. Damnation! He’d kissed Hannah. And he wanted to again.

  “Where in the hell have you been?” he barked at the boy.

  Mason paled then his face took on a defiant expression. “Walking home. You said avoid a fight if I could. So I did.”

  Mason’s logical answer doused Brandon’s irritation with the kid. His anger toward himself, however, still burned. He should have had better control. But his worry over Mason had impaired his judgment.

  Cursing his weakness, he stepped aside so that Hannah could see her son was in one piece. At least one thing had gone right today. Mas
on was safe.

  * * *

  HANNAH SHOOK OFF her stupor and launched herself at Mason. Relieved to have him home safe, she hugged him tight enough that he squirmed. “Jeez, Mom, you’re suffocating me.”

  In an effort to pull her shattered nerves together, she took a shuddery breath, but the aroma filling her nostrils wasn’t the sweet scent of a little boy. Instead, Mason smelled like a sweaty preteen on the brink of puberty who’d walked almost four miles on a hot day. It was an unwelcome reminder that his hurts couldn’t be solved with Band-Aids and get-well kisses anymore.

  She pulled back, grasped him by the shoulders and inspected him from head to toe. She found nothing swollen, broken or bleeding. “A fight with whom?”

  He shrugged off her touch. “A kid. Nobody important.”

  “If he’s bullying you then I need to talk to his parents.”

  His eyes rounded with horror. “Don’t! Please! If the guys thought I went running to my mommy everybody would laugh at me. It’s nothing. Really. I got this.”

  “You didn’t skip the bus because I asked Brandon to stay away, did you?”

  “No. Didn’t you hear me? I was doing what he told me and avoiding trouble.”

  “Why didn’t you call me if you were going to miss the bus?”

  “Cuz you have to work.”

  A sharp sliver of guilt slipped under her skin. “Your safety is more important.”

  “Well, I couldn’t call. I don’t have a cell phone.”

  Another jagged splinter hit home. Some of the middle-schoolers had phones. She couldn’t afford one for Mason, and even if she could she doubted she would get one. She was a lousy parent. Brandon doesn’t think so.

  She risked looking at the man who’d held her, kissed her and turned her inside out with desire and saw regret in his eyes. A wave of mortification swamped her. She wanted to crawl under Mason’s bed and hide. He’d offered comfort and she’d thrown herself at him.

  “You could have used the school’s office phone,” Brandon pointed out. “I was minutes from issuing an official BOLO.”

  “If I’d gone to the office they’d have made me get on the bus.”

  “Apologize,” Brandon commanded in what she suspected was his cop voice.

  “For what?”

  “For scaring your mother.”

  “But—” Mason caved under Brandon’s stern stare then ducked his head and stubbed his toe into the carpet. “I’m sorry, Mom. I didn’t know what else to do except hide in the bathroom till the bus left then walk home.”

  Before she could respond Brandon stepped forward and hugged Mason so tightly her son’s eyes rounded, then he released him. “I’m glad you’re okay. And I’m proud of you for avoiding the fight. But next time you pull a stunt like this without calling me or your mom, you’ll have an even bigger problem with me. Are we clear?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Brandon held up his fist. Mason bumped it with his much smaller hand. “We need to practice those self-defense moves before you test them in a real situation.”

  “Got it.”

  Then Brandon’s hazel gaze pinned Hannah to the carpet and her breath locked in her lungs. “I need to call off the guys.”

  Alarmed, she inhaled a sharp breath. “You have people looking for him?”

  “Relax. It was unofficial. No paper trail.”

  Good. That meant the Leiths wouldn’t hear of it. “Thanks. I know you need to get back to work. Could you show yourself out?”

  His lips tightened at her less than subtle hint. “We’ll talk later.”

  She couldn’t speak for the dread clogging her throat, so she jerked a nod. Then he left, his soft tread descending her stairs. The door opened then clicked shut. She heard the clank of the dead bolt turning. He must have used the spare key.

  Tension drained, leaving her suddenly exhausted. She did not want to talk to Brandon later. She wanted to forget the entire afternoon, especially the part where she’d hurled herself at him. At least she’d been spared that embarrassment of blubbering her eyes out. But that she’d kissed him—or had he kissed her? It didn’t matter who’d initiated it. She’d wanted it. Every cell in her body had come to life, and for precious seconds she’d forgotten all the trials currently plaguing her.

  Remorse settled heavily over her. How could she have been so disloyal to Rick? And with Brandon of all people?

  She looked at her son. “You’re grounded.”

  “For how long?” he whined.

  “Probably until you go away to college.” Then she sighed. Her heart swelled with love. “I don’t know, Mason. I’m thankful you’re home and proud of you for avoiding a fight. I’m also really angry. You scared me.”

  “You’re the one who always says we have to take care of ourselves and not depend on other people.”

  Another guilt shard pierced her. Her need for self-reliance had put her son in jeopardy.

  “There’s a difference between being independent and being inconsiderate. You should have let someone know your plan.”

  He slumped. “I didn’t think you’d find out I skipped after-school care.”

  “They called me the minute you didn’t get off the bus. That’s why I chose that place. They’re the best. And if they hadn’t called, what would have happened when I arrived to pick you up this afternoon?”

  “I was going to call you from the house phone when I got here, but you and Brandon were already here...”

  “He took off work to help look for you.”

  “Does that mean you apologized for telling him to get lost?”

  “No.” She hadn’t, and he’d helped anyway.

  “You should ‘admit when you’ve made a mistake, and apologize.’” Mason quoted her own words back at her. “So do it, Mom. I’m starving.”

  He thundered down the stairs, leaving Hannah staring after him. Apparently, her lessons hadn’t fallen on deaf ears even though it often felt like it. And if they were talking about anyone but Brandon she would agree with Mason. But she couldn’t afford to have Brandon around.

  Ever since Rick’s death, she’d believed she couldn’t trust Brandon. But after today, she knew the one she really couldn’t trust was herself.

  * * *

  HANNAH SHOULDN’T HAVE been surprised to find Brandon waiting outside her office when she broke for lunch Monday. The bottom dropped out of her stomach, a sensation similar to plunging over the highest roller coaster hill.

  He held a small cooler in his left hand and had a look of determination on his face that told her she wasn’t going to escape. The meant discussing something she’d rather forget. But she couldn’t. She recalled the persuasive pressure of his mouth and every caress of his hands. Her nipples beaded in memory and her heart pounded like a stampeding herd.

  “Let’s go to the park,” he stated.

  Maybe she could avoid this awkward conversation by tackling another one first. She’d been meaning to reprimand him for filling Mason’s head with job ideas without consulting her. Either way, she didn’t want to argue right in front of her coworkers. At least the park was a public location where she wouldn’t do anything stupid like hurl herself at him again. Her skin burned at the memory.

  She matched his brisk pace down the sidewalk. Once they’d passed through the arch he headed for their usual table. A college kid on a skateboard took it before they could get there. After a second’s hesitation Brandon diverted to the only other vacant table—one secluded from the rest of the park by the trunk of a fat oak tree. Privacy. Not what she needed.

  Without speaking, he unloaded the meal: thick sandwiches wrapped in paper bearing a nearby deli’s logo, dill pickles, big brownies and two bottles of sweet tea.

  His silence only increased her discomfort. She decided to dive right in and get this confrontation over with. “Mason isn’t old enough
for the responsibility of mowing yards or walking neighborhood dogs. You should have spoken to me before filling his head with ideas.”

  “I had several jobs around the orchard when I was his age. So did Rick. My dad made sure of it. He always said, ‘Busy boys don’t have time to find trouble.’”

  He was missing the point. “He thinks he’s going to be able to buy a dog once he’s saved enough. And then I’ll have to be the bad guy and tell him he can’t.”

  “Hannah, credit me with some sense. Rocky is an ill-mannered mutt that needs to learn some manners before he hurts someone. The best way to make sure he does is to teach him myself. Mrs. Cohen is too frail to do it. I spent some time with Rocky. He’s not the brightest pup in the pack. Mason will have a hard time getting him to listen and behave, and every walk will include picking up dog cra—poop. See how much he enjoys the reality of having a dog.”

  She hadn’t thought of that. “What if that doesn’t kill his enthusiasm?”

  “Then maybe you’ll need to rethink your objection to letting him pet sit.”

  Brandon unwrapped his sandwich and patiently waited, reminding her of his Southern manners. He wouldn’t eat until she did. Although she had no appetite, Hannah removed the paper and discovered three layers thick of turkey, ham, bacon and at least two cheeses along with the lettuce and tomato. She’d be lucky if she could finish half.

  She took a bite and he mirrored the action. The moment his mouth opened over the sandwich, she remembered his taste and the hot sweep of his tongue against hers. The errant and unwelcome thought made her choke. Brandon shot to his feet as if to render aid. She waved him off, chewed and gulped and then washed the lump down with tea.

  He met her gaze across the table. “Hannah, I apologize for crossing the line Friday. It won’t happen again.”

  And she didn’t want it to. So why did his apology evoke a sinking sense of disappointment? The agony darkening his eyes told her he blamed himself. But she was honest enough to admit the kiss hadn’t been entirely his fault. Admit your mistake, Mason had said. “I kind of threw myself at you. I was scared and panicking and I... I’m sorry.”