A Cop's Honor

She’d vowed to never trust him again...now he was her only hope

As a single mom Hannah Leith faces challenges daily—and deals with them. But when her son gets into serious trouble she’s out of her league and turns to the man she blames for her police husband’s death, Brandon Martin.

Brandon still carries the guilt of his partner’s murder, which only grows heavier when he finds himself growing closer to Hannah and her children. But he’d promised to take care of the man’s family and that is what he will do, even if it means ignoring his own yearning for Hannah.

USA TODAY bestselling author and two-time RITA® Award finalist EMILIE ROSE lives in North Carolina with her own romance hero. Writing is her third career. She’s managed a medical office and a home day care—neither offered half as much satisfaction as plotting happy endings. Her hobbies include gardening, fishing, cooking and traveling to find her next book setting. Visit her website, emilierose.com, or email her at [e-mail].

Also By Emilie Rose

The Lottery Winner

Second Chance Mom

Starting with June

The Secrets of Her Past

A Better Man

The Ties that Bind

The Price of Honor

Her Tycoon to Tame

Wedding His Takeover Target

Executive’s Pregnancy Ultimatum

His High-Stakes Holiday Seduction

Bedding the Secret Heiress

More Than a Millionaire

Bargained Into Her Boss’s Bed

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk

A Cop’s Honor

Emilie Rose

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-08105-4

A COP’S HONOR

© 2018 Emilie Rose Riddle

Published in Great Britain 2018

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

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“Brandon...I think it would be best if you didn’t come around anymore.”

A line formed between his eyebrows. She opened the door and when he didn’t take the hint to leave, she stepped onto the porch and waited for him to follow, then closed the panel behind them.

“Belle already loves you. Mason is getting attached. It’s going to hurt them when you disappear. Lingering will only make it worse.”

“Who says I’ll disappear?”

“Me. I appreciate all you’ve done, but I can’t forget...the past or how dangerous your job is.”

His jaw and shoulder muscles bunched. “I promised Rick I’d look out for you.”

“I’m relieving you of that promise.”

He inhaled, long and slow, filling his chest and making it seem even broader. Then he dipped his chin once, sharply. “Take care of yourself, Hannah.”

He pivoted and walked away. Seconds later his truck engine started. Tension drained from her. It left her empty. She walked back inside and locked the door. The engaging dead bolt sounded a lot like a gunshot echoing off the foyer walls. Cutting Brandon from their lives was the right thing to do. For her sake and her children’s.

Dear Reader,

Sometimes life throws you curveballs. When it does, you have to find the courage to forge a new path—often one you’ve never contemplated before. That’s what happens to Hannah Leith when all her plans and dreams are buried with her husband. For her children’s sake, she must find the courage to start over. But she never anticipated that new beginning would include the man she held responsible for her husband’s death.

As for Brandon Martin, police officer, he never expected to use his investigative skills for his dead best friend’s son. He definitely didn’t foresee being physically attracted to his friend’s widow or suddenly wanting her to become his wife.

I hope you enjoy Hannah and Brandon’s attempts to deny the inevitable.

Emilie Rose

For my dad.

Parkinson’s took his mobility, his speech and his life, but it never took his sense of humor or his kindness.

He’ll always be my hero.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Introduction

Dear Reader

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Extract

Chapter One

HANNAH SANK DEEPER into her Adirondack chair and stretched out her legs. Her foot bumped the empty fire pit, and a few flakes of rust rained onto her ankles. She shifted again, hoping to find a more comfortable position on the hard seat. Her fingertips brushed across the chair’s peeling paint and a sense of futility rose within her.

The furniture and fire pit, like everything else around the house behind her, needed work. A lot of work. More than she could handle or afford, yet she was tackling it one project at a time. But sometimes she felt like a hamster on a wheel, spinning ’round and ’round and getting nowhere.

The old house was home—the first real home she’d ever had. Not that the places she and her parents had lived as her father climbed the army’s noncommissioned officer ranks had been bad, but they’d all been temporary. She hadn’t been free to paint or make any changes in the rented accommodations. And she had never, ever put down roots until she and Rick had bought this fixer-upper.

Rick. She closed her eyes and let the loss roll over her. Five years ago today he’d been taken from her. His death had robbed them of so many future plans as a family, and it had jeopardized their dream of turning this old house into the kind of home their children would remember fondly and always return to. She was trying to hold on to it, but life seemed determined to undermine that goal.

She took a deep breath of humid, hyacinth-and lilac-scented April air and tilted her head to stare at the full moon hanging like a fat beacon in the sky between towering oaks. A gentle breeze swayed the budding branches framing the orb. She pressed her bare soles against the still-warm brick pavers and endeavored to follow the advice she gave clients every day.

Inhale deeply to the count of ten, then exhale slowly. Release the tension by relaxing each muscle group sequentially: her forehead, her cheeks, her jaw, her neck, her shoulders. Knots loosened. Her pulse slowed and her grief settled back to a bearable level.

The click of the back door latch halted her progress. She’d thought both kids asleep before she’d slipped out for a moment of peace. Twisting, she leaned to look around the high back of her chair. The door eased open. Mason stepped onto the deck. Guilt pinched. Was he looking for her?

She opened her mouth to ask what he needed then noticed his backpack and remained silent. Why was he carrying it at this time of night? Where was he planning on going? He turned the knob and silently pulled the door closed. An uneasiness pricked through her. The feeling amplified when he furtively glanced around then tiptoed down the steps, carefully avoiding the squeaky middle tread. He turned for the side gate and clicked on a flashlight.

He wasn’t looking for her. Concern turned into alarm. “Mason, where do you think you’re going?”

He jumped, dropping the flashlight with a clank. The beam flickered and died. “Mom! What are you doing out here?”

The dismay on his face and in his voice confirmed that finding her hadn’t been his objective. Her heart thumped hard and fast in her chest. She rose and crossed the yard. “The question is where are you going at ten o’clock? You should be sleeping. It’s a school night. Your bedtime was nine.”

The sound of crickets filled the air.

“Mason Brandon Leith! Answer me.”

His gaze skittered away. “I...um... I...was going to camp out in the treehouse.”

Lying and sneaking out. Anxiety dried her mouth. She jabbed a thumb over her shoulder. “The treehouse is that way.”

“I...um...was looking for frogs first.”

Another lie. “Inside. Now.”

“Mooooom,” he wailed.

“Move it!” What had turned her sweet, easygoing ten-year-old son into trouble looking for a place to happen? He’d been suspended twice from school in the past three months for making inappropriate comments to other students then to his teacher, and finally, for sassing the school principal. She knew middle school kids were supposed to be difficult, but she hadn’t expected sixth grade to change her little boy into someone she didn’t recognize.

She followed him into the kitchen. “Where were you going?”

“I told you.”

“You lied. Try the truth.”

His chin jutted out. “I was going to meet a friend...for homework help.”

“At this hour? Who?”

“No one you know.”

That concerned her. “I’ve told you more than once that you’re not allowed to go to anyone’s house unless I’ve met them and their parents—and definitely not after bedtime and without permission.”

“How’s that supposed to happen? You work all the time. Even Grandmother Margaret says—”

“Do not throw your grandmother in my face. I work because I have to. And you’re only required to spend a couple of hours a day in after-school care. It won’t kill you. Anyway, you’re supposed to use that time to get help with your homework.” But the guilt of not being there for them the way her mother had been for her, ate at her.

“You treat me like a baby. I’m not!”

She didn’t bother arguing that he would always be her baby. “You know the rules, Mason. You’re grounded for the week. No TV and definitely no video games.”

“You’re mean! I hate you!”

The dart hit home. Her heart ached and her eyes stung. She knew he was only striking out in anger, but his words still hurt. She stiffened her spine. “Go to your room.”

He charged out of the kitchen and stomped up the stairs. His bedroom door slammed. She winced and hoped he hadn’t woken his sister.

She had to figure out what had triggered the drastic change in his behavior before he ended up in serious trouble. But who could she turn to? Not to the school counselor who’d warned her that the next time her son misbehaved he’d be expelled. Not to her in-laws who’d insisted more than once that Hannah wasn’t a good parent to their grandchildren. Their constant criticisms were hard to swallow.

And she definitely couldn’t turn to a professional—not only because of the cost. She feared her in-laws might warp whatever a psychologist learned into something that could be used against her to make good on their threat to pursue partial—if not full—custody. She didn’t think they had a legal leg to stand on, but Mr. Leith had been golfing buddies with numerous lawyers and judges over the years. She couldn’t even afford to hire an attorney if her in-laws took action. And after witnessing a coworker lose custody of her kids due to something her ex-husband had trumped up, Hannah was afraid to take chances.

She sank into a kitchen chair and dropped her head into her hands. She needed help. But who could she go to? Who could she trust? Only one name came to mind. Brandon Martin. She immediately rejected calling him. She was sure the only reason his name had popped up was because of his connection to Rick and because Rick was heavy on her heart today. But when no other names came forward, her thoughts circled back to Brandon. Would he—could he—talk some sense into her son? She’d recalled that he’d done some work with troubled youth in the past. Her stomach churned at the idea of contacting him.

Her anger and resentment toward Brandon over his part in Rick’s death still festered inside her. As her husband’s partner in the South Carolina Law Enforcement Division’s Computer Crimes Department, he should have never left Rick alone in a suspect’s house. But Brandon had been so focused on collecting evidence to keep his perfect conviction record that he’d failed to protect her husband.

She hadn’t seen or spoken to him since Rick’s funeral where she’d lost control and screamed some harsh truths at him in front of God and everybody. Would he be willing to help her now?

For Mason’s sake, she prayed he would.

* * *

BRANDON SPOTTED HANNAH the moment she entered the park on Friday afternoon. Judging by the scrub suit she wore, she was squeezing him in on her lunch break from the physical therapy office where she worked.

She paused at the wrought iron archway to scan the area. He rose from the picnic table on the neutral turf she’d designated for their meeting and lifted a hand to catch her attention. She spotted him, then after a noticeable pause, marched in his direction like a woman on a mission.

He assessed the changes in Rick’s wife. Hannah had always been pretty—pretty enough to make even Rick’s ugly mug look good. But the past five years had altered her. She’d cut more than a foot from her once-long hair. Shiny brown strands now feathered around her jaw, which happened to be set in a battle-ready, hard line. Her brown eyes weren’t any softer he noted as she neared. She looked thinner. Tired. More fragile.

He nodded but didn’t hug her as he once would have. She’d made it clear the last time he saw her that such gestures were no longer welcome from him. “What’s wrong?”

She stiffened defensively. “Why do you assume something’s wrong?”

“Because you told me you didn’t want to see me again until hell froze over. It’s eighty-five in the shade here. I doubt hell’s any cooler.”

Her gaze fell and her cheeks flushed peach. “I’m sorry I said that. I was hurting.”

“We all were.” Hell, he’d lost his best friend of twenty years. She hadn’t known Rick nearly as long.

“Right.” She perched on the edge of a bench seat.

He sat opposite her and waited, watching her pick at the table’s rough surface with a short fingernail. Her wedding rings sparkled in the sun. Rick had been gone five years this week, and she still wore the set Brandon had helped his buddy pick out. She tucked a wispy lock behind her ear—all the while refusing to make eye contact. Whatever she had to say, it must be big to require this much courage. But a decade of practicing interrogation had taught him the value of silence and patience.

She swallowed, then her worried brown eyes found his. “Something’s wrong with Mason.”

Concern jolted through him. “Have you seen a doctor?”

“He’s not sick. It’s his behavior.”

“What do you mean?”

“He’s back-chatting, saying things he shouldn’t. And he’s become increasingly defiant.”

“Mason’s ten. Puberty’s knocking. With hormones come attitude.”

Her shoulders slumped. She shook her head. “He was such a good boy until...” She took a deep breath then blew it out again, fluttering her bangs. One lock tangled in her long eyelashes and he had to stifle the sudden urge to brush it away.

“He’s been in trouble at school.”

“What kind of trouble?”

Her cheeks darkened again. “He made inappropriate comments to other students.”

“Kids talk junk, Hannah. Nothing unusual in that.” He and his friends sure had.

“No.” She glanced over each shoulder then leaned forward. “His comments were...sexual and crude. I don’t even know where he heard the words he used. Definitely not from me.”

“Movies? Internet?”

She shook her head. “I don’t have cable TV and I’m very careful about what I allow him to watch, and I always supervise his internet time.”

All good. “What about from the men you date?”

“I don’t date!”

Her shock at his question seemed genuine, and the rings would be off-putting to most guys. How long would it take for Hannah to move on? He hated to think Rick would be replaced, but Hannah was attractive, in great shape and only thirty. It was inevitable.

“He probably has a girlfriend.”

“He’s ten!”

“They start early these days, Hannah.”

Her gaze bounced to his then volleyed away again. She bit her lip. “I don’t think it’s a girl.”

“What makes you so sure?”

“Because if I didn’t make him do so he’d never brush his teeth, shower or change his clothes.”

“Good point. Discovering girls would encourage him to improve his hygiene, and care about his appearance. Have you spoken to his teachers or the school counselor?”

“Yes. They don’t have any idea of the cause. But... Brandon, they’re threatening to expel him if he doesn’t straighten up and I can’t... I can’t guarantee that he will. He’s a handful. Even for me.”

“Have you asked him about sexual abuse?”

She flinched. “Yes. I did. It was an...awkward conversation. He swears no one has touched him inappropriately. And I don’t know where it could have happened...if it had. I don’t leave him unattended or let him go anywhere that I haven’t thoroughly checked out.”

“There’s always church and day care.”

“Both places have excellent reputations, and there are always two adults in the rooms.”

“If this has been going on for a while, why are you calling me now, Hannah? What aren’t you telling me?”

She swallowed, inhaled and glanced around again. “You can’t say anything about this to anyone. Okay? It could...cause problems.” He nodded, knowing if a crime had been committed he’d break the promise. “Mason tried to sneak out Wednesday night.”

That could be cause for alarm, but it could also just be Mason acting like an adolescent. “I snuck out plenty of times as a kid—usually to go somewhere with Rick. What did he have with him?”

“His backpack.”

“What was in it?”

She blinked. “I don’t know.”

“Didn’t you look?”

“No. That’s a violation of privacy.”

“You’re his parent, not his pal. Privacy is a privilege that must be earned.” Or so his parents always claimed.

“I disagree. To teach respect you must show it.”

“When he’s thirty. Right now he’s a kid with problems. You have probable cause and the right to search.”

“You sound like a cop.”

“Because I am one. Either you want my help or you don’t.”

She tipped her head back to stare at the dense leaf canopy. Then she swallowed and met his gaze. “Do you know how hard it was for me to call you? I wouldn’t have if I’d had anyone else.”

Regret twisted through him at the agony on her face. Talking to Hannah had once been almost as easy as talking to one of his sisters. She’d always been smart, informed and funny. “What about your dad or Rick’s parents?”

Her mother had never been part of the picture. Rick hadn’t told Brandon why.

“Dad’s stationed in Italy right now. He’s too far away to visit us more than once a year, and our parenting views...differ. Rick’s parents think I’m a horrible mother. They fuss continually because my kids are ‘ill-mannered and don’t respect others’ property.’ Once a month we visit them or they come here, but...it’s not a good relationship no matter how hard I try to fix it.”

Some things never changed. On his few visits to Rick’s house he’d learned not to touch anything. “I take it their house is still full of priceless collectibles?”

“Yes. In the Leiths’ eyes I don’t do anything right, and neither do my kids. Mason and Belle hate visiting them. But I want them to know their grandparents. I always lived too far away to see mine, and then they were gone and it was too late.”

“What you’re saying is, Rick’s parents are still uptight pains in the ass?”

She grimaced. “Pretty much. They keep pushing me to move closer so they can watch the kids when they’re not in school. What they really want to do is ‘fix them.’ But I don’t want to leave our home.”

Her gaze bounced away. He waited, suspecting the speech she was formulating in her mind would be the core reason she’d called him.

Worry-clouded eyes found his. “The Leiths miss their son, and they’re clinging to my children as a replacement—especially Mrs. Leith. When she heard about Mason’s troubles at school she insisted her precious Richard had never had behavior issues, and if Mason did it had to be my fault. She’s threatened to ‘call in a professional.’ I don’t know if she means a psychologist or social services, but neither would be good. Like you, she assumed I was bringing unsuitable men into the house, and when I assured her I wasn’t, she said he had to be learning his filthy language from me. Which, she went on to tell me, made me an unfit parent.”

“She was always a vengeful bitch.”

She’d tried to get Brandon fired after Rick’s death and throughout the follow-up investigation. Because of the Leiths’ clout with South Carolina’s movers and shakers, it had been a serious threat. He’d had to deal not only with his grief over losing his best friend and the threat of losing the job he loved, but also second-guessing his judgment because he’d let Rick talk him out of following protocol.

“I’m a good parent, Brandon. I do my best to provide for my children. I never leave them unsupervised, and I send them to the best after-school program I can afford. But I saw a friend who was an excellent parent lose custody of her children when her ex-husband manufactured things. What he accused her of wasn’t true, but it cast enough doubt for her to end up with supervised visitation only. Like the Leiths, he’s loaded and connected, and like me, my friend doesn’t have the money to fight. I’m trying to give the Leiths as much access to the grandchildren as I can to keep them happy, but I’m afraid of what Rick’s mom can do with the ammunition Mason is unwittingly giving her.”