Protecting Her Son

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.