Protecting Her Son

“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.