The Lawman's Secret Son

She could hardly fathom such a thing. Brady had always wanted to be a cop. “Then what do you do?”

“I work construction like I did in college.”

That explained the muscles. “But you were exonerated, weren’t you? Why didn’t you go back? Was it Chief Dixon?”

He shrugged and looked away.

“Brady,” she said, touching his wrist. Big mistake. Sensory recognition traveled through her system like a lightning bolt, erasing the last three hundred sixty-three days in the blink of an eye. She drew her hand away at once. “You wouldn’t have shot the boy if you hadn’t had to,” she said, her voice gentle. “You saved Tom’s life.”

He looked straight into her eyes and her heart quivered in her chest. She did not want to feel anything for him, let alone the tumultuous combination of lost love and resentment currently ricocheting inside her body like a wild bullet. Her mother had warned her a man with Brady’s past could never really love anyone. Lara hadn’t believed it until that night when he’d proved it to her.

He said, “I have nothing to lose. But you do.”

“Me? Oh, you mean money. You think Bill Armstrong is going to come after my family’s money.”

“If he finds you’re legally my wife, yes. If he finds a way to stick it to me or anyone I care—cared—about, yes, I do. Our marriage is a matter of public record. All he has to do is look. Maybe you ought to light a fire under your lawyer.”

She closed her eyes, trying to imagine her mother’s reaction to someone suing Brady and walking off with the Kirk fortune.

“It’s not the civil suit I’m worried about,” Brady added. “It’s Armstrong himself. He’s gone half-crazy since losing Billy. If he finds out about you—”

“Why would he even think about me?” she said, looking at Brady again, but her mind’s eye casting a different image. Both of the Armstrong kids had come into the teen center on occasion. First Sara, Billy’s delicate sixteen-year-old sister, then Billy and his pal, Jason Briggs, both a year younger. When Sara took a whole bottle of her grandmother’s sleeping pills, it had stunned the community and it had devastated Billy.

The senior Armstrong had come into the teen center looking for answers no one could give him. Grief and anger had battled in his feverish eyes and she’d felt horrible for him. And truth be known, a little afraid of him, too.

And then, three weeks later, Billy died.

Good Lord, no wonder Brady looked haunted.

But she couldn’t offer him what he needed. Maybe another woman could, someday, one who knew how to crack through his defenses or live with them. But not her. She said, “I’ve been gone a year, Brady. I’ll leave again in a few days. As far as anybody in Riverport knows, I’m just the girl you didn’t marry.”

He looked down at his feet then back at her, his gaze unfathomable. How could she have ever thought she knew him better than she knew herself? He was a stranger. She glanced at her watch. Almost three o’clock. “I have to get back inside.”

His eyebrows raised in query. Before he could ask a question she wasn’t prepared to answer, she told him something she hadn’t planned to. “I have a meeting this evening with Jason Briggs.”

As she’d known it would, this news diverted his curiosity. “What does he want?”

“I guess he wants to talk.”

“Why does the boy who convinced Billy Armstrong that stealing a car and a half case of beer was a good idea want to talk to you?”

She shrugged. “He got out of juvenile detention earlier this week and apparently went straight to the teen center. My replacement called me up in Seattle where I live now, and I called Jason. He asked if I was going to be around Riverport soon because he needed to talk.”

“And so you drove all the way back here to talk with a delinquent sixteen-year-old boy.”

“Among other things,” she hedged. “But, yes. There was something in his voice.”

“What do you mean?”

“He sounded nervous.”

“Jason Briggs hasn’t, to my knowledge, told anyone anything about that night except to try to blame everything on Billy.”

She almost smiled. Brady was acting like what Brady really was. A cop. How could he not see that? She said, “I won’t know what’s troubling him until I talk to him.”

“Yeah. Okay, I’ll go with you. This may be a break.”

“No, you won’t go with me,” she said firmly.

“Where are you meeting him?”

“Like I’m going to tell you?”

“You don’t know what he has in mind.”

“And neither do you,” she said. With a warning glance, she added, “Come back later tonight. If Jason says anything I can pass along to you, I will.”

“I don’t like you going alone.”

She stared at him until he had the grace to drop his gaze. “I’ll call my lawyer tomorrow. We’ll have this sham of a marriage annulled.”

One minute he was staring at her as she talked and the next he’d closed the three feet between them and grabbed her arms. The energy that surged directly into her bloodstream almost knocked her off her feet. Her heart banged against her ribs.

He dipped his head so low his deep dark brown eyes burned into hers. “Can a marriage consummated the way ours was be annulled?”

“Brady…”

“Don’t you remember our wedding night? Don’t you remember what we did—”

She shrugged herself away from him. Sex had never been the issue. “You’d better go now.”

Seconds ticked by in absolute silence before he finally moved. He paused at her elbow. “I’ll be back at nine o’clock.”

“Make it ten,” she said.

He nodded once before striding away. She stood in the garden for several moments, staring out at the old dock, waiting until she heard the roar of his motorcycle and knew it was safe to move.

Then she walked back inside the house, head high, eyes mostly unseeing. She’d shed her last tear for Brady months before. She was over him.

Chapter Two

Good Neighbors was a nonprofit organization utilizing volunteer workers to build low-income housing. Brady was one of the few paid employees. It was his job to assign and approve projects. He was also in charge of contracting jobs too big for the volunteers to handle alone.

The man who had donated the property had been truly generous as it wasn’t a tiny city lot but a small parcel backed by the river. Eventually there would be additional houses built on the property. Brady hoped to have a hand in all of them.

After visiting with Lara, Brady couldn’t keep his mind on anything. The sun baked his bare back as he sat on the plywood roof, banging in a slew of nails. They’d run out of ammo for the nail gun and he’d sent everyone else home for the day.

Had Lara really come back to Riverport just to talk to Jason Briggs? What was the boy up to? He’d been in and out of trouble most of his young life and Brady would bet money a few months in detention hadn’t changed that. Brady knew the type, his own brother, Garrett, was a carbon copy.

For a second, Brady thought about Garrett and wondered where he lived now and what he was up to. Last he’d heard, Garrett was out of the army. Brady hoped that gig had helped his little brother get his head screwed on straight, but he wouldn’t count on it. Garrett was more like their father than Brady was. The same reckless streak ran through both of them.

A bitter smile never touched his lips as that thought hit home. Could Garrett have done any worse with his life than Brady had? Had he killed a fifteen-year-old boy? Had he destroyed his one chance for a happy marriage with a woman who outclassed him in every way possible? Had he abandoned the only job he ever truly wanted and cemented his reputation as another worthless Skye, all because the thought of carrying a gun—and possibly making another mistake—made him queasy?

Unless Garrett had turned into a serial killer, he was probably doing as well if not better than his responsible big brother.

Brady missed a nail head twice and laid the hammer aside. Staring out at the river, he faced the fact he wasn’t going to get much more done here today. He picked up his tools and scrambled down the ladder. He’d just finished storing the equipment in the on-site storage shed when an SUV pulled up alongside his Harley.

Brady yanked on his T-shirt as the dust settled around the SUV. The window slid down to reveal Tom James, flush face toying with a smile.

Twice divorced, Tom was five or six years older than Brady, creeping up on forty. His former partner was also shorter than Brady, heavier, big chested with very short black hair ringing a bald spot.

“Have I got news for you,” Tom said.

Brady leaned against Tom’s vehicle. It was brand new and the fact he could afford it after the cleaning his last ex-wife and her lawyer accomplished, spoke to the fact that Tom was banking on his future promotion within the Riverport Police Department.

And no reason he shouldn’t. Brady was just damn thankful the Armstrong shooting hadn’t destroyed Tom’s reputation on the force as well as his own.

“Let me guess,” Brady said.

Tom laughed. “You won’t guess this. I got it hot from Carlson’s Hardware Store.”

“Lara is back in town, staying at her mother’s house while her mother is on a cruise.”

Tom’s round face fell. “Someone told you.”

“I saw Lara. I spoke with her.”

Tom nodded, all humor gone now. He knew what the last year had cost Brady. He said, “How was it?”

“About how you’d expect.”

Tom nodded. “What did she come back for?”

“She’s meeting Jason Briggs tonight.”

“Really,” Tom said, eyes narrowing. “I heard he got out of juvie. What’s she meeting him for?”

“He wanted to talk to her. Maybe you could keep your eyes open tonight just in case there’s trouble.”

“Where are they meeting? What time?”

“Don’t know, she won’t say.”

“You going to tail her?”

Brady shook his head. “She’d kill me if she found out I was butting into her business.”

“So?”

“So, she’s right.”

“But you want me to keep an eye out,” Tom said, a smile pulling at his lips.

Brady looked away.

“Don’t worry, buddy, I’ll mention it to Chief Dixon, too. He can tell anyone else he sees fit.”

Brady bit his tongue at this suggestion but said nothing as Tom drove off. He just hoped Lara never got wind that half the Riverport police force would soon know—thanks to him—that she had a meeting with Jason Briggs.

The thought occurred to Brady as he climbed on the Harley that Jason’s driver’s license had been yanked. Using a little deduction, that meant Lara would probably meet him in town. Like maybe at the teen center or the diner or even Lara’s mother’s house. He toyed with doing a little research but let the idea go.

Lara had made it clear she didn’t want him in her face. Tom was going to keep a sharp eye peeled just in case. That was enough.

He got to his place about five o’clock and ate a tuna sandwich while standing at the counter. It was a new place, about as nondescript as they come. He’d changed just about everything in the last year, including his residence. The old place had reminded him too much of Lara.

At first, after the shooting, he’d toyed around with leaving Riverport himself. Without his job on the force, without Lara, what was there to stay for? But then the Good Neighbors job came along and he admitted to himself that, for good or bad, Riverport was home. Garrett could move around the country all he wanted—Brady would stay here.

After dinner, he usually went back to the Good Neighbors house to map out the next day’s activities. No reason not to do so again tonight. He couldn’t sit in the impersonal apartment longing for a life he no longer had. He was too restless to read or watch television. If he couldn’t settle down at work, he’d take the Harley out to the river and use an evening swim to work out his anxiety.

He and Lara used to do that, most of the time on the spur of the moment after a movie or dinner out. He could still picture her in the scraps of satin and lace she called underwear, swimming in the river, honey-blond hair mingling with the darkening water, the summer smell of blackberries, the taste of her skin. She wore summer the way some women wore diamonds…

He’d go anyway. Despite all that.

It took him two hours to plan the next day’s work and finish up a few odd jobs. It was nearing nine o’clock by the time he started home. He went the long way in order to avoid the Kirk house. He wasn’t due there for over an hour and he didn’t want Lara catching sight of him and accusing him of spying.

He was driving down Main Street near the west end of town, undecided about the swim, when he spotted Tom talking to what appeared to be a high-school girl standing beside a little blue car. She’d probably been caught speeding. As usual, when Tom put on the charm, a scared kid relaxed. Brady knew he wouldn’t give her a ticket, he’d cut her some slack. Back in the day, Brady had actually talked to Tom about his live-and-let-live take on citing minors, questioning whether he was actually doing a kid much good by not holding them accountable for minor offenses. Tom had laughed him off.

And again, that ache of no longer belonging. He missed being out on the street, helping people, looking for miscreants, figuring things out. Sure, he was still alive, he still walked and talked and worked and occasionally, even laughed. But it all seemed brittle and hollow. His life, abandoned.

Not wanting to talk to Tom again, he took a side street that led to the industrial side of town. There was a smattering of bars along the street. No doubt his father was holding up a stool at the River Rat or the Crosshairs. Brady avoided even looking in the open doors.

That’s when he caught sight of a guy on a bicycle who looked familiar. Of course. Hair shorter, body a little bigger, but that was Jason Briggs.

For one long second, options flashed through Brady’s mind. Turn around and go the other way, pull over to the curb, find a cold drink and do nothing or…

Brady slowed way down, giving Jason a good lead. He waited until Jason had cleared the edge of town and disappeared around a corner before taking off, hanging back, trailing him but not close.

What was the harm of trailing Jason if Lara never knew?

It looked as though the kid was headed for the river. Maybe he just wanted a swim. Maybe Brady would join him—if Lara wasn’t there. Who knows what Jason might talk about while paddling around the river on a summer evening?

Traffic was light, so following Jason took skill. Brady left lots of room between them, uneasy with the inevitable times Jason disappeared around a curve. But Brady knew this road and there was only one place it really went—to the river. Unless the kid was headed over the bridge and on up to St. George.

Brady came around the latest hairpin curve to find the road ahead empty. This was where it branched, straight across the bridge, or an abrupt right on the south side of the river. The bridge had two cars on it but no bikes. That left the southern road and it appeared empty. Brady concluded Jason had ridden his bike into the turnout on this side of the bridge.

So, he wasn’t going to swim. The bank there was too steep, the river too deep thanks to the proximity of the bridge excavation. There was a far better spot just a quarter of a mile downstream where the river made a wide turn.

As the noisy motorcycle would ruin a stealthy approach, Brady steered the Harley behind a few trees, took off his helmet and started walking.

He found Jason still astride his bike, feet planted on the ground, facing the road. Waiting. He was wearing earphones attached to an iPod in his pocket. He was a lanky, fair-haired kid with shifty eyes, dressed in baggy shorts and flip-flops. Brady remembered the punches he’d thrown the night of the shooting, and his own advice to Jason: stop drinking. Well, they didn’t serve adult beverages in juvenile detention, so hopefully a little time away from temptation had been good for him.

Brady ducked behind some very dense Oregon grape bushes. He scooted along until an abandoned wooden pavilion provided cover from the road and the parking area. The downside of this position was he couldn’t see the road. The upside was twofold—he could, by contorting a bit, see the clearing and no one could see him.

Ten long minutes later, he heard an engine. Jason must have seen a car. He took off the earphones and got off his bike, pushing it near a picnic table where he leaned it against one of the benches. At last, a silver car with Washington plates drove slowly into the clearing.

Brady saw Lara behind the wheel. She parked the car facing the river embankment and rolled down her window. Jason walked toward Lara with his head down.

Brady tensed. He could imagine no reason Jason Briggs would hurt Lara, but his walking up to her like that made him nervous.

They spoke for a few seconds and Jason started around the back of the car. Lara’s window slid back into place. Had she seen the Harley? Was she going to drive Jason to a different spot?

But Jason got inside the car and turned in the seat to face Lara. Brady could tell she hadn’t turned the engine off. Probably wanted to keep the air-conditioning running.

He watched them talk for a couple of minutes, then became aware of an idling engine out on the road. Before he could finish wondering what Lara and Jason would do when another car rolled into the parking lot, a shot blasted the evening stillness.

An instant later, a muffled scream hit Brady like a gust from a tornado. It came from Lara’s car. There was a perfect round hole in her back window. Jason had slumped forward. Lara leaned toward him. Brady started moving. Another shot. Some idiot was out on the road, shooting at Lara’s car.

Before he could scramble from behind the pavilion, Lara put the car into gear and gunned the engine into a broad turn to escape. It appeared Jason fell against her during the turn. Another shot. She grabbed her arm. The car lurched forward. Brady watched helplessly as it hung on the embankment for a second before heading for the river.

As he ran toward the quickly disappearing car, he heard an engine rev and tires squeal out on the road. No doubt thinking his mission accomplished, the gunman had fled. Every cop-related fiber of Brady’s body quaked at the thought of the gunman getting away.

He got to the embankment in time to see Lara’s car fly over a strip of boulders, its tailpipe clanging as the car launched into the river, a geyser of water spraying as it landed like a whale doing a belly flop, and quickly sank from view.

Chapter Three

Jason’s limp body pinned Lara’s foot against the accelerator pedal. Blood from the wound on her right arm dripped on his white T-shirt as she tried to push him away.

Oh, God, he was hurt, she didn’t want to hurt him further, but the car was racing toward the river.

A final push and he slumped the other direction. She moved her foot and the racing engine slowed, but it was too late. The car hit the rocks skirting the river’s edge and launched itself into the water. Her last act before she hit the river was to pound the electric window button. The window slid down six inches before water washed over the hood and the engine died. Within an instant, water covered the windshield and the vehicle sank to the bottom of the river as cold water gushed through the window.

“Jason!” she screamed.

He mumbled something as the water seemed to revive him for a moment. It was too dark to see much. “Jason, we’re sinking. I’m going to try to get us out of this. Hold on.”

A million images flashed through her mind as she searched frantically for something heavy enough to break a window. Her purse, no. Sandals, a small flashlight. Nothing heavy. No big tire iron.

A million images. Brady. Nathan. Her mother. A million regrets, a million sorrows, all racing like electronic bleeps through her brain, like a movie reel moving too fast for images. And all the while she searched for a tool that would break the window and save their lives, and all the time she searched, she knew no such tool existed within the passenger cabin of her new car.

The water was up to their waists now and still gushing. She wished she’d not lowered the window or had thought to do it sooner though twin streams also spurt from the bullet holes in the back window. Her actions had more or less set them up for certain death. No one knew they were there but the person who shot them. He or she wasn’t coming to their rescue.

She should have told Brady! She should have told her mother’s housekeeper. She should have told someone.

How long would it take for anyone to notice she was gone. Nathan would first, of course, and then Myra, but neither of them would tell the one person who could help.

Brady. She should have told Brady.

She held Jason’s head up for him as he seemed to have slipped back into unconsciousness and the water was above her shoulders. He would die without the terror. Lucky him.

A banging on the window behind her head caused Lara to gulp river water and she coughed. A rock. Someone was using a big rock to pound on the rear window. She immediately shoved Jason through the middle of the car, between the two front seats into the back, the water making it easier to move him, struggling to keep his face up, his nose above water. He ran into the seat and sputtered as she lost hold of him. She felt around in a panic until she caught hold of his hair and hauled him back to the surface. He gagged. At least he was still alive.

There was only a small pocket of air against the ceiling of the car now. The rock pounding sounded hollow until suddenly the window shattered into a thousand little cubes of glass. Hands reached inside. She shoved Jason toward them, praying the car hadn’t sunk too deep, that their savior would get Jason to the surface before he gulped too much water and drowned.

As Jason’s feet disappeared, Lara pushed herself through the seats. Her sandal strap caught on the gearshift and she wasted precious seconds yanking it off her foot. Hands appeared again, reaching toward her. She reached out. They grabbed her. A feeling of safety shot through her body as the hands pulled her free of the car. Her rescuer put an arm around her waist and swam to the surface, towing her along.

She emerged into the warm night air coughing and choking. Arms lifted her from her feet and carried her up the steep embankment, laying her down on the grass beside Jason, who was being tended by an older woman Lara had never seen before. A gray car was parked a few feet away, the driver’s door wide open. A beeping sound indicated the keys were still in the ignition.

Lara coughed up a half gallon of water before looking up at the man who had saved her.

Dripping wet, hair streaming down his brown face, clothes molded against his powerful body, expression unfathomable.

Brady.

Somewhere in her heart of hearts, she’d known it was him. “Why are you here?” she sputtered.

“It’s a long story,” he said, leaving her side to kneel beside Jason. “This lady saw your car go into the river as she crossed the bridge. She called an ambulance on her cell phone.” He put his fingers against Jason’s throat. Even from where Lara sat, she could see the spreading red stain on Jason’s chest and she groaned.

“His breathing is shallow, he’s going into shock,” Brady said. Addressing the Good Samaritan, he added, “Do you have a blanket in your car, something to keep him warm?”

“I’ll look,” she said, struggling to her feet.

“He’s lost a lot of blood,” Brady said as he propped the boy’s feet atop a rock. Lara took Jason’s limp hand. He felt so cold.

Brady was in the act of stripping off his wet T-shirt, when the woman hurried from her car carrying a blue blanket. He rung out his shirt before wadding it up and placing it on Jason’s wound. The muscles under his wet skin rippled with effort.

“It’s the dog throw,” the flustered woman said as she pushed the blanket toward Brady. “It’s probably hairy—”