The Lawman's Secret Son

“It’s fine,” Brady said, tucking the blanket around the wet boy. “Can you take over for me? Can you keep pressure on his wound?”

“Of course.” The woman did as Brady asked before looking up at him with frightened eyes. “This is a gunshot, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“And the girl?”

Now that survival wasn’t foremost on her mind, Lara realized she felt not only light-headed, but her arm throbbed. She looked down to find new blood seeping into the wet cloth, making a pink watercolor of her blouse.

Brady took her good hand, pulling her to her feet. She stumbled against him and he caught her, his grip tight.

“You okay?”

No, she wasn’t okay. She wasn’t okay at all. She’d come close to dying. She’d come close to leaving secrets untold. She had to bite back tears as she said, “You know about the shooting?”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t understand. How did you get here?”

“Put some pressure on your arm,” he said evasively. “Better yet, keep it elevated.” He looked toward the road. “I hear a siren. Let’s hope they had the good sense to alert the police.”

OVERLAID ON THE IMAGE of Jason’s unconscious body being loaded into the ambulance as red and blue police lights flashed in the dark was the old replay of the same thing being done to Billy Armstrong.

Two boys out for a joyride. One dead, the other hovering near death.

And now Lara.

Along with the police, two ambulances had responded. The ambulance carrying Jason took off almost immediately. The other stood waiting for Lara. Brady watched as Lara greeted one of the EMT guys like an old, lost friend. They’d probably gone to school together. It struck Brady that Lara had walked away from her whole life—her family, her friends, her job—when she walked away from him.

Ran away. And what choice did you give her?

“I have to talk to you,” she told him, pausing as a medic guided her to the ambulance.

“Did Jason have a chance to say anything to you?” he asked.

She cradled her wounded arm with her good hand. Sympathy, the last thing he wanted from her, flooded her eyes. She said, “He was just getting settled when it happened. The only person he had a chance to mention was his girlfriend, the Wylie girl. I guess she broke up with him.”

“That’s all?”

“Yeah. I’m sorry.” She lowered her voice and added, “I need to talk to you about something even more important. I could have died tonight. I would have died if you hadn’t magically appeared.”

“Not magically,” he said, gazing into her green eyes. The flashing lights cast revolving colors across her hair and face. Her eyes glistened.

So many memories. Of holding her, kissing her, making love to her. She had been his and he’d lost her.

“There’s something I have to tell you,” she repeated.

“Me, too. I didn’t just happened to be here tonight.”

She shook her head. “I don’t care. I’ll wait for you at the hospital. Come get me when you can.”

“Just tell me now—”

“Not now,” she said. He felt his throat close as she walked away. His last glimpse was of her eyes before the ambulance doors shut and the vehicle charged back to town.

Tom hadn’t arrived yet, but his new partner, a young guy named Hastings, took Brady’s statement, russet eyebrows arching when Brady described the gunfire.

“Two shots,” Brady said. “Maybe three.”

“But you didn’t see the vehicle?”

“No.”

“Show me again where you were standing when the shots started.”

Brady walked Hastings through the whole thing, using flashlights. Tow trucks had arrived and the underwater recovery of the vehicle had begun. Hastings left as another squad car tore into the clearing and Tom emerged, tugging on his hat. Hastings and Tom spoke for a few seconds, then Tom came to stand beside Brady.

“I’d like to get to the hospital,” Brady said.

Tom nodded. “Soon. But hell, Brady, what were you doing out here? Did you follow Lara?”

“Actually, I followed Jason Briggs. I saw him riding his bike.”

“You followed Jason? With what?”

“The Harley. It’s parked down the road, behind some trees.”

“Let me get this straight. You shadowed the kid out of town, then hid your motorcycle and continued on foot? Why?”

Brady shrugged. “Because the Harley is noisy and I didn’t want Jason to know I was following him.”

“He never saw you?”

“I don’t think so.”

“And when you got here—”

“I stayed out of sight.”

“How long did he and Lara talk before the attack? Did he say anything about Billy having a gun?”

“He didn’t have time. They only talked for a minute or two. She said he never got past mentioning his girlfriend. A girl named Wylie.”

“What about her?”

“I guess she broke up with Jason. You’ll have to ask Lara.”

“And you didn’t see the gunman or his vehicle?”

“No.”

“This doesn’t look so good,” Tom said, pushing his hat back on his head.

Brady’s eyes narrowed as he said, “Just what are you suggesting, Tom?”

“Nothing. Nothing. But you’ve got to admit it looks bad.”

“Why?”

“The first day you find out Jason Briggs is home you follow him. The next thing anyone knows, the boy is as good as dead. And you’re on scene.”

“Are you saying I shot Jason Briggs?”

“I’m saying it looks like you could have shot the boy. He was the only other one in the car with Billy Armstrong that night. He’s fresh out of juvie. If he knew something maybe you didn’t want him telling, he might confide in his old counselor—”

“I am this close to giving you a black eye,” Brady growled, his fist bunched into a knot.

Tom shook his head. “I know you didn’t do this, pal. No matter how you felt about Jason, you would never have jeopardized Lara. But Chief Dixon is going to ask these questions.”

“I don’t have anything against Jason. Did you tell Dixon about Jason wanting to talk to Lara?”

Tom thought for a second. “I guess so. At the briefing. Sure.”

“And how many others?”

“I don’t know. Half a dozen.”

“Any way for Bill Armstrong to have heard the news?”

Tom thought again for a second before saying, “His ex-brother-in-law works in dispatch so I guess it’s possible. What are you getting at?”

“I don’t know what I’m getting at.” Brady took a steadying breath. “How do we know Lara wasn’t the real victim?”

“Why would anyone want to shoot her?”

“I don’t know. Ask Bill Armstrong where he was tonight.”

“Don’t start on that. Bill Armstrong wouldn’t shoot Jason Briggs.”

“Wouldn’t he? Your scenario of my not wanting Jason to tell Lara something might also pertain to Armstrong. Maybe there’s something Billy told Jason that Armstrong doesn’t want Jason telling Lara. Or maybe he just wants to hurt Lara to get back at me.”

“Is something going on between you two?”

“No,” Brady said. “But he doesn’t know that.”

Tom looked unconvinced. “We’ll talk again tomorrow.”

HOW DID YOU FIND a madman when you had no clues? Jason could have made new enemies in juvenile detention, he could have tempted old enemies who heard he was back in town and saw him riding his bike off on his own. Like Brady had. Was he sure there hadn’t been a third party trailing him while he trailed Jason? Had he even thought to look?

No, and yet somehow Brady didn’t believe that was the answer. He thought it was as simple as someone not wanting Jason Briggs talking to Lara Kirk.

Why?

Or maybe someone wanted Lara dead and was a lousy shot.

Twenty minutes after leaving the clearing, he entered the emergency-room doors for the first time in almost a year, nodding at the nurse behind the desk as his still-soggy boots squeaked with every step. In lieu of a shirt, which he’d donated to help stem Jason’s bleeding, he wore an old jacket he carried on the bike. It was too hot a garment for August.

“Hey, Brady. Long time no see.”

“How you doing, Tammy? I’m here to check on Lara Kirk and Jason Briggs.”

She frowned for a second. About his own age, she looked ten years older, probably because she smoked like a fiend when no one was watching. Brady had caught her outside a few times and used to tease her about it.

“Ms. Kirk was treated for a superficial gunshot wound in her right arm and was released an hour ago. The Briggs boy is in surgery. It’s touch and go.”

“I thought Ms. Kirk was going to wait for me,” Brady mused aloud, unsure what to do now.

“She got a call and left.”

Brady thanked her briskly and took off. Who had called her? Why? What was important enough for her to leave the hospital when she’d made a point of telling him to meet her there? Was it possible she didn’t understand the importance of the fact that Jason Briggs wasn’t the only one who had been shot tonight?

He got as far as the Harley before feeling a hulking presence behind him. He turned abruptly and immediately recognized Bill Armstrong emerging from between parked cars.

Armstrong was about the same size as Brady though a couple of years older. He’d been a mechanic since graduating from high school. Married his high-school sweetheart. As far as Brady knew, he’d been doing okay for himself and his family until his daughter committed suicide and a few weeks later, his son died.

Thanks to Brady.

Now word was that Bill Armstrong had taken to drinking, his wife had threatened to leave him and his job was in peril.

“I heard you almost killed another kid tonight,” Armstrong said, coming to a halt six feet away from Brady. The overhead lights illuminated the thatch of sandy hair that continued around his face in a trimmed beard.

“You heard wrong,” Brady said. He didn’t want to waste time with Armstrong, but he didn’t want to turn his back on him, either.

“I heard Jason Briggs got shot and that you were there.”

Brady waited.

“That little gal who left when you murdered my son is back in Riverport.”

“Who told you that?”

He tapped his forehead with a finger. “I just know. Maybe it would have been better for her if she’d stayed away.”

Brady advanced a few steps. “She was a counselor to your kids,” he said. “She tried to help them. She’s an innocent in all this.”

Armstrong backed down a little. He looked in the direction of his shoes as he said, “Do you suppose she’d miss you if some concerned citizen took it in his mind to eliminate a public menace?”

Brady’s gut tightened. His decision to stop carrying a gun suddenly seemed shortsighted.

“I don’t, either,” Armstrong said. “But killing you is too easy.” His voice caught. “I want you to know what it’s like to lose someone you love,” Armstrong continued, his eyes moist now. “If you had a son it would be perfect. An eye for an eye. Poetic justice.”

“Where were you tonight?” Brady said softly.

Ignoring the question, Armstrong said, “You don’t know what it’s like to lose a kid.”

With total sincerity, Brady said, “I’ve told you a dozen times how sorry I am about your son. I had no choice. There was no time. He pulled a gun.”

Please, God, let that be true…

For a second, Armstrong looked ready to throw his weight at Brady. And then he rocked back on his heels and steadied himself by grabbing the hood of the closest car.

Brady picked his helmet up off the seat. “Stay away from Lara Kirk and Jason Briggs,” he said.

Armstrong shook his head. He took a deep breath and glared at Brady. “You’re not a cop anymore, Skye. You’re a washed-up has-been just like your old man. Maybe the other cops let you off the hook for murdering my kid, but I won’t. You’ll pay for what you did to me and mine.”

“I know,” Brady said. “You’re going to take me for every dime I have.”

The smile that broke Armstrong’s face was worse than his sneer. “That’ll be a start. We’ll see where it ends.”

Brady got on the bike and started the engine.

Was Armstrong a grieving man, more bark than bite, or was Brady’s gut feeling Lara was in terrible danger more than his guilty conscience at work?

At any rate, he wasn’t going to leave her alone tonight. He’d swing by his place and grab a toothbrush and some dry shoes and clothes. Trade the Harley for his truck in case they needed to go somewhere. Like it or not, she had a guard tonight.

WHAT WAS KEEPING Brady?

Lara stood by the front windows, freshly showered, wearing old sweats she’d found in a bottom drawer. She was still cold even though she knew it was a warm night, summer at its apex. When she closed her eyes, the cold river flooded her head.

Before the night was over she would tell Brady what she’d come back to Riverport to tell him.

She’d wanted to tell him forever.

The sitting room, as her mother called the room to the left of the foyer, was typical Victorian with very high ceilings and tall, stately windows. A rose and ivory Oriental carpet, its silk soft against Lara’s bare feet, covered the hardwood floor.

“Lara?” Lara turned at the sound of the housekeeper’s voice. “Everything is quiet upstairs,” Myra added. “I think I’ll turn in.”

“Of course. Thanks for your help today. I don’t know what I would have done without you.”

“I wouldn’t have missed it for the world. I’m just glad I didn’t go on that cruise with your mother like she wanted. I did that once a couple of years ago and if you don’t mind my saying, it wasn’t much of a vacation for me.”

Lara nodded. She could imagine. As Myra left the room, a pair of headlights pulled up in front of the house. Lara recognized Brady’s green truck parked under the streetlight and she left the room, headed for the front door, suddenly aware her feet tingled and her palms felt sweaty. She took a deep breath as she pulled open the door.

He looked up as he took the last few steps. He’d obviously taken a shower and changed clothes and in the porch light, dressed in black jeans and a gray Henley, he looked lean, capable and focused.

She stood aside and he entered the house. He paused in the foyer, his gaze traveling up the broad, curved staircase as though looking for an invading army. Then his eyes met hers.

“You left the hospital.”

“Myra called. She was having trouble—”

“What kind of trouble?” He covered the few steps between them and caught her arm. She recoiled and he dropped his hand.

“I’m sorry. I forgot about your wound.”

“It’s okay. There’s a huge bandage on it. The doctor said there might be a scar but there was no permanent damage.”

“Good. What kind of trouble did the housekeeper have?”

She looked away for a second, then back at him. “It didn’t have anything to do with tonight, Brady, honest. I found a cab outside the hospital and took it home. Myra had to pay the man. I’d forgotten I no longer have a purse or a wallet. Do you know how Jason is doing?”

“I called from my place. He’s out of surgery, but it’s still touch and go.”

She nodded. Touch and go. “Poor kid.”

They each stared at the floor for a moment, then spoke at the same time.

She said, “Let’s go sit down—”

And he said, “I’m staying here tonight—”

They both stopped talking, he turned his hand palm up as if to give her a turn first. She repeated herself. He sat down on the second from bottom step and patted the space next to him.

Lara understood that he felt uncomfortable in her mother’s house and was reluctant to stray too far inside.

“You’re nervous,” he said.

She nodded.

“I want you to know I didn’t follow you out to the river. You told me not to come, but I happened to see Jason riding his bike and—”

She put her hand on his arm and he met her eyes. “You saved my life. You saved Jason. How could you think I would resent you being there?”

“Well, you’re nervous.”

“Not about that.”

“And you’re angry with me.”

“Oh, Brady. It’s been a long year.” Tears stung the back of her nose and she struggled to keep them out of her eyes and her voice. Though they didn’t fall, the emotion behind them must have showed, because he covered her hand with his.

His face was very close. She could smell soap and aftershave and toothpaste. She stared at his lips. Flames licked her groin.

And just like that, their lips drifted together, inevitably, touching in a way that was at once familiar and bittersweet. These lips she’d thought she’d never touch again. Soft and warm with the power of life behind them.

But not for her. Not ever again.

She drew away and took a shaky breath.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“It’s me. My emotions are all over the map.”

“I won’t let it happen again,” he added. “I promise you.”

She nodded.

“What do you want to tell me?” His hand had slipped from hers.

She bit her lip and finally decided how she should share her news. “Come with me,” she said, standing. He stood as well and seemed startled when she led him up the stairs. Was he remembering the first time they’d climbed these stairs together, two and a half years ago when her mother had taken off for the Aegean Sea and Lara had used the opportunity to show him the room in which she’d grown up?

Things like that were impossible when her mom was in the house for the simple reason her mother didn’t like Brady. She was one of those people Brady talked about, one of those who based their opinion of him on his family name. To Lara’s mother, Brady was and always would be, “One of those worthless Skye boys.” Slightly less troublesome than the younger boy, Garrett, but not to be trusted just the same.

She led Brady into her old bedroom. The light was low, the bed was covered in white eyelet just as it had been years before when she lived at home with her mother. Knowing she was coming, Myra had filled vases with roses from the garden and placed them around the room. Their fragrance perfumed the air.

“This is why I rushed home from the hospital,” she said softly.

His brow furrowed as he looked at the bed, which suddenly seemed to glow with remembered passion. She moved aside so he could see what occupied the far corner.

So he could see the crib.

“Myra needed help getting Nathan to sleep,” she said.

She watched his face as realization dawned. It was like watching the sunrise. He glanced at her and she nodded once, sniffing back tears before they could glisten in her eyes.

He moved toward the crib like a sleepwalker and stood staring down at the slumbering infant within.

Chapter Four

“He was conceived on our wedding night,” Lara said. “His name is Nathan.”

He had a son?

Just like that? One moment alone in the world, the next moment, a son?

Very slowly, he lowered his hand until the backs of his fingers grazed the baby’s round cheek. How could skin be that soft? The baby tucked one tiny fist close to his chin. A bubble blew at his lips and then he made a sudden face, a frown, and scrunched up his tiny body before relaxing again, hands flung to the side.

His son. Nathan.

“You named him after your father,” he whispered.

“Yes.”

Brady kept his gaze glued to the infant because he didn’t trust himself to look at Lara. Men usually had a few months to prepare themselves for fatherhood. Time to get used to the idea of a baby, to merge the dreamy possibilities of the future with the uncertainties of the past. Time to reckon.

But she’d deprived him of this.

She hadn’t trusted him with the knowledge he was to become a father. She’d gone through pregnancy and birth and the first three months of his child’s life alone rather than trust him.

She’s here now, a small voice whispered in the back of his mind. They’re both here now.

He wasn’t ready to listen. He shoved his hands in his pockets as he turned to face her.

Their eyes locked for a heartbeat before she lowered her gaze. “I’m sorry, Brady,” she said so softly it might have been his imagination. “I was frightened.”

That made it better? Now she not only didn’t trust him and didn’t like him, she was afraid of him?

“Later,” he forced himself to say. He needed time to think.

“I just want you to know I didn’t know I was pregnant when I first went away, and when I found out—”

He held up a hand to still her.

The baby made a little noise and Lara leaned over, her shoulder brushing Brady’s arm. She grabbed her own arm, wincing, and he remembered her injury and how close he’d come to losing her. Good God, if she’d died tonight, would anyone have bothered to tell him about Nathan?

“Will you lift him for me?” she said, glancing up at him. “Or shall I call Myra?”

Brady blinked a time or two. “I can do it.”

“It’s easy, just make sure you support his head,” she said.

And so he lifted his son for the first time, careful to put one hand behind the little guy’s heavy head. The baby kicked and squirmed and Brady held on tight, terrified he’d drop him.

“Relax,” Lara said. “You’re doing fine.”

“What do I do now?”

“Just comfort him, Brady. Hold him closer. Don’t be afraid.”

He pulled Nathan against his chest, one hand all but covering the small boy’s back. He tried making soft noises and bouncing a little. One or the other of these tactics apparently worked because the baby settled down. Brady tipped him away from his chest for a moment, anxious to really look at these few pounds of humanity that had instantly redefined his life.

His throat tightened as he took in every amazing inch of his son’s face. The dark orbs as he opened one eye, then the other. The very small nose, the tip of a tiny tongue. What struck him was the baby’s total dependence. Was he ready for this?

He was still trying to work out his complicated relationship with his own father. What did he know about being a father to an innocent child? How could he teach what he’d never learned?

“Did you hear that?” Lara said, and he opened his eyes abruptly, yanked back from his thoughts.

“Did I hear what?”

“A noise downstairs. Maybe it was Myra.”

“I’ll go take a look,” Brady said.

The door flew open at that moment. The housekeeper, dressed in a voluminous green robe, took one look at them standing by the crib and crossed the room in a half-dozen sturdy steps. “Give me the little lamb,” she crooned. Brady looked at Lara, who nodded. Reluctantly, he handed the child over, amazed at how empty his hands and arms suddenly felt.

“I was downstairs in my room,” Myra said, expertly wrapping Nathan in a blanket. “I heard breaking glass. When I went to look, I found the window in the sitting room with a hole—”

Brady left without hearing the rest, taking the stairs two at a time. Armstrong had known Lara was back in town—did he also know about Nathan? He’d talked about an eye for an eye…

“The sitting room is to the right,” Lara said. She’d followed him down the stairs. There was no color in her face and her eyes were wide. He moved into the formal Victorian sitting room lit only by a glass-shaded table lamp. Shards of glass lay on the table and carpet and a rock with a paper tied around it had tumbled to a stop on the floor in front of the table.

Myra, still holding Nathan, arrived in the doorway as Lara leaned down to pick up the rock. Brady grabbed her hand. He looked around the room until he spied a small lace doily draped over the armrest of a floral love seat. Using a corner of the doily, he picked up the rock and slipped the paper from beneath the rubber band.

“What does it say?” Lara asked, her voice little more than a whisper.

He angled the paper toward the light. A few words had been cut from a magazine and glued in place. “‘Go home before it’s too late,’” he read.

“Mrs. Kirk will have a fit when she hears someone broke her window,” Myra fumed. She held Nathan against her polyester-covered bosom as though protecting him from the hounds of hell. “What is the world coming to? And that note can’t be directed at Lara. It must mean you, Mr. Skye. What trouble have you brought—”