A Mom for Callie (9 page)

Turning to the last few remaining parents in her circle, she excused herself, her mind already trying to process potential reasons for the change in Kyle's demeanor. Had he gotten a call from work that upset him? Had he had a falling out with a parent in Callie's class? Was he feeling ill?

She headed across the room, Callie at her heels. When they reached Kyle she squeezed his hand, the feel of his skin against hers making the world disappear around them. “Is everything okay over here?”

“I got a call from the department. I really need to get in there as quickly as possible.”

The man's tense tone made her uneasy and she glanced down at Callie. Realizing the child was oblivious to the shift in her father's mood, she looked back at Kyle. “Is there something wrong?”

“Looks like it.”

In an instant, the peace that had been hers all afternoon was gone, in its place a feeling of dread. “Would it help if I took Callie home with me?”

He shook his head. “No. I want her at my mom's. She'll be safer there.”

“Safer?” She drew back. “She's fine with me, Kyle, you have to know that.”

He grabbed her hand. “I know she's safe with you. I just don't know she's safe at
your house.
”

The dread intensified. “Kyle, what's going on?”

“I can't talk about it now.”

“Can't or won't?” she asked.

“Can't.”

She willed her voice to remain calm despite the presence of a familiar fear knotting her stomach. “Does this have to do with that guy from the bank?”

A tightening in his jaw confirmed her suspicions.

“Kyle, please…talk to me.”

“There's nothing to say. Other than I need to get Callie to my mom's and myself to the station.”

“But, Kyle—”

“Betsy, we've gotta go. Can you get yourself home?”

She closed her eyes against the image that suddenly filled her mind—an image she'd replayed countless times over the past year. The police officer standing outside her door, waiting to tell her the kind of news that would shatter her life—her heart—into a million pieces.

“Scratch that. I'll give Tom a call and ask if he can swing by and get you.”

Shaking her head, she pulled her purse higher on her shoulder. “I'll be fine. On my own.”

And she would be. Disengaging herself was the first step. Sure, she'd be alone again but at least it would be on her own terms.

He knew he'd scared her. He saw it in her face—in the way her skin had grown pale and her mouth had tightened as he avoided answering direct questions about the call he'd gotten during the reception at Callie's school.

And after her losing her husband in the line of duty, he even understood it to some degree. But it was a reality of his job she'd have to live with if there was even a chance of a future together.

“So, this phone call that came into the department yesterday. What'd they say, exactly?” Tom asked as he forked up the last bite of scrambled eggs from his plate.

Shaking his head free of all thoughts of Betsy, Kyle concentrated on the topic at hand. “They said they're sick of pigs making rules.”

Dropping his fork onto his napkin, Tom pushed his plate to the side. “And what else?”

“They think it's high time the public starts making them instead.”

“And by the public, they mean themselves, I take it.”

“Lawbreaking dirtbags like themselves…yeah.”

“Any idea what these rules might be?”

Kyle stared down at his own plate, his half-eaten breakfast holding little interest. “The only one they mentioned was making me pay.”

“For what? Catching them in the act of stealing?” Tom gulped down the rest of his orange juice and jerked his head toward the door to indicate their relief was just about over. It was normally a day off for them, and they were just on patrol to help out a fellow officer whose wife was in labor. “Who the hell are these guys?”

He stood and followed his partner toward the cash register, Tom's words nagging at his soul. Despite the lieutenant's concern, he'd truly believed they'd nabbed the heart of this supposed gang when they thwarted the bank robbery, chalking up any posturing to wounded egos.

But now, he wasn't so sure anymore. The rumblings around town had turned into an actual threat.

One aimed specifically at him.

They stepped outside, the bright morning sun making them both reach for their sunglasses at the same time. “I think I may lose Betsy over this.”

“What are you talking about?” Tom strode to their patrol car and yanked open the passenger door. “Why would Betsy walk over a phone call?”

“It's not the phone call, per se. It's the potential it holds.”

For a moment Tom said nothing. When he finally spoke, his words hit Kyle with a one-two punch. “Oh. Ang showed me Betsy's Web site. She lost her husband in a fire, didn't she? Well, she, of all people, understands the nature of public service. Give her a chance to digest all of this. Talk to her about it. Maybe, if she feels like she's a part of it, she'll be less scared.”

He slid into the driver's seat and shut the door behind him, Tom's suggestion bringing him up short. Had he caused Betsy undue stress by being so vague about the trouble? Would telling her what the lieutenant feared make things less frightening for her?

“I don't know, Tom. I'm a cop. Stuff happens in our job. I can't sugarcoat that for her or anyone else. To do so would be giving her a false sense of security…the way her late husband did when he said he could handle anything. Let's face it, being involved with someone like us is a risk.”

“What in life isn't?”

“What do you mean?”

“Every time you give your heart to someone you're running a risk of getting hurt.”

He stared at his partner. “That's kinda deep for you, Tom.”

“Surprising, I know.” Tom shrugged. “But you've gotta get her to the point where you can explain that to her.”

“How?”

“You could lighten things up a little.”

“Lighten things? How?”

Tom pulled the visor down as they turned into the path of the sun. “You could buy her flowers.”

“I can't do that…Callie just gave her some the other day.”

“You could buy her candy.”

He considered that. “I don't know if she likes candy.”

Tom smacked his head against the seat back. “Dude, they
all
like candy. It's their equivalent to our beer gene.”

“Beer gene?”

“Yeah. Only they get cranky when they don't get their candy and horny when they do.”

“And that's different than us and beer because…” He let Tom get the gist. Besides, they'd strayed from the topic at hand. “Seriously, you think candy will ease her fear?”

“No. But it will let her know she matters to you.”

“I don't know… Part of me wants to do whatever it takes to remove that fear I put in her eyes yesterday. But there's also a part of me that wants to be straight up about this.”

“Even if it means losing her?”

Raking his hand through his hair, he contemplated his partner's words. There was no denying the fact that Betsy was like nothing he'd ever experienced before. Her warmth, her sweetness, her spirit reached him in a way no one had since…

“Ever,” he whispered.

“Come again?”

Realizing he'd spoken aloud, he waved his hand in the air then turned the patrol car into the station's lot and parked in a spot near the door. “I don't know. I was just muttering to myself. But, hey, did the lieutenant say why he wanted to see us?”

“Nah. Just that he wanted our butts in his office as soon as breakfast was over. And to be honest, I didn't feel like engaging him in conversation any longer than necessary.”

Glancing at the station house he felt an inexplicable shiver roll through his body. “I'm betting this is about me again.”

“Everything doesn't have to be about you all the time, dude. Maybe the lieutenant just wants to give us a well-deserved raise for our undying dedication to the people
of Cedar Creek.” Tom stepped out of the patrol car and headed across the tarmac to the station, making eye contact over his shoulder every few steps or so. “It is possible, yes?”

Kyle snorted as he followed. “I'll leave that one alone.”

The twosome entered the brick one-story building and wound their way around hallway after hallway until they came to the lieutenant's office, a small, impersonal room with a steel-gray metal desk and little else.

“Murphy, Brennan. Nice of you to show up.”

“Just finished breakfast, sir.”

Doug Grady cast a sidelong glance in Tom's direction before settling his focus on Kyle and pointing at the empty chair across from his desk. “Sit.”

Tossing his hat onto his boss's desk, he did as he was told. “What's up?”

“As you know the security system is being installed in your home today.”

Kyle nodded. “My mom will be there when they arrive. If they're not done by the time school is over, my mom will take Callie back to her house.”

“Good. That system can't get installed soon enough.” Doug dropped his hands to his desk and retrieved an envelope from its center. “I want you to make sure it's on when you're home…and when you're not.”

He pondered his boss's words. “I've got my gun when I'm home.”

“That's added security, Brennan, not primary.” Opening the envelope, Doug handed a picture to Kyle. “Who is that?”

His attention dropped to the photograph, his eyes soaking up every detail of the woman standing beside
him. It was all there. The long hair, the contagious smile, the body he longed to—

“That's Elizabeth Lynn Anderson,” said Tom, rushing to answer the lieutenant's question. “She's Ang's favorite author.”

“Okay…but why is she with Brennan?”

Why, indeed.

“She's his next-door neighbor.”

He knew they were talking, could hear the exchange happening around him, but he couldn't focus enough to grasp a word. For as hot as Betsy was in person and in the photograph in his hand, there was no denying the fear in her eyes. Fear he was causing simply by being in her life.

“Candy isn't going to cut it,” he mumbled.

“Candy cuts everything, dude. Trust me.”

“What the hell are you two talking about?” Doug smacked his hand down on the desk. “Look, this is serious. I need to know what her relationship is to you.”

The lieutenant's words broke through his disjointed thoughts. “She's my neighbor.”

“Is that all?”

He stared at his boss, the shiver from earlier resurfacing down his spine as a troubling picture began to take shape. “I like her.”

Tom clapped his hands. “I knew it.”

He looked back down at the picture. “She's in danger because of me…isn't she?”

Without a word, Doug Grady reached back into the envelope and removed a sheet of paper. Turning it so Kyle could read the single typewritten sentence that stretched across the top of the sheet, he shoved it toward him. “You tell me.”

He leaned forward. Tom did the same.

“Retribution sucks.”

His hands tightened at his sides as a burst of anger shot through his body. It was bad enough to consider the possibility that someone might be angry enough to lash out at him for doing his job, but to see it in black-and-white? “Who the hell do these people think they are?”

“Cowboys.”

A low whistle escaped Tom's mouth. “Crap. This is getting serious, isn't it?”

“It certainly appears that way.”

“How'd they get this picture?”

He stared at the picture, his mind soaking up every detail of Betsy and her surroundings. “They were there yesterday…at the school,” he said, clenching his teeth as he slammed his fist into his boss's desk. “This was taken at the damn school.”

“Are you sure?”

He pointed at the photograph as he shoved it back in front of the lieutenant. “That's the same outfit Betsy wore yesterday for Callie's reading. And those are the tables that were set up for the cookies and punch afterward.”

Jumping up, he strode around the lieutenant's office, his anger intensifying with every step he took. “One of these losers was in my daughter's school…watching me…watching us.”

“Jay thinks it's possible it was taken from outside the building, with a high-powered lens.”

Jay Rhodes was the department's public relations officer and resident photography expert. If he felt the picture was taken from outside the school it was almost a certainty. Kyle felt his shoulders relax a hairbreadth.

“Which is good on some levels, bad on others.”

He turned to face his partner. “What do you mean?”

Leaning against the wall, Tom crossed his arms and released a breath that echoed around the room. “If it was taken from outside, whoever it was wasn't mingling alongside Callie and Betsy. Which, you have to admit, settles the stomach a little.”

“Go on.”

“But, if it was taken outside, we don't have the luxury of narrowing down suspects by questioning everyone who was there. You know, the strange parent in the back of the room, or the person who didn't seem to go with anyone, or the guy who showed up for the cookies and milk but wasn't in the classroom during the kids' program.”

He raked a hand through his hair in frustration. Tom was right. It was less likely a stranger would be noticed outside than inside.

“So what do we do?”

Glancing up, he took in the lieutenant's expression as the man responded to Tom's question. “We keep an eye on Miss Anderson. Make sure she's okay.”

“Maybe she should go back to New York.”

His partner's words made him freeze where he stood. “No! She's writing.”

The right side of Tom's mouth slid upward. “She can write in New York, dude.”

“She's writing here.”

“You said she's your next-door neighbor, right?”

Kyle nodded at his lieutenant.

“And that you're involved, right?”

They were. Sort of. Or at least they were before he scared the bejeebers out of her. To his boss, though, he simply shrugged.

“Then keep an eye on her.”

“Oh, he's already doing that, Lieutenant. Trust me on this.”

He elbowed his partner in the gut. “That's not what he's saying.”

“I know.” Tom shrugged. “And, when you stop and think about it, chivalry could possibly trump chocolate, dude.”

Suddenly it didn't matter whether Betsy could get past his being a cop. Did he want that? Of course.

But more than that, he wanted her safe.

Glancing from his boss to the photograph and back again, he felt a steely determination enveloping him from all sides. “They lay a hand on her and they will regret it.”

“Let's just skip over the first part of that sentence, shall we?” Doug Grady lifted the picture from his desk and slipped it into a manila envelope. “Now get out of here. Both of you.”

Following his partner's lead, Kyle stopped just outside the lieutenant's doorway and then turned around. “Hey, boss—thanks.”

“Keep your eyes open, Brennan. And keep your girls safe.”

His girls.

Callie and Betsy.

Hell would freeze over before he'd let harm come to either of them.

 

I
T WAS NO USE
. S
HE SIMPLY
couldn't write when she was upset. And she was upset. About Kyle.

She'd known from the beginning she should stay away. Yet she hadn't. She made him a picnic dinner.
She'd flirted with him while playing volleyball in his backyard. She'd let him kiss her. She fell for his daughter. And, like a fool, she'd fallen for him.

Hard.

Losing Mark in an instant had been hard, the images her mind had conjured regarding his death nothing short of torture. The guilt over their less than close relationship had merely been the icing on the cake.

But things were different now. She had feelings for Kyle—genuine feelings that were growing stronger with each passing day. If something happened to him…

Dropping onto the love seat in the sitting area off the front of the house, Betsy picked up the remote and aimed it at the television. The first few channels she came to offered daytime soaps followed by a smattering of game shows. Finally she stopped on a local midday news program.