His Secret Child (Slade Security Team Series Book 2) (2 page)

Slade pulled off his coat, loosened his tie, and sat down on one of the two rickety, wooden chairs on the porch. A splinter jabbed him in the thigh. He shifted and pulled a thin cushion over the spot. The day was starting to cool. The air smelled of cut grass and he could hear the drone of a lawn mower, along with the hum of bees.

Taking out his cell phone, he found he had two bars—a miracle in this place. He put in a call to Travis. The man’s computer skills had come in handy at Slade Security more than once, saving lives and even preventing terrorist attacks at times.

When he heard Travis answer, he started to rattle off orders. “I need you to get me everything you can on one Tayra Wells, born Simmons. Not sure if there’s another married name, so get me anything on marriage licenses and medical records. I also want a work up on Bethany Simmons, should be Tayra’s sister, but I need to know if she’s biological or not, and dig into her past. She ever been arrested, or even involved with anything that hints at illegal?”

Travis’ voice came back, dry as desert bones. “Afternoon to you too, boss. Yes, thanks for asking about our trip. We’re just about to land in San Diego, so it’ll probably take me an hour or two before I’m in front of a computer again.”

Slade leaned back in his chair, heard it give an ominous creak, and leaned forward again. “Didn’t I just buy you state-of-the-art laptops and tablets so you could be wired twenty-four-seven?”

“You did, and thanks, but what you’re talking about needs secure connections and a few favors called in. It’ll also take time, so give me twenty-four hours. But I can get you a fast brief right away.”

“Do that. Oh, Tayra has…had, a son named Jason. Get me whatever you have on his file, too.” Slade unbuttoned his cuffs and rolled them up to his elbows.

“Okay. And…Wells, this wouldn’t by chance be Brock’s ex?”

“It would. For now, I want Brock out of the loop. I’ll bring him in when…and if we need to. But he has his hands full right now, and…well, I’m not even sure what this is yet.”

“You’re thinking scam? Supposed sister shows up with supposed son? But she did her homework on Slade Security being one of the top firms employed by the rich and don’t-want-to-be-famous.”

“Could be.”

Travis gave a low whistle. “Sounds like fun. Let me know if you need anything else. I’ll get some files texted to you right away.”

Slade nodded. “Keep ‘em coming.”

He hung up. His smart phone beeped right away with a text file—a fast profile on Bethany Simmons.

Travis had found her basic information online. Bethany was actually Tayra’s half-sister, and something of a tech genius, it seemed. She was only twenty-eight and worked as a freelance mobile phone software developer. Skimming through her resume and education, Slade knew there was something about her that he couldn’t put his finger on right now—something she wasn’t telling him. He could be patient when he needed to be. He heard the screen door bang shut and looked up.

Bethany stood with a faded, metal tray in her hands, a glass pitcher on it, filled with ice and what looked like lemonade. Two tall glasses stood next to the pitcher. She’d changed into jeans and a bright, pink T-shirt that left her looking younger than her age.

For an instant, the image struck him as funny—him on a porch, his sleeves rolled up, a woman with lemonade, and a kid napping inside. It was the sort of scene he’d avoided all of his life. He didn’t have time for attachments, didn’t have room for them, and in his experience, they only brought complications.

Well, he had the complications all right. He just didn’t have any of the side benefits that came with them—like a smile from that woman, or a kiss from her. He had the lemonade and a pretty face and figure to serve it up. What else was she serving him?

Bethany set the tray on a small, wooden table just as weathered and rickety as the chairs. The glasses clinked. He could smell the tart citrus of the lemonade. She straightened and put her fists on her hips. “Jason’s down for a nap. So, are we going to have it out now?”

Slade glanced up at her. “Before we have any conversation, I don’t suppose you have something stronger to drink?”

She disappeared back into the house. She came out with a bottle of Wild Turkey. “This might mix with lemonade, but you can always go for straight up.” She poured two fingers into each glass and handed one to Slade. “To sad endings. Like Truman Capote once said, ‘Life’s a play with a bad third act,’ or something of that nature.”

She started to lift her glass to drink, but Slade stopped her hand. “To new beginnings. There’s one in every ending; and I don’t think anyone said that before now.”

A small smile appeared, revealing a dimple in one cheek. He hadn’t expected that and it caught him off guard, spreading warmth over his skin. She clicked her glass against his. “Drink up.”

He did, and then asked, “Okay, what’s the real deal here?”

Bethany watched Slade throw back his drink. She sipped hers. The Wild Turkey was—had been—Tayra’s, but Bethany welcomed the hot flash it put in her stomach. She needed something so she would stop noticing Slade. He had sinful hands with long fingers and strong wrists, and that rugged face of his just about screamed trust-worthy.

She’d also done her research on him and Brock Wells—what she could find. Slade Security had a sterling reputation. The temptation to sit down and just unload on him stirred her, along with heat and a tingle. She wasn’t sure if that was the drink, a delayed reaction to grief and stress, or Slade stirring her up.

She licked her lips, tasting the bite of the Wild Turkey.

Jason had been processing Tayra’s death a lot better than she was. He had a kid’s ability to bounce back. Bethany just felt…numb. And angry.

When she’d been ill, Tayra had actually been at her best. She’d hidden her pain from her son, had spent as much time as she could with him, and Bethany had had to remain strong for both of them. Until today. Today it had all become way too real. Slade had shaken her out of her daily routine. She didn’t know what she’d do if she lost Jason.

Tears stung the back of her eyes and burned her nose. She rubbed a hand over her face. “Boy, this has a kick.” She gave a sniff.

Slade pulled out a white handkerchief. He handed it over. Bethany blew her nose and wiped her eyes. She had cried too much already for her sister and for Jason. She would be dammed if she’d wallow in self-pity now. However, she had no idea what she was going to do next. This wasn’t a line of code that she could crack and fix. This wasn’t logical flow charts. This was about a guy sitting in front of her who looked like he was made from solid granite, and a boy inside who needed her.

She glanced up at the blue sky, then down at the pale golden liquor in her glass. She threw it back and fixed her stare on Slade. “This isn’t about money. Well, it is, in part, but I can handle that. It’s about Jason. I want to adopt him. No…I’m going to adopt him. I thought his father—Brock—knew about him; but if he doesn’t, and he wants to make a stink about my taking Jason as my own, he’s going to have a fight. Jason…Jason needs an operation.”

***

Slade had been waiting for money to make an appearance in the conversation. He stiffened, a little disappointed that it had—along with a sad story. Was she expecting him to cry a few tears and pull out his checkbook? He frowned. That second part wasn’t a bad idea. One check to make the problem go away was a good short-cut. Brock wouldn’t have to know about the bullet he’d dodged of dealing with a gold digger out to scam him, and—hopefully—some of the money would be used to help the kid.

“How much do you want?” he asked.

Bethany leaned her hip against the porch railing. “Either I need more of this…” She gestured to the Wild Turkey. “Or you’ve had too much. Are you trying to buy me off?”

He put his glass on the tray. It make a soft clink. “To put it bluntly—yes.”

She flashed a quick, humorless smile. “I should make you do it. Make you pay and go away. But that’s not what I want. Weren’t you listening? I’m going to adopt Jason—”

“You just want to make sure Brock doesn’t step in to interfere. You told me that. But if Tayra made you his legal guardian—”

“That’s the problem, right there. Tayra left a hand-written will with no date on it, no witness, and vague instructions. She was…well, let’s be kind and say the drugs weren’t helping her think clearly. I’ve already talked to a probate lawyer. It’ll get sorted out—eventually. I’m about the closest thing Tayra had to next of kin, but—”

“You’re trying to keep Jason out of foster care in the meantime.” The light flashed on in Slade’s head. “The courts might take him into custody, particularly if a legal battle starts up and if there’s money involved.”

Bethany nodded and put her glass down next to his. “You’re starting to get the idea. Jason’s been through enough without…without more. I’m trying to keep his life as normal as I can, but it’s…well, Tayra left a mess behind.”

Leaning back, Slade glanced around. He was pretty sure Bethany wasn’t just talking about a legal mess. Up close he could see that the house was in dire need of repair. The paint peeled and flaked from the siding. One window that he could see sported a jagged crack. The porch sagged, and he could only imagine what it looked like inside. “This was Tayra’s place?”

Bethany nodded. “She saved up and bought it. She also wouldn’t…she hated taking handouts. That’s what she called them. I did what I could for Jason—started a college fund savings account for him, got him stuff for Christmas and his birthdays, took him for vacations and on a lot of weekends, but Tayra…” She let the words drift.

Slade tried to remember more about what Tayra had been like. He’d only met her a few times, and most of those times, she’d seemed devoted to Brock. Well, except for that one time. She’d also seemed quiet—like the type of woman that any guy ended up wanting to protect and shelter. She’d seemed…well, a little lost, frankly.

But ‘seemed’ was the operative word when it came to Tayra. She’d walked away from Brock and her marriage as if it hadn’t mattered. Slade could remember going after her to try and find out what had happened. He’d never gotten an answer. But he had—

He pushed that memory away and made a quick decision. “Have dinner with me.”

Bethany blinked and tipped her head to one side. The wind stirred her curls and Slade wondered if they were as soft as they looked. “What? Wait, how did we get from you writing me a million dollar check to having dinner? Plus there’s nothing in the fridge to fix.”

“Got a place that delivers? Chinese? Pizza? Who said it’d be a million?”

“You’re offering more? Or less?”

“I’m offering dinner.”

She gave a nod and picked herself up off of the porch. “Joe’s does take-out. Burgers only. But they’re good. Guess if you’re staying, you’d better come in after all.” She picked up the tray. Slade stood, grabbed his jacket, and pulled open the screen door for her. It squeaked on hinges that needed oiling.

Inside, Bethany headed for the kitchen, and he glanced around.

The house had an open floor plan, with the kitchen in back, separated by a counter. An ancient TV sat in one corner of the room, gathering dust. The furniture—a couch, two chairs—had colorful blankets draped over them. He caught a glimpse of frayed threads and decided the throws were there to cover up worn upholstery. But the place was clean.

Wooden floors gleamed. The kitchen looked organized, the tile counters swept bare and tidy. No signs of magazines, but a couple of books—one kid’s picture book and three books with mathematical-sounding titles that left his eyes glazing—sat on a coffee table made out of a slab of wood.

He followed Bethany into the kitchen. Artwork—Jason’s, he presumed from the Crayon images—covered the fridge, held in place with magnets from around the country. He glimpsed the Golden Gate Bridge, the Statue of Liberty, and the Grand Canyon. He touched one. “Tayra travel around?”

Bethany nodded. “A lot. Or she did after…well, before Jason started school and after Brock, and BC. That was before cancer.” She handed him a single-sheet menu. “Pick something out. I’ll have a burger and fries, the junior meal for Jason, and I can recommend the onion rings. Phone number is on there, and since you’ve got the fat checkbook, you can pay.”

Slade smiled, but decided that this was not going to be one of his better dates.

***

Bethany watched Jason wolf down the last of the fries. He ate like most kids—filling up a hollow leg. She winced at the image. The problem was, Jason did just about have a hollow leg. Or at least a leg that needed to be fixed.

Dangling a fry in front of his mouth, Jason asked, “You knew my mom?”

Jason was getting over his shyness of Slade—fast. He’d gone from wary to chatty as the two guys bonded over burgers. The kitchen smelled of grease from the fast food.

Slade finished his burger and drank some of his soda. The liquid slurped in his straw. He put down the cup and said, “Yeah, I knew her. A long time ago. You play baseball?” Slade gestured to one of the pictures Jason had drawn of a batter.

Jason shook his head, then nodded. “On the Wii. But mom only let me play for an hour on Saturday.” He made a face, then glanced at Bethany. “Are you going to be my mom now, Aunt Bethany?” Her throat tightened. Before she could answer, Jason fixed a stare on Slade. “Are you my dad?”

Slade’s face reddened. He stood and scooped up some of the debris from dinner. “You done with these fries?” he asked Jason.

Jason stuffed the last two fries into his mouth and nodded. Bethany stood. Her chair scraped on the floor as she pushed it back. They’d eaten at the kitchen table instead of at the counter, like she usually did when it was just her and Jason. “Come on, Jas. Time for a bath and bed.”

She herded him down the short hallway to the bathroom, but Jason called over his shoulder, “’Night, Mr. Slade. Thanks for the burger. If Aunt Bethany lets me, I’ll show you how to play baseball on the Wii tomorrow.”

Bethany fought down a smile. She had no idea what Slade was doing while she got Jason into his bath, his PJ’s, and his bed. She pulled the sheets up over him, turned down the blanket, and Jason asked, “Can Mr. Slade read me a bedtime story?”

She sat on the edge of his bed. “It’s just Slade, remember.”

“Oh, yeah, like just Batman. I like him.”

She ruffled his hair. “Slade? You do? Why?”

“Mama said you could always tell a good guy because he’d look you in the eye. Slade’s solid.” With that, Jason turned over and fell asleep.

Bethany sat on his bed, her stomach knotted; and not from the burger. Tayra… she’d been wrapping guys around her little finger from the age of eight, long before she’d grown the breasts and hips that had enslaved men. Bethany had been skinny and serious and had braces. She’d hated her half-sister as much as she’d envied her, and she’d gone the opposite direction.

She’d become the ultimate geek—the computer nerd—who didn’t have any use for guys, except as an occasional distraction in college when she got too bored with exams that never challenged her. But Tayra had known how to pick a guy—how to pick the good guys. Too bad she’d never learned how to stay with them.

Heading out of the bedroom, Bethany left the door open a crack. Jason had woken with bad dreams often during the past week, when Tayra’s illness had taken her back into the hospital. She wanted to hear if Jason started shouting in his sleep.

She found Slade in the living room, puttering around with the ancient TV that Tayra had found at some yard sale. “It’s almost an antique,” Bethany said. “I’ve got my laptop in my bedroom, if you need it or want to watch something. We at least have DSL here.”

Dusting off his hands, Slade stood. He seemed way too big for this house. He made the living room seem tiny, and not just with his size. He had an energy to him, a masculine presence that left Bethany feeling tiny and fragile. She’d never felt any of those things before—those feelings had been Tayra’s specialty.

He glanced around and spread his hands. “I want to help you.”

“Uh…help? As in, fix the TV?”

“Whatever you need.”

Bethany crossed the room and sat down on the couch. She missed her apartment back in Portland, but as soon as Tayra had gotten sick, Bethany had figured she had to move in with Tayra and Jason. She’d put her things in storage and had sub-let her place. She’d also thought about closing up Tayra’s house now, but that would be harder on Jason. He had friends here—his doctors were nearby. Maybe after his surgery—maybe after the dust from all of the legal battles she could foresee settled…maybe after hell froze over.

She slumped lower. “You want to help fix up Tayra’s house?”

He came over and sat down next to her. “We’ve shared burgers. Why don’t we put our cards on the table? If Jason is Brock’s kid, just why the hell was Tayra keeping it a secret?”