Hard To Handle

Meghan looked at him as if he’d lost his mind. Maybe he had. He’d never been considered one of those white knights charging to rescue ladies in distress. He found jackets and ties confining enough; armor would be murder.

“I’ll take another look into your sister’s accident for you. In return, you’ll cooperate by allowing your nephew to assist us in any way we need him. You get what you want, I get what I want. It’ll be strictly business.”

Sensing the protest she was about to utter, he went on. “Of course, maybe you’d rather work with Officer Wadrell instead.…”

“Believe me, I find cops eminently resistible. For that matter, how can I be sure that I wouldn’t have to fight off your advances, Detective?”

“’Cause I make it a point to steer wide of your type.”

Don’t miss Born in Secret (IM 1112)

Kylie Brant’s emotional, sensual contribution to the FIRSTBORN SONS series.

Hard to Handle

Kylie Brant

KYLIE BRANT

lives with her husband and five children in Iowa. She works full-time as a teacher of learning-disabled students. Much of her free time is spent in her role as professional spectator at her kids’ sporting events.

An avid reader, Kylie enjoys stories of love, mystery and suspense—and she insists on happy endings! When her youngest children, a set of twins, turned four, she decided to try her hand at writing. Now most weekends and all summer she can be found at the computer, spinning her own tales of romance and happily-ever-afters.

Kylie invites readers to write to her at P.O. Box 231, Charles City, IA 50616.

To Aunt Red, with love and fond memories.

Acknowledgments:

Special thanks to Sergeant Charles Holz of the Chicago Police Department, 8th District, for answering endless questions about CPD procedures. Your infinite patience and generosity of time were greatly appreciated! Any mistakes that occur in accuracy are the responsibility of the author.

Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Prologue

His mom was dead.

Danny huddled in the corner of the blue-patterned couch clutching his Pokémon backpack to his chest. The lady, his aunt Meghan, he reminded himself, had gone to get him a glass of milk. He hadn’t really wanted one, but she’d had to leave the room to get it. That was good ’cuz he didn’t want to hear her say the words out loud. He already knew what she was thinking. It made his stomach hurt and he felt like he might throw up.

His mom had been killed in a car accident and she wasn’t coming back for him this time. Not ever.

He reached up a hand to swipe at his eyes furtively. Only babies cried. That’s what his mom always said, but she wouldn’t be saying that again. No, not anymore. He knew then, deep down in his stomach where he felt sickest, that not saying the words out loud didn’t make them not true. He was all alone.

His aunt came back into the room and handed him the glass. He took it, but didn’t drink. He couldn’t. There was a hard ball in his throat and he didn’t think he could swallow anything. He wrapped his fingers tightly around the glass and scooched down farther in the couch. He wanted to run away before his aunt could tell him, but he couldn’t do that, either. There was nowhere to run. No one to run to.

“You know, don’t you?”

He didn’t look up at the words, just nodded. He’d had a real bad feeling when his mom didn’t come home last night. She’d left him alone before, and so that hadn’t scared him. Not really. He was almost six. He’d stayed home at night lots of times. Once his mom hadn’t come home for two days, and maybe that had scared him, just a little. But last night had been different. The bad thoughts, the knowing, wouldn’t go away. And so he’d waited for someone to come, wanting it to be his mom, already sure that it wouldn’t be.

“What’s gonna happen to me?” His aunt didn’t answer right away, so he did look up then and stared hard at her, concentrating on her thoughts. That’s where the truth was, his mom said. People would lie and lie out loud, but they kept the truth in their heads, where people couldn’t see. At least, most people couldn’t.

Danny didn’t really understand words like telepathic and clairvoyant, but he understood that he was different, just like his mom had been. Sometimes she would tell him that they had this superspecial gift, one that made everyone else jealous. He liked that. He liked to pretend that they were a team, like Superwoman and Spiderkid, with cool powers no one else had. But deep in his heart he’d known the real truth was what his mom had said all those other times; after two empty bottles, when her words would start running together. They were freaks, him and her.

He knew what freaks were. They were bad and ugly and made people afraid. Meghan had been afraid the only other time he’d met her, and that had made him feel bad. He’d never had an aunt before, and Meghan was pretty, with long, curly blond hair and big blue eyes. He looked into her eyes now and beyond, searching for a comfort he wouldn’t find.

“I don’t want you to worry.” Meghan sank down onto the couch beside him. She pushed her hair back from her face and tried to smile. “I know that sounds pretty dumb. Of course you’re worried. And sad. Me, too. But I’m not about to let anything happen to my only nephew.”

With a child’s single-minded logic, he asked, “Where will I live?”

Meghan didn’t answer, and for just an instant he could see a flash of white, as if her mind had been wiped clear. Then it was like she drew a big curtain over her thoughts. He couldn’t see them anymore, no matter how hard he tried to peek.

“Well…you’ll stay here, of course. At least for now.”

He thought about that, and he wondered what thoughts she was hiding behind that curtain. She put her hand on his shoulder then, and the hated tears filled his eyes again.

“How about if you stay with me until we sort this out? Then later…you and I will talk about our options. Is it a deal?”

Her hand left his shoulder, and she held it in front of him. He looked at it, then at her. He tried poking under that curtain one more time, but it was closed tight. He couldn’t tell what the truth was. And although he didn’t have the words for it, he knew he was out of choices.

Slowly, tentatively, he loosened his grasp on the glass and placed his hand in hers.

Chapter 1

Three Months Later

Gabe Connally had been alive and he’d been dead. It’d taken a few years, but he’d developed a preference for being alive.

His gaze met his partner’s in a silent exchange before he lifted his fist to pound on the door. “Police, D’Brusco. We have a few questions for you.”

There was a tiny noise in the apartment, and the detectives had an instant to act before bullets splintered the wood in a miserable parody of a greeting.

With his cheek resting against the smooth, cool tile of the hallway floor, Gabe recalled being told that it had taken a miracle to return him from the ninety seconds he’d spent suspended above his bullet-ridden body in St. Lucien’s emergency room. In the tension-filled moments that followed the barrage of gunfire, he fleetingly wondered how many miracles a man was allowed in one lifetime.

Scrambling into position, he glanced at Cal Madison as the other man mouthed the signal. On “three” he kicked the shredded door in and entered the room low. He heard Cal mutter a curse behind him. Weapons drawn, they stalked through the well-furnished apartment.

“Empty,” Cal pronounced disgustedly a few moments later.

“Only one other way out.” Without wasting a motion Gabe went through the open terrace door, following D’Brusco’s escape route.

“When are you going to learn that we move after three. How many times do I have to tell you that?” Madison craned his neck, scanned the wide cobblestone alley. In a neighborhood as trendy as this one, even the alleys had ambiance.

Gabe ran across the terrace to the fire escape. “After? Since when? We’ve always moved on three.” Deftly he swung over the wall of the terrace and began his descent.

“We’ve never gone on three. It’s always been after.” Even with the exertion of following him, Madison’s voice wasn’t winded. The man could nag without taking a breath.

“The problem is, you’re always changing the rules.” Gabe kept his weapon steady as he observed the alley for signs of life. “On three, after three, who could keep it straight? Leave things uncomplicated. They go smoother that way.”

“Only you could complicate a simple count to three,” Madison muttered. He dropped lightly down beside his partner, and without a word they fanned out, covering the alley.

Minutes later, they rejoined, holstering their weapons. “Damn. If he was on foot he’s either a champion sprinter or else he ducked into one of the shops’ back doors.” Gabe hunched his leather-clad shoulders against the biting wind. Chicago in the spring was a malicious tease, coupling promising bouts of bright sunshine with frigid blasts of air. The sunlight had already begun to fade over the fashionable skyline, but the winds blowing off the lake showed no sign of abating.

Cal didn’t react to the weather since he was sensibly outfitted in his winter parka and muffler and would be until the flowers started blooming. He believed going out in varying temperatures was a leading cause of pneumonia. “Think he had a car stashed back here?”

“It’s a tow area. But he could have had one waiting.”

“Meaning he was expecting company,” concluded Cal.

“Judging from his greeting, he wasn’t expecting friends.”

“Not exactly the reaction I’d expect from a penny-ante ex-con like Lenny D’Brusco.”

Gabe grunted his agreement, already tallying the doors lining the alley. “Front or back?”

An eternal optimist, Cal replied, “Back. We’ll work our way to the front, maybe catch a lead, grab a sandwich and be home in time for tip-off.”

Gabe was more realistic. With a wave of resignation, he mentally kissed off his plan for a quiet evening in the recliner with pizza, beer and a lively Bulls game on television. He hadn’t set the VCR. Something told him the only parts of the game he’d see tonight were the highlights reshown on ESPN.

“I don’t know,” Meghan told her nephew with mock seriousness. “I’m still considering buying something educational for your birthday present. Maybe a set of encyclopedias.”

Danny clutched his throat and made gagging noises. His antics forced a smile from his aunt. They’d come to the quaint toy store in search of ideas for Danny’s upcoming birthday. After spending almost an hour there, it appeared that the boy wouldn’t be dissuaded from the items that had seized his attention almost immediately.

“But, Aunt Meggie, I can’t even read that good yet. And I could learn from these electronic dinosaurs, too. My teacher says we should study animals that are extincted.”

“Extinct.”

“Yeah. And if I got two of them, Alex could play with one with me, and he’d be learning, too.”

“You’ve got it all figured out, huh?”

Danny’s eyes were alight with an excitement she’d rarely seen there, and the sight sent an odd pang to Meghan’s chest. “I could take them outside again and you could watch what they can do. They can have fights and make noises and everything.”

She glanced at her watch. She’d arranged for the cab driver to return for them, and the allotted time was almost up. “Tell you what. You put the dinosaurs back in the display case, and I’ll keep them in mind. Your birthday isn’t for three more weeks.”

“Nineteen and a half days,” he corrected. On this subject he was very exact.

“Nineteen and a half days,” Meghan repeated. “So we still have plenty of time.” She followed Danny as he went over to replace the toys, taking his time positioning them. The toy store was as unique as her friend Callie had promised, with inviting displays of unpackaged items that allowed children to manipulate the toys. As a marketing ploy it was amazingly effective, Meghan thought, as her gaze wandered to the front of the store, watching for the taxi through the plateglass window. Fifteen minutes spent playing with the dinosaurs on the patio in the alley had certainly hooked Danny.

The door opened then and a tall dark-haired man entered. His gaze swept the interior of the store. When it landed on her for a moment, she felt it like a physical touch. An inexplicable shiver skated down her spine, and she turned to hurry her nephew along.

“You know what I saw when I was playing with the dinosaurs outside?”

“Hmm?” Her nephew had only a fraction of her attention. Her concentration was diverted by the man who was now approaching the counter.

“It was way cool. There were funny noises and a guy dropped out of the sky. Then…”

The boy’s words seemed to fuse with the scene at the counter, where the stranger was flashing a shield at the clerk. A sense of déja` vu hit Meghan in a nauseating wave, and for a moment she was deaf to Danny’s words. Flight was the most primitive instinct known to man, and the urge to flee nearly overwhelmed her.

“…and then the first guy ran to the car…”

“We’ll talk about it when we get home.” Meghan’s voice held an unusual edge, and the boy sent her a startled glance before falling silent. She didn’t notice. Her focus was on the man, the cop, who’d just engaged another customer in a conversation she was too far away to overhear.

Placing one arm on Danny’s shoulder, she guided him toward the door, disguising her haste behind a barrage of words. “We’d better check on our cab. We told the driver to come back in an hour, and I doubt he’ll wait for long. Rush hour is the worst time to find another taxi.”

She inched the boy closer to the door as she spoke. With every additional measure of distance placed between them and the policeman, the vise on her lungs eased slightly. Breathing a silent sigh of relief, she reached for the doorknob. Her fingers turned nerveless when a gravelly voice sounded behind her.

“Could I ask you a few questions before you leave, ma’am?”

Forcing herself to turn around she looked up, farther than she’d expected, to meet the enigmatic gaze of the man who’d stopped her. “I’m sorry.” She managed, somehow, to keep her voice dispassionate. “We’re in a hurry.”

“This will only take a moment. Detective Connally, ma’am. CPD.” The silver badge imprinted with the telling star was held out for her perusal. She didn’t need the badge or his words to accurately guess the man’s profession. There was cop in his eyes, in his voice.

The man’s low bass somehow matched his brooding features. His short-cropped haircut accentuated the brutal lines and hard angles of his face. But it was his eyes that compelled attention. A pale color reminiscent of fine whiskey, they were trained on her now with the unblinking gaze of a hawk focused on prey. The utter lack of expression in them sent a chill chasing over her skin.

“A man wanted for questioning disappeared near here after some shots were fired. I want to talk to anyone who might have seen him.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Meghan saw the cab pull up to the curb out front. Turning to her nephew she said, “Go tell the driver I’ll be out shortly, will you?”

The boy opened the door and sped toward the vehicle. Gabe focused on the woman before him. It was no hardship. The bulky down coat she was wearing couldn’t disguise the femininity of the form it enveloped. If he’d been a sucker for big blue eyes and delicate bones his professional objectivity might have suffered. As it was, he allowed himself only one brief mental lament over the capricious weather that still caused sensible people to bundle up, and kept his gaze trained firmly on her face.

“I don’t think I can help you, Officer. I didn’t notice anything.”

“Detective.”

“Pardon?”

There was confusion in her wide blue eyes. He noted that her nose was a trifle upturned, her lips perhaps a fraction too full, as if nature had been compelled to stop just short of sheer perfection. A wise move on Mother Nature’s part, Gabe approved. Perfection was boring. Something told him that this woman was anything but.

“It’s Detective Connally.”

“Of course.” The woman’s smile appeared strained.

“But as I said, I didn’t see anyone. I was too involved looking at the merchandise.”

Gabe nodded and raised his notebook, flipped a page. “And your name, ma’am?”

“My name?”

Pen suspended above the paper, he explained, “In case we should have additional questions to ask you at a later date.”

Those full lips curved in a smile that tried to look casual. “Of course. It’s Tina Wilder.” He jotted down the name, as well as the phone number and address she gave him when pressed. And he wondered what possible reason this woman would have to lie to him.

A cop’s experiences, hell, a lifetime of experiences had trained Gabe to recognize the subtle signals people gave off when they were straying from the truth. A tremor in the hands for some, eyes too fixed and bright for others. There were thousands of tell-tale signs, as individual as the people themselves. He wasn’t even sure what tipped him off that Tina Wilder wasn’t being completely forthcoming. Maybe it was her tone, just a trifle too polite, or her expression, just a little too impassive.

But then he looked into those big blue eyes of hers, eyes that could scramble the senses of a less wary man, and there he found his answer. Because behind her deliberately blank expression flickered an emotion much stronger. Even more intriguing.

Desperation.

Recognizing that emotion, he took his time drawing a card from his pocket. He handed it to her, watched carefully as she visibly tucked back her reluctance and reached for it. “In case you remember something later, ma’am. You can reach me at that number or leave a message if I’m not in. I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.”

When she nodded, he added, “I’d like to speak to the boy before you leave.”

Her back stiffened, one vertebrae at a time. “He can’t help you, either. He was much too interested in the toys to observe anything else.”

He tried for a rueful tone, tough for his low timbre, to soothe the nerves he suspected she was hiding. “You’re probably right, but I have to be thorough.”

Her lips curved, and he mentally revised his earlier estimation. They weren’t too full. They weren’t too anything. They appeared to be…just right.

“I’ll get him.”

“Detective.” The clerk’s voice distracted him from her retreating form for a moment. “This gentleman thought he heard something earlier.”

Gabe looked in the direction of the man the clerk indicated and said, “I’ll be right with you, sir.” Sending another glance outside, he gave a silent curse and yanked the door open, ran to the curb.

The cab was already pulling away.

“You gotta give me an address sometime, lady. This is costing you a fortune.” The driver adjusted the mirror, his eyes meeting Meghan’s. She hesitated, then recited her address. Her real address, of course. Not that of the fictitious Tina Wilder, which she’d manufactured for the detective.

She took a deep breath to calm her jangled nerves. Was there some sort of law against giving a false identity to a police detective? She was certain there must be. But like it or not, she was the only one Danny had left to protect him. And although the idea of her newfound guardianship could still lace her with mind-numbing fear, she’d do whatever it took to give the boy the stability that her own childhood had lacked. The stability his mother had failed to provide for him.

“Aunt Meggie?” She looked at her nephew, forced a reassuring smile, one that faded as he continued. “You ’member that guy I told you about? The one in the alley?”

“Hey, I thought we were going to discuss your birthday.” It was a topic guaranteed to shift Danny’s attention.

“I’m going to have a real party, right? You promised.”

His reminder was unnecessary, since he forced her to repeat the assurance several times a day. “I promised.”

Once he was on this particular subject, Danny was extremely tenacious. “That means candles and cake. And friends. How many friends can I invite?”

Not for the first time since Danny had come to live with her, Meghan felt hopelessly out of her depth. “I’m not sure.”

“How about six? That’s fair, ’cuz I’m gonna be six.”

Sheer terror seized her for a moment at the thought of dealing with seven six-year-olds. She drew a deep breath and released it. “I guess.” His reasoning sounded logical enough. What did she know, after all, about what was “fair” when planning a birthday party for a child? What did she know about any child, and Danny in particular? The answers were depressingly obvious.

“Sweet!” He bounced up and down in his seat, testing the restraint of his seat belt. She’d successfully sidetracked his thoughts from the man he’d seen in the alley. And from the compelling detective who had questioned Meghan. She wished futilely that her own attention could be diverted as easily.

The sight of her apartment building had never been so welcome. Meghan punched her code into the security system, anxious to reach the privacy of her home. Her relief might be unfounded, but she would feel safe there from the shrewd gaze of the detective and from questions that she’d be better off avoiding.

“Aunt Meggie?”

“Hmm?” The door swung open, and she guided Danny into the foyer of the building.

“Why’d that taxi guy want your pants?”

Her gaze jerked to meet the boy’s puzzled one. “What?”

“The whole time in the taxi, he kept thinking he’d like to get in your pants. I don’t see why. They wouldn’t fit him, would they?”

A sheerly feminine response had her sending a fuming glance after the taxi, which was already driving away. Then reaction set in and closed like a fist around her throat. It took more effort than it should have to to keep her voice calm. “Remember what you’re learning about not walking around in other people’s heads?”

He looked down and scuffed one foot along the floor. “Yeah. But I didn’t walk right in. It was more like he left the door open. I couldn’t help seeing his thoughts when they were spilling out all over the place, could I?”

She studied the boy, little more than a baby really. The feeling of helplessness threatening to swamp her was all too familiar. Her sister, Sandra, had never mentioned Danny’s father, but the boy was blond like his mother, like Meghan herself. Perhaps he’d gotten his coloring from her sister. Certainly he’d inherited Sandra’s psychic ability. The same ability she’d alternately ignored or exploited all her life.

She pushed away the accompanying flash of guilt and kept her voice firm. “You have to try. No mind games, all right?”

He nodded, his head still bent. Telepathic would be the best description of the infant ability he’d inherited from his mother, but Sandra had always called it mind games, as if the mental raids she’d made into other people’s heads had been playful entertainment for all involved. As if her gift hadn’t turned their childhood into a war zone.