Cold Case Recruit

“You didn’t come here for a good story to put on your show?” Drury asked.

“Every case I solve is good for my show.” He didn’t include that every show kept him from witnessing death and the reminder that no matter how many cases he solved, he’d never feel he’d won. Justice was done, and that made it rewarding. When he first became a detective, he’d believed what he stood for. Now he wasn’t sure. Ever since he’d left Alaska, his purpose seemed to have blurred.

“Not mine.” When he looked closer at her, she said, “I won’t agree to go on TV to tell my story.”

“You wouldn’t personally have to appear on the show.”

“I don’t want my story told. Period. It’s too real and it’s a private matter.”

Brycen calmed his initial disappointment. Her story would make a good episode for his show. But he couldn’t—and wouldn’t—force her or coerce her. At least, not aggressively.

“Most people who’ve gone through what you have benefit from telling their story. Sharing it helps them heal and it also helps others.” Not those who craved the entertainment, those who had gone through something similar.

“Not me. I could never go on air and talk about Noah’s murder, and I couldn’t bear to hear it told.” She pushed her plate away and folded her arms on the table with a sigh.

“If I solve his murder, that’s what I’d like to do. Take his story to my show. Featuring solved cold cases could make another criminal think twice before killing someone.” He held back the nagging thought that more than his show and avenging a State Trooper drove him back to Alaska. He’d left to forget some things, but he couldn’t deny they had influenced his decision to take this case, more than solving the murder crime of a trooper, more than a story for his show. He’d left something unfinished. Kadin had rubbed a raw nerve coercing him to take the case, but deep down, maybe he wished he could put his past to rest.

Shattering glass interrupted.

Brycen stood in an instant and drew his gun from its holster at his hip, hidden by his jacket. Drury sprang off the chair and rushed to her son, grabbing him and taking him to the protection of the living room wall.

A rock with a piece of paper fastened with a rubber band rolled to a stop against the refrigerator.

Drury told Junior to stay put and moved back into the kitchen, going to the rock.

“Don’t touch it.” He held out his hand to stop her from reaching the rock. “Stay here!”

Brycen ran to the back door and raced into the backyard. It was still light out but drizzling. He saw movement in the trees that bordered Drury’s house on a quiet street not far from the coastline. He ran after the moving figure, dodging thick vegetation.

In a clearing, the man aimed a gun and fired. Brycen ducked behind a tree trunk and then peered out. The man vanished in the trees.

Brycen chased after him, catching a glimpse of a hoodie. When the man veered to the right, he cut a path straight to him. The man glanced back, seeing him gaining. He unsteadily moved the gun over his shoulder while he ran at top speed. His aim was off.

Crouching, Brycen heard the bullet hit a tree. He dove for the man’s feet, tackling him.

The man rolled and Brycen knocked the gun off just before it fired. The man had painted his face black. More disguise than his hoodie. The man swung his foot, and the heel of his boot clipped Brycen on his forehead. He fell backward, rolling in time to miss the next bullet.

Brycen drew his own gun.

The man turned and ran.

Brycen fired twice, missing both times through the thick stand of trees. Climbing to his feet, whipping blood from his forehead, he ran after the man. He was very familiar with Anchorage but not this particular neighborhood. There was a park nearby. Possibly the man had left his car there and hiked to Drury’s house.

At the park, he saw no one. The weather had chased everyone away and the man hadn’t parked his car there.

Getting wet from the steady rain, Brycen jogged toward the street. Nothing stirred except the squeal of tires in the opposite direction from Drury’s house. Brycen turned in time to see the Subaru that had tailed them earlier swerve around the corner. Brycen would never catch him.

He jogged back to the house.

Drury opened the front door for him.

“He got away.”

Junior stood behind her, staring wide-eyed up at him as he entered. Drury scanned the neighborhood before closing and locking the door. Passing Junior, he went into the kitchen where the rock still lay. “Do you have a plastic storage bag?”

While she went to go get one, he used some cooking prongs to move the rock. The paper banded to it said “Stop before it’s too late.”

He met Drury’s worried face as he put the rock in the bag she held open. “We need a safer place to stay.”

“Where can we go?” Drury asked.

Brycen looked over his shoulder. “I have a cabin. Close enough to town but remote and secure.” It was the only piece of Alaska he’d held on to. And the only reason he had was that he’d bought it just before things turned sour for him.

“You’re hurt.” Drury touched his arm, seeing his face.

The cut stung where the stalker had kicked him.

She took his hand and led him to the bathroom, Junior following, no longer scared and now curious.

Drury indicated Brycen should sit on the closed toilet seat. He did and she bent to retrieve a first aid kit from under the sink. Opening the lid, she dug out an alcohol wipe while Junior’s small hands took out a Band-Aid.

Holding the Band-Aid out for his mother, Junior eyed Brycen, undecided as to whether he’d welcome him into his circle.

Drury finished dabbing the small cut and threw that out before taking the Band-Aid.

Junior stuffed his fingers into the front pockets of his jeans and stared at Brycen, a much different stare than at the table. “Looks like you get Captain America.”

“I can do Captain America.” He winked at Junior, whose eyebrows went down in distrust.

“Don’t worry, I don’t bite,” Brycen said. “I might seem like I do, but I don’t.” Did he sound like he was trying too hard? He felt like he was. He didn’t understand why Junior liking him was so important.

“You don’t smile very much,” Junior said.

Drury paused in her care of his cut to look at Junior through the mirror. “Junior...that wasn’t very nice.”

With a sullen look up at her, he said, “He doesn’t.”

Brycen smiled then. The kid had a way about him. Just now he felt he’d gotten a glimpse of the boy he’d once been, before tragedy crumbled his young world. A more talkative boy. A more curious boy. And something about Brycen had him very curious.

As Drury smoothed the bandage over the cut, her soft touch made him aware of other soft parts in contact with him. Her leg against his. Her breast as she leaned to throw out the paper from the bandage, long, shiny hair falling forward.

When she rose, her face passed in front of his. Their gazes locked. Heat quickly followed. A mounting sense of dread came over him. This wouldn’t end well if he continued to desire her. He had more than one compelling reason to steer clear of women like her. He shifted his gaze to the boy. And that.

Drury straightened. “Junior, why don’t you go pack?”

The boy didn’t move, still eyeing Brycen uncertainly.

“Junior?”

The boy looked up at her and then reluctantly turned and went up the hall.

“It usually doesn’t take him this long to get used to people,” Drury said. “He seems especially guarded with you. He responds to you, but then he withdraws.”

“He hasn’t decided whether he likes me or not.”

“Why is that? Do you think he picked up on your stiffness when you first met him?”

He didn’t say what he really thought. Junior sized him up, measuring him against his idea of a father figure. He might not be aware he did this, but Brycen felt it. Acknowledging that would take him down that dreaded path. The “what if” path.

“Maybe.”

“Do you like kids?” She moved to stand directly in front of him.

“I’ve never had kids of my own.” He wished she’d leave this topic alone.

Leaning over the sink, she washed her hands. “You don’t have to have kids of your own to like them.”

“What makes you think I don’t like them?”

Drying her hands on the towel hanging from a hook on the wall, she shrugged. Then she scrutinized him through the mirror. “Why were you so uncomfortable when you met him? What is it with you and kids?”

This conversation was over. Brycen stood. “Let’s get going.”

Turning from the sink, she frowned her confusion as he passed and followed him out of the bathroom. “Touchy subject?”

He stopped and turned and she bumped into him. Bounced, really. All her soft parts against his harder chest and abdomen. And her hands had landed on him. She pulled back as though startled.

He felt it, too. The sparks came out of nowhere and set them both on fire. Of all the women he’d met and considered dating, Drury didn’t fit the mold. She represented what he most sought to avoid. Single mom. Serious baggage. How could he compete with a dead husband? One she’d hired an elite investigation agency to solve his cold case.

“Look.” He dove right in. He had to stop this from heating up any more. “I’ve picked up on some attraction between us and I just have to get something off my chest.”

“Okay.” She took a step back.

“I don’t do marriage and I don’t do kids. You should know that up front.”

“Wh...what?”

Clearly, she hadn’t expected him to say something like that. “You need to understand that about me before this goes any further.”

Outraged, she put her hands on her hips. “Before what goes any further? You’re jumping to conclusions a little, don’t you think? Marriage?”

Maybe, maybe not. “I just want it out in the open.” And he didn’t want to talk about his past in Alaska.

She gaped at him, slack-jawed. “That you don’t do marriage or kids.”

“Yes. This is a business relationship. We don’t get involved. And if we...you know, then I’ve warned you.”

No marriage. No kids. That included Junior. He had nothing against the boy; he just couldn’t be part of her family unit.

“Well, for your information, I don’t want a relationship anyway. My husband was murdered. What makes you think I’d want to get involved with you?” She passed him.

Maybe he’d spoken too soon. Maybe he should have waited. “I’m sorry. I just thought I should tell you. I mean no disrespect.”

With a peculiar glance back, she went into the kitchen and started cleaning up before packing for their trip.

He helped her clear the table in awkward silence until she calmed down. He could tell she’d calmed, because she stopped slamming dishes.

“Why don’t you think you’ll never get married?” she asked at the sink.

“I don’t think. It’s a choice I’ve made because I don’t believe in it. Marriages never last. My parents were married almost thirty years and should have divorced after ten. Humans aren’t meant to stay married to the same person their entire lives. So why bother getting married?”

“You base your decision off your parents’ marriage? Did they love each other?”

“Sure. My mother loved that he worked and she didn’t have to and then she loved the alimony payments until she remarried. My dad loved a woman who didn’t complain and always had dinner ready and the laundry clean.”

She loaded a dish into the dishwasher. “You don’t make them sound very likable. Do you ever see them?”

“Every Christmas.” He threw out some trash, finding an automatic lid trash container by the counter.

“I bet you aren’t this charming on your TV show.”

He chuckled. She meant the exact opposite. He came across as an ass when he talked about marriage. Some people didn’t like hearing the truth. “My mother wasn’t happy. My father wasn’t happy. They convinced themselves early on that they were. And maybe they were at first. They liked each other. But then after a few years, they wasted too much time trying to make their marriage work. I just wish they wouldn’t have waited, that’s all. When they could no longer convince themselves they were happy, they should have ended it.”

She worked as she absorbed what he said. “You must feel like every memory of them together was a lie.”

“Some of them, yes. They basically played roles for my benefit. The good, loving mother who doted on her husband. The steady, kind, disciplinary father who took care of his wife. Now that I can see what phonies they were, it makes me bitter. I’d rather they fought and threw things. At least it would have been real.” He handed her a glass from the sink, which was full of about a day’s worth of dishes.

She took it from him. “You must not like your parents much.”

“Oh, no. Contrary. I love them both very much.”

She breathed a laugh. “Really.”

“Yes, especially now that I know who they really are.”

“Is that what you think you have with women? Real relationships?” She put the glass in the dishwasher.

“Unconditionally.” He truly believed in sticking with the truth no matter how ugly or harmful. Maybe that was the homicide detective in him. Maybe he’d learned from his parents.

With the water still running in the sink, she rested her hands on the counter and turned her head toward him. “Do you believe in love?”

This qualified as personal, but he didn’t object. She needed to understand. “I believe we’re meant to love lots of people, not just one. And I don’t mean that it’s okay to be unfaithful. Monogamy is important while the relationship lasts.”

“That’s not love.”

“It’s a form of love.” He rinsed a plate and handed it to her.

She took it. “No. That’s impulsively going from one relationship to the next and not holding out for the one that really matters.”

But the one that really matters didn’t exist. To him, every woman he was with mattered, not just one, exulted one. One, superior woman was the stuff of fairy tales. Like Cinderella. Pure fantasy. A wonderful, magical dream. She walked into that ballroom alone and everyone stopped just to watch her come down the stairs in her fairy godmother gown that outshined all others. Something like that would never happen in real life. A man didn’t find a woman who made all others seem plain and insignificant.

But he didn’t think he could make Drury understand.

“It’s love to me,” he said.

She put the plate in the dishwasher. “No. That is not love. Clearly you’ve never been in love.”

“I only know what works for me.” He handed her another plate.

“Well. Thanks for the warning, then.” She put the plate in the dishwasher and glanced at him from behind a sexy curtain of hair.

He didn’t say she likely idolized her husband in death and merely thought she had true love with him. He wouldn’t argue over this. He wouldn’t have a chance with her. He’d scared her off. Well, good. He didn’t need his ideals put to any kind of love test anyway. Especially since he also had to put aside the nagging feeling that his attraction to her rose above anything he’d ever experienced before.

His Cinderella...?

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