A Cop's Honor

Chapter Four

BRANDON HAD SPENT Monday and Tuesday convincing himself that his out-of-line thoughts about Hannah had been a fluke. He arrived at her house Wednesday evening, determined to prove his point.

The front door opened. Belle, wearing a pink headband, leotard and tutu and her sparkly sandals, darted out toward him. She hurled herself at him. “Occifer Brandon!”

He swung her into the air then set her down. She weighed more than the twins, his four-year-old niece and nephew, but squealed the same. “Hey, kiddo. How’s the room?”

“Prettiful!”

Her made up words were...cute. Mason stepped onto the porch. The sour expression he usually greeted Brandon with was absent. “Mom’s inside. She’s all in a tiz about leaving me here. Like you’re gonna kill me or something.”

“I’ll try not to.” Brandon fist-bumped Mason then followed the kids through the foyer to the den.

Hannah hustled around the room, gathering her purse, a sweater and a tiny pair of dance slippers. The pink band in her hair matched Belle’s, as did the shoes on her feet and the fitted T-shirt skimming her slender curves, but the resemblance ended there. A khaki skirt hugged Hannah’s hips and revealed her long legs. There was nothing girlish about her figure.

The inappropriate reactions he’d hoped were a one-time deal shot through him like an Amtrak train. His heart clickety-clacked against his sternum, and adrenaline sped through his veins. Déjà vu. Damn.

She glanced up, spotted him and stopped. Her lips parted and her breasts rose with a quick inhalation. Color tinted her cheeks. “Hi.”

“Sorry I’m late. Last-minute conference call.”

“Thanks for texting and letting me know. We’re still okay for time. Are you sure you don’t mind staying with Mason?” Her words came out in a breathy rush—the kind that made him think of urgent middle-of-the-night whispers. And that was just wrong.

“Nah. I need his help. It’s a two-man job.”

Behind her back Mason gave him a thumbs-up. Teamwork. Progress.

“We usually grab dinner after dance lessons, but there’s sandwich stuff if y’all get hungry before I get home. Make yourself comfortable. If there’s anything you need, anything at all... Except I don’t think I have beer and I know I don’t have anything stronger, but—”

“Hannah.” He held up a hand to stop the flood of words. Despite what she’d said, she wasn’t at ease giving him full run of her home. Her hit-and-run glances and the pink-painted toenails curling in her sandals revealed her agitation. “I’ll get dinner for Mason and me, and I don’t mix alcohol with power tools. Take your time. You and Belle should have a girls’ night out dinner.”

“Oh. Well... I don’t know.”

“Do it, Mom. Go to that dumb salad place,” Mason encouraged. “You know...the one I hate and you love.”

Smart. The kid was trying to get them some extra tool time.

“Okay then... I’ll see you in a couple of hours.” Her attention shifted to Mason. “Listen and behave.” Then she hurried Belle out the door.

“You owe me, kid,” Brandon said.

Mason’s gaze turned wary. “For what?”

“For getting you out of going to dance with your sister.”

“Oh yeah. Thanks.” Mason scuffed his shoe on the floor. “Sisters suck.”

“Not always. Wait until she starts learning to cook. You’ll have more cookies and cakes from her experiments than you ever dreamed of, and most will be edible. Then when she’s a teenager she’ll bring home her friends. Pretty, datable girls, paraded right through your door. What’s not to like?”

Mason’s face turned red. “How do you know?”

“I have two sisters.” He checked his watch. “I’m ordering a pizza. You interested?” The magic word could make most males smile.

“Pizza! Heck, yeah.”

“Who delivers here?”

Mason shrugged. “We never get pizza delivered.”

He couldn’t have scripted a better answer. “Boot up your computer and let’s look it up.”

“Can’t you do it on your phone?”

He’d anticipated the question. “It’s easier to see a menu on a larger screen.”

“Why do you need a menu for pizza?”

“Because I want to order more than just pizza. Hang with me, kid. I’ll teach you a few things.”

Mason bought his excuse and quickly logged on. The boy executed a search without any instructions from Brandon. Then he pivoted the screen for Brandon to see. “These are our choices.”

Brandon pointed to a familiar name. “Your dad and I used to eat here. Food’s good. It’s not a chain. May I?”

At Mason’s nod, Brandon reached across him and used the touchpad to open the restaurant’s menu. “Large, all-meats okay with you?”

“Sounds great!” Mason said enthusiastically. “Whenever we get pizza we have to get plain cheese. That’s all Belle will eat. And it’s cheaper.”

Brandon hated the idea of Hannah having to watch every penny. He deliberately closed the window and straightened, then stopped, feigning a puzzled expression. “Wait. Did the phone number end in two six or six two?”

“Uh... I don’t know.”

Brandon clicked on the arrow that would bring up the search history. As he’d expected, it came up blank. “The URL’s not there.”

Mason’s fingers poised over the keys. “I can get the website back up.”

“Is your computer set to delete histories?”

Tension invaded the boy’s face and body. “Um...yeah.”

“How do you know how to do that?”

Mason hunched over the keyboard, ducking his chin. “I learned at school. I have to take a computer class every year, and they make us erase our histories so the next class can’t cheat and use our answers. So I do it at home. Out of habit. Because I do it every day at school. That’s all. Nothing else. Just habit.”

Plausible answer. But it didn’t explain Mason’s sudden wariness or why he’d used so many words and spoken so fast. Excessive explanations usually meant the subject had something to hide.

Mason found the page. Brandon dropped the subject. There was a time to press for more info and a time to ease up. If he didn’t want Mason on the defensive, this was the latter. He dialed the number and placed the order for pizza and the garlic knots Hannah used to love.

“Pizza won’t be here for forty minutes. Let’s see if we can get the gutter hung before the rain or the pizza arrive.”

Mason abandoned the computer easily and followed him outside. The lack of hesitation made Brandon question whether the computer was the root of the problem. No, there were too many clues implicating the device as a link.

The air was thick and heavy with a pending storm. They gathered the tools and set up in front of the garage. Brandon talked about anything but computers for half the job then asked, “You keep looking at the woods. Are you expecting company?”

Mason dropped his hammer. It clattered loudly down the aluminum rungs. “Ummm. No. I’m never here on Wednesday nights. Nobody would be looking for me.”

The kid sounded a little defensive. Brandon searched for a neutral subject. “Right. Ballet. Do your mom and Belle always dress alike?”

Mason’s face screwed up like he’d bitten into a lemon. “Yeah. Belle’s idea. She loves it. I think it’s stupid.”

“It’s kind of cute.”

Mason faked a vomiting sound.

“Could be worse, bud. They could make you wear the same color.”

“I’d shoot myself first.”

“You have any guns in the house?” Rick had owned several.

“No. Jeez. It’s just a sayin’.”

Brandon held the level and waited for the boy to retrieve the hammer and get back into position. “Do you have any friends in this neighborhood? I didn’t see bikes, toys or basketball goals in the other yards when I drove in.”

“Nah. Only old people live on our street.”

That shot down one theory. “What about behind you?”

Mason stiffened. “I don’t know.”

Looked like the friend he’d been going to study with wasn’t fictitious. “I just wondered if you have anyone to shoot hoops with.”

“Nah. Somebody left the net here one Christmas. Mom says it was Santa.” The sarcasm in his voice and the accompanying eye roll silently voiced his opinion about that.

“Not buying that, huh?”

“No.”

“You ever shoot?”

“Sometimes. I’m not very good.”

“Your dad and I used to play together.” Mason said nothing. Brandon let a few more minutes pass, then asked, “Do you like computers?”

“I guess.”

“Your dad was good with them—probably the best I’ve ever known.”

“Why do you keep talking about my dad?”

“Because he was my best friend for more than twenty years. More like a brother. He was a big part of my life. I miss him.”

“Well, I don’t even remember him, and he wasn’t a big part of mine. So stop it. Okay? Pizza’s here.” Mason scrambled down the ladder and headed for the delivery vehicle just entering the driveway, ending the discussion.

It pained Brandon to hear that Mason didn’t remember his father. Rick had been too great a guy to be forgotten—especially by his own son. Brandon resolved to find a way to rectify that situation. That meant he now had two assignments: figure out where Mason’s bad behavior originated, and help him remember his father.

* * *

“I WAS ABOUT to call you,” Lucy said when Hannah bustled Belle into the dance studio’s waiting area. “You’re never late.”

Hannah checked her watch. “Hi, Lucy. We’re not late, but we are cutting it close. Is Ella feeling better?”

“No. That stomach flu has knocked her out. She’s staying with my mom while Celia gets her groove on.”

Hannah glanced through the window overlooking the dance floor to Celia, Lucy’s youngest. She’d worn her dress-up tiara tonight. Belle would be begging for one on the way home.

“I hope you and Celia don’t come down with it.” Then she turned to Belle. “Hurry and put on your slippers, sweetie. The other girls are already lined up.”

Belle did as asked then dashed through the door and galloped across the room to the barre to greet her friend Celia. Hannah scooped up her daughter’s sandals and sank onto the bleachers provided for parents. Her pulse was racing, but only because she’d been rushing and because she was having second thoughts about leaving Brandon in charge at her house. It had nothing to do with the man himself. Nothing at all.

Lucy scanned the room. “Where’s Mason?”

“At home.”

Red eyebrows shot skyward. “Alone? Given what’s been going on, is that wise?”

Hannah took a long, calming breath. Aside from Brandon, Lucy was the only one who knew about Mason sneaking out. Her friend’s question was understandable. “I left him with a former colleague of Rick’s.”

“A cop?”

“Yes.”

“Then I guess Mason won’t get into anything.”

Hannah glanced around to make sure no one was listening. “Hope not.”

“So who is this colleague?”

“Brandon Martin.”

Lucy’s green eyes and mouth rounded. “It’s-his-fault, Brandon Martin?”

Hannah put a finger to her lips and nodded. She didn’t want her business shared.

“I thought you hated his guts,” Lucy whispered.

“Hate is a strong word.” But accurate. For years she’d channeled all of her anger from grief toward Brandon. “He’s Mason’s godfather. And I didn’t know who else to ask. He and Mason are fixing the sagging gutter over my garage door.”

“Ooh. He’s a handyman? Is he single?”

She shot Lucy a level look. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“If you’re determined to keep your fixer-upper, you have to admit, you could use a man around.”

“For repairs, yes. For anything else, no.”

“But—”

“Even if I didn’t hold him responsible for Rick’s death, the fact that he’s a cop makes him off-limits.”

“That’s only two strikes.”

The third was that Brandon made her feel things. Womanly things. She would never let herself fall in love again. Falling meant landing—hard—when it ended. And sex...well, for her, love and sex went hand in hand. “This isn’t baseball. Two strikes is enough.”

“Girl, you don’t know what you’re missing.”

Lucy was a single mom with an active social life. She fell in and out of love every few months and shared all the juicy details with Hannah. At first, the guy was Mr. Perfect and she’d extoll his virtues. Then she started to see his flaws and Hannah heard about those, too. She was convinced her friend was more in love with the idea of love than the practice of it. It seemed like she always wanted romance’s version of new car smell.

“I’m not missing anything. I love my kids. I love my job. I love my house. Life is good.”

“C’mon.” She leaned closer. “Don’t you miss sex?”

Embarrassed, Hannah again checked to see if any of the other parents were listening, but they were too engrossed in their cell phones to care.

“No.” Yes. But it wasn’t just the physical act she missed. It was all the rest: the companionship, the adult conversations, having someone who shared her hopes and dreams and understood her need to put down roots—deep roots. But no matter how great her relationship with Rick had been, nothing could fill the gaping hole his death had left behind. Her children had been too young to suffer much then. They weren’t now, and she would never put them through the loving and losing hell she’d endured. Which meant that bringing a man in—one who might leave—was out of the question.

“But—”

“Lucy, watch the girls.”

The peace lasted five minutes. “Maybe if you did something at church besides volunteer for nursery duty you’d meet a guy.”

“I know you find it hard to believe, but I’m not looking.”

“Men with babies have wives,” she continued as if Hannah hadn’t spoken. “If you’d teach the older kids’ class you could meet some single Christian dads who no longer have that wife attachment.”

“News flash. I don’t go to church to pick up men.”

Lucy rolled her eyes. “Girl, you are blind to so many opportunities. Just think who you’d meet if Mason played sports.”

“He doesn’t like sports.”

“Then sign him up for a scout troop or a science club.”

Hannah stuck her fingers in her ears. “La la la.”

“Scoff if you want, but I’m worried about you. You spend too much time alone.”

“I’m with people all day.”

“I meant in your downtime.” She paused briefly before her next question. “So, is Brandon attractive?”

Hannah’s ears burned. She shot her friend an end-of-my-patience glare that would have silenced her children.

“That blush answers my question, but FYI, I meant for me, not you. I’m in the relationship Sahara right now. Invite me over after dance tonight. Introduce us.”

“No!” Hannah spoke so loudly that the other mothers looked up from their gadgets. She didn’t know why she felt so strongly against the introduction. “He’s not your type. He doesn’t go dancing or hang out in bars.”

At least he hadn’t back when he and Rick had been friends.

“He’s a desk jockey?”

With that body? Not likely. “He’s a cop who worked with Rick, remember?”

“Then he’s my type. And who are we kidding? I’ll consider any man who is relatively intelligent, gainfully employed and in decent shape.”

The problem was, Lucy might do more than date Brandon. And then Hannah would have to hear about the physical side of their relationship in excruciating detail. No, thanks. She turned away from Lucy. “Oh look. They’re practicing pirouettes. Aren’t they adorable?”

She could feel Lucy watching her, but she didn’t turn or do anything else to encourage the conversation. This class couldn’t end soon enough. But once it did, she’d be going home to Brandon. To Mason, she hastily corrected. To Mason. Brandon was just a temporary affliction she must endure until she figured out what was going on with her son.

* * *

THE STORM THAT the day’s humidity had promised broke loose on the drive home. As if she wasn’t stressed enough about seeing Brandon again, Hannah had to fight through almost zero visibility and pounding water on the roads, grabbing and pulling her tires. She needed new wiper blades and tires. Pushing that worry aside, she pulled into the garage, heaved a sigh of relief and wiggled her fingers. They were cramped from having a death grip on the wheel.

Belle sprang from the car and sprinted into the house. Her daughter ran everywhere. Where did she find the energy? Hannah followed more slowly, pausing a moment to register the lack of water falling over the open door before she pushed the button to close it. She passed through the laundry room and dropped her purse on the kitchen counter.

The aroma of Italian food assailed her, making her wish she’d eaten more than a salad after dance class. She hustled to the den where Belle was chattering nonstop and demonstrating the new steps she’d learned tonight for Mason and Brandon. Both males reclined on the couch with an open, empty pizza box on the coffee table. Mason was wearing different clothes now and looked like he’d had a shower.

Brandon’s smiling gaze transferred from Belle to Hannah, and a surge of...something...shot through her. Relief that Mason looked relaxed and content instead of combative. That was all it was.

Brandon rose. “She’s quite a talented ballerina.”

“Yes,” was the only thing Hannah could squeeze out through her tight throat. Why did his smile and gentlemanly manners make it hard to breathe? Then she realized it was because his jeans were damp and clinging to his—Ahem.

“We saved some garlic knots for you. They’re keeping warm in the oven,” he said.

She looked at the box and recognized the familiar logo. Her stomach rumbled in anticipation and her mouth watered. “From Giuseppe’s? I haven’t eaten there in years.”

He turned to Mason. “Your mom was bloodthirsty. She used to threaten me with bodily harm if I ate the last garlic knot.”

The pressure in her chest increased. “That was a long time ago.”

He shrugged. “They’re as good as they used to be.”

Mason perked up. “Brandon said we had to save the rest for you. But if you don’t want ’em...” He started to rise.

“I do.”

“Dang.” Her son flopped back down, a picture of total dejection.

Brandon cut him a look. “How can you have room for more food?”

Mason grinned, looking so much like the sweet child she loved that it choked Hannah up all over again. “I’m a growing boy. And man, you worked me hard.”

Which reminded her... “I see my gutter is fixed and draining properly.”

“You should have been here, Mom. Right after we finished, a big bolt of lightning lit up the sky, then it thundered so loud it sounded like a bomb went off. The ladders rattled. We barely got the tools into Brandon’s truck before the bottom fell out. We got soaked!”

That explained the shower and clean clothes. Her son’s sullen attitude was gone. Brandon had managed a miracle. “Thank you for your work. Both of you.”

“I put the wet towels in the washer,” Brandon added. “Added to the stuff you already had in there, it was enough to run a load. So we did.”

“The machine’s pretty easy to work,” her son, who had never done a load of laundry in his life, volunteered. “Brandon showed me how. And he says I can help him with more stuff if you’ll give him a project list.”

It took a moment for her brain to recover from the shock of her son being eager to do chores. “Um... I’ll work on that.”

She didn’t want to be beholden to Brandon or have him hanging around her house or washing her clothes. Asking for help with Mason had been hard enough. And that was all she wanted from him. But how could she refuse when her son sounded so happy about being included? And then the guilt kicked in again. He needed a man’s influence. And she couldn’t give him that.

“Did you finish your homework?”

Mason’s crestfallen expression revealed his answer before he mumbled, “Most of it. All I have left is math.”

“Get to it.”

He slouched out of the room. Thunder shook the house, drowning out the sound of Mason’s heavy footsteps tromping up the stairs. The lights flickered.

Then because she couldn’t handle more of Brandon’s silent smiles she turned to her daughter. “Belle, you need to have your bath and get ready for bed. Go on up. I’ll be there right after I see out our guest.”

“But, Mom, can’t Occifer Brandon tuck me in?”

“No.”

“Sure,” he replied simultaneously.

Hannah shook her head. She needed him gone. “You don’t have to do that. I know you need to get ready for work tomorrow.”