Her Detective's Secret Intent

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Tad barely had a few seconds inside the quaint little cottage not far from the beach. The front door opened to him and he was whisked through a living area and out to a back patio before he’d even had a chance to say hello.

The place smelled like disinfectant mixed with lavender. The brown leather sectional had a patched spot on one arm; the recliner and coffee and end tables were dust-free but mismatched. Wall art, generic. Floors, ceramic tile with throw rugs. Nothing out of place. Kitchen off to the left, complete with a top-of-the-cupboard microwave and built-in dishwasher. All spotless.

“Hey, Mr. Newberry! Mom says we can play on my Windows tablet, which is so cool ’cause we can pass it back and forth, instead of the computer where I usually have to play.” From a too-big chair at an outdoor table for four, the blue-eyed boy stared up at him, his brown hair shaggy and cute, not quite long enough to hang in his eyes. As before, he was in blue jeans and a T-shirt.

“That’s Detective Newberry,” Miranda said from right behind Tad. “What would you like to drink?”

Ethan had a glass half filled with red liquid in front of him, and a hint of pink mustache to go with it.

“I’ve got tea, bottled water or punch.”

He chose the tea and, taking a seat on the eight-by-eight tiled patio, dug into the bag of food he’d brought, dispensing items according to the orders placed—burrito minus the sauce for Ethan, taco salad with sour cream for his mother. From the family-run taco joint down by the beach.

Tad went with the house specialty. Tacos.

“That’s Mom’s seat.” Ethan’s voice was softer than normal as he unwrapped his burrito.

Tad’s fingers slowed on his own paper-covered food. “What?”

“You’re in Mom’s seat. She always sits there, and if I do, she makes me move.”

He’d taken the seat with his back to the wall of the house. He could see the door to the living area, and the small, nicely manicured, walled-in yard, too.

That was probably why she’d chosen it as her own. A woman who’d been scared enough to take on a new identity could experience a need to keep her back to the wall.

As quickly as possible, he moved, managing to resettle himself befor

e Miranda returned.

Maybe what he was doing—ingratiating himself into their worlds—was duplicitous. Making him untrustworthy. He liked Miranda. Really liked her. More than he could remember ever liking a woman in such a short time. He couldn’t tell her the truth about his mission, not yet, anyway. Not until he knew that his news wouldn’t ruin her life again, upend her and cause her to start all over. From scratch. With a six-year-old child.

On the contrary, his goal was to make her life better. To take away her fear. To let her know she could live safely, free of the past.

He just wasn’t at liberty to do that yet.

And didn’t even want to think about it until he knew for certain that her ex-husband was dead. If he believed her, the man had been dead for years, but it wasn’t like she was going to tell the truth. She’d told him the rehearsed story attached to her assumed identity. But as much as he trusted her father—his current employer—he wasn’t a man who relied on the word of others. You never knew if someone had been given falsified proof.

He’d seen enough twists and turns in his career to make him wary. As recently as his last case—a man putting his own daughter’s life at stake, preparing to kill the child while she stood there in his arms, crying...

“You need to watch me do this, Mr. Newberry,” Ethan’s young voice brought Tad fully back to the moment just as Miranda came outside with their drinks. “That way you’ll learn for when you do your own and our animals can fight sometimes, too.”

“Sorry, I had to brew more tea,” Miranda said on the tail end of Ethan’s words. “I added extra ice.”

Which was quickly melting.

“And it’s Detective Newberry, Ethan,” she said again, sitting in her chair, unfolding a napkin and dropping it in her son’s lap.

“I’d prefer Tad, if that’s okay with you,” he told her. Who knew if he was going to stay on as a detective when his leave was through?

Although he couldn’t see himself being happy doing anything else.

“Is it okay, Mom? Can I call him Tad?”

Looking over the boy’s head, Tad smiled at her.

She smiled back.