Her Detective's Secret Intent

She had no idea what to do about that at the moment. How to explain...any of it.

“You said you wanted me to go on a date, right?”

“Yes, but not with him. Not anymore.”

“It’s a little late for that,” she told him. “I already invited him over. And he’s planning to be a successful zookeeper tonight.” Dealing with children was her forte. Not only because of her training, but because it somehow came naturally to her.

Still, she felt completely, uncharacteristically, lost.

“Can you do me a favor and be nice to him? Just for tonight?” Give her time to figure out how to handle the newest bump in their road. She’d known bigger bumps were coming. Had been as prepared as one could be when facing the unknown.

“I dunno.”

“He wants to see you, Ethan. He really likes you.”

When Ethan looked at her, she could see tears in his eyes. “Then why didn’t he notice me?”

“Did you ever think about asking him? You say you want to be his friend, but what kind of friend just gets mad and cuts you off without at least asking you about what hurt him?”

She had to text Tad. Give him a heads-up. Maybe sort this one out between the two of them before he arrived for dinner.

Telling Ethan the truth—that Danny was a victim of domestic violence, that his own father had threatened to kill Danny’s mother and had tried to force Danny to leave with him, that Tad was on the team that was protecting him—was out.

Shouldn’t be such a hard thing, lying to her son, with her whole life built on lies. And it still made her sick.

* * *

Tad wasn’t afraid of storming into an office to face a man with a loaded gun. Didn’t think twice about knocking down a door behind which men were waiting with weapons. He’d faced off against an assailant who had a bomb.

And he put off calling Miranda’s father until Thursday afternoon. A lot could happen between Tuesday and Thursday. No point in borrowing trouble.

A couple of hours before he was supposed to show up for dinner, he was looking forward to the evening so much he knew trouble had arrived.

Pacing between the sock drawer in his bedroom and the living area of his small quarters, he gazed out at the ocean in the distance, listening to the ring on the other end of the line. Two and then three rings, although the chief always picked up on the first.

On Fridays, he expected Tad’s call.

Figuring he was going to voice mail, knowing he couldn’t leave a message, Tad shoved a hand into the pocket of his jeans—the black ones again—and repeatedly flexed his injured thigh muscle. Focusing on the exercise. Counting the squeezes.

“Is there a problem?”

To date the man had always answered his phone “Chief O’Connor.” Every time.

“No.”

“I was in a meeting.”

“I’m sorry, sir.” He didn’t like feeling chastised and considered hanging up.

Let the chief wait until the next day to hear from him at their usual time.

“No. No, I’m the one who’s sorry. I apologize. When I saw the number come up I got a bit tense. It’s difficult not being able to handle this myself. To be there if there’s an emergency. Please, forgive me.”

Defenses immediately lowered, replaced by the respect the chief had earned from Tad, he walked out to his balcony, feeling a chill in the April air. The sun would be warm. It wasn’t shining on his side of the building. He got the morning sun.

“I apologize for the unplanned contact,” he said now. “I have a situation I need to run by you. Probably should’ve done that before now. I have a...meeting tonight and if you’d rather I didn’t go, I need you to tell me.”

“I told you before—you have free rein there. Whatever it takes to keep them in sight. To keep me apprised of their activities. To keep them safe.”