Her Detective's Secret Intent

Let him make of that what he would.

“You think Ethan’s dad would want it this way?”

If he knew why, probably. But... “No.”

“Ethan’s dad. I feel kind of ridiculous saying that every time. I assume the guy has a name?”

Yep, and there was why she didn’t do intimate with anyone. Or get close enough for intimate to be a risk.

She hated to lie.

And the more lies she told, the more chance she’d make a critical mistake. Counseling had pounded that one into her.

“Ethan’s named after him,” she said. It was the truth. His birth name just wasn’t Ethan.

“Ethan what?”

Why? Why did he need to know a last name?

If she came across like a crazy woman, she’d raise more suspicion than if she answered.

“Grossman,” she said, blurting the name of one of her mother’s doctors. Colleen had contracted hepatitis C while on vacation with Miranda and her father down in Punta Cana. They’d thought for a while that she was doing better. That she’d be okay.

She wasn’t.

“I’m not going to hurt you or Ethan.” Tad’s soft voice came over the line. She couldn’t remember wanting to believe a man so badly in her life.

But she couldn’t.

Chapter 11

Tad didn’t take Ethan to the gym Saturday. He’d decided not to broach the subject again during his Friday-night conversation with Miranda. He’d almost made a critical mistake, pushing too hard, with his request in the first place. Had teetered on the edge of losing her friendship altogether.

And he’d learned a valuable lesson about survivors. They were as vulnerable as they were strong.

Or maybe the lesson had been about Miranda in particular. As strong as she was, she was vulnerable, too.

He thought about her all day Saturday. Wanting to call her. To see her and Ethan. And settled for a couple of drive-bys. Now that he knew the possible threat against her was in jail, he wasn’t as worried about her immediate safety.

He’d looked up Ethan Grossman the second they’d been off the phone Friday night. He’d found no one of that name in North Carolina who’d been in college six years before. Or anyone close to college-age. Even using databases he still had access to, he’d only been able to find one listing. A man closer to her father’s age than her own.

She’d lied to him about her husband’s name. Not surprising. Smart.

Disappointing, too, on a strictly personal level. Which was at the bottom of his priority list.

Lying in bed Saturday night, thinking about her, he suddenly sat upright in the dark.

Ethan’s named after him. She hadn’t said the man’s name was Ethan; she’d only confirmed the conclusion he’d drawn.

Ethan’s named after him.

Ethan’s birth name was Jeffrey.

He spent the next hour on his laptop, searching for Jeffrey Grossman in or around North Carolina.

And came up empty.

Frustrated, he pulled out his burner phone and texted the chief. I know the father’s name. She told me.