Her Detective's Secret Intent

He had a life to get back to, she reminded herself, back in Michigan. He wasn’t married, didn’t have family, but he had colleagues he’d known and worked with for years. He had people going to bat for him. Friends.

“So when can we do this again?” she asked.

His finger was drawing circles on her shoulder. “Tad going to Jimmy’s again anytime soon?”

“No.”

“Then give me a little time to recoup, say half an hour from now?”

She laughed, as she supposed he meant her to do.

And the subject was dropped.

* * *

Tad couldn’t get anything about that afternoon out of his mind. From the sight of her heart-covered scrubs on the floor, the bottoms, half inside out, trailing from the bedpost, to the ray of sun that had shone through the closed blinds. From the way she’d sounded when she’d come, like a fierce feminine warrior who’d found bliss, to the hint of emotion in her voice when she’d kissed him goodbye at the door twenty minutes before she had to go pick up her son.

He seemed to be smelling the lavender that pervaded her home in every room of his own place now. Even after he showered her scent from his skin.

He’d had lovers. Enjoyed his time with them. He’d never known anything like this...thing...he had going on with his client’s daughter.

What was wrong with him?

Or had he found something very, very right? He made his trips to the gym on Friday, with drive-bys to the elementary school, Marie’s house and Miranda’s, with one scenario playing over and over in his mind.

He’s with Miranda, alone, but they’re dressed. On a balcony. His. He tells her who he is. Why he was initially in town. Tells her that her abusive ex really is dead—not from some imagined car accident, but from a drug overdose. That his criminal brother is behind bars. He tells her that her father loves her so much he sent Tad to find her, just to make sure she’s safe.

She’d be shocked. It would take her a few minutes to assimilate it all. To come to terms with his duplicity. But she was so mature and wise, she’d see his heart. Her father’s. Ethan’s. And her own. She’d know that the way they’d become involved was meant to be. She’d be grateful to him.

It could happen.

When he stood on his balcony with his burner phone on Friday, calling Brian, he was determined to get things moving forward.

“Tad? You’re a minute late.”

Taken aback by the greeting, he apologized and didn’t feel he should’ve had to. Really? A minute?

“Something wrong, sir?” he asked. The chief was a fair man. Reasonable.

“Damn straight there’s something wrong! My grandson’s across the country from me, that’s what’s wrong.”

O’Connor’s tone, the way he said his words, didn’t seem quite right. He was slurring. Didn’t sound tired, but...

“So let’s bring him home.” Tad jumped on the opening. “I’m ready anytime you are.” Now. I’m ready now.

“Not time yet,” the chief said, sounding almost petulant for a second. And it occurred to Tad—the irritation, impatience, petulance...

“Have you been drinking, sir?” He’d never heard of the man having so much as a beer at a dinner function, but it wasn’t a crime. As long as he wasn’t driving. Or working.

“Yes. I apologize.” He sighed. “Today is the anniversary of my wife’s death and I came home with a six-pack of beer. I’m afraid I nearly polished the thing off. I don’t normally touch the stuff,” he said.

“It’s okay, sir,” Tad quickly assured him. He’d had his own share of six-packs over the years. Usually after a tough case.

“No. No, it’s not okay. I know better and should hold myself to higher standards.”

Shouldn’t they all?

“So...tell me about your week. Their week. How’s Jeffrey?”