Her Detective's Secret Intent

Her nerves started to settle. The constriction in her chest loosened. And eventually, she fell asleep.

* * *

Tad hadn’t heard from Gail by the time he had to call the chief on Friday. After his week of high alert, frustration, theories and readiness, he was prepared for anything.

The call was as unalarming as it could be.

“I apologize for last week,” the chief said on answering. “I knew you’d be calling and I was way out of line, allowing myself to get in that state.”

“It’s okay, sir. I know what it is to mourn a loved one.” The chief, and everyone else looking into his suitability to resume his job, knew about Steffie. They figured he’d acted without thinking because he was responding to the possibility of another girl being hurt on his watch. That was partially why the chief had hired him to search for Dana.

Because he understood how it ripped a man up inside, losing one of his own, when he should’ve been able to protect her. Standing on his balcony in the jeans and T-shirt he’d be wearing to dinner, he felt for the guy.

“So what news do you have for me?”

He told the chief about dinner that night, without mentioning that he hadn’t seen Miranda or her son all week—not counting the day before, when he’d been driving by to make sure Danny got into his aunt’s car, instead of his mother’s, after school. He’d been alerted to the change. Marie had a meeting at work that she really needed to attend. As a precaution, everyone wanted to confirm that the meeting wasn’t a fabrication Devon had somehow forced so he could get to his son.

While Tad had been watching for Danny, he’d seen Ethan run out to Miranda’s car in a line of parents waiting to pick up their kids.

“I’ve been thinking about what you said, about moving things along,” the chief said, gaining Tad’s full attention. “Maybe this week, when you talk to her, ask her something about her father. I know she’s lying about her past, I understand she has to be the person she’s created, lies and all, but maybe some truth will come out, too. A nuance. A word. A missing detail that would normally be there. You’re trained to notice such things.”

He was. Interrogating people, getting to various truths, was one of his fortes. Which was why it was going so much against the grain to live with the secrets between him and Miranda. They were consuming him. Every minute of every day.

Glad to hear that the chief was at least considering an end to this, Tad readily agreed to his request.

* * *

Miranda didn’t see Gray Cap at all on Friday. And she looked. Everywhere. She had to get a good visual, just in case. Given how many people wore gray baseball caps, wasn’t it odd that now there wasn’t a single one anywhere in her vicinity?

Or maybe she’d been dreaming the whole thing up. Making something out of nothing. Or her head was playing tricks on her.

For instance, when she came out of work a few minutes later than usual, she was sure that the person in the black sedan in the corner of the parking lot was watching her.

Why wouldn’t he be? If he was waiting for someone to come out of an appointment, he’d be watching everyone who came through the door. She was going to get this under control. It was because of Marie and Devon; she knew that.

Everyone on the High Risk Team was aware that Marie wasn’t safe. They were doing everything they could to protect her.

Sometimes everything wasn’t enough.

She couldn’t get over the feeling that someday, someway, her father was going to use all the tools at his disposal—the police forces, the power, the access to confidential information, the reputation that let him go anywhere, do anything he wanted without question—to find her.

And when he did...that would be the end. There was no doubt in her mind about that. He didn’t want or need her. She was nothing more than a reminder of her mother to him. When she’d been little, maybe not so much, but after puberty, when she’d matured, everyone had said she looked just like her mom.

It had taken Miranda a long time to realize that where her father was concerned, that was a bad thing.

What Brian O’Connor wanted wasn’t his daughter. He wanted his wife—and his grandson. The son he’d never had.

She’d die before she’d let him spend five minutes alone with her boy.

And she wasn’t going to think about any of it that night. Tad was coming over. It had been more than a week since she’d seen him. The longest it had been since they met. She wouldn’t be able to touch him, to feel his lips on hers, but safe in her home with her son, she was going to soak up Tad’s presence. Let him know, somehow, that he mattered, and let herself believe that all would be well.

She was going to be a grain of sand. Mere dust in the wind. Just for a few hours.

* * *

Tad played Zoo Attack. He ate two helpings of chicken-and-rice casserole. Helped with dishes. Kept his hands to himself where Miranda was concerned. But not his gaze. From the second he’d seen her, in skinny jeans and a sleeveless, gauzy, flowing tie-dyed tank thing, opening the door to him, he’d been obsessed with the sight of her.

She was like the sun and moon in one. A natural Madonna with the power to take him over completely.