Her Detective's Secret Intent

While she was with her father, she’d see Ethan again. She just had to play along. To get along.

Until she could snatch her son and get away.

Tad hadn’t looked at her since she’d said she was leaving. And why should he? What she’d thought they’d shared—it hadn’t been.

He couldn’t know, as she brushed past him in the hall, with Chantel as her escort, that the way his hand accidentally connec

ted with the small of her back sent a shock of life into her.

And she hated herself for still reacting to him.

* * *

“You know I love you.” Brian’s words broke the silence in the car he’d rented—a black sedan, no surprise—as he drove Miranda to her home. She might have feared that he’d dump her off a cliff, but since everyone knew they’d left the station together, that he was the last person to see her alive, he’d be the prime suspect.

He’d never allow his reputation to be tarnished like that.

“I know you’re angry with me, girl, but I only want what’s best for you. You and Jeffrey. You can move in with me for the time being. Get a job. Maybe something at the hospital. And we’ll see how it goes.”

How he decided it should go, she translated.

He told her about the money he’d been awarded. About his new position as North Carolina chief fire marshal. He told her how much he’d loved her mother. And that she’d be glad now, knowing they were all back together.

He talked about coaching Jeffrey’s Little League team.

“He likes basketball,” she said, and then, at his assessing glance in her direction, wished she’d kept her mouth shut.

She’d just given him something. She wasn’t sure what. Some glance into her mind. A tidbit no one else would have noticed.

And she was going to pay for it.

* * *

All the way to Miranda’s house, Tad kept up a constant stream of chatter with Ethan, asking the boy about his tour of the police station. What he liked best. He wanted to prepare him, but realized he couldn’t. He needed Ethan to act as though he knew nothing, and the only way to get a six-year-old to do that was to make certain he knew nothing.

Tad pulled into Miranda’s drive in his own SUV, which had been returned to the station, along with Miranda’s car, in exchange for their “rental.” It took his full strength of mind to let the boy hop out. To run up to the front door, filled with stories to tell his mother.

He’d told Ethan she’d driven separately because they’d come in two cars, and the boy hadn’t questioned why he’d been left to ride with Tad. Tad would’ve made up some story about her not feeling well if he’d had to.

As it was, he was on full alert. He had two goals. First and foremost, get Ethan and Miranda into his car and disappear with them. The second, do it without anyone getting hurt.

He’d take down the older man if he had to. His gun was loaded and in the back of his jeans.

He didn’t want Ethan to witness any violence. Miranda had sacrificed her entire life so her son could grow up free of violence.

As he turned off the car in Park, he felt a second’s hesitation. He was risking everything.

The chief could be telling the truth. His story had been convincing enough that Miranda had given up. Or maybe she’d given up because he’d been telling the truth.

He’d seen the psychiatrist’s letter. And the rest of the paperwork her father had left behind in his file.

Miranda had had a psychotic break when she was eleven. And again at sixteen. She’d grieved beyond her ability to cope.

Maybe because her father had been beating her?

There’d been a report of a broken arm. She’d fallen off the monkey bars at school. At the age of twelve.

And the same arm had been broken a second time, in a different place, when she’d missed a step in the dark at sixteen. She’d been going outside to take out the trash and missed the last step. That kind of thing happened.