Grave Secrets (Manhunters 1)

“I stopped apologizing for my ex a long time ago, but I’m sorry you had to get caught in the middle of that…thing…” Her gaze darted toward the sheriff’s table, then back, with color staining her cheeks.

“Not a problem,” Ian lied. It was a problem. Just the thought of the confrontation raised his protective hackles. He’d always hated bullies. That had come in handy in the military, where he’d been tasked with eliminating tyrants. Now… Now he didn’t know much about anything. “Ex, huh? He’s still wearing a wedding ring.”

“Yes, ex,” she said with finality and frustration. “I’m getting the final papers today. He doesn’t have to believe it to make it real.”

Ian nodded at Savannah’s determination, amused. “Explains your attitude today.”

She caught his sarcasm, and her face eased into a tired smile, followed by light laughter that reminded Ian of warm rain in the jungle. When the woman smiled, she fuckin’ glowed from the inside out.

“Funny,” she said. In the next instant, fatigue fell over her expression. “But true.”

Then she returned to work, treating him with the same pleasant efficiency she offered all her customers.

He picked at his breakfast, absorbing the undercurrents of tension in the café. Savannah repeatedly checked her cell phone. The sheriff watched her like a lion with half a dozen thorns in his paw. And Lyle’s frustration grew with his son’s short attention span for their conversation.

“Why do you like the Giants?” Jamison asked.

“They’re my home team. Why do you like the Rangers?”

Jamison shrugged.

Ian let it drop. He’d never understand the workings of a child’s mind. And he didn’t want to.

He was just settling into the silence when Jamison asked, “Are you scared of working in the mines?”

“Haven’t been down there much.” In fact, he’d only been in a mine once—to locate Mason’s body.

There weren’t a lot of firsts remaining in Ian’s life. He’d been in caves and caverns all over the world. He’d rappelled down mountains, cliffs, and buildings. He’d scouted underwater cities of rock and coral and jumped out of aircraft at every altitude. Damn he missed that fucking job.

Trekking into that subzero tunnel hoping to find an injured undercover operative and finding a dead one instead had been Ian’s first time in a working mine. And his first time leaving a man behind. A fact that gnawed at him.

He glanced at the kid. “How ’bout you?”

“A few times. Don’t like ’em.”

“I don’t blame you.” He took a bite of his bacon. “You’re awfully talkative now that Dad’s not hovering. In fact, you don’t look very sick to me. You don’t have a bellyache, do you?”

His crayon froze. Guilty blue eyes darted to Ian’s face.

When he didn’t respond, Ian nudged. “Having trouble at school?”

Jamison dropped his gaze and shook his head.

“Then why don’t you want to be there?” Ian asked.

The boy cut a look at his father, at Ian, then returned his gaze to his paper.

“Oh,” Ian drew out the word in an undertone. “It’s Dad’s night. But if you’re sick—”

“Don’t tell Mom,” he whispered with a belated “please?”

“Don’t have to, bud,” Ian said with sympathy. He wouldn’t want to be that prick’s son either. “I’m pretty sure she already knows.”

Jamison’s shoulders sagged on an exhale as if the weight of the world had him pinned to the ground.

A son not wanting to hang with his cop father? The quintessential hero? The big fish in an itty-bitty pond? That spoke volumes.

“Gonna get grounded?” Ian asked.