Her Detective's Secret Intent

Miranda had invited him in. He’d read more invitation than just the glass of tea or cup of coffee she’d offered, and despite all the desire flowing through him, he’d politely declined.

And then called her an hour later to apologize. He needed to stay on her good side. Wanted to believe it was for her father’s sake and for her own ultimate good, which she’d see when she learned the truth. But he had to admit that the phone call was mostly for himself.

Being vulnerable with someone was new to him. He didn’t like it. Didn’t know how to get out of it.

And was mesmerized by it, too.

“I felt a little awkward, unloading on you like I did,” he said by way of apology for his abrupt departure earlier. “I should have handled it better.”

“You were fine,” she assured him, a little more distant than she’d been when she’d called earlier in the day to invite him to dinner.

He was glad he wasn’t the only one who recognized that they had to maintain established boundaries, but he was disappointed, too. Perversely filled with a need to get them right back where they’d been on the beach before Ethan had interrupted them.

It was as though unfinished business lay between them. Something that hadn’t been there before.

Maybe it was time to get back to work. To occupy his mind before it flew off permanently.

“I unburdened myself. Now it’s your turn,” he said, pushed from within to move on from the standstill he felt trapped in. Maybe if she talked to him about her father, indicated that she missed him, he could convince the chief that she was ready for the truth. That would get him out of this mess.

“Excuse me?”

“I told you about my family and I know nothing about yours.”

If silence could be heard, he heard it then.

“I don’t have a lot to say,” she told him after a lengthy pause. “You already know I grew up in foster care.”

“Like Ethan Sr.?”

Maybe he was egging her on. Maybe he needed her to trust him.

A selfish need at best. Miranda believed her safety lay in her silence. And her lies.

“Yes,” she said. “Except that I stayed in one place, and he was shifted around among different families.”

“And your foster parents, were they good to you?”

“Yes.”

“Are you still in touch with them?” Frustration motivated him. He was aware of it.

“No. They took in a lot of kids. I, um, didn’t actually go into the system until I was eleven.”

The year her mother died.

“So you were

with your parents until then?”

“My mom. I never knew my dad.” Something in her tone touched him.

More than mere sadness. Much more. What was he doing? Forcing a woman to talk about her father, the person she’d loved and adored, a man who’d been a true hero, who’d not only kept her safe but been all the family she had. Of course, she’d have to wall herself off from any admission that he even existed.

Tad’s excess energy started to seep slowly away, bringing back the calm with which he did his best thinking.

He wasn’t happy to be on the phone with Miranda in the middle of their current conversation.

He needed to be able to tell her that her husband really was dead. That the story she’d made up about Ethan’s father’s death was now reality. That she could see her father again. That the chief knew where she was and was watching out for her.