A Cop's Honor. Emilie Rose

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      “Hannah.” He held up a hand to stop the flood of words. Despite what she’d said, she wasn’t at ease giving him full run of her home. Her hit-and-run glances and the pink-painted toenails curling in her sandals revealed her agitation. “I’ll get dinner for Mason and me, and I don’t mix alcohol with power tools. Take your time. You and Belle should have a girls’ night out dinner.”

      “Oh. Well... I don’t know.”

      “Do it, Mom. Go to that dumb salad place,” Mason encouraged. “You know...the one I hate and you love.”

      Smart. The kid was trying to get them some extra tool time.

      “Okay then... I’ll see you in a couple of hours.” Her attention shifted to Mason. “Listen and behave.” Then she hurried Belle out the door.

      “You owe me, kid,” Brandon said.

      Mason’s gaze turned wary. “For what?”

      “For getting you out of going to dance with your sister.”

      “Oh yeah. Thanks.” Mason scuffed his shoe on the floor. “Sisters suck.”

      “Not always. Wait until she starts learning to cook. You’ll have more cookies and cakes from her experiments than you ever dreamed of, and most will be edible. Then when she’s a teenager she’ll bring home her friends. Pretty, datable girls, paraded right through your door. What’s not to like?”

      Mason’s face turned red. “How do you know?”

      “I have two sisters.” He checked his watch. “I’m ordering a pizza. You interested?” The magic word could make most males smile.

      “Pizza! Heck, yeah.”

      “Who delivers here?”

      Mason shrugged. “We never get pizza delivered.”

      He couldn’t have scripted a better answer. “Boot up your computer and let’s look it up.”

      “Can’t you do it on your phone?”

      He’d anticipated the question. “It’s easier to see a menu on a larger screen.”

      “Why do you need a menu for pizza?”

      “Because I want to order more than just pizza. Hang with me, kid. I’ll teach you a few things.”

      Mason bought his excuse and quickly logged on. The boy executed a search without any instructions from Brandon. Then he pivoted the screen for Brandon to see. “These are our choices.”

      Brandon pointed to a familiar name. “Your dad and I used to eat here. Food’s good. It’s not a chain. May I?”

      At Mason’s nod, Brandon reached across him and used the touchpad to open the restaurant’s menu. “Large, all-meats okay with you?”

      “Sounds great!” Mason said enthusiastically. “Whenever we get pizza we have to get plain cheese. That’s all Belle will eat. And it’s cheaper.”

      Brandon hated the idea of Hannah having to watch every penny. He deliberately closed the window and straightened, then stopped, feigning a puzzled expression. “Wait. Did the phone number end in two six or six two?”

      “Uh... I don’t know.”

      Brandon clicked on the arrow that would bring up the search history. As he’d expected, it came up blank. “The URL’s not there.”

      Mason’s fingers poised over the keys. “I can get the website back up.”

      “Is your computer set to delete histories?”

      Tension invaded the boy’s face and body. “Um...yeah.”

      “How do you know how to do that?”

      Mason hunched over the keyboard, ducking his chin. “I learned at school. I have to take a computer class every year, and they make us erase our histories so the next class can’t cheat and use our answers. So I do it at home. Out of habit. Because I do it every day at school. That’s all. Nothing else. Just habit.”

      Plausible answer. But it didn’t explain Mason’s sudden wariness or why he’d used so many words and spoken so fast. Excessive explanations usually meant the subject had something to hide.

      Mason found the page. Brandon dropped the subject. There was a time to press for more info and a time to ease up. If he didn’t want Mason on the defensive, this was the latter. He dialed the number and placed the order for pizza and the garlic knots Hannah used to love.

      “Pizza won’t be here for forty minutes. Let’s see if we can get the gutter hung before the rain or the pizza arrive.”

      Mason abandoned the computer easily and followed him outside. The lack of hesitation made Brandon question whether the computer was the root of the problem. No, there were too many clues implicating the device as a link.

      The air was thick and heavy with a pending storm. They gathered the tools and set up in front of the garage. Brandon talked about anything but computers for half the job then asked, “You keep looking at the woods. Are you expecting company?”

      Mason dropped his hammer. It clattered loudly down the aluminum rungs. “Ummm. No. I’m never here on Wednesday nights. Nobody would be looking for me.”

      The kid sounded a little defensive. Brandon searched for a neutral subject. “Right. Ballet. Do your mom and Belle always dress alike?”

      Mason’s face screwed up like he’d bitten into a lemon. “Yeah. Belle’s idea. She loves it. I think it’s stupid.”

      “It’s kind of cute.”

      Mason faked a vomiting sound.

      “Could be worse, bud. They could make you wear the same color.”

      “I’d shoot myself first.”

      “You have any guns in the house?” Rick had owned several.

      “No. Jeez. It’s just a sayin’.”

      Brandon held the level and waited for the boy to retrieve the hammer and get back into position. “Do you have any friends in this neighborhood? I didn’t see bikes, toys or basketball goals in the other yards when I drove in.”

      “Nah. Only old people live on our street.”

      That shot down one theory. “What about behind you?”

      Mason stiffened. “I don’t know.”

      Looked like the friend he’d been going to study with wasn’t fictitious. “I just wondered if you have anyone to shoot hoops with.”

      “Nah. Somebody left the net here one Christmas. Mom says it was Santa.” The sarcasm in his voice and the accompanying eye roll silently voiced his opinion about that.

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