A Cop's Honor. Emilie Rose

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СКАЧАТЬ lie. “Inside. Now.”

      “Mooooom,” he wailed.

      “Move it!” What had turned her sweet, easygoing ten-year-old son into trouble looking for a place to happen? He’d been suspended twice from school in the past three months for making inappropriate comments to other students then to his teacher, and finally, for sassing the school principal. She knew middle school kids were supposed to be difficult, but she hadn’t expected sixth grade to change her little boy into someone she didn’t recognize.

      She followed him into the kitchen. “Where were you going?”

      “I told you.”

      “You lied. Try the truth.”

      His chin jutted out. “I was going to meet a friend...for homework help.”

      “At this hour? Who?”

      “No one you know.”

      That concerned her. “I’ve told you more than once that you’re not allowed to go to anyone’s house unless I’ve met them and their parents—and definitely not after bedtime and without permission.”

      “How’s that supposed to happen? You work all the time. Even Grandmother Margaret says—”

      “Do not throw your grandmother in my face. I work because I have to. And you’re only required to spend a couple of hours a day in after-school care. It won’t kill you. Anyway, you’re supposed to use that time to get help with your homework.” But the guilt of not being there for them the way her mother had been for her, ate at her.

      “You treat me like a baby. I’m not!”

      She didn’t bother arguing that he would always be her baby. “You know the rules, Mason. You’re grounded for the week. No TV and definitely no video games.”

      “You’re mean! I hate you!”

      The dart hit home. Her heart ached and her eyes stung. She knew he was only striking out in anger, but his words still hurt. She stiffened her spine. “Go to your room.”

      He charged out of the kitchen and stomped up the stairs. His bedroom door slammed. She winced and hoped he hadn’t woken his sister.

      She had to figure out what had triggered the drastic change in his behavior before he ended up in serious trouble. But who could she turn to? Not to the school counselor who’d warned her that the next time her son misbehaved he’d be expelled. Not to her in-laws who’d insisted more than once that Hannah wasn’t a good parent to their grandchildren. Their constant criticisms were hard to swallow.

      And she definitely couldn’t turn to a professional—not only because of the cost. She feared her in-laws might warp whatever a psychologist learned into something that could be used against her to make good on their threat to pursue partial—if not full—custody. She didn’t think they had a legal leg to stand on, but Mr. Leith had been golfing buddies with numerous lawyers and judges over the years. She couldn’t even afford to hire an attorney if her in-laws took action. And after witnessing a coworker lose custody of her kids due to something her ex-husband had trumped up, Hannah was afraid to take chances.

      She sank into a kitchen chair and dropped her head into her hands. She needed help. But who could she go to? Who could she trust? Only one name came to mind. Brandon Martin. She immediately rejected calling him. She was sure the only reason his name had popped up was because of his connection to Rick and because Rick was heavy on her heart today. But when no other names came forward, her thoughts circled back to Brandon. Would he—could he—talk some sense into her son? She’d recalled that he’d done some work with troubled youth in the past. Her stomach churned at the idea of contacting him.

      Her anger and resentment toward Brandon over his part in Rick’s death still festered inside her. As her husband’s partner in the South Carolina Law Enforcement Division’s Computer Crimes Department, he should have never left Rick alone in a suspect’s house. But Brandon had been so focused on collecting evidence to keep his perfect conviction record that he’d failed to protect her husband.

      She hadn’t seen or spoken to him since Rick’s funeral where she’d lost control and screamed some harsh truths at him in front of God and everybody. Would he be willing to help her now?

      For Mason’s sake, she prayed he would.

      * * *

      BRANDON SPOTTED HANNAH the moment she entered the park on Friday afternoon. Judging by the scrub suit she wore, she was squeezing him in on her lunch break from the physical therapy office where she worked.

      She paused at the wrought iron archway to scan the area. He rose from the picnic table on the neutral turf she’d designated for their meeting and lifted a hand to catch her attention. She spotted him, then after a noticeable pause, marched in his direction like a woman on a mission.

      He assessed the changes in Rick’s wife. Hannah had always been pretty—pretty enough to make even Rick’s ugly mug look good. But the past five years had altered her. She’d cut more than a foot from her once-long hair. Shiny brown strands now feathered around her jaw, which happened to be set in a battle-ready, hard line. Her brown eyes weren’t any softer he noted as she neared. She looked thinner. Tired. More fragile.

      He nodded but didn’t hug her as he once would have. She’d made it clear the last time he saw her that such gestures were no longer welcome from him. “What’s wrong?”

      She stiffened defensively. “Why do you assume something’s wrong?”

      “Because you told me you didn’t want to see me again until hell froze over. It’s eighty-five in the shade here. I doubt hell’s any cooler.”

      Her gaze fell and her cheeks flushed peach. “I’m sorry I said that. I was hurting.”

      “We all were.” Hell, he’d lost his best friend of twenty years. She hadn’t known Rick nearly as long.

      “Right.” She perched on the edge of a bench seat.

      He sat opposite her and waited, watching her pick at the table’s rough surface with a short fingernail. Her wedding rings sparkled in the sun. Rick had been gone five years this week, and she still wore the set Brandon had helped his buddy pick out. She tucked a wispy lock behind her ear—all the while refusing to make eye contact. Whatever she had to say, it must be big to require this much courage. But a decade of practicing interrogation had taught him the value of silence and patience.

      She swallowed, then her worried brown eyes found his. “Something’s wrong with Mason.”

      Concern jolted through him. “Have you seen a doctor?”

      “He’s not sick. It’s his behavior.”

      “What do you mean?”

      “He’s back-chatting, saying things he shouldn’t. And he’s become increasingly defiant.”

      “Mason’s ten. Puberty’s knocking. With hormones come attitude.”

      Her shoulders slumped. She shook her head. “He was such a good boy until...” She took a deep breath then blew it out again, fluttering her bangs. One lock tangled СКАЧАТЬ