Husband by Choice. Tara Taylor Quinn

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      He could hear Caleb’s cries as he entered the deserted front lobby of the Let’s Pal Around day care, chosen because of its proximity to the elementary school, their home, and his clinic, as well as its distance from the beach. And because of the superior instructors as well, but he wasn’t kidding himself. As soon as Meri had seen the security systems in place at Let’s Pal Around, he’d known she’d made her choice.

      “Dr. Bennet,” Alice something-or-other, looking slightly harried with her graying hair falling out of the twist on the back of her head, and a bit of something white spilled on the front of her shirt, greeted him when he walked through the door. “Caleb will be very glad to see you.”

      A sentiment, no doubt shared by the Let’s Pal Around staff.

      “No word from my wife?” Why was he asking? Clearly, if Meri were there, he’d see her.

      “No, sir.” Alice swiped a card and disappeared behind the half door leading to the children he could hear, but not see. The top half of the door closed and latched as well, but remained open during business hours. He knew from his tour that there was another door, a locked security screen door, behind which the children played.

      Hands in his pockets, he rocked back and forth on his tennis shoes and told himself there was nothing to worry about. Meri was fine. He was not going to check his watch.

      When Meri hadn’t answered her phone, he’d left a message. And sent her a text, too. She’d be in touch as soon as she finished with Devon.

      In the meantime, he’d take Caleb home and start dinner. They’d moved chicken from the freezer to the refrigerator that morning. Talked about doing it on the grill with some of the fresh corn on the cob they’d picked up at an outdoor market that weekend. Maybe he’d best put the poultry back in the freezer. Might be too late to grill outside by the time she got home.

      They could eat one of the ready-to-go meals in the freezer.

      Meredith wasn’t even an hour late yet. And she’d warned him that today’s session might take longer than usual since she’d never been to Devon’s home and would need to prepare the working environment once she saw what she had to work with.

      Turning, he couldn’t help but see the little analog clock on the screen of the computer by the receptionist’s window. See, it was only four o’clock...four-oh-one.

      Meredith was officially late.

      But he wasn’t going to worry.

      His job was too stave off the paranoia that threatened their well-being.

      Meredith was a speech pathologist. Not a cop. And her past, while dangerous to her at the time, was no longer a threat.

      They’d had four peaceful years together, including the year they’d met and dated.

      Meri was fine. And had even managed to leave Caleb at the day care for their agreed upon duration.

      He should be celebrating.

      At the very least, he was going to keep his fears in check.

      Their happy life together depended upon his doing so.

CHAPTER TWO

      STEVE WAS GETTING SLOPPY. She’d managed to give him the slip two times in one day. With shaking hands, Meredith gripped the steering wheel, gritting her teeth as her sweaty palms slipped on the smooth leather.

      More likely he was playing with her. Taunting her. Letting her know he had her on his hook and could pull her in at any time.

      She couldn’t go home. She’d lost Steve again, for the moment, but he was moving in on her. As long as she stayed away, Max and Caleb would be safe. Steve didn’t want them. He wanted her.

      As far as her ex-husband was concerned, Max and any child she’d borne him didn’t exist because the marriage didn’t exist. It couldn’t when she was still married to him.

      He’d refused her pleas for divorce. Hadn’t signed the papers when they’d been sent to him. The judge had finally granted the divorce, signing it into law without Steve’s agreement, after Steve had failed to show up for court.

      In Steve’s world, if he didn’t acknowledge it, it didn’t exist.

      It was simple, really, if you could accept his version of reality and breathe at the same time.

      But she knew him. He’d have shown up for court and fought the divorce if he hadn’t been afraid she’d expose his abuse of her. She’d finally found the strength to fight him—to file for divorce—he couldn’t be sure what else she might do. He’d have denied any allegations. And she’d had no physical proof. But the perfect Las Vegas detective hadn’t wanted the hint of scandal on his record.

      She had to get off the road. He could be around any corner. Probably had some kind of GPS device planted on her van.

      Which was fine. She had that much of her plan ready. She’d always worried that this might happen, and much as she’d tried to dismiss the note left on her vehicle the other day, it had ignited her fears.

      She’d lead him out of town. Ditch the van. And her cell phone, just in case. Just because he was no longer a member of the Las Vegas police force, didn’t mean he’d divested himself of all his tracking devices.

      Or the knowledge he’d gained during his ten years as a cop.

      He’d know where to find illegal means of keeping tabs on her.

      Clearly.

      And he wouldn’t hesitate to use them. He lived by the “law according to Steve.” Neither the divorce, nor the restraining order she’d been granted against him in the state of Arizona—and reinstated in the state of California—had fazed him.

      Eight years, four states, and four aliases hadn’t stopped him from finding her.

      Nothing would.

      She knew that now.

      Just as she knew that she couldn’t run anymore.

      There was no point.

      * * *

      THERE WAS A benefit to being a widower of a cop killed in the line of duty. A single phone call and you had a group of trained men and women at your disposal, offering to help in any way they could.

      His “group,” the Las Sendas Police Department just north of San Diego, was smaller than some, but when Max hadn’t heard from Meredith by five o’clock that Wednesday evening, he placed his call. He’d moved from Las Sendas to Santa Raquel shortly after Jill’s death. Was no longer within the jurisdiction of anyone who’d known her. But cops helped cops—and the families of cops. It was a statute written in some kind of cop blood code.

      He knew it well. Knew it would serve him.

      Because that code—that cops stood up for cops—had gotten his wife killed.

      * * *

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