HE HADN’T ASKED if Bruce had said anything to her about Miriam. About his investigation. He hadn’t told her about Elmer, either. As soon as Mason hung up, he wanted to call again. But he didn’t. Harper wasn’t his friend. Or his helpmate. She was a witness.
And the head of security in the facility keeping his grandmother safe.
His task was to keep the designations straight, the boundaries clearly drawn. Living within his boundaries had never presented much of a problem. Even on the night he’d failed, he’d done relatively well. He’d taken a drunk and very alluring Harper back to his place, put her to bed in his room and walked out the door to sleep on the couch. He’d been down for the night when she’d suddenly been there on the couch with him. Giving him everything he’d ever wanted...
Mason could have his pick of beautiful women, and had on multiple occasions. None of those connections, liaisons—whatever you wanted to call them—had ever lasted long. What cruel twist of fate, then, had decided that the one woman he couldn’t have would be the only woman he ever truly wanted?
And then...to know she’d had a child who could be his...
He made it through the day, tracing Miriam’s steps through credit card receipts—mostly taken from a file he’d gotten from her computer. Talking to anyone with whom she might have been in contact. Repeating the same actions for his brother, as much as he could do so covertly. He made it through a solo dinner of takeout back at his computer.
And he was no closer to seeing the complete picture.
He’d talked to O’Brien about a warrant to speak with Elmer. He didn’t want him brought in, though. He needed the old man to be compelled to speak with him at his home. Or some other place that wouldn’t draw attention. He’d been told the request might take a day or two.
As much as he wanted the mystery solved, and the man who’d hurt his grandmother charged and away from any access to her, he had to be patient enough to get it done right. Any evidence he collected had to stand up in court.
Gram was safe for a number of days. He could wait a couple.
Funny, though, there was something else eating at him that wasn’t going to wait. You’d think, after five years, another week, another year, wouldn’t matter. Not so.
Driven by a feeling that was stronger than all the logic he was throwing at it, he walked down to the beach not far from his home, purchased a beer from a stand and pulled out his phone. Midsummer, the place was populated with couples and partiers, but the sunbathers had all gone home, leaving him a clear, mostly private, path to walk closer to the water.
It was after eight. Her little girl would be in bed.
One thumb-push on his screen and Harper’s number was ringing.
“Mason? Is everything okay?” She’d picked up immediately. Made sense, with her job, that she’d keep her phone close by.
“I got your text about the arrest.” He’d put off responding earlier.
“Okay, good. So we’ll be in Albina tomorrow by eleven. We’re meeting Bruce at the south beach, having lunch and then heading back to Santa Raquel.”
He took a swig of beer from the plastic cup he’d been given. “Where are you eating?”
“I’m bringing a picnic.”
A family picnic on the beach. His gut tightened.
“The south beach in July—we’ll be surrounded by tons of people the whole time, Brie can play if she wants to, and then we’ll get in our car and come home.”
Albina’s south beach was heavily patrolled, keeping it clean and safe, which was part of the reason it would be so crowded. She’d made the safest possible choice.
“I’ll be close, but stay out of sight.” He’d debated telling her that he was going to be there. But his presence wasn’t negotiable.
“Okay.”
He couldn’t tell whether she thought his being there was overkill, or necessary. Whether she was glad to know he’d be close. But he was somewhat placated by her lack of argument.
He could only hope that her conciliatory manner would continue into his next topic of conversation.
Sipping his beer, he let the hand holding it drop to his side, the cup next to the pocket of the khaki shorts he’d put on after dinner.
“I should have clearance for Grace sometime tomorrow,” she went on. “She’s not in any system so it’s not as quick as it would be for someone with clearance elsewhere. We have to make reference calls as well as run the normal background check.” He nodded, fully versed in various levels of security clearance.
“Thank you.” He hadn’t called about Grace. She had no cause to know that.
A couple strolled past him, holding hands, their bare feet covered by the tide rolling in. His sandals weren’t even wet. Seemed like a nice idea, though, to be walking hand in hand in the tide. With the right woman.
Taking another sip of beer, he toasted the couple who’d already disappeared from sight and said, “I want to have a DNA test done to determine Brianna’s paternity.”
Her silence told him nothing. He checked his screen to make sure he was still connected.
“I’m sorry to have to do this, but I need to know if she’s my daughter,” he told her. “I have no intention of upsetting her. I can be introduced into her life as her uncle. For however long...” He hadn’t done enough thinking about that part. “I don’t have any intention of ripping her away from Bruce. Or him from her...” He wanted that quite clear. “Unless...if he’s abusive, he shouldn’t be alone with her, whether I’m her father or not.”
Her father. He’d said the words aloud.
Crazy how you could live with something buried for so long, and go on as though everything was normal, but once it broke free, there was no stopping it.
She still wasn’t speaking. Another glance at his phone told him she was there. A sip of beer gave him a second of false calm.
“If she’s mine, I intend to pay half of her support, retroactively. If you don’t want to use it, that’s fine, it can go into a trust fund for college. Or whatever. But I have to support her.” That one he’d thought about a lot.
He could never pay enough to compensate for what he’d done to his brother that night—another reason he had to pay all the debts he could.
“Bruce has already refused a test.”
He stopped as her words came softly over the phone. He’d just told her he had to find out if he was the father of her child and the most she could say was Bruce said no?
“We don’t need Bruce.” He took a slow step, and then another. People on the beach, the tide, the setting sun all faded into a blurred background. Only her voice mattered. “If we have you, me and her, we’ll be able to get a definitive match if she’s mine. If we don’t, she’s probably not. There’ll be some markers because Bruce and I are brothers, but not enough to make it conclusive if she isn’t mine.”
They were in his territory now—puzzle pieces. He might not run forensic tests himself, but he knew how to read the results.
“Okay.”
The word was so soft it didn’t even sound like her. For a second he wondered if he’d really heard it.
“Did you say okay?”
“You have a right to know.”
Damn straight he did. But...
Words slammed him from all sides. Plans. Logistics. Thank-yous. Apologies. Queries. Was she okay? Assurances...he wouldn’t ever do anything detrimental to Brianna. Or interfere in Harper’s parenting...
Before he could voice any of it, she interrupted him.
“I have to go. We’ll talk tomorrow. Good night.”
Just that quickly she was gone. Staring at his screen, at the evidence of the disconnected call, Mason stopped in his tracks, his cup of beer splattering against his feet.
He’d made Harper Davidson cry.