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SPEAKING IN SOOTHING tones, Morgan clipped Bailey’s borrowed leash to his borrowed collar. “You’ll get your own pretty collar when Cole comes by. And a nice leash, too.”
Bailey stood poised on the edge of the seat.
“Come on, Bailey. This is your new home, boy. It’s not much now, but you’ve hit the jackpot with creature comforts. It’ll be crazy while they fix things up, but when it’s done, the two of us will have great times together.”
He tilted his head and pricked up his ears. Then, he jumped onto the ground with no indication of pain.
“Atta boy, Bailey. Let’s take a walk around the grounds.” The vet had said to use his name often, and he seemed to be responding.
Bailey explored, sniffed, and marked his new territory. When they approached the spot where she’d found him trapped in the shrubbery, she wondered what he’d do, but he’d either forgotten or didn’t care.
Inside the house, she let him off the leash and watched as he explored. Was he housebroken? Derrick hadn’t been sure. The dog sniffed, moved from room to room downstairs, but didn’t pee. Maybe he’d had an indoor life somewhere in his past.
“Want to sit outside, Bailey?” Morgan carried the quilt she and Cole had used for their indoor picnic to the front yard and spread it on the patchy grass and sat. The clinic had played classical music in the kennel area, so she opened her music library. After several long moments staring at the screen, she tapped shuffle and the classical playlist. If she’d never wanted to hear classical music again, she wouldn’t have put it on her phone.
A lump expanded in her throat, as Debussy’s “Arabesque” flowed from the speaker.
Tears she couldn’t hold back flowed down her cheeks.
Bailey gave another head tilt, then lay down beside her and rested his head on her thigh. She rubbed him gently behind the ears.
It’s been long enough. You can enjoy the music again. Associate it with good things. With Bailey. New Life on Elm Street, right?
Cole drove up a few minutes later. Bailey’s head lifted, and he looked at her as if to ask if she was all right, if he should ward off the intruder. Wiping her eyes, Morgan rose to her feet. “It’s okay, Bailey. He’s a friend.”
Cole got out of his car, looked her way, then jogged over. “Are you all right?”
She swiped at her eyes again. “Fine. Memory tears.”
With a skeptical gaze, Cole went to his car and started unloading Bailey’s supplies.
Morgan, Bailey’s leash looped over her wrist, rushed to help. “See, Bailey. I told you you’d have more things than you know what to do with.”
“Where do you want it all?” Cole asked.
“Living room will do for now. We’ll be moving things around once the repairs get underway.”
“You hire anyone yet?”
“Been busy,” she said. “Boxes are all sorted. Getting references and quotes for the repairs and the fence is next on my to-do list.”
“Anything good in the boxes?” Cole hefted a forty-pound bag of dog food onto his shoulder and moved toward the door.
“As a matter of fact, there might be.” She told him about the ledgers.
He set the bag on the porch. “What about a key, something to explain what they mean?” He flashed a grin, one that warmed her like a blazing fire on a snowy day. “Did you find a secret decoder ring?”
She returned his grin. “No ring. I haven’t had a chance to look at the ledgers to see if there was an explanation. What about your day? Anything good?”
“Detweiler had me accompany Kovak—he’s the other detective in the department—to interview potential suspects.”
Morgan tugged Bailey away from the bag of food. “Did you enjoy it?”
“I was strictly an observer, but it was ... interesting.”
“I take it you can’t discuss it further.”
“Open investigation, so no, that’s all I can say.”
“Good. I approve of the privacy thing.” If he had told her more, she’d wonder if Randy Detweiler had kept his lips zipped as tightly as he’d promised.
Her phone rang. Austin’s ringtone. He’d already used Mr. Nakamura’s cell to let her know he’d made it to his lesson. She checked the time. He could be home by now. Or, it could be his mother again.
Austin’s voice, filled with panic and tears, dropped a bucketload of ice water over her.
She moved inside, Bailey in tow. “Slow down, Austin. Say that again.”
A moment of ragged, sniffly breathing before he went on. “I came home. Mr. Nakamura was nice and drove me. Then, after he left, the cops came.”
“The cops? What did they want?” Morgan sank to the couch and dropped Bailey’s leash. Cole, a concerned expression clouding his features, crossed to the door, closed it, then released the dog.
“Momma got in a bad accident. She’s in the hospital.”
Morgan’s heart rode the Tilt-A-Whirl. “Where are you now?”
“With Miz. Slauson.”
His elderly next-door neighbor. A loving soul, homebound and providing afterschool care for four of her grandchildren.
“Where’s your dad?” Morgan asked.
A pause. Then a weak, “Don’t know. He ain’t—hasn’t—been home in a while.”
A bit of information Austin hadn’t bothered to mention before. “Do you have anyone else in your family nearby? Grandparents? Aunts? Uncles? Cousins?” He’d never spoken of relatives, but that didn’t mean they didn’t exist.
“MawMaw and PawPaw died when I was seven. They was—were—my momma’s momma and dad. I don’t know about any others.”
Her heart squeezed. “Stay with Mrs. Slauson for now. I’ll find a way to help. Hang on to your phone. Is it charged?”
A pause. “I’ll get my charger.”
She offered what comfort she could, then disconnected. Paced. Tugged on her curls.
“What can I do?” Cole asked.
Just like that. No questions, merely offering his presence. More tears threatened, and she built a dam to hold them back. Pinching the bridge of her nose, she sucked in a breath, held it, then let it escape.
“Austin—a kid I’ve been trying to help—got home and the cops showed up to tell him his mom was in an accident. She’s in the hospital. His dad’s nowhere around.”
“How bad was the accident?” Cole asked.
“Austin didn’t know. The cops didn’t say. Austin convinced them his neighbor would watch out for him, but she’s not capable of dealing with him for more than a few days.” Morgan lowered her head, buried her face in her hands. “I can’t let Children Services take him. Austin’s—special. Talented. This whole house thing—I wanted to get him away from his parents.”
“How old is he?”
“Twelve.”
“Is he the special someone you wanted to bring out here?” Cole asked.
She nodded.
Cole frowned. “You can’t just walk in and decide a kid’s going to live with you. Does he have any other relatives?”
She lowered her head, pressed the heels of her hands against her temples, as if she could squeeze all her whirling thoughts into a tidy, bow-wrapped package. “He said he’s not aware of any. I hoped to convince his mom to sign over a shared custody agreement. She’d be done with him in a heartbeat. She said so. More than once.”
Cole sat beside her. Rested his hand on her thigh. It gave comfort, just the way Bailey had. Okay not exactly the same way, but comfort nonetheless.
“Where is Austin?” he asked.
“Dublin, Ohio.”
“I’ll make a few calls.”
She met his eyes, surprised by the gesture. “You’d do that?”
“Of course. We’re friends, right? That’s what friends do. Believe it or not, the system’s designed to help people. Sometimes, there’s too much red tape for things to be easy.”
“Thank you,” she whispered.
“I’ll be back later for the drywall. I should have some news by then.”
She thought she’d cried herself dry until another onslaught overcame her. Cole wrapped his arms around her. No words, just warmth. Hands caressed her back. Gentle strokes. Offering comfort when she hadn’t asked for any. Hadn’t realized she’d needed any.
Morgan lifted her head, gazed at the worry in Cole’s Mediterranean Sea eyes. As if someone else controlled her body, she tilted her head further upward, and pressed her lips to his.
~~~
COLE’S BODY HAD RESPONDED when Morgan leaned into him, all soft curves and fruits-and-flowers scent. When her lips touched his, he sprang to full attention. Did she know what she was doing? She was upset. Would accepting a kiss send the wrong message? He’d reached the point where any time he was within five feet of Morgan, the message was I want you. Were he and Morgan on the same page? Friends, friends-with-benefits, or a full-blown relationship?
He’d only known her a few days, but he was ready for the full package.
She pressed harder, and not just her lips. Her breasts pushed against his chest. Her hips tormented his cock. Her tongue teased his mouth.
Suppressing a groan, he parted his lips. Cupped her ass, pulling her closer. “Morgan... Are you—?”
His words were swallowed when she grabbed him behind the neck, letting her tongue dance inside his mouth, exploring. Demanding.
He gave her what she wanted. One long, drawn out kiss. He savored the feel of her, the warmth of her tongue, the hardness of her teeth. The taste of her, salty from her tears, fruity from her glossy lips.
Digging deep for control, he broke the kiss and leaned back, breaking contact. He threaded his fingers through her hair, thumbed her tear-stained cheeks. Placed a gentle kiss on her forehead.
“I should be going.”
I want to stay.
“I need to make those calls, check with the Dublin cops.”
Why can’t someone else do it?
Morgan’s fawn eyes, pupils dilated until the brown irises were almost black, grabbed him again. He squeezed her hands. “I’ll be back to work on the wall.”
And more?
Stopping to pat Bailey, who had curled up on the couch, Cole shuffled his way to the door. He paused, one hand on the knob. Morgan hadn’t followed him. She stood, staring in his direction, but he wouldn’t put a dime on whether she was seeing him.
“You gonna be all right?” he asked.
She nodded, then moved to the couch and sat beside Bailey, one hand moving along his back in slow, even strokes.
Don’t go there.
~
STEPPING INTO THE WAGON Wheel, Friday night happy hour specials in full force, the aromas of barbeque, grilling burgers, and pizza assaulted him. Cole scanned the room for Scott Whelan and spotted him sitting with the gang, a half-empty mug of beer in front of him.
Cole strode to the table, wondering why he hadn’t suggested Sadie’s or Burger Hut.
Whelan stood at his approach, picking up his mug. “Nice chatting, people. Gotta give this youngster a schooling.”
Great. Cole could imagine what the locker room would be like tomorrow. If his colleagues weren’t going to be privy to his brain-picking session with Whelan, he could make shit up.
Whelan tilted his head, indicating Cole should follow, and led him to a small table in the rear corner of the restaurant, where a jacket was draped over the back of a chair. Cole recognized it as Whelan’s.
“Thanks for hanging around.” Cole pulled out a second chair.
Whelan looked at his watch. “I’ve got twenty minutes. What did you want to talk about?”
Speaking just loud enough to be heard across the table, Cole laid out his suspicions. “It’s just a niggle, but it would explain Randall’s not wanting to talk.”
“You don’t think he’s protecting his friends?”
Cole shook his head. “If my niggle holds true, they’re not his friends. He’s being bashed. Do you know his parents? I get the feeling his father is the type to keep his son in the closet. With the door locked. And bolted.”
“I’ve encountered Vance Ebersold a time or two. He fits the pattern. Didn’t you say Randall was out with a girl?”
“I think he was having identity issues, trying to figure out where he fit. Either that, or he was trying to prove he’s straight.”
Whelan nodded. “Possible.”
“I ran a quick search on the girl. Seems she was picked up for prostitution a couple times.”
Whelan nodded again. “That would fit with the kid trying to prove something.”
“Have there been other incidents at the school?” Cole asked. “Or Pine Hills in general? I haven’t been aware of any since I got here.”
“You asking if there are prejudiced people in Pine Hills? Are there confused kids? Sure, same as anywhere else in the country. On the planet.”
“When I was standing in on Kovak’s interviews, he had me watching the parents. I got the feeling they stood behind their kids, not because they were their kids, but because they thought the kids had done a good deed. How do you handle something like this?”
Whelan took a long, slow pull of his beer. “Those three boys broke the law. Can you prove it?”
“Connor’s supposed to be checking the Mustang and discarded beer cans for prints. We’d need exemplars, and I don’t know whether the kids have been printed anywhere else.”
Whelan set his mug down and wiped his mouth. “Let the detectives do their jobs.”
“I shouldn’t tell them what I think?”
Whelan grinned. “I’d be damn surprised if they’re not already following that trail, but I’ll keep my ears open.”
Cole looked up as Will approached their table. “What can I get you, Officer?”
“Just coffee,” Cole said.
Ignoring Will’s raised eyebrows, Cole scooted his chair closer to Whelan. “I’ve got another question. Several questions. Okay, favors, maybe if you can do it—and are willing.”
Whelan’s brows hiked, too. “Go for it. Worst that can happen is I’ll say no.”
Cole pushed out a breath. Despite wanting to know more about Kirk Webster, Morgan’s problems had shoved their way to the front of the line. “Do you have contacts in Dublin? Ohio, not Ireland.”
“Been on the job as long as I was, you have contacts everywhere. What’s the problem?”
Cole explained what had happened to Austin’s mother. “Seems this kid is special to Morgan, the whole reason she picked up stakes and moved here. I don’t have details, but the mother was picked up after a TA. She’s in the hospital, and the kid’s with a neighbor. Father hasn’t been around. Morgan’s trying to step in.”
“You want me to find out what the situation is.”
“If you can. I haven’t been on the job long enough to have the kind of contacts you do. Plus, there’s no reason anyone would talk to me about an incident from halfway across the country.”
“Shouldn’t be a problem.” Whelan checked his watch again. “I’ll let Ashley know I’m running late.”
Will arrived with Cole’s coffee.
“There’s one other thing,” Cole said. “I mentioned it to Detweiler, but he hasn’t said anything to me. I think he’s got too much going on to spend time digging into something that may or may not have happened years ago.”
“So you think I’ve got time.” Whelan’s smile said he was interested.
Cole took a sip of his coffee. “Do you? I’ve worked phones. There were plenty of quiet stretches.”
“Trying to keep me from getting bored?” Another smile.
Cole related what he’d said to Detweiler about the possible connection between Webster and the graffiti. “It’s not high priority. I have a curiosity streak, and sometimes it itches worse than the aftermath of a day on the river in mosquito season.”
Whelan stood. “I’ll see if I can find some calamine lotion.”