Grayson Carter opened the door of their house, tucked back on the southern corner of the island on a quiet street near Ft. Fisher, before his stepson's foot hit the top tread of the stairs. "Where have you been?"
"Out."
"For four hours? Out where? Doing what?"
"Geez."
Grayson followed Christopher to the kitchen and watched as the boy dumped his book bag on the floor by the island on his way to the fridge. "Chris, where did you go after school? Aunt Mary said you didn't show up like you were supposed to."
"Because I had stuff to do."
When Grayson glared at him, Christopher rolled his eyes.
"I rode my bike to some stores to look for something for Cat's birthday. It took a while."
"You didn't answer calls or texts. We've talked about this."
"My phone went dead. What's to eat? I'm hungry."
Grayson battled his temper and reminded himself to be patient. Christopher had been through a lot and it would take time to adjust. "I thought I'd order something. Did you find a present for your friend?"
Christopher still had his head buried in the fridge.
"Yeah, maybe. I don't know yet."
"I'm sure she'll like whatever you get her."
Chris released a grunt and pulled out some string cheese.
"What do you want for dinner? I held off because you weren't home and I'm really not in the mood to cook. Pizza?"
"Yeah. Can we get pineapple, like Mom always did?"
"Sure." Pineapple could be picked off, after all, and battles had to be picked just as carefully. "Get to work on cleaning up your room and I'll place the order."
"But I just got home."
"You were supposed to do it two days ago and now you can't see the floor. Clean your room or you won't be going to your friend's birthday party this weekend."
Christopher grabbed a water bottle from the fridge and slammed the door. He grabbed his backpack from the floor and headed toward the hallway leading to the stairs.
"Wait," Gray said, "how are you paying for this present?"
"I got it covered."
"Where'd you get the money?"
"Birthdays and stuff. The usual."
"You told me you’d spent all of your cash the last time you asked me for some."
"I forgot about some I'd stashed."
Gray bit back a comment and grabbed his cell from where he'd set it earlier. Pizza. He needed to focus on pizza. Disgusting, pineapple-laden pizza. Not on Chris’s questionable behavior and memory.
Had he been as evasive at that age?
Gray finally placed the order and hoped for the best. He had the makings for a salad. Christopher would protest the need for it, but Grayson would do anything to prolong the meal and get a chance to talk. Maybe he could come up with a dessert of some kind. The kid used to love ice cream. Was that still the case? Ever since Grayson had left the military to be a full-time father, the kid had fought him at every turn. Up was down, green was blue, and nothing he ever said or did was right.
The doorbell rang and he frowned, glancing at his cell to check the time. That couldn't be the pizza, could it?
"I got it," Christopher called. The kid scrambled down the stairs as fast as his feet could carry him.
Grayson got up and hurried toward the door, where Christopher stood with a young girl who looked at Gray like he had two heads. "Who's this?"
"Cat, my girlfriend. We're going to go for a walk to the pier."
"Christopher, I just ordered pizza. And you have a room to clean."
Christopher practically shoved the girl out the door, and short of grabbing the kid and forcing him back into the house, Grayson was at a loss.
"I'll be back in a while."
"Be back by eight," Gray bit out as the two rushed down the stairs. "Christopher!"
"Whatever," Christopher said by way of acknowledgment.
Grayson watched them until they turned the corner and walked out of sight before he stalked back into the house and slammed the door.
Of all days to get into a fight with his son, why this one? He’d had a long day at work, and on the way home, he'd met a woman on a motorcycle who'd looked—
He swiped his hand over his face again. It wasn't her. And besides, she'd worn a helmet, aviators, and a jacket, so he hadn't been able to see that much of her to identify her.
It couldn't have been her.
Because if the woman was Frankie Cohen, his life was going to get a lot more complicated than it already was.
Later that same evening, Frankie entered Ace's Garage to make her way to the office and was greeted by a familiar furry face. "Tank! Hey, boy! Oh, I've missed you."
The German shepherd alternated between wagging and sitting to give her his paw, tongue hanging in a huge smile.
"Hey, Frankie. Welcome back."
"Hey." She looked up to see her mechanic and dog-sitter smiling at her. "Thanks. It's good to be back," she said, straightening to move deeper into the office. She dropped her keys onto her desk and looked at the mound of paperwork awaiting her. That's what she got for a week away on a paid vacation. She'd pay for it, all right. And be playing catch-up for a while. But that white sand and insanely blue water had gone a long way toward lowering her angst factor. Well, until the drive to London’s.
"You said to leave it, so we did."
"It's all good."
"Hey, anytime you want to give up a paid delivery to the Keys that comes with free room and board, you let me know," Steve said. "I'll be happy to sub for you."
She grinned at him and shook her head. "No way. That condo and view definitely qualified as one of the perks of being boss."
Tank moved to the bottom of the love seat across the office and hesitated as he prepped to jump. "Did you give him his meds?"
"Yeah, but the poor boy's feeling achy today. Tough for an old man to keep up running around with my crew."
Tank was a MWD—military working dog—retired from bomb sniffing. He'd served eleven years before being placed for adoption after he was injured in the blast that had killed Tank's handler.
Frankie moved to the love seat where Tank was now settled and stared into his beautiful eyes while stroking his head, the ache in her side pulling from her own now-healed injuries. "We'll head home soon," she told Tank softly. The shepherd blinked at her and lowered his head atop his paws with a loud sigh as though content now that she was home.
"Did you have any issues getting down there?"
She shoved herself up from the couch and returned to the desk. "Had to stop and make a few tweaks but nothing major. I took my time and just enjoyed the ride. Jerry was a happy camper. He couldn't wait to show it off," she said, referring to the Harley she'd spent the last several months restoring. "What are you still doing here? You could've left Tank at the condo. You fishing for overtime for your trip?"
"Nah. Just hanging around to give you the good news."
"Oh? Must be good."
"It is. A miracle walked in today. Been killing me keeping quiet until you got around to showing up."
"A miracle, you say?" She sent the man a suspicious stare and paused in the act of sorting way too much mail. "Well, I'm intrigued. Fill me in."
The Gulf War vet grinned and bounced on the flippers that made up the feet of the double prosthetics appearing out from beneath the shorts he wore.
"Remember that beehive taillight you've been searching high and low for?"
"No way."
"Yeah. Had a kid come in wanting to sell one today."
Her suspicious nature immediately reared its ugly head, and the joy she'd felt at finally getting a much-needed part for her special project burst like a balloon. "A kid?"
"Yeah. About fifteen or so, I'm guessing. Said his old man is a vet, sick with cancer, and needed the cash. Said he’d heard this was a good place to try because of you hiring vets. Anyway, seeing as how you've been looking for one for so long, I bought it. Got a heck of a deal, too."
For the first time since entering the office, she spotted the box propped between the seat and cushion of the chair across from her desk. "Are you sure it's not stolen?"
Steve grimaced but then shrugged.
"Guess there's always a chance of that, but the kid seemed sincere. Been looking online and through the ads since he left while I waited on you to show, but I haven't found anything reported. I'll let you know if I see something."
She set the mail aside to round her desk and check the box over but didn't see anything on the outside. "You get his number or anything?"
Steve grimaced. "No, sorry. He said his dad might sell more parts and tools to pay for bills, though, so he could be back in."
Tools were pricey, and having briefly employed a thief, she was now having to replace tools that had gone missing during the guy's short employment with her. "Gimme a heads-up if he does, and be sure to get some info off of him. How much did he sell it for?"
"Three hundred."
She exhaled with a small whistle as she lifted the taillight from the packing paper and looked it over. "Too good to be true," she said sadly, knowing in her gut she couldn't get too attached to the part because it would probably have to go back to its original buyer. "Thanks, Steve. I appreciate it, but don't buy anything else from this kid until I meet him. I want to check out the story and know he's legit."
"No problem. I figured you would but I wanted to pick that cherry while I had the chance."
She put the part back in the packaging. "Oh, yeah, I'm glad you did. If it's not stolen, it's definitely a find. Thanks for looking out for me."
"You know it," he said with a nod. "I'm going to head out now. You have a good night. Lisa's raring to get on the road bright and early tomorrow, so I need to pack up the van tonight."
"Safe travels. Oh, and lock down the bay doors on your way out, would you?"
"Sure thing. Good to have you back, boss."
Frankie sat in her office chair and went over the schedule for tomorrow before tackling the mail again and perusing the numbers. Time and again, however, her gaze settled on the box across the desk from her. She got up and garnered Tank's attention. The dog watched as she lifted the box onto the desk once more. Maybe there was no label on the outside, but packing slips were sometimes placed inside as well to help derail shipping mishaps. It was worth a shot to hunt for one in case the kid was careless in his attempt for fast cash.
Frankie set the taillight aside and dug around. Just when she was about to give up hope, she spotted a barely visible white tip and pulled it from under one of the box folds.
And there it was. The part had been shipped to—
Her legs gave out and she collapsed onto the edge of the desk.
G. Carter.
She stared down at the slip, Steve's words about the kid's dad being a vet who had cancer sliding through her head, piercing her heart.
Could it be?
She gripped the slip in her fist and fought to breathe as Tank whined and left the couch to come to her side. She buried her fingers into his fur and tried to ground herself in the moment. Breathe. Something to keep from losing herself to the panic swarming her senses.
It couldn't be him.
Hadn't she already lost enough?