Mentally kicking himself for not telling Shayla what she’d needed to hear, he listened as Shayla went into the living room to convince Brodie to put his blocks away. Their son made it clear he didn’t want to get ready for bed, but she didn’t take no for an answer.
He admired the way she stood her ground with Brodie. She was sweet, kind, gentle yet firm in her approach.
All in all, she was an amazing mother raising a well-adjusted three-year-old son. No thanks to any additional support from him.
“Say good-night, Brodie.” Shayla’s voice drew him from his thoughts.
His son came running over to him, proudly wearing his Spider-Man pajamas. “G’night.”
Brodie hadn’t said daddy, but Mike felt emotion well in his chest regardless. He scooped up the boy and hugged him close, pressing a kiss to the top of his head, breathing in the mingled scents of shampoo and toothpaste.
This. This right here was all he needed.
“Good night, Brodie.” He didn’t want to let the child go, but reluctantly set him on his feet.
“See you in the morning,” Shayla said, avoiding his gaze.
“Yeah. Sleep well, Shayla.” He wanted to go to her and beg for a second chance, but she was already taking Brodie into the bedroom, closing the door firmly behind her.
He sat for a moment, staring blindly into space. Why hadn’t he said the words she’d wanted to hear? He’d already told himself there could be a rational explanation for what he’d overheard the day of his father’s funeral. No reason he couldn’t have admitted that much.
Yet, deep down, he knew there was a connection between the O’Hares and the Dark Knights. He’d seen Duncan speaking with Lane Walters with his own eyes. And the meeting had been secretive, each man checking over their shoulders as if subtly aware they were being watched.
What did it all mean?
He scrubbed his hands over his face, battling despair. With steely determination, he picked up the box and began unpacking it again. If he examined all the pieces of the puzzle together, it was possible he’d find some sort of clue. Something they’d missed along the way.
Abruptly he straightened. What if he worked the case from another angle? Maybe from the assumption that Duncan and Ian O’Hare were innocent. A chill ran down his spine and he sat back in his seat for a moment, turning that idea over in his mind. For years now, he’d considered them guilty. Had that fact alone caused him to miss something important?
He couldn’t deny the possibility.
Okay, then. He sat forward and began putting his notes in chronological order.
The Dark Knights had begun killing alleged criminals let out on the streets because the police and DA’s office had failed to make the charges stick. Mostly because there wasn’t enough evidence to prosecute or, in a rare case or two, where there was enough reasonable doubt that a jury had failed to convict.
The Dark Knights, proclaiming themselves a vigilante group of concerned citizens determined to make the city streets safe after dark, had killed their first criminal—a rapist known as Aaron Hine, who’d targeted college girls—six months before Mike’s father’s murder.
At the time of Hine’s murder, though, the Dark Knights hadn’t been a prime suspect and hadn’t taken credit for Hine’s murder. Mike had learned from various sources that Hine’s murder investigation had centered on the fathers of the three female victims and the girls’ respective boyfriends, but each one of them had had a solid alibi.
Hine’s case had gone dormant for a month when a second seemingly unrelated incident took place. This one involved a murder of an armed robber who’d shot a convenience store worker, another young woman. The perp had worn a ski mask but had been arrested because of a video showing a tattoo on his arm and a store patron’s recognition of his voice. Unfortunately the defense was able to prove others had the same tattoo, so he’d got off.
Mike spread out the two case notes. After the convenience store robbery, the clerk, who was a young woman named Lindsey Baker, had been left paralyzed. When the man who’d shot her ended up dead, the Dark Knights had claimed responsibility for the crime, pronouncing the streets were safer now for all young women. That had been five months before his father’s murder.
There had been another murder each of the next three months, until the night his father had been killed while at the scene of an officer-involved shooting.
Why had his father become a target? Had his father had an inkling of who was behind the killings?
Mike pulled out a fresh piece of paper to take notes. Working under the assumption that his father had suspected cops were involved, Mike drew a line from his father to Ian O’Hare, who at the time was the deputy chief over internal affairs. If Ian was innocent, then he would have assigned several officers to investigate.
Who else had his father got involved? There had to be some sort of task force. Maybe one headed up by Ian? There would be other detectives added and, if he knew his dad, Max would have taken pains not to include any Callahan cops for fear of showing favoritism.
He shook his head, wondering how Miles and Matt had felt about that.
The heated words he’d exchanged with his father after graduating from the academy rang in his ears. His father could not comprehend why Mike had chosen to walk away from becoming a cop. Max Callahan had insisted their family’s role was to serve the community and railed at Mike for being selfish, to have the gall to use the knowledge he’d acquired at the academy to start his own private investigation business.
Mike hadn’t bothered to point out that his commanding officer, Sergeant Gaines, had held Mike in frank contempt, going so far as to claim Mike was riding his father’s name and would be worthless as a cop.
Then there was the fact Mike liked detective work more than enforcing the law. Lastly, Mike didn’t like taking orders. Not from Gaines or any of the other commanding officers.
He’d walked away, secure in the knowledge that he would be better off working for himself. Something his father had refused to accept or understand.
Dragging his attention back to the case, he began separating the evidence he’d collected over time. The bullet fragment from his father’s body and the subsequent report related to the type of gun that was used were key in his mind.
He rose and walked over to make a fresh pot of coffee.
This would be a long night.
* * *
Shayla didn’t sleep well, and the blame rested on Mike’s shoulders. Different scenarios flittered through her mind, Mike moving to Nashville, her returning to Milwaukee.
But most of all, it was how they would personally interact together in raising their son.
The kiss. It all came down to that toe-curling, heart-thumping kiss.
Pushing her tangled hair out of her eyes, she silently left her bed and headed into the bathroom. Brodie was still sleeping, a fact for which she was eternally grateful. Days like this, when she was exhausted from lack of sleep, it was better for her to have a cup of coffee under her belt before dealing with her son.
When she emerged from the bathroom a few minutes later, she crossed to the kitchen counter, surprised to find a half pot of coffee already brewed. She sniffed at the contents, confirming it was fresh, before pouring herself a cup. She added a dollop of milk before taking a sip.
The kitchen table was a mess, papers and items strewed over the surface. Did Mike always work in a messy chaos? The thought made her smile. Curious about where Mike was, she went into the living room to find him stretched out on the sofa, sound asleep.
Had he worked all night? The fresh coffee seemed to indicate he had.
She stared at him for a moment, his face relaxed in sleep, thinking about how handsome he looked. Mike’s facial features reminded her of Brodie and she was a little shocked at how much their son took after his father.
As if sensing her gaze, Mike’s eyelids fluttered open. He groaned and swung upright. “Good morning.”
“Morning.” She tipped her head, thinking he looked worse than she felt. “How long have you been asleep?”
He squinted at his watch. “About thirty minutes. But I also slept for a couple of hours between midnight and three thirty.”
“Four hours isn’t much.”
“I’ve had less.” He yawned and staggered to his feet. “I’ll make eggs for breakfast after a quick shower.”
Back in the kitchen, she took one look at the table and decided it was better to start making breakfast, leaving the cleanup for Mike. For all she knew, he had some sort of weird organization system going that she wasn’t able to decipher.
Mike emerged from the bathroom, looking refreshed and cleanly shaved. He instantly began packing up his notes. “I thought we’d run to the hospital to visit your father today.”
“You did?” She was pleased he’d thought of it. But then remembering the detour and resulting gunfire at the stone bridge, she frowned. “Are you sure it’s safe?”
Mike hesitated and then nodded. “I have a plan on how to ensure your safety.”
She eyed him warily. “What kind of plan?”
“My brothers are heading out here this afternoon and I thought we could get them to meet us at a designated spot where we can change vehicles. Kind of like leapfrog with cars. The next brother will meet with us at another location and we’ll swap again. We can use the same technique on the way home.”
“That seems like a lot of work,” she protested. As much as she wanted to see her father, periodic updates on the phone should work just as well, especially now that he was recovering from surgery. “I don’t want to put your family out like that.”
“They won’t mind. Trust me, I’d be doing the same thing if the circumstances were reversed.”
Was this some sort of backhanded apology for how things had ended between them last night? She appreciated the effort, but the idea of leaving the sanctuary of Hawk’s cabin filled her with dread.
“I don’t know,” she hedged, turning back to whip the eggs. Brodie preferred them scrambled and she figured Mike wouldn’t mind. “Let me think about it.”
“Shayla.” Mike’s voice was low and husky. “I promise my brothers won’t mind helping. A quick visit, then we’ll gather back here to work on the investigation.”
“You’re still looking at the Dark Knights?” She shot a quick glance at him over her shoulder before turning back to pour the egg mixture into the frying pan.
“Absolutely.” He sounded surprised by her comment. But before they could discuss the issue further, Brodie padded into the room, rubbing his eyes with his fists.
“Mommy, I’m hungry.”
“Did you go to the bathroom?” Shayla asked. “The scrambled eggs will be finished soon.”
“With cheese?” Brodie asked hopefully.
“Not today, kiddo.” She hadn’t thought of buying cheese. “Maybe next time.”
“You heard your mother, you need to get into the bathroom.” She was surprised Mike understood that three-year-olds who were recently potty trained had to be reminded to do such menial tasks. He took his son’s hand and led him to the bathroom.
“Don’t forget to brush your teeth,” she called.
Mike waved, indicating he’d heard.
The toast and eggs were almost finished by the time Mike and Brodie emerged from the bathroom. Mike swiftly set the table and this time she was ready for his premeal prayer.
Mike’s fingers wrapped warmly around hers. “Heavenly Father, we thank You for this food we are about to eat. We also seek Your strength and guidance as we follow Your chosen path while seeking the truth. Please keep us and our respective families safe in Your care. Amen.”
“Amen,” Shayla repeated, touched that Mike had included everyone in the prayer this time.
Even her family.
“Amen,” Brodie said, picking up on their comment. “Now we dig in?”
“Right.” Mike grinned, glancing at Shayla and reluctantly loosening his grasp on her hand.
She didn’t like admitting that the one area she’d failed Brodie was raising him to attend church. That was never something her family had done on a regular basis.
Sharing Mike’s faith was a bit humbling. And made her realize how faith and God were now an important part of his life.
But not enough of one to keep an open mind about her father and brother.
“Can I play outside today?” Brodie asked.
She glanced at Mike, raising a brow. “Do you believe it’s safe?”
“I think so,” he agreed. “We should have bought more toys to help keep him busy.”
“Yes, well, running around outside will help him burn off some energy.” She knew Brodie was getting bored with the building blocks. Normally she didn’t allow Brodie a lot of television time, but even an hour of cartoons would have been nice. But since Hawk didn’t have a television up here, that was a moot point.
“Sounds good.” Mike glanced at the box of notes he’d set aside and she realized he wanted to get back to work.
“I’ll take him outside,” she offered.
He paused, shrugged and then nodded. “That would be great, thanks. And I’ll clean up the kitchen.”
She was about to protest but let it go. Mostly because Brodie was wriggling around in his seat, anxious to get outside.
When they were finished with the meal, she carried her dirty dishes and Brodie’s to the sink. Then she took Brodie by the hand and led him into the bedroom to change out of his pajamas.
Before heading outside, she grabbed the disposable phone she’d been using, on the off chance Duncan would try contacting her again. Plus, she planned to call the hospital to check on her father, too.
If he was doing okay, maybe she’d talk Mike into skipping the visit. His leapfrogging with cars was a good idea, but also a lot of work.
“Play hide-and-seek with me,” Brodie begged. “Me hide first.”
“Okay, but don’t go too far.” Brodie’s adventurous streak often got him into trouble. He seemed to have no fear of heights, and had been climbing things since he was a year old.
Had Mike been the same way as a boy?
“Ready or not, here I come,” she called.
Brodie hadn’t wandered too far away; she was glad to find him behind a clump of bushes. She chased him around for a bit, then agreed to hide so he could find her. They played until she was exhausted. Keeping a three-year-old busy was better exercise than an hour with a personal trainer.
She took Brodie inside for a glass of water and found Mike packing up his box of notes.
“Hey,” he greeted her when she came inside. “Matt was able to free up his schedule early, so we’re going to head out to meet with him. Noah will pick us up on the second leg of the journey.”
“Are you sure about this? I called the hospital earlier today and Dad is doing great. I was able to talk to him for a bit. There’s no reason to rush in to see him.”
Mike glanced at her while continuing to pack up his things. “Actually, I’d like to talk to your dad for a few minutes. I believe he may have information that will help us.”
“What?” Her joyous mood dissipated in a wisp of smoke. “You can’t grill him about police work while he’s recovering from open-heart surgery. Stress from his job is likely what put him in the hospital in the first place!”
“Shayla, I’m not going to grill him. I just need to ask if he has any suspects in mind who may be linked to the Dark Knights. A few simple questions, that’s all.”
Biting her lip, she turned away. She should have known Mike had an ulterior motive for creating the leapfrog technique of getting to the hospital. It wasn’t for her sake at all.
It was for him. To find out once and for all if her father was at all involved in the murder of Max Callahan.
Well, he wasn’t. Her father and brother would never condone taking the law into their own hands. And if it took a convoluted trip to the hospital to prove her point, then fine. They’d go.
But it was times like this that made her realize how much she and Mike had changed in the past four years. Every time he brought up her family, it widened the gulf between them.
Leaving Brodie as the only person who could bridge the gap.
A heavy responsibility for a child.
She gave Brodie a drink of water and then took him back outside.
Mike joined them a few minutes later, stashing his box of notes in the back seat of Hawk’s SUV. She had no idea why he was carting everything along with them, and worried he planned to show some of it to her father.
“Come on, Brodie, time to go for a ride,” she called.
Her son came running from the side of the house, carrying a stick in his hand like a sword. “Watch out, I’m gonna get you,” he said.
What was it about boys and weapons? She opened her mouth to sternly tell him to put it down when Mike spoke up.
“Don’t, Brodie. It’s not nice to point sticks at people. You might hurt someone.”
“You’re not my daddy,” Brodie said, sticking out his lower lip.
Shayla sighed, not in the mood for this. “Drop the stick and get into the car, Brodie. Now.”
He looked as if he might argue, but she kept her I’m-not-kidding look on her face. He threw the stick down near her feet and climbed inside the SUV.
Mike looked crushed at Brodie’s minor temper tantrum and, despite her earlier annoyance, she put a hand on his arm.
“Don’t take it personally. This is why they call it the terrible threes.”
“I know,” he said, without looking convinced.
She slid into the passenger seat, while Mike got in behind the wheel. The SUV was facing forward, so it was easy for him to navigate Hawk’s bumpy gravel driveway.
As they reached the road, a black sports car with tinted windows was coming toward them from the south.
“What in the world?” Mike gunned the engine, fishtailing it out of the driveway entrance and onto the highway. Except instead of turning away from the sports car, he headed directly toward it.
“Keep your head down,” he shouted as he hit the gas pedal.
Shayla did as she was told, holding her breath and praying that Brodie would be safe in the back seat.
She thought she was prepared for the sound of gunfire but the sharp report followed by shattering glass was like a punch in her chest.
Please, Lord, keep Brodie safe in Your care!