Husband by Choice. Tara Quinn Taylor
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.
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.
* * *
MAX FED CALEB. He wiped the toddler’s face and hands, and when his son asked for his mama, he assured him she’d be right back. He was calm. Moved with ease around the kitchen. And when he dropped Caleb’s Melmac ABC plate, splattering the remains of Meredith’s pre-made ground beef stew all over the floor and lower cupboards, he carefully cleaned up every drop.
He had a follow-up call from his Las Sendas police contact. And when Caleb cried for a cookie, and Max remembered that they were out of the little vanilla wafers that were the only treat the boy was allowed, he lifted Caleb out of his chair, grabbed his keys, strapped the toddler into his car seat and went to the store.
He wheeled the cart around the store without hurry, going up and down every aisle, aware that Caleb attempted to touch things he couldn’t reach, and focused on the displays in the aisles and the wares on the shelves. Considering them all with utmost concentration so that he didn’t miss something else they might need, or were out of.
Meredith had been missing for a couple of hours. She’d left Devon’s house late. He’d had confirmation on that point. But she should have been at the day care by the time Max had arrived.
There’d been no reported accidents anywhere in the area involving her. She wasn’t in a hospital emergency room.
And they didn’t need toilet paper. He’d had to replace the roll before dinner and there’d been a twelve-pack in the closet.
Ditto on the paper towels. He’d used half a roll on stew cleanup. And had found a bulk pack in the pantry.
Meredith was a firm believer in being prepared.
Tissue, he couldn’t remember. He hadn’t used any. But if Caleb’s nose started to run, he’d need a lot of them. Certain that Meri had extra tissue at home, too, he threw in an extra three-pack anyway. It didn’t spoil. They’d use it eventually.
Better safe than sorry.
Wherever Meri was, it probably wasn’t good. She’d have called or texted if she could and since she hadn’t....
She’d put on her stiff-chin face, get through it, and fall apart when she got home. She’d deal with whatever challenge she was facing with enough strength to move mountains. And be too weak to climb the stairs when it was all over.
In the safety and security of his arms she’d tell him what had held her up. Like the time she’d passed an old woman waiting at a bus stop and given her a ride. Or the time she’d helped a friend get a deadbeat ex-son-in-law out of her home. She’d survive. And then she might fall apart, depending on the situation.
The tears, when they came, could last a while.
Tissues were good.
Still, in both of those instances, and various others, she’d always called or texted him. Meri didn’t want him to worry. Because he had a past, too.
“Mama!”
With a force that hurt his neck, Max swung around in the paper product aisle, expecting to see Meredith walking toward them. But he and Caleb were the only ones there.
“Mama!” Caleb said again, kicking his feet against the grocery cart.
The boy was staring at Max. Obviously expecting him to produce.
“Mama’s busy, son, I told you that, remember? She’s helping someone and she’ll be back very soon.”