The Lawman's Secret Son. Alice Sharpe
Good Neighbors was a nonprofit organization utilizing volunteer workers to build low-income housing. Brady was one of the few paid employees. It was his job to assign and approve projects. He was also in charge of contracting jobs too big for the volunteers to handle alone.
The man who had donated the property had been truly generous as it wasn’t a tiny city lot but a small parcel backed by the river. Eventually there would be additional houses built on the property. Brady hoped to have a hand in all of them.
After visiting with Lara, Brady couldn’t keep his mind on anything. The sun baked his bare back as he sat on the plywood roof, banging in a slew of nails. They’d run out of ammo for the nail gun and he’d sent everyone else home for the day.
Had Lara really come back to Riverport just to talk to Jason Briggs? What was the boy up to? He’d been in and out of trouble most of his young life and Brady would bet money a few months in detention hadn’t changed that. Brady knew the type, his own brother, Garrett, was a carbon copy.
For a second, Brady thought about Garrett and wondered where he lived now and what he was up to. Last he’d heard, Garrett was out of the army. Brady hoped that gig had helped his little brother get his head screwed on straight, but he wouldn’t count on it. Garrett was more like their father than Brady was. The same reckless streak ran through both of them.
A bitter smile never touched his lips as that thought hit home. Could Garrett have done any worse with his life than Brady had? Had he killed a fifteen-year-old boy? Had he destroyed his one chance for a happy marriage with a woman who outclassed him in every way possible? Had he abandoned the only job he ever truly wanted and cemented his reputation as another worthless Skye, all because the thought of carrying a gun—and possibly making another mistake—made him queasy?
Unless Garrett had turned into a serial killer, he was probably doing as well if not better than his responsible big brother.
Brady missed a nail head twice and laid the hammer aside. Staring out at the river, he faced the fact he wasn’t going to get much more done here today. He picked up his tools and scrambled down the ladder. He’d just finished storing the equipment in the on-site storage shed when an SUV pulled up alongside his Harley.
Brady yanked on his T-shirt as the dust settled around the SUV. The window slid down to reveal Tom James, flush face toying with a smile.
Twice divorced, Tom was five or six years older than Brady, creeping up on forty. His former partner was also shorter than Brady, heavier, big chested with very short black hair ringing a bald spot.
“Have I got news for you,” Tom said.
Brady leaned against Tom’s vehicle. It was brand new and the fact he could afford it after the cleaning his last ex-wife and her lawyer accomplished, spoke to the fact that Tom was banking on his future promotion within the Riverport Police Department.
And no reason he shouldn’t. Brady was just damn thankful the Armstrong shooting hadn’t destroyed Tom’s reputation on the force as well as his own.
“Let me guess,” Brady said.
Tom laughed. “You won’t guess this. I got it hot from Carlson’s Hardware Store.”
“Lara is back in town, staying at her mother’s house while her mother is on a cruise.”
Tom’s round face fell. “Someone told you.”
“I saw Lara. I spoke with her.”
Tom nodded, all humor gone now. He knew what the last year had cost Brady. He said, “How was it?”
“About how you’d expect.”
Tom nodded. “What did she come back for?”
“She’s meeting Jason Briggs tonight.”
“Really,” Tom said, eyes narrowing. “I heard he got out of juvie. What’s she meeting him for?”
“He wanted to talk to her. Maybe you could keep your eyes open tonight just in case there’s trouble.”
“Where are they meeting? What time?”
“Don’t know, she won’t say.”
“You going to tail her?”
Brady shook his head. “She’d kill me if she found out I was butting into her business.”
“So?”
“So, she’s right.”
“But you want me to keep an eye out,” Tom said, a smile pulling at his lips.
Brady looked away.
“Don’t worry, buddy, I’ll mention it to Chief Dixon, too. He can tell anyone else he sees fit.”
Brady bit his tongue at this suggestion but said nothing as Tom drove off. He just hoped Lara never got wind that half the Riverport police force would soon know—thanks to him—that she had a meeting with Jason Briggs.
The thought occurred to Brady as he climbed on the Harley that Jason’s driver’s license had been yanked. Using a little deduction, that meant Lara would probably meet him in town. Like maybe at the teen center or the diner or even Lara’s mother’s house. He toyed with doing a little research but let the idea go.
Lara had made it clear she didn’t want him in her face. Tom was going to keep a sharp eye peeled just in case. That was enough.
He got to his place about five o’clock and ate a tuna sandwich while standing at the counter. It was a new place, about as nondescript as they come. He’d changed just about everything in the last year, including his residence. The old place had reminded him too much of Lara.
At first, after the shooting, he’d toyed around with leaving Riverport himself. Without his job on the force, without Lara, what was there to stay for? But then the Good Neighbors job came along and he admitted to himself that, for good or bad, Riverport was home. Garrett could move around the country all he wanted—Brady would stay here.
After dinner, he usually went back to the Good Neighbors house to map out the next day’s activities. No reason not to do so again tonight. He couldn’t sit in the impersonal apartment longing for a life he no longer had. He was too restless to read or watch television. If he couldn’t settle down at work, he’d take the Harley out to the river and use an evening swim to work out his anxiety.
He and Lara used to do that, most of the time on the spur of the moment after a movie or dinner out. He could still picture her in the scraps of satin and lace she called underwear, swimming in the river, honey-blond hair mingling with the darkening water, the summer smell of blackberries, the taste of her skin. She wore summer the way some women wore diamonds…
He’d go anyway. Despite all that.
It took him two hours to plan the next day’s work and finish up a few odd jobs. It was nearing nine o’clock by the time he started home. He went the long way in order to avoid the Kirk house. He wasn’t due there for over an hour and he didn’t want Lara catching sight of him and accusing him of spying.
He was driving down Main Street near the west end of town, undecided about the swim, when he spotted Tom talking to what appeared to be a high-school girl standing beside a little blue car. She’d probably been caught speeding. As usual, when Tom put on the charm, a scared kid relaxed. Brady knew he wouldn’t give her a ticket, he’d cut her some slack. Back in the day, Brady had actually talked to Tom about his live-and-let-live take on citing minors, questioning whether he was actually doing a kid much good by not holding them accountable for minor offenses. Tom had laughed him off.
And again, that ache of no longer belonging. He missed being out on the street, helping people, looking for miscreants, figuring things out. Sure, he was still alive, he still walked and talked and worked and occasionally, even laughed. But it all seemed brittle and hollow. His life, abandoned.
Not wanting to talk to Tom again, he took a side street that led to the industrial side