Protecting Her Secret Son Page 8

  Daniel slept soundly on the couch, one knee pulled up, a bare foot peeking out from under the blanket. He had a forearm over his eyes, as if blocking the light, but the room was still dark. She made herself move on before the mother in her took over and she covered up his foot.

  Daniel was her boss. He wasn’t in search of or in need of her nurturing tendencies and he was crashing on her couch because he was doing her a favor. Maybe she’d be better off thinking of it as Daniel giving Grant an assist.

  Her son slept with equal abandon, she thought, peeking back out at Daniel while she waited impatiently for the coffee to brew. Aiden flung his arms and legs as he pleased in sleep and somehow the silly blue rabbit always stayed within his reach. She wondered if he’d slept at all without it last night.

  Inside her chest, her heart seemed to beat erratically. First slow and sluggish, then leaping too quickly as she worried over her son. There had to be something more she could do than just cooperate. If she played this game solely by the rules her ex had set, she’d never win.

  Temper seared through her sleep-deprived mind more effectively than the coffee. How had her ex found her? Why target her son?

  Bradley Stanwood didn’t do things without a plan and a self-serving purpose. With the benefit of hindsight, she could see how her ex had covered up his twisted nature during their brief dating life. Within a month of her wedding day, she’d learned how vicious and calculating he could be. The first slap had been a shock, the handprint fading quickly. The deep bruise he’d left on her next had turned into a harsh lesson on proper concealer techniques.

  Her thoughts veered away from the remembered pains and right back to the starting point: he wouldn’t have taken Aiden, wouldn’t have bothered with a child, without an end game in mind.

  Coffee in hand, she stared at the paint swatches on the wall. Her landlord had approved all three, and considering her day job, given her permission to do the painting. He’d even agreed to let her deduct the cost of supplies out of her rent. With receipts, of course. If she owned the place, she’d go with a bolder color than the bland neutrals, but she could add pops of character and color with accessories. Maybe she’d paint while she waited on the kidnappers to reach out again.

  She opened her laptop and started searching through the local news in Philly and the immediate areas. If she found anything she could give to Grant or his detective friend, it would be Bradley’s fault. She’d been ordered to behave as if nothing was amiss. Being the mother of a young boy, Sunday morning was often the best time for her to catch up on recent events while Aiden slept in.

  She clicked a few headlines on the real estate market, skimmed them quickly, along with obituaries and crime reports. Bradley was in for a surprise. She wasn’t the downtrodden mouse he’d happily discarded. Motherhood had shifted her normal, honing determination into a toughness and desire to do more than merely survive or get by. She’d planted herself in Philly to create a thriving life for her and her son.

  Just because her heart was currently caught in an unrelenting vise, and would be until Aiden was back home, didn’t mean she had to stop thinking. The cops had their avenues, she had hers. No, she hadn’t known the true Bradley when she’d become Mrs. Stanwood, but she’d always been a quick study. Kidnapping Aiden, dragging her back into his control, could only mean there was an overlap, an intersection between then and now.

  She glanced over the edge of the laptop as Daniel sat up. He scrubbed at the stubble shading his sharp jaw and twisted around. Seeing her, he raised a hand in a sleepy wave. “Coffee?”

  “Ready to go whenever you are.”

  He gave a nod, yawned and stood up to stretch. After folding the blanket, he stacked it neatly on top of the pillow before heading upstairs. She heard the shower and waited a few minutes before leaving her research to make his coffee.

  He walked into the kitchen wearing faded jeans and a short-sleeved white T-shirt that emphasized both his physique and his dusky skin, tanned from hours of work in the sun. The man was a work of art, she thought, watching him eagerly gulp down the stout coffee.

  “Thanks.” He took another sip, a slow savoring this time, his eyes closed. “Great stuff.” He opened his eyes and that intense blue gaze pinned her. “Did you get any sleep?”

  “Am I looking that bad?” she asked, knowing the answer. “No, don’t apologize,” she added when he blanched. “I’m not fishing for compliments. I saw my reflection.” The dark circles under her eyes and the lines bracketing her mouth would likely be there, and get worse, until Aiden came home. “I dozed a little. Was the couch okay for you?”

  “Your couch is really comfortable.” He busied himself making another cup of coffee.

  She chuckled. “You’re not a very good liar.”

  “Thanks.” He studied her while the coffee brewed. “The couch is better than what I’ve had lately. What’s going on?” He tapped his temple and then circled his finger in the direction of her face. “You’ve got a different vibe going on today. Did something happen?”

  She figured that showed on her face as clearly as the dark circles. She’d never been good at lying either, which was why getting away from Bradley without revealing her pregnancy had been nothing short of miraculous.

  “Nothing happened. After tossing and turning all night, I’ve found a good head space for the moment. Determined. I won’t roll over or cave in,” she said. “I’ve decided there are steps I can take to find Aiden and bring him back home.”

  Daniel’s gaze slid over her shoulder to the computer. “What kind of steps?”

  “Research, right now. I’m not being an idiot.” She decided being offended by his sigh of relief was counterproductive to Aiden’s rescue. “The key to all of this is in the timing,” she said. “I’m looking for anything that could connect the chatter Grant mentioned, Loffler’s visits to Philly and the script the caller read from.”

  Daniel drank deep, motioned with his hand that she should keep talking.

  “I have yet to find the common denominator, but I know Bradley. I will find it.”

  “How can I help?”

  “You’re doing more than enough already.” Shame prickled along her skin. She didn’t want anyone else poking through her past, seeing her at her worst in those terrible days of her marriage.

  “Bull.”

  “Pardon?” Caught off guard, she stared at him for several seconds, struggling against the pain worming through her chest. If he was going to be rude, she’d manage this alone and he could explain the change of plans to Grant.

  On the verge of saying just that and sending him on his way, she snapped her mouth closed, gathered her composure. It wasn’t fair to vent her frustration on him when Bradley was the real problem. “I’m not sure what you think you can do.”

  He leaned back against the counter. “Talk to me and you might be pleasantly surprised.”

  “There’s nothing to talk about.” Yet. Her aloof tone echoing in her ears annoyed her. “I’m hungry. What would you like for breakfast?”

  “You’re not cooking for me like I’m some long-lost relative, stopping in on vacation.”

  She didn’t think of him that way at all. In her perfect, private fantasy world, Aiden would be sleeping off a slumber party at the sitter’s house and breakfast would be sweet and hearty, refueling the two of them after a night of wild and passionate sex.

  “Is it all right with you if I remember you’re my boss and you’re here doing me a huge favor?” She tried to scoot around him and quickly gave up. He dwarfed her small kitchen and where he lounged at the moment, he blocked her path to the refrigerator, his gaze drifting somewhere over her head.

  “Daniel?”

  His gaze returned to her. “I’m thinking.”

  She rolled her eyes, tried to get around those long legs without making it an issue. He caught her
arm. Despite the light touch, with Bradley’s sudden return to her life, she flinched and recoiled.

  He let her go instantly. “What was that?”

  “Nothing,” she lied, making a study of her bare feet.

  “I wouldn’t hurt you.”

  “I know that.” Well, she assumed it anyway, based on her interactions with him at job sites. He never showed any signs of taking out his temper in physical ways. “It’s my problem, no reflection on you.”

  His coffee mug landed on the counter with a precise clink. He managed to do what she couldn’t, stepping out of the kitchen without touching her. Taking a seat at the table, he propped his ankle on his knee. “I think this is our problem,” he corrected her. “I need you to trust me.”

  “And I do.” She opened the refrigerator, realized she’d never stopped for groceries yesterday, her normal shopping day. Irritated, she closed the door, searched for a distraction. “More coffee?”

  Unflappable, he ignored the question. “He hurt you.”

  She wanted to rail against the statement. Her hands shook as she poured water into the coffee maker for another cup. “It’s that obvious?”

  “No, but I’ve had some training on the issue.”

  Issue. In her head, she cursed her ex and the invisible scars he’d left on her heart and soul. She didn’t want to be an issue. Not to Daniel. Not after working so hard to be strong and set a good example for her son.

  “You can talk to me,” he said gently.

  Bad idea. “It’s over.” She stirred a spoonful of sugar into her coffee this time. If she told him what had happened, he’d forever see her as a victim. “I’m just overtired.”

  “And miserable because Aiden isn’t here,” he said. “Two heads are better than one. Give me something to track down, use me as a sounding board. You have help, Shannon.”

  She could handle this on her own. She knew Bradley and his businesses, second only to his lawyers. Still, the argument that leaped to the tip of her tongue promptly dissolved under the soft warmth that stirred inside her when he said her name.

  Defiant, she yanked open the refrigerator again and pulled out the carton of eggs. Four left. “How do you feel about sharing an omelet?” She could scrounge up enough leftovers and chopped veggies to make it worthwhile.

  “I feel weird having you cook. Brunch is a better solution.” His blue eyes radiated kindness as he asked, “What do you usually do on Sundays?”

  Emotion clogged her throat. Sundays were often the best days of her week and she refused to cry over what the kidnappers had stolen from her today. When her son came home, she’d find a way to make up for the lost time. It had only been a day. Bradly expected her to cave to the overwhelming fear and worry. She had to keep believing in a better outcome.

  “We read the comics in the paper,” she said. “I make pancakes or waffles, and then we alternate open-house tours with time in the neighborhood parks.” She wouldn’t hear Aiden’s giggles or the crinkle of newspaper. She wouldn’t feel his hand in hers as they walked through sparkling homes or laugh along with his delighted squeals as he pumped his legs to soar high, higher on the swings.

  Daniel’s eyebrows arched. “You do open houses on Sundays?”

  “Almost every week,” she said. “Why?”

  “Me, too.” He smiled. “I know a great brunch place, no tie required. We can take the paper or the laptop and make a plan of attack for the afternoon.” He aimed a thumb at his chest. “And you can bounce around theories while we’re out. Sounding board.”

  Did the man have to have all the answers to go with the sexy smile that had her belly quivering with impossible anticipation? Daniel wasn’t for her. Couldn’t be. He deserved a woman who would stand by him and she planned to run as soon as they found her son.

  She went upstairs for shoes, automatically moving to Aiden’s room to share the plans, stopping awkwardly by his door. Her vision blurred as the helplessness and grief came crashing down on her again, this time with an added dose of guilt. What kind of mother allowed attraction to distract her so much that she forgot her son was being held by strangers?

  She didn’t realize she was sobbing until Daniel had her wrapped up, crooning soothing nonsense at her ear. “Shh. He’s okay. He’s coming home. It’s all going to be fine.”

  “You can’t know that.” She hiccupped, her cheek rubbing against his chest. “What if they—if he—”

  His fingers rubbed at the tension gripping her neck, pushed up into her hair. “No what-ifs today. We’ll go out and have as good a Sunday as possible.”

  Her hands clutched the fabric of his shirt as she leaned into the solid security he offered.

  “Over brunch, I want to hear all about whatever put that glint in your eye earlier. I promise not to pick at any old wounds, but admit it, you need someone to help you assess theories. May as well be the person you’re stuck with.”

  Reluctantly, she agreed. It was a blow to her pride that he was right. About all of it.

  She changed into jeans almost as worn as his, ballet flats and a long-sleeve top. Grabbing the zip-up hoodie emblazoned with the hockey team logo to fend off the cool autumn weather, she sat down at the vanity. Her eyes were so puffy makeup would only be an exercise in futility. Smoothing sheer gloss over her lips, she’d have to rely on dark sunglasses while they were out.

  The bright, sunny day was the polar opposite of her mood as he drove out to the restaurant he claimed had the best brunch in town. She made a concerted effort to suppress her misery and focus on the sunshine and almost succeeded.

  With her laptop and real estate section in her purse, they were soon seated at a table to fuel up for the day on eggs, bacon, sausage, fruit, pancakes and diced potatoes, all served family style.

  “You doubted me,” he said, pouring syrup over his plate-size pancake.

  “I did,” she admitted. “My apologies.” The little diner didn’t look like much from the outside, though it was neat as a pin inside and sweet and savory aromas filled the air. “The food is incredible.”

  He raised his coffee cup in agreement. “Cops can have the doughnut shops. For real food, trust a firefighter.”

  “Duly noted.” She appreciated his easygoing nature and the way he steered the conversation away from her troubles. “When Aiden comes home, I’m bringing him here.”

  “Good idea and great attitude.” Daniel refilled her coffee from the carafe on the table. “Can I come along?”

  “Sure.”

  “I bet his face would light up at a pancake this size.”

  She chuckled. “Pancakes are his favorite.” She let herself imagine the homespun happiness of that scene for a moment before shoving it firmly into the mental box of fantasies unlikely to come true. The same box where she’d stashed her silly dreams of white knights and unicorns.

  Daniel snagged another slice of bacon from the plate between them. “Can I ask you a dumb question?”

  Better than an astute question, she thought. “Shoot.”

  “Your son loves trucks.”

  “Yes.” She waited a beat. “That isn’t a question.”

  “Why doesn’t he have a fire truck in his collection?”

  She sat back, smiling. “You’re offended.”

  He poked at his eggs. When he raised those stunning eyes to hers, she saw the self-deprecating humor dancing in the blue depths. “I am a little, yes.”

  “Well, you shouldn’t be,” she replied. “There’s a very good reason.”

  “Oh, I am all ears.” He sat back in the booth, folded his arms over his chest.

  “He has dump trucks in many variations, a cement mixer and a big flatbed that hauls some of the other trucks occasionally.”

  “I’m aware of what he has, Shannon.”

  She wasn’t the least bit int
imidated by his mock scowl and the sensation of teasing him was a blend of surprise and delight. “All of the trucks in his collection came after he visited job sites with me. Jennings job sites.”

  “That is a good reason. And it makes me feel better about no fire trucks.”

  “Even his pickup truck is the same color as the official Jennings Construction trucks. Hadn’t you noticed?”

  “Guess I missed that.”

  “You wouldn’t believe what I’ve taught myself about engines, tires and various types of trucks in the past six months. Some moms learn dinosaurs. It seems I have a budding mechanic on my hands.” She sighed, bumping back to reality. “And, if he’s missing his trucks half as much as I think he is, he’ll be a plague to his captors.”

  Unless they had him locked up somewhere alone. The thought sent her heart arrowing toward the edge of that terrible abyss.

  Daniel distracted her, drew her back from that sharp edge, by quizzing her knowledge of trucks. When he declared her an expert, they shifted gears and decided which open houses to visit while they finished up brunch.

  “I’ll take care of the check if you’ll send Grant a text.” He handed her his cell phone and slid out of the booth. “Let him know our plans for the day.”

  “Done.” She took a final hit of coffee and was ready to go when he came back from the register at the front of the diner.

  In the truck, he handed his phone back to her. “Can you let Grant know I haven’t seen anyone deliberately following us?”

  She did as he asked and put the phone back into the console between them. “Now what?”

  “Now we enjoy the first open house of the day.” He turned a corner. “It’s at the end of this block.”

  He hadn’t plugged the address into a navigation app or tool. “As a firefighter you must learn the city pretty quickly,” she said.

  “Most of us do. Over the years, our calls have given me a fast sense of neighborhoods, too, when I’m looking for the next flip.”