# Falling For The Brother

Tara Taylor Quinn

A brother's secrets, a brother's loveHead of security Harper Davidson is shocked when her ex's grandmother becomes the newest resident at The Lemonade Stand shelter. The suspected abuser? The woman's own grandson, Harper's ex-husband. None of this makes any sense. And yet she knows his brother, Mason Thomas, would not make these accusations lightly. For her daughter's sake, Harper agrees to help Mason uncover the truth.Clouding the investigation is the attraction that still lingers between her and Mason – a temptation Harper won't give in to again. Harper's loyalty and emotions are divided once more. And when past secrets come to light, she's not sure who to trust…

A brother’s secrets, a brother’s love

Head of security Harper Davidson is shocked when her ex’s grandmother becomes the newest resident at The Lemonade Stand shelter. The suspected abuser? The woman’s own grandson, Harper’s ex-husband. None of this makes any sense. And yet she knows his brother, Mason Thomas, would not make these accusations lightly. For her daughter’s sake, Harper agrees to help Mason uncover the truth.

Clouding the investigation is the attraction that still lingers between her and Mason—a temptation Harper won’t give in to again. Harper’s loyalty and emotions are divided once more. And when past secrets come to light, she’s not sure who to trust...

Having written over eighty novels, TARA TAYLOR QUINN is a USA TODAY bestselling author with more than seven million copies sold. She is known for delivering intense, emotional fiction. Tara is a past president of Romance Writers of America. She has won a Readers’ Choice Award and is a seven-time finalist for an RWA RITA® Award. She has also appeared on TV across the country, including CBS Sunday Morning. She supports the National Domestic Violence Hotline. If you or someone you know might be a victim of domestic violence in the United States, please contact 1-800-799-7233.

Books by Tara Taylor Quinn

HARLEQUIN SUPERROMANCE

Where Secrets are Safe

Wife by Design

Once a Family

Husband by Choice

Child by Chance

Mother by Fate

The Good Father

Love by Association

His First Choice

The Promise He Made Her

Her Secret Life

The Fireman’s Son

For Joy’s Sake

A Family for Christmas

Shelter Valley Stories

Sophie’s Secret

Full Contact

HARLEQUIN HEARTWARMING

Family Secrets

For Love or Money

Her Soldier’s Baby

The Cowboy’s Twins

MIRA BOOKS

The Friendship Pact

In Plain Sight

Other titles by this author available in ebook format.

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk

Falling for the Brother

Tara Taylor Quinn


www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-08108-5

FALLING FOR THE BROTHER

© 2018 TTQ Books LLC

Published in Great Britain 2018

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

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www.millsandboon.co.uk

For Scott Gumser, my “little” brother, my family, a huge part of a small pool of unconditional love. We’ve been on both sides of many fences and always, always, our arms are open, and our backs are protected. That means more to me than you’ll probably ever know...

“Mason.” Harper stood, but kept her desk between them, a pencil in her hands.

Her hair was shorter than he remembered. Her eyes as blue, with the tinge of violet around the edges that he’d never forgotten. She didn’t look any happier to see him now than the last time he’d looked at her. The morning after...

“Harper.” Hands at his sides, he stood there in a moment of uncharacteristic hesitation. Not sure what to do, how to take control of his interview. Hugging was definitely out.

Mentioning the past...ditto.

“You look good.” She wasn’t quite smiling, but there was no chill in her gaze, either.

“So do you.” He hoped to God the wealth of feeling in that statement didn’t reveal itself to her.

They’d known each other since Bruce had brought her home from work more than six years before, a new recruit, to have dinner with the family one night—but he’d never taken much time to actually talk to her.

After his initial reaction to her—feeling like he’d been hit by a semi, and liked it—he’d deliberately shied away from conversation. She was his brother’s woman.

Dear Reader,

This is a story that has been toying with me for pretty much my whole life. It’s a story about family. About what makes family. It’s a story that throws down all the chips and waits to see what family really means. It’s the story of two brothers who both love the same woman. And the woman who, in different ways, loves them both.

I’ve never been in love with brothers. Or personally known anyone who was. But I have always been a huge believer in family. In a body of love that’s yours no matter what you do. A body that might turn you in if you commit a heinous crime, but do it with tears on cheeks. A body that will then sit beside you in court and visit you in prison every single week. A body that, no matter what—no matter what—will love you.

I believe in my responsibility as a family member. My heart is open and the love is there...always. No matter what. Life has forced me to see the proof of this, to live by it, and I now know the statement to be completely true. So...Falling for the Brother was ready to be written. And read.

All the best,

Tara

TaraTaylorQuinn.com

Cast of Characters

Lila McDaniels—Managing director of The Lemonade Stand (TLS). She has an apartment at the Stand.

Wife by Design (Book 1)

Lynn Duncan—Resident nurse at TLS. She has a three-year-old daughter, Kara.

Grant Bishop—Landscape developer hired by TLS.

Maddie Estes—Permanent TLS resident. Childcare provider.

Darin Bishop—Resident at TLS. Works for his brother, Grant. Has a mental disability.

Once a Family (Book 2)

Sedona (Campbell) Malone—Lawyer who volunteers at TLS.

Tanner Malone—Vintner. Brother to Tatum and Talia Malone.

Tatum Malone—Fifteen-year-old resident at TLS.

Husband by Choice (Book 3)

Meredith (Meri) Bennet—Speech therapist. Mother to two-year-old son, Caleb.

Max Bennet—Pediatrician.

Chantel Harris—Police officer. Friend to Max and his deceased first wife.

Child by Chance (Book 4)

Talia Malone—TLS volunteer. Public-school scrapbook therapist. Student of fashion design.

Sherman Paulson—Political campaign manager. Widower. Single father of adopted ten-year-old son, Kent.

Mother by Fate (Book 5)

Sara Havens—Full-time TLS counselor.

Michael Edwin—Bounty hunter. Widower. Single father to six-year-old daughter, Mari.

The Good Father (Book 6)

Ella Ackerman—Charge nurse at Santa Raquel Children’s Hospital. Member of the high-risk team. Divorced.

Brett Ackerman—TLS Founder. National accreditation business owner. Divorced.

Love by Association (Book 7)

Chantel Harris—Santa Raquel detective. Member of the high-risk team.

Colin Fairbanks—Lawyer. Member of Santa Raquel’s most elite society. Principal of high-end law firm. Brother to Julie Fairbanks.

His First Choice (Book 8)

Lacey Hamilton—Social worker. Member of the high-risk team. Child star. Identical twin to daytime-soap-opera star Kacey Hamilton.

Jeremiah (Jem) Bridges—Private contractor with his own business. Divorced. Has custody of four-year-old son, Levi.

The Promise He Made Her (Book 9)

Bloom Larson—Psychiatrist in Santa Raquel. Domestic violence therapist. Divorced.

Samuel Larson—Santa Raquel high-ranking detective. Widower.

Her Secret Life (Book 10)

Kacey Hamilton—Daytime-soap-opera star. Identical twin to Lacey Hamilton. Volunteer at TLS.

Michael Valentine—Cybersecurity expert. TLS volunteer. Shooting victim.

The Fireman’s Son (Book 11)

Faye Walker—Paramedic. Divorced. Sole custody of eight-year-old son, Elliott, who is in counseling at TLS.

Reese Bristow—Santa Raquel fire chief.

For Joy’s Sake (Book 12)

Julie Fairbanks—Philanthropist and children’s author. Sister to Colin Fairbanks.

Hunter Rafferty—Owns Elite Professional event-planning business, specializing in charity fund-raisers. TLS is one of his clients.

Falling for the Brother (Book 13)

Harper Davidson—Former city police officer, head of security at The Lemonade Stand. Divorced. Has sole custody of four-year-old daughter, Brianna.

Bruce Thomas—Decorated undercover detective. Harper’s ex-husband. Father to Brianna.

Mason Thomas—Private crime scene investigator, national government security clearance. Estranged uncle of Brianna.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Introduction

Dear Reader

Cast of Characters

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Extract

CHAPTER ONE

MIRIAM THOMAS. INSTANTLY ALERT, Harper Davidson stared at the report on the computer screen in front of her. Miriam Thomas. It wasn’t a common name. But not a stretch to think there’d be more than one woman bearing it.

As newly promoted head of security at The Lemonade Stand, a unique 5.1-acre resort-like women’s shelter on the California coast, Harper made it her first task every morning, after dropping Brianna at the day care on-site, to take a look at the resident status report. Kind of like a doctor looking at patient charts. In the month she’d been doing so, the task had consisted of nothing more than a simple wellness check. The fifteen new residents who’d arrived in those four weeks had all joined them during waking hours and she’d been notified immediately.

Miriam Thomas had been brought in at 2:00 a.m. with a broken arm and multiple contusions on her chin, as though someone had held her head still with great force.

Harper skimmed the basic details in the overview, suspended from any kind of reaction, as she searched out identifying information that generally wasn’t her primary concern. How old was the newest resident and where was she from?

Seventy-five. Albina, California.

Hands shaking now, Harper moved her mouse. Clicked. And clicked again, typing codes and passwords that would get her into a database containing the complete file. She was alone in her small office off the main building at the Stand, coffee not even made, and could hear the silence like the roar of the ocean just wooded acres away.

Miriam? At The Lemonade Stand? What had happened?

Her screen changed and she was in. She typed Miriam’s newly acquired resident number.

Who’d brought her here? She had to get further in to find out details. Why hadn’t Bruce let her know?

The Stand would’ve had no reason to call Harper unless Miriam had asked them to. Which wasn’t likely. Harper’s background check had mentioned her ex-husband by name, but not his family, and it wasn’t like anyone would have memorized that information anyway. She’d never taken the Thomas name. And even if she had, it wasn’t all that uncommon.

She’d never taken the name because she never should have married Bruce.

But...

The page opened and Harper pulled back. In her three and a half years on staff at The Lemonade Stand she’d seen a lot of disturbing injuries and broken women. They were an everyday fact. Not that she ever grew desensitized. But she’d learned early on to draw boundaries around her personal emotions—just as she had as a cop when she’d been first responder at a deadly car crash. Or a murder.

Gazing into the meek stare coming from Miriam’s photo, she lost those boundaries. Miriam, meek? And the bruises on that soft chin... Her face bore little resemblance to the face Harper was used to—one more prone to smiling with confidence that all would be well. Miriam had been the ultimate law-enforcement family member. The wife of a detective. The mother of a detective. The grandmother of a cop. She’d taken it all in stride, certain that her men would survive and make it home in time for dinner.

Or whenever they were expected.

They always had, too.

Her husband had died at home, from kidney disease. Her son, Bruce and Mason’s father, had passed away at home, too, from a heart attack due to being a hundred pounds overweight—not that Harper had been there. She’d only heard about it from Bruce when they’d met in his driveway to pass Brianna back and forth for his bimonthly visitation overnighters.

Taking a minute to catch her breath, on what had started out as a normal Tuesday morning in July, Harper got a bottle of water out of the small fridge beside her desk and sipped from it. Then she swept nervous fingers through her short blond hair and reached for the mouse. Scrolled slowly past that photo.

Miriam had been brought to them from the urgent care in Albina; the report didn’t say who’d brought her in and she assumed someone from the urgent care had called The Lemonade Stand. One of Harper’s employees—probably Sandra, who was the most senior officer on duty the previous night—would have driven over to pick her up. Harper would have a report on that, too.

Scrolling further, she stopped. Stared.

Miriam’s abuser was... Bruce Thomas?

She blinked. Read it again. Picked up the phone and hit the first speed dial.

“Lila Mantle.” The newly married managing director of The Lemonade Stand—a woman who’d given Harper more courage than she knew—answered on the first ring, her tone as calm and level as always.

Lila might smile more readily these days and go home to her family every night, but the fifty-three-year-old was still as dedicated, reliable and firm as she’d been all the years Harper had known her. And, based on what she’d heard, just as she’d been since the opening of the Stand more than a decade ago.

“Our new resident...”

“Miriam Thomas, yes. She’s in Bungalow 7.”

Harper could see that. In a bedroom by herself.

“She’s HSR?” She’d get to the Bruce mistake in a second. High Security Risk meant that someone from Harper’s staff had to be watching her at all times.

“Yes.”

Another sip of water went down with difficulty. The guard assignment wasn’t a problem. She’d do it herself, for any of their residents, anytime the need was there.

What the hell had Miriam gotten herself into since her son had died? Bruce’s father, Oscar, had moved in with his mother after Bruce left home. Made sense, since both of them lived alone in houses way too big for either one of them.

Miriam needed someone to take care of. And Oscar, an Albina police captain, had worked ungodly hours protecting the public and had wanted someone to take care of him at home.

“Why is she HSR?” Harper asked the question before she was ready for the answer.

“Her abuser’s a decorated member of the Albina PD.”

Harper shook her head. “Who?” she asked. One of Bruce’s friends? That might explain the name mix-up.

“Her grandson. Bruce Thomas. He works as an undercover officer and apparently has the skills to convince anyone of anything he wants them to believe. And he has cop friends all over the state. If he doesn’t already know where she is, we can assume he will soon enough. He isn’t being formally accused, and the police aren’t officially involved as of yet. No one wants to ruin a decorated public servant’s reputation unless there’s solid proof that he’s done wrong.”

She couldn’t believe any of this.

“Bruce wouldn’t hurt his grandmother.”

Lila’s silence seemed to echo through the line, and Harper realized she’d spoken aloud.

“You know Bruce was my husband,” Harper said.

“Of course.”

“He wouldn’t do this, Lila. I swear to you. He adored his grandmother.” But someone had hurt Miriam. She couldn’t quite grasp it. And...

“Has anyone called Mason? He’s Bruce’s older brother. He’s a special crime scene investigator based in LA, but travels all over the country. He’ll vouch for Bruce.”

For most of their lives, Bruce had idolized Mason.

From what she knew, the rift between them hadn’t healed, but they talked occasionally. And if the chips were truly down, they’d defend each other to the death. The Thomas family was just that way.

“Mason Thomas is the man who delivered Miriam to us.” Lila’s tone didn’t change. The calm didn’t waver.

Sitting forward, Harper put her water bottle on the desk with such force, water sloshed over the top and puddled. She grabbed a tissue, sopped up her mess. “Mason was here?”

She hadn’t seen him since the week before she’d married Bruce.

And tried not to think of him. Ever.

So her assumption about how Miriam had arrived at the Stand was wrong. Had the urgent care in Albina called him?

But...wait a minute. “Miriam told you Bruce did this to her...” She went back to the picture of a battered Miriam. Staring at it. As though that would make all of this seem possible. Make some kind of sense. “And you’re telling me now that Mason corroborated her story?”

“Not quite. Miriam Thomas claims she fell off a stepladder in her kitchen and sees no point in being here. Mason Thomas is the one who’s claiming the abuse. He insists that she stay inside the grounds at all times until further notice.”

Confused, alarmed, just plain beside herself, Harper pursed her lips and studied the screen. Scrolling down. Then up. Then down again.

“But...what about the police? You said they aren’t officially involved, but is there a report waiting to be filed?” As a private facility, the Stand could keep Miriam if she chose to stay. But only if she wanted to be there. They weren’t a prison.

Or...she could sign a form asking them to prevent her from leaving, for her own safety. Until she’d had some counseling. So many times victims who’d undergone years of mental or emotional manipulation would feel they had to run back to their abusers. They couldn’t trust their own minds.

It happened. More often than Harper would ever have believed.

If Miriam had signed the form, Harper and her team would prevent her from leaving, but only for the designated period of time. Or until she signed a retraction in the presence of witnesses, including a Stand counselor.

“Miriam has refused to talk to the police or press charges. She’s not budging from her stepladder story.”

Frowning, Harper began to focus. “So why is she here?”

“She made an agreement with Mason. If she agreed to stay here, and to sign a VNL, he’d do an investigation himself without making it formal or involving the police.” VNL. The voluntary no release form.

“And Miriam signed it?”

“Yes.” That report would be waiting in her in-box, too. She’d just gotten to work and clicked on resident status... “For how long?”

“Two weeks.”

Mason had been there. At the Stand. And would be around for the next two weeks? Or, at least, somewhere between Santa Raquel, where the Stand was, and two hours north in Albina, where Bruce lived—if he was, indeed, investigating.

There were going to be ramifications. She knew it and could feel them building. She and Mason in contact... Bruce being accused... She had to get all the facts she could before she started to feel things that had nothing to do with Miriam. Or her job.

“Bruce didn’t abuse his grandmother,” she said with certainty.

Why the hell would Mason do this to him?

And then it occurred to her. The brothers must be working together. They knew who’d hurt their grandmother—someone she was protecting—and Bruce, with his undercover skills, and Mason, with his investigative talents, were going to put the guy at ease. They’d let him think he’d gotten away with it, then set him up somehow, in order to find the proof that would trap him and put him away without Miriam’s needing to testify against him. Which, clearly, she was terrified to do. You didn’t get those bruises on your chin by falling from a stepladder.

It was a long shot, considering the fact that the brothers hadn’t had much to do with each other—as far as she was aware—in five years, but Bruce would put all differences aside to protect Miriam from danger. And Mason would come running if Bruce needed him.

“Bruce’s brother is absolutely certain he did it.” Lila’s tone had a different quality to it now. Not defense. Or even authority. More like...compassion?

“Did you talk to him yourself?”

“Yes.” Then that meant...

“You were called in?”

“Yes.”

Prior to her marriage, Lila might have been at the Stand in the middle of the night, since she used to stay at her apartment there as often as she went home to the condo she’d owned. Calling her in had been more common then, too; she’d had no family, no one else who needed her. But that had all changed since she’d finally allowed herself to love again.

She’d taken her son back into her life, trusting herself to love him and his family well. And married the man who’d been the only one able to break through the barriers she’d put around herself.

But now, to call Lila out of bed in the middle of the night... Someone had been pretty damned concerned.

Maybe Mason hadn’t known he could trust Lila with the truth—that he and Bruce were working together?

“So Bruce is still working and living his life as usual?”

“That is my understanding.”

“And Miriam’s injuries...they’re non-life-threatening...” She read over them again. Severe facial contusions in the chin area and a broken arm.

“Correct.”

“Maybe she did just fall.” The chin bruises, if she’d landed with her chin in something—say, the gold egg carton she was so fond of.

“According to Mason this isn’t the first time.”

Wow. She simply couldn’t grasp the reality. Couldn’t imagine how it must make the brothers feel, knowing someone was hurting their grandmother.

Brianna.

She became aware of the first ramification stirred up by this mess.

“How many times before?” Until a month ago, four-year-old Brianna had spent every other Friday night and half of Saturday with Bruce. And, since Oscar’s death two years before, since Bruce had moved in with his grandmother to help her out, Brianna had been with Miriam, too.

“The doctor suspects, based on previous bone cracks he could see on the X-ray, at least three.”

“To the same arm?”

“Yes.”

It made no sense to her at all.

“And the cracks had time to heal.” Which meant that whatever had been happening had been going on for a while.

“Yes.” Lila didn’t often point out the facts, didn’t explicitly share what she knew. Her way was to give her conversational partners the time and space—usually with a bit of guidance—to find the truth on their own. To figure it out for themselves, rather than be told. She was a huge proponent of helping people think their own thoughts, draw their own conclusions.

Because so many victims of abuse—as everyone now knew Lila had been—were denied that right to the extent of believing themselves incapable of trusting their own thoughts.

“Brianna stayed in that house every other Friday night.”

“I know the two of you used to go to Albina on your weekends off. I suspected she might’ve been visiting her father.”

“And my parents,” Harper said, her screen steady on the picture of an injured Miriam. “They have a small vegetable farm and I’d stay with them. Brianna would spend Friday night at Bruce’s. From Saturday afternoon until we came home on Sunday, we’d be with my folks.”

“What’s happened with her visitation since you accepted the new position?”

As head of security now, she couldn’t be gone every other weekend. She had vacation. And days off, but they rotated.

“Bruce has to make the drive here, to my house, to see her. He can take her to his hotel on Friday night, or I said he could just pick her up and spend time with her, then bring her home...”

“Has he done that?”

Well... “Not yet,” Harper said, closing the screen when she could no longer bear to look at it. “But he’s an undercover cop and he’s been on assignment. We knew going in that there’d be times, when he was on a job, that he’d miss his weekends. It happened up in Albina, too, but Miriam still got to visit with her.”

She could hear her defensive tone. It wasn’t that she wanted to be with her ex-husband anymore. If she did, her marriage might have lasted more than a year. But she couldn’t see a good cop having his life ruined because he couldn’t keep his pants zipped.

None of that mattered at the moment. “You should know, Miriam isn’t fond of me,” she told her boss. “Truth be told, she pretty much hates me.” The rest of the staff had a right to know what they might be facing.

But if Mason and Bruce were working together, presumably they’d chosen the Stand because she was there. Because they trusted her to keep their grandmother safe while they did their bit?

Bruce knew where she worked, if not the actual address, the name of the shelter. And he was a decorated cop with cop friends, she heard Lila’s words again.

“Why does she hate you?”

“I left her grandson.” Miriam hadn’t been subtle in expressing her opinion as to where the blame lay. But she’d reluctantly agreed to keep her opinions about Harper to herself when Brianna was around, as long as Harper never showed up in their home. Unless Miriam was discreet, Harper wasn’t going to let Brianna stay overnight with them. Bruce had given her full custody of their daughter, without state guided visitation rights—probably to stay on Harper’s good side—and that meant she didn’t have to let Brianna stay overnight with him. He’d given her everything she’d asked for in their divorce, requesting only that they remain in touch. That she at least let him be her friend. He hadn’t wanted the divorce and had repeatedly begged her for another chance. He’d said he understood when she’d been unable to do so. Deep down, Bruce was a good man. One who lived a deceitful professional life that sometimes bled into his personal morality.

Miriam Thomas was at the Stand. Brianna attended day care there. She played out on the grounds during set times. The two of them could feasibly visit each other. Brianna would want to see her great-grandmother. Miriam would no doubt insist on seeing Brianna, too. And maybe there was no reason she shouldn’t. Maybe Miriam had agreed to stay because of Brianna. Maybe they’d be able to help Miriam help herself.

She wondered whether Miriam would let Harper do anything for her. But she knew she’d find a way. It was her job.

All the Stand’s residents were like family to her for as long as they were with them. She didn’t have to like them. She didn’t even have to know them. She’d vowed to protect them with her life—every last one of them. And she would.

Just as soon as she sorted out this new reality.

CHAPTER TWO

THE LAST THING Mason Thomas had ever expected, or wanted, was to need anything from Harper Davidson. Needing her—wanting his brother’s woman—was something he’d been living with since the first night Bruce had brought her home. He took full accountability for his inappropriate reaction, had dealt with and paid for it. All of which was a hell of a lot easier when he didn’t have to see her.

Fully aware that the last thing in the world she probably needed was to have him knocking on the door of her office, he hesitated in the hallway.

“She knows you’re doing this?” He gave Lila Mantle his most commanding stare. “That you’re bringing me to see her.”

“I spoke to her twenty minutes ago.”

“And she agreed to meet with me.”

Lila frowned as she studied him. Up to that point, he’d felt her to be nothing but supportive. A colleague helping him out in a despicable situation.

“Is there a reason she shouldn’t have?” Dressed in a dark blue suit with her hair up in a bun, Lila didn’t seem the least bit intimidated by his six-foot-two-inch stature.

He shrugged. The reason wasn’t as important as protecting Miriam. He’d taken a huge gamble that Harper would agree with him, but now that he was about to see her, he wasn’t as confident. He’d dressed for a normal day’s work out in the field, examining scenes. Khakis, button-down shirt rolled up to his elbows, black slip-ons. Seeing Harper hadn’t figured into it. “I haven’t seen her in five years,” he said.

Which didn’t answer the question. Lila’s glance let him know she wasn’t completely satisfied with his answer, but she didn’t push. At least not yet. He was left with the impression that she might. He needed her on his side; without The Lemonade Stand, he didn’t have much hope of saving his grandmother, let alone freeing her to enjoy some happy days in the years she had left. God knew, she’d earned them.

Lila knocked, ushered him ahead of her, said a few words and stepped out, closing the door behind her.

“Mason.” Harper got to her feet, but kept her desk between them, a pencil in her hands. Her hair was shorter than he remembered, her eyes as blue, with the tinge of violet around the edges that he’d never forgotten. She didn’t seem any happier to see him now than the last time he’d looked at her. The morning after...

“Harper.” Hands at his sides, he stood there in a moment of uncharacteristic hesitation. Not sure what to do, how to take control of his interview. Hugging her was definitely out.

Mentioning the past...ditto.

“You look good.” She wasn’t quite smiling, but there was no chill in her gaze, either.

“So do you.” He hoped to God the wealth of feeling in that statement didn’t convey itself to her.

They’d known each other since Bruce had brought her home from work more than six years before, a new recruit who’d also been his new romantic interest, to have dinner with the family, but Mason had never taken much time to actually talk to her that night.

After his initial reaction to her—feeling like he’d been hit by a semi and liking it—he’d deliberately shied away from conversation. She was his brother’s girlfriend.

The time for talk would’ve been when he found her on the beach in tears, sobbing hysterically, a week before her wedding. Unfortunately, he’d just come from one hell of an argument with his brother—cursing Bruce for having been unfaithful to her—and hadn’t given any real thought to conversation. He’d wanted beer. As much as he could get, as quickly as he could pour it down his throat.

He hadn’t left her sitting there crying, though. He’d made the biggest mistake of his life. He’d invited her along.

“I like your hair shorter,” he said, mostly to remind himself that the night in question was long ago. To get his head out of the past and into his current situation.

Some women might have raised a hand to their hair. Made a comment. Smiled even. Harper just nodded.

Although he was having more difficulty than he’d expected holding her eyes, he’d refused to look lower than that pencil in her hands. But when she continued to assess him, his damned gaze dropped.

And noticed the gun strapped to her hip. The beige uniform hadn’t surprised him. Both of the guards, her employees, whom he’d met the night before, had been wearing them. They’d been armed, too, but...

“I’m fully trained to use it,” she said, seeing where his gaze had landed.

He nodded. “Graduated at the top of your academy class,” he said, letting her know he remembered. From what he’d been told, she quit the Albina police force when she divorced his younger brother. According to his father, for the two years she’d served, she’d been a good cop. Good instincts. No hesitation.

It wasn’t like she was hesitating now, either. She was...waiting.

He’d asked for the meeting. This was his call.

“My grandmother...” He stopped, met Harper’s stare. In his line of work as an independent crime scene investigator, he saw a lot of gruesome things, studied horrific photos and picked apart heinous crime scenes down to the smallest detail. He’d learned how to compartmentalize a long time ago. He opened his mind, not his heart. And yet, he had to take a minute to stop the quiver inside him as he thought of the scene he’d come upon the evening before.

“I’ve been working in Alabama for most of the past month,” he began. “Was on a serial killer job in Boston before that. With all the new DNA technologies, cold cases are coming out of the woodwork, and departments don’t always have the manpower or the time necessary to study the evidence and pictures...”

She seemed fully focused on him.

“Anyway, you don’t need me to get into that,” he concluded.

She held the pencil in one hand now, while two fingers of the other moved up and down the shaft. She wasn’t as composed as he’d thought.

His family wasn’t hers anymore. Hadn’t been for all that long anyway. Didn’t mean she didn’t care about Miriam. They were still her daughter’s family.

He’d seen pictures of the kid a couple of times in the past four years. Cute. From what his grandmother—who chattered about her on a regular basis—had relayed, Mason figured the child might be a bit too inquisitive for his comfort, but smart. According to Miriam, the little girl had a great disposition, not at all whiny.

Harper wasn’t the whiny sort. He couldn’t imagine her being tolerant of it in her daughter.

She was still watching. Waiting for him.

“I make it a point to stop and see Miriam as soon as I return from a job. Especially since Dad’s been gone...”

Harper hadn’t gone to Oscar’s funeral. Brianna had been there, but Mason only got a brief glimpse of her. In Bruce’s arms. Clinging to him and burying her cute blond head in his shoulder as someone approached. Mason had spent most of his time watching over his inconsolable grandmother, and Bruce had left him to it. Keeping his distance from the older brother who’d betrayed him.

Miriam had taken her son’s death much harder than her husband’s, and Mason had his hands full. Back before his mother died, she’d always been at Gram’s side, and then his father had stepped in. Now it was up to him.

“I was expecting to be in Alabama until next week, but I caught a break in the case and got an earlier flight out. Gram’s been struggling a lot this year. Seeming to age right before my eyes...”

“Did you talk to Bruce about it?” He listened carefully as she mentioned his brother. Her ex. Trying to determine if the closeness his brother had alluded to truly existed. Her tone, her expression... She could’ve been speaking of a mutual friend.

“I did,” he said, watching her even more astutely now, wondering again if she and his brother were as close as Bruce wanted him to believe. If maybe she knew more than he’d expected. Speaking slowly, choosing his words with care, he said, “More than once. Each time he told me I was imagining things. Says she’s just getting older and that if I saw her more often I’d know that.”

Harper’s brow furrowed. “I thought...” She shook her head, looking perplexed, giving him cause to wonder for a second if she actually knew Miriam was there. Then he remembered that he wouldn’t be standing in her office if she didn’t know. Lila’d had to talk to her before Mason could see her.

“Thought what?”

“Miriam...you... Bruce...” She shrugged and he remembered how shocked he’d been the first time he’d realized how slender her shoulders were. They could carry a lot of weight. “I thought you and Bruce were working together here...running some kind of undercover investigation to figure out what happened.”

Now he was the one who felt confused. And tense all over again. How exactly did a guy go about turning in the brother he loved? “Bruce has been abusing her, Harper. I thought... Lila said you knew.”

The pencil dropped as Harper leaned both hands against her desk. “She said as much. I figured you guys were using Bruce as a cover, you know, so as not to alert whoever you suspect...”

She thought he and Bruce were a team? That they’d somehow reconciled? Which had to mean she and her ex weren’t that close, after all. With Bruce it was sometimes impossible to tell exactly where he stood—even for Mason, and he’d had more experience resisting his brother’s convincing charm than anyone else.

“Bruce still won’t be in the same room as me if he can help it,” he said. “Which is why I always make appointments to see Gram when he’ll be away from the house.”

“He won’t be in the same...” She shook her head again, alarm emanating from her expression, her posture, everything. “I really thought you were working together here...”

“The agreement didn’t disappear just because your marriage did,” he said now, glad he hadn’t taken a seat in the chair across from the desk. He’d have had to stand up again. “He still has the goods on me, and I still don’t want them spilled.” That made him sound like a total ass, and while he was one, his reputation wasn’t the reason he continued to honor his little brother’s wishes. “I hurt him,” he said now. “My presence still hurts him. Staying away is the price I pay for the choice I made.”

“A-agreement?” She completely ignored the rest of it.

He might have been forgiven for thinking she was slightly daft. If he hadn’t known her better.

“The agreeement.” He drew the word out, certain that neither of them wanted to get any further into it.

“I’m sorry, Mason, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

White-hot anger at the injustice of life shot through him and was gone as instantly, leaving calm in its wake. A level, assessing calm. With a reminder that just because something changed one person’s entire life, that didn’t mean it affected another’s. Just because the agreement had hurt him irrevocably, didn’t mean it had changed Harper’s life at all.

“Bruce wouldn’t go to Dad or Gram, or create any kind of family rift, as long as I never contacted you and stayed away from you. And as long as I gave him his space, stayed away from him as much as possible. He’d speak to me when necessary, but otherwise I wasn’t to contact him.”

One night with Harper had cost him the brother who’d once idolized him.

With more than a frown now, she shook her head. “What on earth are you talking about?” She wasn’t calm anymore. If anything, she sounded pissed off.

Not that he blamed her. He’d screwed up all their lives because he’d been drunk and not thinking straight. Not that she hadn’t consented. But she’d accompanied him to the bar that night, her fiancé’s older brother and soon-to-be brother-in-law, devastated, her whole life falling apart, looking for compassion. For an explanation, a way to understand what Bruce had done. Not for alcohol-induced sex.

Bruce had been counting on him to help her understand...

“I mean it, Mason! Tell me what on earth you’re talking about.” Her hands, splayed on the desktop, were shaking with tension.

He hadn’t seen her in five years. The last time he had seen her she’d been naked. And horrified to find herself in bed with him. Could he be blamed for feeling a little bothered here?

“After you told Bruce what happened,” he said, “before you were married, he came to me. Said the two of you had talked and worked everything out.” She’d told her fiancé that she’d slept with his older brother.

And Bruce had still wanted to marry her. Because his brother was that much in love with the woman. Even now.

She nodded. “That’s right. We did.”

He could understand why Bruce had forgiven her. After all, his brother had just slept with his partner.

And Harper had slept with Mason but afterward, even before agreeing to go ahead with the marriage to Bruce, she’d never so much as called Mason. Again, not that he blamed her. She’d owed him nothing. Her loyalty had been to the man she’d decided to marry, even after he’d hurt her so badly. The man she loved so deeply she’d chosen to forgive him for what he’d done. It wasn’t as if Mason had done anything deserving of loyalty.

“So... I’m talking about the agreement the three of us reached...” he said slowly.

Which earned him another shake of her head. “I haven’t even spoken to you since... How could you possibly think we reached some kind of agreement about anything?”

“You didn’t want to see me,” he reminded her. “Bruce explained. Understandable. I suppose I could have insisted on hearing the words directly from you but frankly, at that point, I was just glad to be done with it all. And still be welcome in my family.”

“Welcome in your... Mason, why on earth wouldn’t you be welcome? It’s not like Bruce was any saint—and if I was welcome, why wouldn’t you be?”

“Let me get this straight. You’re telling me you didn’t know about the ultimatum?”

“About you staying away or Bruce would cause a stink?”

“Yeah.”

“Of course not! I would never have agreed to such a thing. If you, or Bruce, felt it necessary to tell your father or Miriam what we’d done...that was up to you two.”

Another question burned its way through the barriers he was trying desperately to hang on to. “Did you tell your parents?”

He’d only met them once. At the engagement party. But he’d spent more than an hour talking to her father. Had really liked both of them. They were farmers. Down-to-earth. Practical, not prone to drama. And yet, emitting a love that couldn’t be missed.

“Yes. Eventually. Not at the time...” She picked up the pencil again. “This isn’t getting us anywhere,” she said. “I had no idea that Bruce had gone to you, or that you’d been warned to stay away, but it’s all in the past. We have other concerns to deal with.”

She was right to get the conversation back on course. But this was his interview. He’d requested it. And he had to know where she stood. Where they stood. His grandmother’s life could very well depend on it at this point.

“Didn’t you ever wonder why I wasn’t around?” he asked.

For the first time since he’d come into the room she looked down. As though ashamed. Or embarrassed. “I figured you were mad at me for marrying Bruce.”

He had been. More than mad. But... “And you thought that would be reason enough for me to miss my only sibling’s wedding? You thought I was that much of a selfish ass? That I couldn’t get over myself for an afternoon?”

Her gaze flew back to his. “Not because you couldn’t get over yourself, no,” she said. “I thought you weren’t there because you couldn’t witness something you felt was wrong.”

It might have come to that—if he’d had a choice to make. More likely, he wouldn’t have gone because he’d still wanted her himself. But she’d loved Bruce. And Lord knew, Bruce adored her. No one had ever been in doubt about that. Including the other women his brother had slept with. “Bruce told me I wasn’t welcome. Warned me that if I showed my face he’d let everyone know what a jerk I was, taking advantage of his fiancée a week before the wedding.”

Her mouth twisted, and he remembered how it had tasted—a combination of beer and sweetness.

“He never would have done that.”

Her defense of his brother didn’t surprise him all that much. If the situation were reversed, he might do the same. Bruce had a way about him that compelled people to like him. To trust him. And even when, like Mason, you were forced to see his other side, you still loved him. Because he wasn’t a mean or malicious man. He was, at his core, a needy one.

“On the contrary, he most certainly would have.” And it wouldn’t have been the first time he’d stabbed Mason. It just would’ve been the worst.

“He’d have had to out me, too. And himself.”

Mason almost laughed, but not out of humor. “It isn’t like he would’ve taken a mic and announced the news,” he said. “Or even told the whole story. His version would’ve been more along the lines of an emotional aside to my father, where he was the total victim and where I got you drunk and then slept with you after you passed out.”

“And you don’t think I’d have stood up for you? Told the truth? You think I would have let it stay at that?”

He stared at her. “What I think is that you never would’ve known,” he said. “You didn’t know about the agreement...” Her stricken look bothered him. “My father certainly wouldn’t have told you. I just wouldn’t have been welcome anymore.”

“Your father would never have turned his back on you, Mason. Even I know that.”

She was right. To a point. “He’d see me, talk to me, sure. He’d definitely come running if I called in need.” Just as he would for Bruce. It was their way. “But any family invitations...they’d have stopped. Him calling to catch up, or to tell me one of his infamous stupid jokes...that would’ve stopped.”

If she didn’t realize by now how insidious Bruce could be with his twisting of truths, maybe she never would. Maybe he wouldn’t be able to rely on her for help. All he knew was, he had to try.

“And it wouldn’t have ended with my dad,” he said. “If Bruce needed support for something else, he’d drop a word in someone else’s ear at the pertinent time.” Bruce had been playing his parents against him since elementary school. Because Mason’s footsteps had been too big to fit him. Because Bruce, growing up in Mason’s shadow, had never felt he had a chance to become something great on his own. He’d developed a need to have everyone love him the most. A sense of competitiveness. Mason had understood that back then. And on the whole, Bruce’s manipulations had been pretty harmless.

Until Harper. At least as far as he knew.

“How do you know he didn’t do it, anyway? Tell people what we did?”

“I don’t.” At this point, Mason hoped he had. Hoped he’d be able to dig up enough proof of Bruce’s duplicity to help Gram get healthy again. To either show her what was really happening...or to expose Bruce to the authorities. He’d prefer the former, but if he had to involve the authorities, then he would. He wasn’t going to see his little brother kill his grandmother. Wasn’t going to lose Gram that way. And most certainly didn’t want his brother to be guilty of murder.

“I was sorry...to hear that Oscar died.”

He nodded. He wanted to ask about her parents, but didn’t.

He wanted to ask about Brianna, too. Wanted to know what the little girl had to say about visiting her father. The child was four—and precocious. She might have insights that would help them get the proof they needed to save Gram, and get Bruce the counselling he needed before it was too late. He needed access to Brianna, but had to get her mother on board first. He could only talk to Brianna if Harper approved.

“So...you’re telling me this is for real? That you really think Bruce broke Miriam’s arm?”

Among other things.

He nodded. “And I don’t think it’s the first time.”

“Lila said as much. But if you thought this was happening, why didn’t you do something about it sooner? It’s not like you’re not without power yourself, Mason. My God, you work with the FBI! With police departments and crime labs all over the country. You’ve got a hell of a lot more clout than an undercover cop in Albina, California.”

He’d actually been FBI for a time. Until his skills had been needed in so many other places. He’d been offered the high government clearance he’d needed to work where he was needed as a private crime scene investigator—even when it meant rebuilding a crime scene from old evidence.

“In the first place, I didn’t know about the previous injuries until last night. And in the second, Bruce has clout with Gram,” he told her, “and she insists he’s not hurting her.”

CHAPTER THREE

HARPER NEEDED TO sit down. To have a few minutes without Mason’s energy bouncing around the walls of her office.

But she had a job to do. That came first. And, at the moment, he was it.

“I’m just getting up to speed on this,” she said now, needing to be done with personal conversation. She’d left the Thomas family. Other than accommodating Bruce’s visitations requests, she couldn’t allow herself to go back.

Brianna. She stared at Mason.

“You don’t think he... I mean, if you really think Bruce did this...” She shook her head. “There’s no way he could have.”

Now she sounded like any number of their residents. Her career was in the domestic violence field. She was fully versed on abusers’ needs to control their victims, and also understood abusers having the ability to mentally and emotionally control their victims even after their ability to do so physically had been contained.

“Up until a month ago, Brianna was in that house every other weekend.”

Thinking of the little blond burst of energy who took up every single nonworking moment of her life, Harper panicked. What if...

No! She would’ve known. Bruce had never, ever shown any sign of physical aggression with their daughter. He...

She glanced at Mason. “He doesn’t even spank her,” she said.

“Has she ever shown any indication of distress when you get her back? Any falls or bruises or other injuries?”

“No, of course not!” She was a cop, for heaven’s sake! Employed at a women’s shelter. She knew what to look for. And even if she hadn’t... She’d protect Brianna with her life.

Her baby girl was her life.

“How about emotionally? Is she more clingy? Does she have nightmares? Does she ever resist going back there? Or say she doesn’t want to see her dad?”

She shook her head, but stopped to think, hard, in case she was missing something. Looking back over almost four years of visits... “She was only three months old when we got divorced.”

Now was not the time to go into all of that.

“But...” She turned to Mason, still traveling back in her memory. “I mean, it’s not like I can remember every single time I’ve picked her up, but she’s always happy to see me, then hugs him goodbye, gives him her special daddy kiss on the cheek and tells him she’ll see him later.”

“What about when she misbehaves? Does she talk about him punishing her?”

“She doesn’t really get into trouble.”

He rolled his eyes and she shrugged. “I know, I know, the proud parent, right? But she doesn’t, Mason. She’s like this adult walking around in a little body. She tells you she wants to do something and you tell her no, and she looks at you and asks why. If you give her a valid reason, she says okay. I’m not exaggerating.”

“Every kid has tantrums now and then.”

“Yeah, she used to hold her breath until she passed out when she wanted to get her way. Back during the terrible twos.” She grinned.

He looked horrified. “I’d say that’s misbehaving! What did you do?”

“Panicked the first time. Then I called her pediatrician. He told me to let her pass out. He said she’d start breathing again and if I didn’t make a big deal out of it, she’d soon learn that it accomplished nothing.”

“Was he right?”

“She did it once more after that and never again.”

His grin tripped up her insides.

“I’m not saying she doesn’t get in bad moods, or get mouthy now and then. I’m just saying that if you reason with her, she almost always responds positively. Once she was pretty rough when she was playing with a dollhouse my mom and dad made for her. She wrecked it, and I was furious with her, of course. I told her that what she’d done was wrong. She looked at me and said, ‘I know.’”

“Wow. She did it without conscience?”

“No, she’s just that practical. I asked her why she’d done it, and she said she’d had a pretend fire, but didn’t mean to hurt anything. She figured I could just fix it. I told her she had to have a time-out.”

“What did she do?”

“She sat quietly in the corner, until I went to get her. Then she told me she was really sorry and started to cry.”

“So, if Bruce has ever shown any signs of aggression...with anyone...while she’s around, she’d probably be able to tell us about it.”

Harper’s breath stuck in her throat. “Not us,” she managed. “But I’m going to get her in to see one of our counselors here at the Stand this morning.” She picked up the phone, pushed the extension for Sara’s office, made the appointment for an hour later, then hung up and glanced back at Mason.

“Like I was saying,” she said, all business now. “I’m just getting up to speed here. I haven’t even had a chance to finish reading all the reports. But you can rest assured that there’s at least one guard aware of Miriam’s whereabouts at all times. Today Lila called in an off-duty officer, but by noon I’ll have a schedule made out for the remainder of the two weeks. Don’t worry, Mason, I can promise you that if it’s humanly possible, we won’t let Bruce get in and we won’t let her leave.”

He nodded, hands in his pockets now, but didn’t seem in any hurry to leave. She needed him to go. His familiar scent had wafted all around her and she needed her mind clear.

Was it likely that a guy would use the same soap for more than five years? Or the same aftershave? Or whatever it was that gave Mason the scent that just seemed to call to her? Tricked her into thinking that within him lay her security.

It was ludicrous. Laughable. She was the head of security. The filling of any security needs she might have lay firmly within her.

“I was hoping you’d talk to her.” It took her a second to realize he meant Miriam.

Tapping her pencil against her palm she said, “I have no problem with that, but I don’t think it would do any good. She’s not particularly fond of me.”

Now it was his turn to frown. “What do you mean? She adored you. And you were so great with her. She’s never given me any indication that changed.”

Trying to make light of something that had hurt her deeply, she said, “I don’t know what happened. After the divorce Bruce told me she agreed not to bad-mouth me in front of Brianna as long as I didn’t step foot in her house. I’m allowed to pull into the driveway, but have to wait for him to come out and get her from the car.”

His hand flew out of his pocket and into the air with such force it was a wonder his pants didn’t rip. “See what he does? He told me you said you couldn’t bear to see me again, and he’s told you Miriam said...”

Couldn’t bear to see me again... His words seemed to have...emotion...attached. Something she’d have to revisit. Later.

“No, that wasn’t the end of it,” she clarified, and then continued. “The first time I brought Brianna over to see Bruce, I went in with her. This was before he was living with Miriam. I was sitting on the couch, watching Brianna play on the rug, trying to reach for a toy Bruce had bought for her. Miriam came in the front door, saw me sitting there and went off on me. Asked me was I satisfied now that I’d ruined her Bruce’s life—and who did I think I was, invading his home after I’d hurt him so badly...”

“How did you hurt him so badly?” Mason’s expression was quizzical and she saw the conversation going off track again. But she answered anyway.

“By leaving him. He couldn’t believe I actually would. Especially with Brianna still a baby. He’d trusted me to always be there and then I wasn’t.” She got it completely. Knew how badly it hurt when people destroyed your ability to trust them.

When he seemed about to follow that up with another question—one she feared would be more in depth about the reason for her divorce—she barreled ahead. “Anyway, when I saw how much Miriam hated me, I told Bruce I didn’t think it was healthy for Brianna to be around her. Instead, he talked to Miriam, and the rest you know. I don’t go in the house. She doesn’t bad-mouth me around my daughter. I can’t explain why she didn’t mention any of this to you, but my guess would be that she didn’t mention me at all. She wasn’t going to risk losing her access to her great-granddaughter.”

“She’ll want to see her.”

Yeah. “We’ll think about it.”

“No, I mean today. It’s how I got her to agree to come with me. And to stay. She gets to see Brianna.”

Hackles rising, Harper said, “You had no business promising her that.”

“I had no idea you and Miriam were on bad terms. I thought I was bringing her to family.”

“Yet you didn’t call me last night.”

“You and Brianna are that family. I believed, remember, that you were part of the agreement that I never contact you again.”

“And you brought her here anyway, and then had Lila arrange the meeting.” In spite of his agreement not to contact her. Didn’t matter that there’d been no such agreement. As far as he believed, it had existed.

“Like I said, I thought she was family to you. You’d been so fond of her, and she talks about Brianna every time I see her. I was sure you’d want her here...and that you’d tolerate me because I was the only one who could get her to agree not to go back home. Which was where she was headed when I got the call from Albina Urgent Care.”

She dropped her pencil again. “I thought you went to the house when you got back to town.” Hadn’t he said so? Or only that he always went there on his first day back?

“When I got into town early, I called, but Bruce was home, off work for a couple of days, she said, so I told her I’d see her later in the week.”

“And you got a call from urgent care?” If she could have a damned minute to get to her morning reports she’d know these things.

“Yeah. She drove herself there—broken arm and all. And planned to drive herself home. They didn’t think that was a good idea. So she had them call me. Thank God I’d finished the job early and let her know I was in town.”

“So...if you weren’t at the house, how can you be sure she wasn’t telling the truth? That she didn’t fall off the stepladder?”

“The doctor told me he noticed a pattern of abuse when he examined her. The X-rays confirmed it. There’s a bruise on her arm, with finger marks, where the break is. Same with her chin. He tried to get her to tell him whose hand had been on her, but she kept insisting she’d fallen. So when I talked to her, I didn’t ask the same question. Instead, I asked who she’d seen that day. She told me Bruce. Just like she’d said when she called. But she also said she hadn’t called him to come and get her because he’d gone to the bar, and she didn’t like him to drive any more than the block or so home when he’d been drinking.”

The “cop” bar in town. A place where members of the force could hang out and unwind. Talk about cases. Support each other. Harper remembered it well. Had spent some good times there, actually.

Feeling almost giddy with relief, she had to point out, “Just because she saw Bruce doesn’t mean he did this, Mason.” There was still bad blood between the brothers. She’d hoped they’d joined forces to save their grandmother from harm. It would take something that serious to get Bruce to admit he needed his older brother, and maybe Mason was overreacting here...

As much as Bruce had idolized his brother, he’d also figured that people thought less of him because Mason was such a standout at anything he tried. His entire life, all Bruce had heard was what people expected of him because of the things his big brother had done. Harper guessed that was why Bruce had chosen to go undercover. It was dangerous work. Hard work. And it came with a load of trust, freedom and respect from the force. It was also something Mason had never done.

“I called my brother,” Mason said next. “I didn’t tell him I had Gram with me, or that she’d been to urgent care. He thought I was calling to arrange a time for me to be at the house for dinner with Gram. I told him she hadn’t answered when I called. Asked where she was. He said at home, where she’d been all day. I suggested maybe someone was with her, and he insisted he was the only one who’d been there and that he’d been home all day.”

“Still...you have no idea who could have gone there after Bruce left.”

“According to him and to Gram, he left around 7:45. Gram checked in to urgent care at 8:01, and the bruises on her chin were already purpling.”

Her chest tightened. For a lot of reasons. Most she couldn’t stop to think about. “You know you have no proof at all. Nothing you can charge him with. Not without her testimony.”

“Yeah.”

His gaze met hers, and she knew why he’d asked to see her. What he needed. Her help in finding a way to charge his brother with elder abuse.

She just wasn’t sure she had it to give.

CHAPTER FOUR

MASON WAS ANXIOUS to get back to Albina, to get started on finding out everything he could about his brother’s life—and to stay the hell away from Harper until he could keep himself in check. But he hung around The Lemonade Stand for another hour that morning, sitting with Gram in a family visiting room in the main building. The rules he’d insisted on meant he couldn’t take her out, and Harper had asked him to be present for her first interview with Gram. A perfectly reasonable request.

“I haven’t seen my baby girl yet,” Gram was saying, throwing a discard on the pile, on her way to beating him in a second game of gin rummy. The cast on her lower arm didn’t affect her ability to pick and throw cards any.

“She’s in a class this morning.” He’d already told her so. Twice. But he didn’t think she was having any trouble remembering that. Her problem was knowing she couldn’t leave. She’d been bobbing her right foot under the table since they sat down.

Miriam Thomas was used to looking after her home, her family, her community. She wasn’t good at inactivity. Never had been.

“Seems like they could pull her out of class to see her Gram. Especially since it’s my first day here.” There was no petulance in her tone, more like...suggestion. Gram’s way of demanding—and every single one of her men knew to jump at that tone.

Mason drew a card. Threw one on the pile.

Brianna was in a counseling session—to see what she could tell them about her visits with her father—with Harper in attendance. When she was through, Harper was going to take her back to day care and meet him and Miriam at the card tables. Gram’s visit with Brianna was going to have to wait.

The room they were in was a decent size and nicely appointed, with couches and chairs arranged in conversational areas with plenty of lamps for reading. A family living room atmosphere, though, for safety purposes, family members didn’t generally visit the shelter. It took special permission and security clearance for anyone other than staff, residents and police to get inside. At the moment, they had the place to themselves.

Mason’s high-level government clearance allowed him access to the entire facility. He’d asked for Gram to be called to the main building. He wanted her bungalow to be a place none of the Thomas men had ever visited. If they were going to get her to admit that Bruce was mistreating her, they had to break her belief that it was her duty to serve her men.

“Gin.” Miriam laid down her cards. He played what he could. Tallied up the score, then gathered the cards and shuffled.

“I need to get home to Bruce.” Statement. Not question. In navy polyester pants and a matching tunic, with her short hair curled and styled as usual, Miriam could have passed for someone on her way to a business meeting. Even at seventy-five, she could’ve handled herself at one just fine. Her strong will was part of the reason he’d had to bring her to the Stand. She was determined that her place was with his younger brother, whether it was healthy for her or not.

“He needs me.” Probably. At the moment, Mason didn’t give a shit.

“Does he know where I am?”

Again, probably. His younger brother was a damned good cop. Mason might have been expelled from Bruce’s life, but he’d kept track of him, relieved to see that his little brother was doing so well. Had been proud of him, too. But even if Bruce hadn’t done well, Mason would’ve watched out for him. He’d be the big brother until the day he died.

“I haven’t told him.”

“What did you tell him?”

He’d been waiting for the question. And wouldn’t lie to his grandmother. “I told him I got a call from urgent care saying you’d been hurt, and your injuries were most likely caused by another individual. I said I was taking you someplace safe for a few weeks until you healed.”

He hadn’t accused his brother of hurting her. Not yet. But he hadn’t not done so, either.

He was still holding out hope that he was wrong—not that he’d given Harper that impression. He needed her to believe it was possible that Bruce was guilty, so she’d help him find out, one way or the other.

He was holding out hope, but he didn’t think he was wrong. No matter how much he wished differently.

Miriam drew. Rearranged the cards in her hand. Discarded. He waited for her to ask about Bruce’s response and found it telling that she didn’t.

“He’ll find me.”

“He won’t get in.”

Gram looked at him, her green eyes filled with the intelligence he’d known all his life. “He’s a decorated cop with security clearance,” she said clearly, easily. “They won’t be able to deny him access.”

It was his turn to play. He waited for her to look over at him, then held her gaze. “Yes, they will, Gram. You have my word on that.”

She nodded. Didn’t argue. But he knew she wasn’t convinced.

Where the hell was Harper?

“You really think if it’s Bruce against her, she’ll come out on top?”

Her.

“I met with Harper this morning,” he said. He’d been debating whether or not to tell her. To preempt the meeting they were about to have. But he’d decided to let things play out and observe the two women together because he wasn’t truly convinced his grandmother had a problem with Harper. The older woman had adored her. Sung her praises every single time Mason called or stopped by to see Miriam and his father during the year of Bruce and Harper’s marriage. She’d been certain that Harper Davidson would be the perfect cop’s wife, just as Gram herself had been. And Mason and Bruce’s mother, too, until the day she died.

“She thinks you don’t like her, Gram.”

“I don’t.”

They were both drawing cards. Discarding. He had three aces and three kings. All he needed was a fourth to go out on her.

“Why not?”

“She took the easy way out. Bruce makes one mistake and she leaves him. He changed after that. Worked all the time. Volunteered for the most dangerous assignments. Nothing I could do or say would bring him around. You think your grandfather didn’t make a mistake or two? Or your father, for that matter? You and I make mistakes. We don’t turn our backs on each other because of them. We stick together. That’s what family does.”

He’d been raised on this rhetoric. Believed most of it. “What mistake did Bruce make?” If he’d been talking to anyone else, his nonchalance would’ve been persuasive, but Gram saw right through him. He knew it when she paused, hand halfway to the discard pile, and looked over at him.

“He didn’t tell you?”

Mason stopped just short of rolling his eyes. “You think that’s likely?”

He’d spent five years telling himself he didn’t need to know why Harper had left his brother a year into the marriage she’d insisted on going through with. That he didn’t care. And that it was none of his business.

All lies—except the last part.

But now...it felt like his business. So he pushed. “What did he do?” he asked his grandmother.

“He had sex with a perp. Her older brother was a gang leader involved in human trafficking. He recruited local kids to use as drug mules. Bruce had to get close to get enough evidence to make a conviction stick.” Gram had spent more than fifty years living with law enforcement. There wasn’t a lot she didn’t know. Or that shocked her.

Mason’s stomach dropped. He’d suspected. Hoped he’d been wrong. He’d hoped there’d been another reason for the divorce—maybe that they’d decided they didn’t love each other enough. Something ordinary. Non-soul damaging.

“He told her right away, didn’t try to hide it from her. Didn’t lie to her. Or even expect to get away with it.”

Which made him wonder, considering Harper’s reaction the first time his brother had screwed around on her and considering how badly she’d been hurt, why Bruce had run home and confessed. Didn’t seem like something his younger brother would do.

Mason reminded himself that what he was hearing could very well be the version of things Bruce had given Gram. A version of the truth colored by Bruce’s need to look good to everyone, to always be the victim. To be perceived as the one who tried to do right and yet was wronged by others.

“He did what he did for the job, made the arrest because of it. She knew she was marrying an undercover, knew the job entailed some tough calls. And he was honest with her about what happened,” Gram said, then added, “Gin.”

Three aces, three kings and a four counted against him.

* * *

SHE WAS IN a tailspin, walking on familiar paths, smiling at familiar people and feeling as though she’d landed in a world she didn’t know. On the surface, she was the same. But inside, Harper felt she’d changed irrevocably. In the space of two hours.

She didn’t like the change, wasn’t ready to accept any kind of new reality.

“Am I in troubles?” Brianna, her blond curls glinting like gold in the morning sun, wrinkled her nose as she looked up at Harper.

Giving the tiny hand tucked securely within hers a soft rub, Harper smiled down at her daughter. “No!” She put as much cheer and happiness as she could muster into the one word. “You’ve done nothing wrong at all,” she assured the little girl, fully aware, even if others weren’t, how much Brianna grasped from the adults living around her.

“Why did I hafta go to Miss Sara during my reg’lar day?”

Harper smiled down at her. She’d had no time to prepare for the meeting with Miriam and Mason. To avail herself of informational chats with the professionals around her. To gather facts.

“It’s just like she told you, Brie.” She kept her tone light and at the same time reassuring. “Gram’s going to be staying here for a couple of weeks and we wanted you to know.”

Brianna nodded. Just as she’d done in Sara’s office. When the counselor had asked if Brianna had any questions, she’d shaken her head. Harper had been working at The Lemonade Stand since she’d left Bruce, which meant Brianna had grown up there, in day care, from the time she was three months old. How much the little girl knew about the Stand, about the work they did, no one could really tell. Sara had stressed from the very beginning of Harper’s employment that the less the little ones knew, the better. She’d said that kids tended to see what they needed to see, unless someone else pointed out bad to them.

Even many of the younger resident children living with them didn’t know why they were there. They might’ve been aware there was a fight if they’d witnessed it, or abuse if they’d suffered from it, but often they didn’t know.

When Brianna had seemed unconcerned about her Gram being there, other than asking when she’d get to see her, Sara had sent Harper a glance and taken the child’s cue.

The rest of their time together had been spent chatting about Brianna’s visits with her dad. About the places they went, the games they played, what they ate and bedtime rituals when they were together. She got Brianna to ramble on about all kinds of things, watching for any sign of unrest. There’d been absolutely none—to Harper’s total, weak-kneed relief.

“Is Gram mad at Daddy?” Brianna asked now, her voice concerned.

“No! Of course not!” she answered automatically, wondering if this was one of those signs Sara had been looking for. “Do you think she should be?”

“Nooo.”

She’d never, for one second, thought Bruce was a danger to their daughter, to anyone. And yet Mason had managed to make her doubt. But the fact that Lila had believed him, that had thrown her. Lila wasn’t easily fooled.

And for what purpose would Mason have done this? None that she could find.

She stared at the top of her daughter’s head, feeling...lost. Unsure of herself. Not something she usually had to deal with—especially where Brianna was concerned. Motherhood had come naturally to her, maybe because she loved it so much.

“Why did you ask if Gram was mad at Daddy?” She had to check.

Even Brianna’s shrug was reassuring; the little girl wouldn’t be so casual if she was going through a traumatic moment. “Gram takes care of Daddy and she can’t do that here ’cause it’s a far drive in the car.”

“Daddy’s a big boy, Brie. He knows how to cook and do laundry and stuff.”

“But...why did Gram leave him all alone?”

A small piece of the world righted itself. She was concerned about her father. That was all. Just like she worried about leaving Harper alone every time she went to her father’s house.

“She wanted a little vacation. You know, like when we go to Disneyland. For Gram, this place, with the gardens and everything, is like her Disneyland. She can read and walk and do crafts with other ladies and not have to cook and clean. Plus, she wanted to be able to see you every day. With Daddy coming down to Santa Raquel for visits now, Gram doesn’t get to see you as much.”

“He said he could bring her.”

“I know. And I’m sure he will, but he’s on a job and she missed you!”

There was no way Miriam would tell Brianna anything different. According to Lila, the woman was adamantly protecting her grandson. And Harper didn’t doubt Miriam’s love for Brianna or ability to care for her in the slightest. With her hand in Harper’s, Brianna swung their arms and skipped one step. “So can I see her today? When I get done with playtime?”

After-school playtime signaled the end of Brianna’s day at the Stand.

“Maybe before that,” Harper told her. “Maybe, just for today, you could miss playtime and play with Gram instead. Would you like that?”

“Yeah!” Brianna skipped again. “I would love that, Mommy. Can I? Can I, please?”

“I’ll see if it can be arranged,” Harper said, not promising anything until she’d met with Miriam herself. Which, she remembered with a knot in her stomach, she was on her way to do as soon as she dropped off Brianna at her preschool class.

“Yaayyy!” Brianna squealed. And then, looking up at Harper with an innocence that touched all the way to Harper’s soul, said, “You’re the mommy I always wanted. I love you.”

“I love you, too, sweet pea.” Harper’s eyes were uncharacteristically misty as she pulled open the door that led to Brianna’s class.

You’re the baby I always wanted. She used to tell her baby that—in the womb—and later, too, as she’d been starting a new life in a new town with a new job, and a three-month-old baby to provide for. All alone.

You’re the baby I always wanted. She’d told the baby that to remind herself. And to make sure Brianna knew, that even though she was being raised by a single parent, she was wanted more than anything.

You’re the baby I always wanted.

Brianna just hadn’t had the father Harper had wanted for her.

CHAPTER FIVE

ONE OF MASON’S sought-after skills was his ability to home in on the smallest things. To see what the eye generally passed over. Like a tiny pencil mark on the wall. Or patterns that fallen cookie crumbs left behind. He had no magical powers, no special sense that others didn’t have; he just paid attention.

To everything.

Growing up with a little brother out to stab you in the back did that to a guy. Especially when your folks expected you to protect that younger sibling. The cherry on top had been the fact that he truly loved his brother—and knew Bruce loved him, too. Mason believed, even now, that each of them would die for the other.

All of this made his current situation as close to untenable as it ever got for him. Mostly, he just moved on through, no matter what muck he might find himself standing in. Taking it on the chin was also one of his perfected skills. Or drawing the hurt—the contradictions—inside himself.

Six of one, half a dozen of another...

“There she is.” Miriam’s half-mumbled, somewhat ornery remark took him by surprise. He’d been watching for Harper for more than half an hour and yet he hadn’t been the first to see her.

His skills seemed to desert him when she was around.

“Harper.” He stood. Held out a hand to her, not to shake, but to guide her to the third chair he’d pulled up. Without touching her, of course.

That was a mistake he’d never make again. Touching her.

“Well, you must be pleased,” Miriam said by way of greeting, and Mason frowned. What the hell? He’d never seen his grandmother be this downright ungracious. Vindictive. Mean.

I told you so was all over the look Harper sent him.

“Gram.” Mason wasn’t going to ignore the rudeness, regardless of the situation. “I can’t believe you just said that. You know damn well that Harper doesn’t want you hurt. And she doesn’t want the father of her child in trouble, either.” If he hadn’t been sure of that before his meeting with her that morning, he certainly was afterward.

While he didn’t understand it, couldn’t dissect it and study it, he’d always been aware of Bruce’s special charm. People gravitated to him. Liked him. Stuck up for him. Their parents and Mason included. And, apparently, that charm even worked with ex-wives.

Gram’s bent head made him feel a second of shame, and he regretted the harshness of his words, if not the sentiment. He recognized that he’d overreacted in his somewhat primitive male desire to protect a woman he’d once gone to bed with—

Nope. Not going there.

“You’re right,” Gram said before he could rectify what he’d said. She looked at Harper. “I apologize for my rudeness. But I don’t think you’re happy to have me here.”

What?

“I’m not happy you’re in this situation,” Harper said, then sat forward, her hands on the table in front of her. Open. Not clasped. She had nothing to hide, he translated. “But how I feel doesn’t enter into this,” she continued, sounding like a doctor breaking bad news, or a reporter on television. Compassionate and yet...professionally distant.

He glanced away, but not soon enough. The serious look in her eyes, the softness of her expression, even the damned uniform—it was all a turn-on.

Which made him a creep.

Or a man who’d been without a woman for far too long and unexpectedly saw one with whom he’d had a night of incredible sex.

Being turned on was preferable to giving in to the myriad of emotions vying for his attention. Fear for his family was at the top of that list.

If it took a sexual memory to get him through this...

“My job here, first off,” Harper was saying, “is to verify that you signed the VNL freely and of your own accord. The voluntary no release form.”

Chin tight, Miriam nodded. “I did.”

“Then it’s my responsibility to make sure you don’t leave. And that no one gets in who could do you harm. I’ll be assigning around-the-clock duty to you, which, at times, will include me. My officers and I will keep our distance, and do everything we can not to impinge on your privacy, but we will be present, at all times, as set out in the VNL. Are you in agreement with these terms?”

Gram’s glance in Mason’s direction seemed to waver for a second—almost to the point of vulnerability. He met her eyes. He felt a driving need to promise her that everything was going to be fine.

It was a promise he couldn’t make, and the words caught in his throat.

“I am in agreement.” Gram turned back to Harper.

Mason had to hand it to Harper. Her gaze remained straightforward, her face unsmiling. There was no sign of victory, or even of satisfaction in having Miriam agreeing to do as she said. Of having Miriam in a position of needing her.

“I’ll make this as painless as I possibly can,” Harper said. “Including keeping myself off your detail as much as I can.”

“I appreciate that. You being around as little as possible.”

Wow. Gram wasn’t letting up on her obvious dislike of Bruce’s ex. In all his years, Mason had never seen his grandmother behave this way. He wondered, for a second, if she was starting to lose her faculties. Bruce had assured him she wasn’t. Mason’s earlier concern about Gram’s aging hadn’t had anything to do with her mind; it had been due more to her lack of energy. Emotional and physical.

“That’s all I need, then.” Harper stood. “If you have any problems, if something alarms you or bothers you, even a little, don’t hesitate to speak to my team. Any time of the day or night. That’s what we’re here for.”

“Thank you.” Gram stood, too, and Mason saw the move for the power play it was. Miriam was going to stand up to Harper every step of the way.

With a nod toward Mason, Harper turned to leave. “Wait.” Gram’s voice, calling her back, filled Mason with a sense of relief. His grandmother was going to make this right.

And he wanted Harper back, too. They hadn’t spoken about Bruce yet. He’d hoped the two women would talk. That Harper would convince Gram to tell them what had happened. Convince her, too, that it would be best for Bruce in the long run if they could get him help.

When Harper had turned back, Gram said, “What about Brianna? When do I get to see her?”

Wow, again. This was so not the way to get what you wanted, by speaking with antagonism toward the person who could provide it. Or not...

“I told her she could see you during her afternoon playtime. Would that work for you?”

Gram blinked and Mason almost smiled. Except that it would be a result of seeing his grandmother put in her place. He didn’t want that to happen. He just wanted her rudeness to stop. Mostly because it was so out of character. And maybe, a little, because it was directed at Harper. Unfairly.

“That would be fine,” Gram said.

“One of my officers will deliver her to your bungalow and stay there while she’s with you, in addition to the officer who’ll be on duty assigned to you.” Harper named a time. “If that’s okay, Brianna can stay with you until I’m ready to head home. At that point, her officer will deliver her back to me.”

“That’s okay with me, as long as you aren’t the officer.” Gram wasn’t giving an inch.

Harper had just given miles.

And Mason had no idea where to go with any of it.

* * *

HARPER WAS UNUSUALLY off her mark for the rest of the day. Other than the hysterical crying bout she’d suffered five years before, after discovering that her fiancé had been unfaithful to her shortly before their wedding, she’d never had drama moments in her life. She just wasn’t the sort.

And yet, all day Tuesday, she was...jittery. She’d seen Mason. The sky hadn’t fallen in. She hadn’t died, or melted into a puddle on the floor. She hadn’t even been filled with rage at the callous way he’d disappeared from her life without so much as a phone call in five years’ time.

Not that she could blame him, she supposed. She hadn’t called him, either.

But now, her not calling seemed...worse, because the only reason he hadn’t contacted her was that he thought it was at her bidding. He’d been honoring a request he’d believed had come from her. Whereas she hadn’t contacted him because she’d simply chosen not to. Most of the day she managed to avoid thinking about that revelation. Lives depended on her ability to focus, and she gave her job every ounce of herself when she was on duty. Tuesday was no different. Cameras provided around-the-clock surveillance at all times. And every single unidentifiable individual who lingered too long on the block that fronted the Stand, or frequented any of the Stand-run shops there on numerous occasions, was quietly and efficiently investigated. Rounds were done on a regular basis. Gates, locks and bungalows were checked at least once an hour, although residents were never disturbed unless necessary. She ran regular background checks on anyone who was employed by, volunteered at or visited the Stand. She also had daily meetings with the Stand executive staff, so she always knew what events were coming up and could ensure they’d be properly guarded. Those meetings also allowed her to know—and to let her officers know—which of their residents might be having a particularly hard day, which ones had recently had contact with family members, and those whose abusers were known to be agitated or on the hunt. At every shift change, she had an update meeting with her own staff of fifteen. That afternoon, she passed around Miriam’s guard schedule and disclosed, to the few who were still unaware, that the woman was her former grandmother-in-law. Without criticizing Miriam, she disclosed that the older woman wasn’t all that fond of her. She gave instructions that Miriam was to see Brianna every day if she chose, but only with an officer assigned to Brianna present at all times.

Maybe that last part was overkill. Until a month ago Brianna had spent the night in Miriam’s home every other weekend without any guard detail at all. But that was before Harper had learned that Miriam was being abused and lying about it. Whether Bruce was her abuser, or she’d had someone else in their home without his knowledge, the fact remained that Miriam was protecting someone who’d hurt her.

After her last meeting she could’ve packed it in, called for Brianna, gone home. Instead she cleaned up the small pile of paperwork from the in-box at the corner of her desk. Watered her plants. And then texted Alissa, the guard she’d assigned to her daughter for the afternoon, asking her to bring Brianna up to the main building.

The rest of the evening, until Brianna’s bedtime, would be consumed by her chattering, her constant questions and observations. It was the lifeblood that kept Harper going. The source of her true happiness.

Maybe they’d go out for French fries. Not healthy, not something they did often, but a treat they both loved. She was thinking about Uncle Bob’s, a beachfront restaurant not far from their town house. There were sandboxes for kids to play in while waiting for their food; that would distract Brianna, giving Harper a few minutes to think her own thoughts. Or at least a few minutes during which Brianna wouldn’t notice her mother’s preoccupation.

She’d just received an affirmative response from Alissa that they’d be along shortly, when her cell rang. Her stomach lurched as she saw Mason’s newly programmed name flash on her screen. She’d given him her private number but she hadn’t expected him to use it.

“Yeah, Mason, what’s up?” she answered. Straight to the point. All business. Racing right by social niceties like “hello” and “how are you?”

“I’d like to stop by tonight. I have some questions.”

“What kind of questions?”

“An official interview of a suspect’s ex-wife.” She heard no emotion in his delivery. Oddly enough, instead of calming her, that seemed to put her more on edge. “I’ve been asked by the Albina police force to pursue this case quietly, to protect my brother, whichever way it goes.”

“I don’t have anything to add to what I told you this morning.”

She was a cop. If she were Mason, she’d be after the interview herself. So why was she prevaricating?

“The interview is official, Harper.”

Heart thumping, she sat behind her desk, watching the door for her daughter to burst through. “Bruce has been charged?”

“No. You remember Clark O’Brien?”

“Captain O’Brien?” As in her boss’s boss’s boss when she worked for the Albina PD. Which had made it awkward for her when he’d shown up for dinner at her former father-in-law’s home. The two had been like brothers.

“Yeah.”

“I called him right after I left you this morning. I knew the department would probably be receiving a doctor’s report from urgent care.”

She nodded and stood up, grabbing her keys, thinking she’d meet Brianna and Alissa outside, intercept them on the way from Miriam’s bungalow.

“You wanted him to intervene.” She understood now. Mason had Bruce’s back.

“I wanted to forewarn him. Who knows how Bruce is going to react when this hits.”

Locking her office door, she headed down the hall. “Don’t you think, if he did this, he’d already be reacting in light of your call to him last night, telling him she was hurt? And that she’d been to the clinic?”

“What would you expect him to do?”

She gave it a second’s thought. And then had to say, “He’d go on as normal.” But in her experience, he also admitted his crimes. He hadn’t tried to hide his infidelity from her. He’d just lied when he’d said it would never happen again.

Also in her experience, he wasn’t a violent man...

The door leading to the resort’s secure grounds wasn’t far ahead of her.

“So is he suspended?”

“No. Clark asked me to conduct a private, preliminary investigation, apart from the PD.”

Her breath of relief made her feel heady for a second. Sunshine on her face felt good, too.

“So his reputation won’t be ruined if it turns out he didn’t do this.”

“Yes. But he did it, Harper. And if we prove that, we can handle this quietly, help him, rather than ruin his entire life.”

“Shouldn’t you be keeping an open mind, since you’re conducting the investigation?”

“What cop did you ever know who didn’t work with suspicions? With gut instincts? It’s what guides us to the truth.”

He was right, of course. But...

“Does Clark think he’s guilty?”

“I don’t know what he thinks, other than that he’s not happy about it. Any of it. He’s known Miriam for forty years. And Bruce and me for most of our lives. Out of respect for Dad, he wants me to find the truth. And, I guess, he’s hoping I find something other than Bruce has been abusing our grandmother.

“So...about this evening...”

She had Brianna to consider. Still, Mason was Brianna’s uncle—not that they’d spent any time together.

“How about if I meet you?” Her thoughts came quickly. Brianna and Alissa were approaching, only a football field’s distance away. “At eight...at The Cove.” A beach bar about a block from home.

“What about your daughter?”

“That’s past her bedtime.” She was panicking. For no reason. “I’ll call a sitter for her,” she said, thinking on the fly. “If I brought her along, the chances of us having a conversation without an inquisition from her would be nil.”

His brief chuckle warmed her. Which brought its own bout of panic.

“Okay, I’ll meet you at eight,” he said.

“You know where The Cove is?” It wasn’t as if Santa Raquel was all that big. Or he’d spent any time there. Not her problem.

“I’ll find it.”

Of course he would.

CHAPTER SIX

SHE’D DRESSED UP for him. In skintight black pants, a long, figure-hugging white shirt and a black denim vest trimmed with white lace, she knew she looked good. She’d spruced up her hair with enough spray to give it the sexy just-got-out-of-bed look her stylist had left her with the day she’d cut it. And put on eyeliner, too. She didn’t kid herself. A perverse, lesser part of her wanted Mason to regret never having called her after the night she’d spent in his bed. She wasn’t proud of the feeling. She also wasn’t fool enough to deny it was there.

The much bigger part of her, the rational part, dressed up to give herself confidence. And to prove that she wasn’t afraid of her sexuality in his presence. He could come on to her or not. She’d have no problem resisting him. Mason was a little too...much for her tastes. Taller than Bruce, broader than him, he’d always seemed larger than life to her. Gorgeous. But somewhat...intimidating. Both of the Thomas men, with their thick dark hair, swarthy coloring and striking green-gold eyes, had the ability to stop women in their tracks. Bruce had longer hair—and unrulier than Mason’s more military cut. She’d always preferred hair she could run her fingers through.

Like the night she’d run them through the thick patch of curly hair that covered Mason’s chest...

She shook that thought away—far away—as she entered the bar fifteen minutes ahead of schedule. She was going to have a beer in front of her before he started shooting questions at her.

Happy to find the back booth clear, she slid in, facing the door, and looked out the window beside her, imagining she could see the ocean she knew was mere yards away. She could see the beach, but The Cove’s outside string of lights didn’t penetrate enough of the darkness for her to delineate waves. If the moon had been out...

He slid in across from her before she’d had a chance to order. The last time they’d been together in a bar, the only other time, they’d sat side by side on stools.

Pulling a small, leather-bound pad from the back pocket of his jeans, he flipped it onto the table and settled in.

“Did you order?”

“Not yet.”

Glancing around, he signaled the waiter. “You still drinking the same kind of beer?” He gazed in her general direction, but not directly at her.

“Yeah.” She said nothing else, knowing she was challenging him to remember, sure that he wouldn’t. And didn’t really care either way. Being perverse again, which seemed to be something he brought out in her. She’d have to rein in her lesser self when he was around.

Her hands folded on the table, she noticed that his hair was longer than five years before, and still as thick. Not as long as Bruce’s, which usually fell past his collar, since he worked undercover so much of the time. She’d also noticed that Mason had not only changed into jeans, but the black shirt was different from the one he’d had on that morning, too.

It was unbuttoned down to midchest.

She stared down at her hands. And then out toward the ocean again.

Why was his shirt unbuttoned? Surely not for her? Had she told him she liked running her fingers through the hair on his chest? Parts of that night they’d spent together were a blur.

Other things she remembered as though they’d happened yesterday.

He was talking to the waiter about beers on tap and specials. Her preference was neither on tap nor on special. She waited.

He ordered a tall dark lager for himself. And the light beer, bottled, that she’d always preferred.

“You changed your clothes,” were the first words out of her mouth when the waiter left. She wished she’d bitten her tongue.

He nodded. “I was up most of the night and hit the sack as soon as I got home.”

And then he’d obviously showered when he got up. That was why the musky aftershave he wore was reaching her nostrils so clearly. He’d just put it on.

“Where are you staying?”

“At home, why?”

“You drove back to Albina this morning?” And then another two hours to meet her for questioning?

“Yeah.”

“You going all the way back tonight?”

His shrug distracted her. Those shoulders... She had a mental flash of tanned, smooth skin. And a strength that allowed him to support his own weight, and hers, too, as he’d moved them together into the most incredible physical experience...

“Depends on how much beer I drink,” he said, not quite smiling, but she thought he might have if their situation had been different.

“Well, don’t let me keep you.” Their beers had arrived. She took a long cold sip before he could tip his mug to her bottle—something he’d done with each and every drink they’d shared that long-ago night. Their toasts had grown more and more ridiculous as the night had worn on. If she was remembering right, they’d tipped their glasses to see-through bras and boxers at one point.

He opened his pad before he took a sip. Got out a pen. Asked a series of questions that she knew were designed to put her at ease. Did she and Bruce purchase their house together? Had she liked it? Did she help choose the furniture? Yes, to all of the above. He wanted to know how she liked Santa Raquel. She liked it fine. Did she miss Albina? Not really.

She missed being closer to her parents, but since he didn’t ask, she didn’t reveal that piece of information.

It dawned on her, as she sipped twice as fast as he did, that he’d been driving for the past couple of hours. “Did you have dinner? They have great bar food here.”

His weakness. She knew that from Bruce.

Funny that she’d only ever seen the guy a handful of times in her life and yet knew so much about him.

Knew him intimately...

She took another sip. Her limit was three. He’d better be done with his questions by then because that was when she was leaving.

“I made a sandwich and ate it on the road.” He glanced at the tables around them, presumably to see what others were consuming, and she reached for a menu, placing it in front of him.

Her tentative theory was that if he was busy eating, he couldn’t be worrying about getting information for that pad he’d yet to write on. She really had nothing to give him that could in any way prove that Bruce had hurt Miriam. She had proof of him not keeping his word. Proof of unexplained absences. She’d caught him looking at normal adult porn on the internet once in the year they’d been married.

None of that added up to anything worthy of an investigation. Or anything criminal, either.

It just added up to a man she couldn’t accept as her partner in life. And one she tried to keep from disappointing her daughter.

“I think I’ll have this combination platter,” Mason said, looking up from the menu. “Will you share it with me?” He was getting fried green beans, onion rings and barbecued chicken niblets.

“I’ll have an onion ring or two. If you don’t eat them all.” She’d shared an appetizer platter with him once before. Really late at night, when she’d been too drunk to be aware of what was on it.

Or so she’d told herself.

In actual fact, she’d been tipsy enough not to care, enough to deaden the pain, but she hadn’t been too drunk to know about the choice she’d been making. She’d known, when she went to bed with him, exactly what she was doing. She simply hadn’t cared how wrong it had been.

Not until she woke in the bright light of day and found herself naked in his bed.

Mason ordered and tacked on another round of beers to be delivered with his dinner.

“Everyone has some kind of temper. Everyone gets angry.” His gaze met hers with total focus now.

“Yeah.”

“What did Bruce do when he got mad?”

She wanted the truth as badly as he did, so she met his eyes. Tried to recall a time when her husband had been in a bad mood, or upset about something. Other than when she’d told him she was leaving, of course. That had been a once-in-a-lifetime bad morning for both of them—inarguably the worst of her life. She’d said things, called him a loser, with colorful language attached. Her only comfort in the whole situation was that at three months old, Brianna had been too young to understand her words. Or remember them.

“You know Bruce,” she finally said. “He’s always so self-assured, so confident. If something doesn’t go his way, he looks for the bright side, sure he’ll find one, and then convinces everyone else that the darkness is gone, too.”

“I asked about his anger.”

She had a flash of the time a prosecutor had refused to press charges after Bruce had worked six months to make an arrest. She explained the circumstances, then said, “He sat for over an hour with this...chiseled look on his face, staring at a blank television screen. His jaw was clenched. Whenever I walked by the room, he’d still be sitting there, staring. Eventually he got up, told me he was going out for a while, and he left. When he came back, he was more subdued than normal, but still easy to get along with. He helped me make dinner.”

Mason’s expression was intent. “Do you have any idea where he went? What he did when he was gone?”

She shook her head. “I assumed he went in to work. That’s what he normally did when he had something to sort out. He’d talk to Clark or other people at the precinct.”

“But you don’t know if he did that day?”

“Like I said, it was my day off, so no, I wasn’t there to witness his presence or conversations.”

“Do you remember anyone ever mentioning that he’d been there? Or hearing anything about the conversation?”

She shook her head again.

“What about the case? The prosecutor? Did anything change? Were charges eventually pressed?”

“Not for dealing. He got him on possession, though—with enough drugs to put him in prison for a while.” That was how Bruce worked. He found a way. “If something prevented an outcome he needed, he came at it from another direction.”

Shouldn’t be news to Mason.

“What about at work? Did he have a reputation for getting physical with his perps?” He frowned. “Roughing them up, I mean.”

“No. He’s tough, you know that. He’s not afraid to stand up to anyone if he believes the action is warranted. He doesn’t shy away from danger or back down. He’d blast a guy with words. But I never heard of a single instance of him doing anything more than not putting cuffs on gently. You know, maybe lift a guy’s arm a little high on his back, or put the cuffs on tight. But nothing compared to some other cops. He never shoved or struck anyone that I ever heard of.”

His food arrived and she sat back, figuring they’d relax now. She really wasn’t aware of anything that would help him. If she’d had any concerns about Bruce having anger or violence issues, she’d never have left Brianna with her father overnight. Or unsupervised.

“And at home? When he got angry at home, what did he do?”

“He didn’t mince words in letting me know I’d pissed him off. He raised his voice sometimes. Then he’d usually leave for a while and when he got back, he’d have calmed down enough for rational conversation. We’d talk about it, and things would be fine.”

“Where did he go when he left? Did you ever ask?”

Harper shrugged. “Not really. I wanted to give him his space.” She paused. “I got the impression that he drove around for a while. Or, if it was evening, that he went up to the bar for a couple of beers. So I didn’t ask.” Truth was, she’d been glad that Bruce had taken his anger out of the house. He’d always been ready to talk fairly when he’d returned.

“Would he come home drunk?”

“Bruce handles his alcohol, you know that.”

“Would he come home drunk?” he repeated.

“I’m not sure I’d recognize it if he had. I once saw him put down eight beers at an after-funeral gathering with the force, and he didn’t act any differently than if he’d been drinking tea. He didn’t argue when I announced that I was driving home, though.”

“Did he ever come home smelling of alcohol?”

“Sometimes. Slightly. He hangs out at the bar with off-duty officers. Again, something a lot of them do. Something I occasionally did, too, before Brianna came along. It’s good to unwind with other people who get it.” Surely Mason socialized sometimes when he was working with departments around the country.

“I went by to take a look through the house today before I headed back here.” He picked up a couple of fried green beans, put them in his mouth, then pushed the plate toward her. “If there’d been a fight, Bruce would’ve had plenty of time to clean up, but you never know what a scene can tell you. His truck was there, so I didn’t stop.”

He really seemed convinced that Bruce had done this.

“What about the house the two of you shared?” he asked. “Was anything ever broken? A knickknack that got shoved? Maybe a door opened with enough force to push the knob through a wall?”

“Of course not! Don’t you think I’d remember something like that? And have concerns of my own?”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he loaded his fork with sauce-smeared chicken niblets and ate them.

Still managing to keep her hands off the onion rings, and to nurse her second beer, she leaned forward. “Look, if you’re trying to convince me that Bruce would manipulate the truth to make someone look bad, maybe, given time and enough examples, you could get me to see that. I know that he struggles, and sometimes fails, to keep his work distinct from his personal life—in terms of separating a carefully concocted pretense from reality. But I also know, for a fact, that he owns up to his mistakes. Before he’s caught. Not afterward. Like that time he did a line of coke to prove to a dealer that he was trustworthy. He went to the captain the second he was off duty and volunteered for daily testing the rest of the time he was on that case. He never touched the stuff again.”

“Bruce doesn’t like to give up control. Nor does he have the ability to relax enough to enjoy the high. That’s why he’s never had trouble staying away from drugs.”

Her head cocked, she studied him. “What about you? You know how to ‘relax and enjoy the high’?”

It sounded like that was what he’d just told her. But...

“Nope. Which is why I understand and how I recognize the same trait in my brother. It’s also why neither of us drinks anything stronger than beer.”

“I’ve never so much as taken a drag from a joint,” she felt compelled to tell him. And then wondered why she’d felt that need. “Or a puff on a cigarette.”

His grin made her insides flip-flop. “I’ve met your folks,” he said. “They’re pretty straightforward, down-to-earth people. And with you being an only child, I’m guessing they kept you too busy on the farm, and too aware of the effect chemicals have on the body, to leave you with much opportunity, or desire, to experiment with substance abuse.”

Her parents’ all-organic fruit and vegetable business hadn’t made them rich. But it kept them comfortably warm, clothed and fed. “I know more about holistic treatments and remedies than I do traditional medicine,” she acknowledged, returning his smile. “And I also know that the world is what we make it—each of us, with our individual choices.”

She’d had a great childhood, and didn’t take that lightly. Or for granted. She felt a huge responsibility to give Brianna that same sense of purpose, of healthy living and societal contribution.

“I’m telling you, like I’ve already told you several times today, that if I had any suspicions about Bruce, any knowledge that would be of concern, I’d be calling Captain O’Brien myself.”

“I don’t think you’re deliberately holding anything back,” Mason said, picking up an onion ring and handing it to her.

It would be churlish to refuse. She had to accept it. And it would be equally rude just to sit there and hold it or throw it away. Especially with him watching her. She took a bite. Closed her eyes while she chewed.

He was grinning again when she opened them. “Good, isn’t it?”

It was good there was only one left on his plate. “Mmm-hmm,” she said and finished the onion ring, then took a sip of beer.

And promised herself that she’d be heading home within minutes.

CHAPTER SEVEN

MASON WAS BROUGHT up short when he realized he was enjoying himself. He wasn’t there to have a good time. Nor was it appropriate that he do so with his brother’s ex-wife. Particularly when he was investigating that same brother.

No one would be happier than he would to find that Bruce had never had anything to do with hurting their grandmother. But his gut was telling him Bruce had done this. And it had to stop.

Period. For Gram. And for Bruce, too.

“Things aren’t always what they seem.” He was beginning to suspect that these days, with Bruce, they almost never were. It used to be only when he’d tried every other means to get his own way that Bruce would resort to manipulating the truth. But in the past few years, through things Gram had said, he’d caught his brother doing it for seemingly no reason at all—as though he’d been undercover for so long, he’d lost perspective on the difference between lies and truth.

None of which meant he’d turned violent. Or hurt Gram.

If Mason was going to find the truth, he needed help. Fast. And Harper, with her ties to Bruce and her current proximity to Gram, was the most obvious choice. Gram had given him a couple of weeks with her agreement to stay at the Stand. Two weeks before she’d insist on going home to Bruce.

Her hands on the table—Mason didn’t miss the open body language—Harper frowned. “What do you mean, things aren’t always what they seem? You trying to tell me something?”

He’d been debating, since seeing her again that morning, whether or not he would. Whether or not it was necessary.

Whether he dared bring up the night that had changed his life forever—and not in a good way.

He had two weeks.

“That night I found you crying...”

The atmosphere around them changed completely. Electricity singed the air he breathed. Leaving an unmistakable stench of acrimony.

“What?” Harper’s hands were no longer on the table. She’d put on her “cop” face, which she was remarkably good at. He couldn’t read a thing she was thinking.

Which left him with only the surface beauty he’d never been able to get out of his mind since the first time he’d laid eyes on her. It occurred to him that she might know full well the effect she had on him—especially after he’d noticed the leggings that sculpted legs he could still feel around him if he closed his eyes and allowed it to happen. Noticed the makeup drawing attention to blue eyes that had been haunting him for five long, lonely years...