One conflicted cop must protect a woman living a lie

A riveting True Blue story

Trooper Jamie Donovan suspects there’s more to Sarah Cline than the waitress reveals. And Sarah, on the run with her son from an abusive ex-husband, won’t trust Jamie with the truth. But when danger—greater than she realized—catches up to Sarah, Jamie confronts the biggest dilemma of his life: uphold his oath or aid and abet the woman he loves?

DANA NUSSIO began telling “people stories” around the same time she started talking. She has been doing both things nonstop ever since. The award-winning newspaper reporter and features editor left her career while raising three daughters, but the stories followed her home as she discovered the joy of writing fiction. Now an award-winning fiction author as well, she loves telling emotional stories filled with honorable but flawed characters. Empty nesters, Dana and her husband of more than twenty-five years live in Michigan with two overfed cats, Leo the Wondercat and Annabelle Lee the Neurotic.

Also By Dana Nussio

True Blue

Shielded by the Lawman

Strength Under Fire

Falling for the Cop

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk

Shielded by the Lawman

Dana Nussio

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-09366-8

SHIELDED BY THE LAWMAN

© 2019 Dana Corbit Nussio

Published in Great Britain 2019

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 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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Version: 2020-03-02

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“You leap out of your skin every time the bells chime at the diner.”

Sarah shook her head. “I already—”

He kept going, despite her attempt to interrupt. “I know. But how could you never get used to sounds you hear all day...every day? And there’s more. You’re always watching the front door of the diner...as if maybe you’re dreading whomever the next customer will be.”

“Now, that’s just silly. I’m just doing my job being prepared for customers.”

“You didn’t want anyone to know about Aiden...or your last name.”

Now she only shrugged. If he hadn’t bought her excuse the first time, he was unlikely to buy it now.

“Do you have any idea how many times you looked over your shoulder at the zoo today?”

“I did not.”

Why couldn’t Jamie stop asking questions? Just because he’d told her his deep, dark secrets didn’t mean that she had agreed to share hers. Besides, he was getting too close to the truth. What if he found out everything?

* * *

Dear Reader,

Hello, Harlequin Romantic Suspense readers! I’m excited to be in my new publishing home at Harlequin Romantic Suspense and to share Shielded by the Lawman with you. As a huge romantic-suspense fan myself, I’m thrilled to have the opportunity to write the same type of stories that are on my Kindle or on the tattered pages of my own paperback collection. Sarah and Jamie’s story has lived in my thoughts for several years now, so it was a joy—and a relief—to finally get the chance to write it. I hope you’ll love these characters and their journey to trust, healing and love as much as I do.

True Blue is a brand-new series for Harlequin Romantic Suspense, but it is also a continuation of the contemporary romance series I wrote for Harlequin Superromance. Bonus! True Blue is about the lives and loves of the brave men and women from a Michigan State Police post. Now with Romantic Suspense, these characters get to face an even rockier—and more sinister—road to forever love. If you can’t get enough of the True Blue crew for now, then meet a few more of the gang in my Superromance backlist titles, Strength Under Fire and Falling for the Cop. Meanwhile, I’ll be back at my computer, working on the next dark and dangerous adventure.

I love staying in contact with readers, no matter how you choose to connect. Learn more about me and sign up for my newsletter through my website, www.dananussio.com; connect with me on Facebook or Twitter, @DanaNussio1; or drop me a line on real paper at PO Box 5, Novi, MI 48376-0005.

Happy reading!

Dana Nussio

To Randy, for believing in me and supporting my dreams, even when that means you must keep wearing dress clothes and fighting traffic while I’m at home telling stories in my PJs. Thanks for loving me and ensuring that our three daughters didn’t starve during deadline mania and, let’s admit it, most of the other times, as well. You are my hero.

A special thanks to Officer David Willett, of the Michigan State Police, for patiently answering all my questions, even the strange ones; and to my dear friends Angela Armstrong, for inspiring me through your own true-life romance with a hunky police hero, and Cindy Thomas, for your constant support and superior country-music-festival matchmaking. As always, I would like to thank the real heroes in law enforcement, those who every day don the uniform with dignity and accept the duty and risk of protecting the rest of us. May God go with you all!

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Introduction

Dear Reader

Dedication

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

About the Publisher

Chapter 1

Another day, another death. A continual supply of senseless carnage. Solutions buried deeper than the corpses fallen by their own hands.

Jamie Donovan squeezed his eyes shut and took several gulps of dank air to slow the pulse pounding like hi-hat cymbals in his ears. He would give anything for the pummeling inside his head to let up, even if the deluge pelting his hoodie refused. But he couldn’t keep pacing in the frigid early April rain outside Casey’s Diner like a despondent person. Did he want someone to call the police on him?

So, he yanked open the door and ground his molars as the wind caught it and clanged those obnoxious bells against the glass. He stomped inside and wrestled the door closed. Rain dripped off his coat and puddled on the mat. As if to punctuate his misery, water trickled from his hood to his nose. He brushed it away with a soggy sleeve.

Why had he agreed to come at all? The answer to that was clear, even before nearly a dozen expectant faces turned to him from the line of tables on the far wall. If he hadn’t at least made an appearance at the diner tonight, his fellow Michigan State Police troopers would have known he was not okay after the events that occurred during his shift. And they’d have had proof that he’d lied when he said he was. How was he was supposed to fake normalcy when the usually delicious scents of frying bacon, cinnamon and fresh-baked somethings were rolling his insides like six-foot swells trapping a boat on Lake Michigan?

“Whoa there, Hercules!” Sergeant Vincent Leonetti called out.

The others laughed the way they usually did at Vinnie’s jokes, but the sound fell flat. Everyone was trying too hard. They all thought he was just sensitive to the type of case he’d investigated tonight. Weak-stomached even. If they only knew. But because they seemed to need him to pretend, Jamie pushed back his hood and started toward the table.

Suicide attempt. Why did they call them attempts? Like a gymnast trying out an amazing, double-twist dismount. That guy’s effort wasn’t an attempt, anyway. It was a frigging success, with blood spatter like a Jackson Pollock painting on the living room wall to prove it.

Jamie had been too late. Again.

Though his face felt hot, a chill edged up his spine and gooseflesh peppered his skin beneath his sleeves. Bile that he’d forced back earlier crawled from his stomach again, lukewarm and bitter. He had to get control. As he turned his head to the side, he hoped to avoid eye contact with any of the officers who knew him too well and yet not at all.

Her gaze snagged his instead.

Jamie could only stare back at her. Somehow, he managed to prevent his mouth from falling open, but keeping his feet moving toward that table was damn near impossible. Sarah. The petite, ethereal beauty who’d never once looked back at any of the Brighton Post troopers when they’d tested their best lines on her. Whose last name no one knew and whose first name they probably still wouldn’t know after two years if it wasn’t emblazoned on her waitress badge and she didn’t have to scribble it on their bills each time she waited on them.

That Sarah was watching him.

Stranger still, her haunting, pale blue eyes were piercing him deeper than an RIP bullet at close range. As if she could see everything he was trying to hide from his coworkers. Everything he wished he could forget.

And then it was over. She looked away and tucked those wavy, dark blond tendrils that fell loose from her ponytail behind her ears. That was one of her nervous habits he’d observed. Twisting her gold locket was another. They were things she did when she thought no one was watching. Now she smoothed her apron and grabbed a tub to bus a vacated table.

Jamie blinked several times. Had he imagined their moment of connection? Wow, his mind had really gone off-road this time. His lips lifted as he reached his coworkers, hung his sweatshirt over the back of the lone empty chair and dropped into it.

That he could smile at all after everything that had happened tonight was as surprising as his reaction to poor Sarah’s simple glance. Of course, she’d looked at him. This was her table. She’d taken note of him only so that she could drop by an extra water glass and more wrapped silverware.

Anyway, just because he’d secretly watched her for months didn’t mean she’d paid any attention to him. And he’d watched her, all right. As closely as a witness expected to give expert testimony. What did it say about him that he could describe her impossibly pale skin and dancer-like movements and could almost feel the silk of wavy hair he’d never touched?

He rubbed the damp sleeves of his Henley shirt as much to settle himself as to relieve the chill. He should have known better than to go out in public tonight.

“Did you drive here or swim?” Vinnie asked.

“Both. Did you see how it was coming down out there?”

Kelly Roberts watched him closely. “It wasn’t raining yet when we came in.”

A few of the others murmured their agreement. He was later than the rest of them, but it wasn’t because he’d let tonight’s events get to him. That would mean he’d allowed his past to seep into the present again, its persistent spread threatening to smother his plan to help at-risk youth.

“We already ordered, but we can call Sarah over if you’re ready.” At the other end of the table, pretty boy Nick Sanchez waggled an eyebrow.

“Oh, he’s ready,” Vinnie said, managing to draw a stilted laugh from the others.

“And who knows? Maybe the earth will shift, and Sarah will be primed like an Indy car engine, too,” Dion Carson quipped.

Jamie pressed his lips together. He hated the way the guys talked about women when they were off work. About Sarah in particular. No matter how many times he’d called them on it, they never stopped.

“If she is primed, you know she’ll be coming right over to me,” Nick added.

The women and even the men frowned at Nick and then shrugged. Now that the post’s resident Adonis, Shane Warner, was married, Nick had the best shot with any woman. Female drivers gawked at him, even when he was issuing traffic citations.

“That’s enough, guys. She’s a person,” Jamie ground out. “Leave her alone.”

Chuckles spread around the table. Had they been baiting him to see if he would react as he normally did? Well, he’d passed that test. Yes, he was Jamie, defender of women and hero to lost kittens. A nice guy, and everyone knew where they finished.

“You guys are lucky she’s still willing to serve at our table at all,” he groused. “And you’re lucky I don’t recommend all of you for another round of sexual harassment training.”

“Please, not that. We can be good.” Dion lifted his right hand to back up his promise. “Anyway, we’re not that bad.”

“And we pay great tips,” Kelly supplied.

Jamie nodded. Sarah probably needed that tip money, too. Working the night shift at a diner in Brighton, a southeast Michigan city of less than eight thousand, didn’t shout financially secure.

The image of her eyes stole into his thoughts again, huge orbs of liquid sky, so striking and yet so...guarded. Were there secrets behind them? Or just regrets, like his?

“Anyway, won’t you guys ever give up on her?” Delia Morgan Peterson called from the head of the table. “She doesn’t want anything to do with any of you.”

“And give up a challenge like that? Never!” Vinnie shoved his fist into the air.

Lieutenant Ben Peterson rested his hand on Delia’s slightly rounded tummy. “If the alien here turns out to be a girl, we’ll have to protect her from guys like you.”

Kelly handed Jamie a menu. “Now would you guys let him order? We’ll be paying our bills before his food comes.”

Jamie made a show of studying the photos of omelets and pancakes and the extensive burger collection, though he could recite the list from memory. Anything he ate would sit in his stomach like a hunk of granite, but the sooner he shoved it down, the sooner he could go home and wrestle in private with the memories tonight’s events had unearthed.

“What will it be?” Dion asked.

Jamie turned to find Sarah standing right behind him, the starched white apron of her pink cliché uniform nearly brushing his chair. She shot a quick glance toward the front door, as she often did, and then set a cup and saucer to his right.

“Decaf?” she asked, already tipping the carafe.

“Never know. He might be in the mood for orange soda tonight,” Vinnie quipped.

“Oh.” She stopped mid pour and cleared her throat. “Sorry.”

“Don’t pay attention to him. Decaf’s fine.” In fact, decaf was the only choice for his insomnia.

“You guys.” She tipped the carafe again. “You ready to order?”

“Oh. Right.” He chose the same hamburger he ordered at least once a week.

She jotted down the information on the pad inside her black binder, and then she disappeared into the kitchen behind the swinging door.

Suddenly, Jamie wished Sarah, or any of them, had seen through his act as he’d pretended that that nothing was out of the ordinary tonight. It didn’t seem right that a human life could have been snuffed out a few hours before and their days would just rumble forward as if nothing had happened. Just another Western burger, medium-well. Another round of coffee refills and jokes they’d all heard before. As if that life had never mattered at all.

“What did you think about that rain?” Trevor Cole asked from the seat to his left.

Jamie rested his forearms on the table edge. “A little early for swimming.”

“Right about that,” Trevor said. “Lucky it wasn’t snowing like it did last week. It’s going to be a while before I take my boat out on Kent Lake.”

“At least you’ve got a boat.”

“As much work as old Esmerelda is, I think she’s got me rather than the other way around.” But then Trevor leaned close and spoke to Jamie in a low, stiff voice. “You doing okay? Because if you need someone to talk—”

“I’m good,” Jamie whispered. A white lie wasn’t so bad when they both needed for him to say it.

Vinnie reached over to poke Trevor’s shoulder. “You mean Esmerelda’s still floating?”

Jamie tried to settle back in his chair. At least they were talking about inane things like Trevor’s boat and the big-top theme for Ben and Delia’s nursery. The regular stuff of life instead of the tragic consequences of unfortunate decisions and mental distress that played equal roles in their working lives.

“There’s some speedy service for you,” Vinnie said, as Sarah returned to the table, carrying a tray laden with plates.

“Hope you know we won’t be waiting for you to eat.” Nick stuffed a French fry in his mouth.

“No. Go ahead. Eat while it’s hot.”

Vinnie took a big bite of his hamburger and then spoke with a full mouth. “You don’t have to tell me twice.”

Jamie laced his fingers together and rested his wrists on the table. At least no one was watching him now. He’d only assumed that the others would make a big deal out of his investigation tonight. Most of them didn’t even know about Mark’s suicide. Didn’t know about the guilt Jamie carried over the things a big brother should have noticed but hadn’t.

No, he couldn’t think about that. Not when his senses were still filled with the pungent scents of a discharged weapon and blood, and the dark images of a crime scene. Not when he needed his coworkers to see that he could shake this off. Needed to believe it himself.

Sarah appeared again, with Ted, one of the owners, trailing behind her. Both carried trays full of food. The other officers ate their meals, their conversations ending or limited to those seated closest to them.

In the cacophony of plates scratching, silverware clinking and ice cubes tinkling, Jamie let his thoughts slip back to that night’s grisly discovery. Then further. Even nine years later, he couldn’t think of his funny, smiling brother without seeing Mark’s lifeless body dangling in the garage.

Regret, the kind that only someone who has known true loss could understand, covered him, filling every crevice with emptiness, hopelessness and damnation. He’d tried to stop reliving the day of Mark’s death, but that night’s events had cued up the scene again.

“I got this out here as soon as I could.”

The soft, feminine voice from behind him startled him from his daze.

Sarah held another tray and indicated the other diners with a shift of her head. “They’re nearly finished.”

“Thanks. I appreciate it.”

He wished he had something clever to say, but as usual, he came up empty. Dion beat him to it.

“I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’m ready for dessert,” Dion announced. “What kind of pies have you been baking today, Miss Sarah?”

“A bit of chocolate heaven or blueberry rapture?” Vinnie suggested hopefully.

Jamie didn’t need to look over his shoulder to know that Sarah’s face would be as pink as her uniform. She seemed so uncomfortable whenever anyone mentioned her baking. He wished Ted hadn’t let them in on the secret that she was responsible for all the new pies, cakes and breads on the menu.

She cleared her throat. “We have eclair cake with chocolate ganache and just one piece left of the lemon cake with whipped frosting and—”

“Stop right there,” Nick interrupted. “Sold. Both.”

She bent her head to jot a note. “And for pies, we have apple amaretto, strawberry rhubarb and lemon meringue.”

Several of Jamie’s colleagues placed orders, and a few declined in defense of their waistlines. When she reached him, he shook his head. “I shouldn’t.”

“No, you should,” Trevor said. “Give him his favorite. The apple. On my ticket.”

Jamie didn’t bother arguing. It would be too obvious if he turned down free pie. Even if his slice was Trevor’s second clumsy attempt to comfort him.

“Sorry. I owed him,” Trevor said, as Sarah returned to the kitchen. “And no, I don’t owe any of the rest of you anything.”

When the waitress rested the dessert plate next to his barely touched burger, Jamie could only stare. Whoever had cut the pies must have flunked division in math because that slice made all the other pieces look like slivers. Had Sarah picked up on Trevor’s pity-pie ploy and decided to stuff Jamie in sympathy? He glanced right and left, but the others were too busy inhaling their own desserts to notice his.

From the first bite, Jamie nearly forgot about his awful day and his shaky stomach. He closed his eyes and savored the sweet almond-liquor flavor that counterbalanced the tart apples. The flaky crust melted on his tongue.

“Worth the five extra miles we’re going to have to run, isn’t it?” Trevor said.

“Oh yeah.”

Jamie pushed the burger aside and finished all but the crumbs of the pie. By then, Sarah had returned.

“Great, as always,” Trevor told her as she cleared away their plates.

“Yeah, great,” Jamie echoed.

“Thanks.”

Her voice was soft, but the corners of her mouth lifted.

When she moved to the cash register to print out their bills, Jamie couldn’t help watching her again. She was as oblivious to him as she was to her own beauty. To her effortless allure that always had him catching his breath in her presence. If he believed that the earlier moment between them had been anything more than a product of his imagination, he was smoking stuff stronger than the K2, or synthetic marijuana, he arrested suspects for.

His friends were already pulling on their jackets when Sarah returned to drop off their bills. Jamie glanced down at his. He hoped the pie would be on his ticket instead of Trevor’s, but only the burger and the coffee were listed.

Farther down the page, her signature was the same—that loopy, feminine cursive that contradicted Sarah’s guarded demeanor. But then his fingers brushed a second slip of paper beneath the bill. The azure color of a sticky note was visible through the filmy ticket.

Though she’d probably stuck it there by accident, her grocery list attached where it didn’t belong, Jamie straightened in his seat. What if it was something else, like a call for help? Why would she reach out only to him in a room full of cops? He blew out a breath. He really was losing it tonight if he was coming up with damsel-in-distress theories.

Still, he made sure no one else was watching before he flipped over the bill.

Thanks for everything you do. You’re one of the good ones.

He read the words twice. People didn’t say things like that to cops. Now profanity-laced rants, topped with middle-finger salutes, those messages were more familiar. He studied the note again. No name. And the letters were block-printed. It wasn’t even addressed to him. Or any officer.

So how pitiful was it for a twenty-seven-year-old man to tuck that folded square of paper in his jeans pocket, as if it was a secret note from study hall? Jamie decided not to answer that question as he shrugged into his sweatshirt. At the cash register, Sarah accepted Vinnie’s money and impaled his receipt on that tiny spike as if nothing had happened. Maybe nothing had, though this time the note in Jamie’s pocket made him wonder.

Sarah caught him watching, and she didn’t look away immediately. He couldn’t have if he’d tried. His pulse pounded so loud in his ears that everyone in the restaurant had to hear it. His palms were as damp as his sweatshirt. With a shy smile, she turned away.

Jamie couldn’t stop blinking. He dug in his pockets for his car keys.

The connection had been as short as the one when he’d first arrived. Shorter. Had it not happened twice, it wouldn’t have seemed significant. But now he was certain of a few things. For one, it was possible for every nerve ending in a person’s body to become instantly alert. The other was that the note folded in his pocket really had been intended for him.

What those things meant was less clear. Could she have overheard the other troopers talking about him before he’d arrived? Could all of this be about pity, after all?

But when he started toward the cash register, Sarah was gone. Ted had replaced her and was checking out the last few troopers. Jamie slowed. Sarah wasn’t clearing tables or filling salt shakers, either. Where had she gone? The answer to that and his other questions lay beyond the swinging door that separated the restaurant’s dining room from its kitchen.

He couldn’t burst into the back, locate her and insist that she explain herself, but he couldn’t let her raise these questions and vanish, either.

“Officer, ready to check out?”

Ted waved him over to the counter. Jamie opened his wallet and pulled out his debit card.

Two minutes later, he pulled up his hood and headed outside. The jangling bells jarred him, reviving those same memories that had chased him into the diner earlier. Had he conjured this whole mystery to escape thoughts about the suicide investigation? Had he clung to the distraction because it might at least offer some answers when the other matter remained a black hole of question marks? Either way, he had to know.

He glanced one last time toward the kitchen as the door whooshed closed. Sarah might not be around to answer his questions tonight, but he was about to become Casey’s best customer until she did.

Chapter 2

Sarah Cline hated cowering in the kitchen, but it seemed like her only option now. Even if the dishwasher had to be watching her as he sprayed gunk off plates with the pre-rinse hose, she didn’t dare look his way. How would she explain herself, anyway? For someone who understood just how critical it was for her to keep a low profile, who knew what she could lose if she didn’t, she’d practically leaped on the counter and performed a country line dance in her sensible shoes for all the customers to see.

For all of them? No, her side steps and kick-ball-changes had been for been for just one guy. And she couldn’t explain why she’d done it. A cop? She’d learned the hard way how much she could trust them. She hugged herself tighter, her thumb tracing the jagged pucker of a scar on the underside of her left arm. It was covered, just inside her short uniform sleeve. Hidden. Like so many others.

She lowered her arms and wiped her sweaty hands inside her apron pockets. From her awkward angle, she could no longer see the officer through the scratched, round window. She couldn’t blame him for his curiosity after her odd behavior tonight, so she was relieved when she caught sight of him again as he slipped out into the rain. Relieved and something else. Wistful? It couldn’t be that. If anything, regret was the thing pushing down on her shoulders like a lead blanket. Maybe tinged with the same anxiety she awoke to every morning and tried to sleep with every night.

What had possessed her to write that note? She should have minded her own business. She knew better. It couldn’t matter that she’d only today realized that “Mr. Jamie,” the after-school-program volunteer her sweet Aiden had been gushing over for months, was the same “James A. Donovan” whose debit card she swiped at least twice a week. Or that, from snippets of his coworkers’ conversations, she’d learned that something bad had happened to him at work tonight. Or even that the raw expression clouding his hazel eyes was similar to the one living inside her own mirror.

Not one of those things was a good enough excuse for her to meddle in some guy’s situation with a note...or even two-fifths of a pie. Getting involved in people’s lives encouraged them to ask questions. She couldn’t afford that.

Especially not from a cop.

With a shiver, she glanced back at Léon, who was watching her so closely that he’d sprayed water down the front of his apron. He lifted a thick black brow. She frowned at him. This wasn’t the first time she’d hidden in the kitchen at Casey’s, but usually she was avoiding rowdy customers who refused to accept the word no.

But this one...it was all on her.

Shooting one last glance to the front of the diner to be sure he was gone, Sarah stepped into the deserted dining room. She grabbed the tub of refilled salt and pepper shakers, ketchup bottles and containers filled with sweetener packets on her way past the counter.

Ted plucked a peppermint from the bowl by the cash register and popped it in his mouth. “I wondered where you’d wandered off to.”

“Just planning the desserts for tomorrow.”

She marveled at how effortlessly she lied, but then most things came easier with practice. And at age twenty-eight, she’d had plenty of practice.

“The fuzz boys do something to upset you? Because if they did, I could talk—”

“No, they’re good customers.”

“Good. But if they get out of line...”

As Sarah leaned into a booth to reset the condiments, she turned away so that he wouldn’t see her eye roll. Ted hadn’t even hinted that he would ban them for bad behavior. He couldn’t turn away paying customers, especially those who appeared harmless.

But she’d made the mistake of trusting the police once and had barely survived to tell the story. She brushed away that thought with a swipe of her forearm over her forehead. Compared to those Chicago officers, this group seemed like choir boys.

When the image of one particular choir member invaded her thoughts, his wide eyes staring back at her, Sarah’s hand jerked. A saltshaker slipped from her fingers and skidded across the table, leaving a sticky white mess on the laminate.

“Butterfingers tonight?” Ted asked.

“I’m just tired.”

The sound system blared with one of the country ballads she’d once adored, as a singer crooned about a love that didn’t exist. Hearts and hope and heaven easily turned to hurt and hits and hell.

She righted the saltshaker and cleared the residue with her cloth. If only it were as easy to erase the other mistakes she’d made tonight. She had one rule—keep her distance from others—and she’d broken it faster than an order up for scrambled eggs and toast.

She moved to the next table, but Jamie’s face flashed back at her from the mirrored napkin dispenser. He had kind eyes, she decided, and then shook her head. Why had she chosen now to think about that? She must have noticed his eyes before. Maybe because they matched his boyish face. But when she’d really looked at him tonight, what she’d seen had ripped at her heart.

So, blame her odd behavior on the misery in his eyes. That rare vulnerability in a guy whose career suggested a preternatural fearlessness had drawn her in, but that was all there was to it. All there ever could be. Friendships were a luxury she couldn’t afford.

Sarah blinked, the absurdity of those thoughts as shocking as her actions tonight. She needed to go home, where she could reclaim her good sense and her survival instinct. She had to remember the truth: She could count on no one but herself.

“Marilyn’s late,” Ted said.

“Again?”

“She called this time. Car trouble.”

She’d moved to the set-up table and was rolling cutlery, but now her gaze shifted to the door. At least there wasn’t a crowd of diehards arriving from Salute Lounge. If they had a rush, Ted might ask her to stay until Marilyn arrived. Again.

“You’d better clock out then,” he said, as if reading her thoughts.

“I do need to get home.”

“Aiden’s already in bed by now, right?”

“He’d sure better be, or he’ll never get up for school.” She wished she didn’t still stiffen at his mention of her son’s name. It hadn’t turned out too bad, anyway, the few times she’d had to bring her son to work with her.

“He doesn’t have to. There’s no school tomorrow.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You know. One of those teacher in-service days. A kid holiday.”

Or a single parent’s nightmare. What was she supposed to do with her son now? Even her sitter, Nadia, worked days twice a week.

“Bring Aiden with you in the morning,” Ted said. “We never get to see him.”

“I just don’t want him to be bored.” Or seen.

“You kidding? He loves it here. Who wouldn’t?”

Maybe a six-year-old who’d prefer to play outside? “Why do you know about this schedule change and I don’t?”

He held up a sheet of paper. “Local school district calendar. I watch it to know which mornings we’ll be overrun with kids and their parents.”

But that didn’t explain why she hadn’t known. Had she missed something in Aiden’s backpack? She tried to keep on top of that mess, but sometimes she was just too tired. It was easier to curl up with her sleeping boy after she’d carried him down the freezing second-floor walkway from Nadia’s apartment to her own.

“Everything’s ready for the morning, right?” Ted asked.

“The cinnamon rolls are all ready to go in the oven.”

“You made extra, like I asked?”

She nodded, his earlier request now making sense.

“And you’ll be able to come in earlier since Aiden doesn’t have school? Eight maybe?”

Her second nod hurt a little more. Aiden would be grouchy if she got him up early on his day off.

“Good. Then you’d better get home.”

She headed back into the kitchen for her jacket before he changed his mind. She slid it on and pulled up her hood in case it was still raining.

Jamie had been soaked when he’d come in earlier, though the others had been dry. The thought struck her as she stepped out onto the sidewalk, where puddles remained, though the downpour had dwindled.

Why was the police officer on her mind again? Didn’t she have enough on her plate without taking on someone else’s problems? Bigger problems even than that she’d known nothing about her son’s school holiday. Obstacles like caring for a child who deserved a better, safer life than she’d given him, and too many bills with a paycheck that wouldn’t stretch. And the ever-present need to look over her shoulder for a boogeyman with a recognizable face, a booming voice and pain-inflicting hands.

As a familiar tickly sensation scampered up the back of her neck, she splayed her apartment keys between her thumb and first two fingers to face off with a possible attacker.

No one was following her. She knew that. Aiden was safe. They were safe. So why did every drip of leftover rainwater from the gutter echo in her ears? Why did each crunch of her shoes on the concrete throw off sounds as difficult to place as a ventriloquist’s voice? That seemed to come from behind her.

She’d made it only to the corner of the storefront when she gave in and peeked over her shoulder. The sidewalk and even the street were deserted. In the lot between Casey’s and its nearest neighbor, Langston’s Furnishings, only two cars remained. Ted’s and the clunker that Léon used to drive himself, the night cook, Marty, and sometimes her to work. At least she wasn’t the only one who didn’t have a car. She hurried across the parking lot, but as she passed Ted’s car, a pair of headlight beams whipped into the lot, the vehicle they were attached to barely slowing to make the turn. The car swerved into a parking space, its driver cutting the engine.

Sarah froze, a squeal escaping her. She needed to run back inside, yet her feet felt glued in place. Instead, she was forced to watch, an unwilling bystander to her own life. The car door flew open, and the driver leaped out and ran right toward her, something light fluttering beneath the figure’s hooded raincoat.

As the runner’s bare legs came into view, Sarah released the breath she’d been holding. “Marilyn?”

Of course, the waitress would be the one racing in and then sprinting across the parking lot with her apron whipping like a flag behind her. So why couldn’t Sarah stop shaking? Why did she have to assume that every fast-moving car would be him coming for her to finish the job, like he’d always said he would?

Marilyn didn’t even come to a full stop when she reached her. “Sorry I’m late. The babysitter—”

“Ted said it was car trouble.”

“That, too.”

Marilyn’s wry smile suggested there was more to it. Sarah nodded. Single moms had to have each other’s backs since no one else did. With a wave, the woman rounded corner to the entrance.

Sarah continued home on foot. It was safer this way. No license plate for police to trace. No checks on the numbers of a driver’s license that matched an eighty-year-old woman’s profile. A deceased one at that.

It hadn’t been Michael running toward her this time, but one day it would be. Safe? They would never be safe. Even if he didn’t know where they were—or who they were—he would find them. No prison walls would be strong enough to contain that type of hate.

It didn’t matter whether he would be able to convince a parole board that he was a safe risk for release or not. Michael’s network could fan out like a freeway map. Why had she ever thought they would be able to escape him?

She shivered and pulled her jacket tighter as she neared her apartment building.

She wouldn’t allow herself to think any more about a guy who had problems of his own and no time to deal with hers. Her only focus could be on that sweet little boy whose hair smelled of baby shampoo and whose kisses were the most precious gifts she could receive. Without hesitation, she would trade her life for her his.

If she allowed herself to think about any man at all, it would be the one who still stalked her nightmares. The one who’d promised to kill her, and always kept his promises.

Michael Brooks wedged himself between the car door and the frame and tilted his head back to pitch a mouthful of profanity at the bawling Chicago South Side sky. The least the sun could have done was shine on his first day seeing it from outside the prison gates in six years, but instead, it pissed all over him like the rest of the scum responsible for putting him behind bars.

“Would you get in and shut the door?” his driver grumbled from inside the car.

Michael whipped his body into the front seat so fast the other man flinched, his head cracking against the door. For the first time all day, Michael smiled. Then he brushed rainwater off the paper-thin jacket covering his button-down dress shirt and no-name jeans he’d been presented upon his release.

“Good to see you, too.”

He glanced around the interior of the cop’s personal vehicle, a foreign-made SUV with many driver distractions across the dash. He brushed his fingers over buttery leather upholstery.

“Nice ride.” Nicer than the guy deserved.

When Larry didn’t answer, Michael wanted to slug him. He’d been itching for a fight all day, an itch among many that hadn’t been scratched for too long. He tossed his measly bag of possessions into the backseat. He had nothing. That was his wife’s fault. Ex-wife. She was responsible for everything that sucked about his life now. No place to go home to. No feminine heat in his bed. No chance to get to know his son. And most of all, no access to his own sweet nest egg.

She would pay for all of it. When he figured out where the hell she was. He would find her, too. He had to. She held the key to his future in more ways than she knew.

Larry didn’t even look his way as he pulled out into traffic. Maybe he was too scared to risk it. Served him right.

Michael waited through a few stoplights in the tiny community where the prison bus had plunked him, but then he couldn’t stay quiet any longer.

“Got anything else you want to say to me?”

Larry’s Adam’s apple shifted a few times, and then his jaw tightened. “I thought maybe you’d like to thank me for coming all the way out here to pick up your sorry ass.”

“You joking? I’d still have my own ride if you and your buddy—”

“Hey, if you don’t want me to be here, I can...”

“Nah. It’s over.”

And if the guy believed that, he had a piece of land near Hyde Park with an active oil well in the backyard. Someone as indebted to him as the loser sitting next to him didn’t need a reminder of what he owed, anyway.

“Thanks for coming to get me,” Michael said finally.

He knew better than to piss off his so-called allies when he just might need them later.

“Glad Clint found you a decent place to live,” Larry said.

Michael’s jaw tightened at just the mention of the second officer’s name. This mess was as much his fault as Larry’s. “If that’s what you call decent...”

Larry made a tight sound in his throat and handed Michael an envelope with cash for the deposit and the first month’s rent. “Anything’s better than another night inside, right?”

He nodded. Any place would be better than spending another night in that concrete hellhole with fluorescent lights that held the place hostage in constant daylight, with those grating buzzes and steel-door clicks that could wake a corpse, and the rock-hard pad that passed for a mattress. But he suspected he would never be able to sleep again without those lights. Those sounds. That mattress.

“The place will do for now.”

Larry pointed to the computer screen on the dash. “Put in your address.”

He looked from the contraption to the driver.

“The GPS.” Then he slid a glance Michael’s way and grinned. “Oh. Right. You probably haven’t used one of those in a while. It was an upgrade on this model.”

Michael didn’t need any reminders of the conveniences he’d missed out on. The things that were this guy’s fault. And Maria’s.

“Doesn’t anyone use maps anymore?” he groused.

He let Larry guide him through the screens to enter the address on that scrap of paper from his pocket. The information on the other side of the crumbled sheet was more important to him, anyway, but Larry didn’t need to know about that.

“It’s going to take a few weeks to get used to all the changes since you...left.”

“Maybe a month.”

He wondered if he would ever reacclimate to a world that didn’t have prison’s clear rules. The order. Inside, each man understood his role, from the murderers holding court at the top of the social hierarchy to the guys playing Susy Homemaker for their meathead boyfriends. Even he had a place, as a master of demand-chain management for chemical life enhancers.

Outside, he was just an ex-con with nothing at all. At least not yet.

“Have you found any answers for me?”

Larry shook his head, still staring at the road. “You’ve got to be patient.”

“I don’t have to be anything. I’ve been waiting for years.”

“Give me a little time.”

“I got that request to you a month ago.”

“Which was a stupid move, if you ask me.”

“I didn’t.”

“Your wife did a fine job of disappearing.” He slid a glance Michael’s way. “Do you think she might have had a good reason?”

“You believed the bitch‘s lies, too?”

The side of Larry’s mouth lifted, but he didn’t say more. Michael’s hands fisted at his sides.

“My marriage is none of your business.”

“Guess not.”

At least Larry didn’t point out that he no longer had one of those. Good thing for him because Michael would have punched him in the throat.

“Just let me know as soon as you find out anything, okay?”

“I will.” Larry reached for a button on the dashboard, and a storage area popped open. He pulled out a burner cell phone and handed it to him. “So we can keep in contact.”

He murmured his thanks, though they would have stayed in contact whether Larry liked it or not. The officer didn’t need to know that he wasn’t the only one searching for answers. Michael had made some buddies inside who had helpful friends of their own.

Larry pulled the SUV to the curb and cut the engine. “That’s the place.”

Michael could only stare through the rivulets on his window. The two-story clapboard house with its peeling paint had probably been showing its age in the fifties.

“It ain’t much.”

That it was a long trip from the apartment Maria used to keep pin neat was one hell of an understatement.

“It’s just until you get a job and get back on your feet.”

“And until my wife comes home where she belongs.”

Larry’s shoulders shifted. “Now even if—I mean after—we locate Maria, it might be a while before you can convince her to, uh, come home. If—”

Michael threw open the car door and grabbed his bag from the backseat before the jerk could say ever. She would come back. The police only knew the things his wife had said when she was upset. She always took them back. Always.

“Just let me know what you find out about my wife.”

He dodged the land mines of crumbling concrete on his way up the walk. Deciding that the cracked doorbell wasn’t worth a try, he knocked hard on the door.

When no one answered, he considered bashing in the window next to it. But since the impact might have been enough to bring down the whole house, he knocked again.

“You sure someone’s supposed to be there?” Larry called out the car window.

“The guy said he’d be here...with the key.”

Finally, a rheumy-eyed skeleton of a man opened the door a crack and pushed a clipboard out. Michael signed without reading it, plunking down the envelope of cash and reaching for the key in the man’s other hand. He could have wrung the weasel’s neck for closing his fist and counting the bills before handing the key to him and closing the door.

With each creak as he climbed the apartment steps, Michael reminded himself that this was temporary, like that sentence he shouldn’t have had to serve. They would find her, and she would return to him, where she belonged. She would be sorry, too. For saying those things to the judge. For ignoring a court visitation order. But most of all, for keeping him from his money and his son.

The instant he flipped the switch inside the apartment, he wished for his prison cell. Yellow, nicotine-scarred walls encased a sunken, stained couch and matching chair. A lone TV tray served as a side table, but there was no television, only a shadowy mark on the wall where one used to be.

This would be fine, he decided, as he took in the lumpy looking mattress with a coverlet on top. From his bag, he pulled out a three-by-five photo of Maria, smiling on their wedding day, tresses of her hair curling around the lacy, borrowed veil. He always imagined her this way. Smiling. His.

“It won’t be long now, sweetheart. We’ll be a family again.”

Michael’s lips formed a grim line. Maybe he wouldn’t be able to make Maria understand that he couldn’t live without her. But that wasn’t the point, was it? He wouldn’t let her live without him.

Chapter 3

“Welcome back, Officer.”

Jamie stopped, the open door still pressed against his shoulder. Sure enough, Ted, the same diner owner who’d cashed him out less than twelve hours before, waved at him through a crush of customers waiting to be seated. Didn’t the guy ever go home? And why were there so many kids there on a school day?

Not for the first time, Jamie wondered what he was doing there, even if the mingling scents of cinnamon rolls and bacon already had his mouth watering. He waved back as he realized that his plan might have a hole in it. If Sarah had worked last night, she probably wouldn’t be there to answer his questions this morning. And, in the unlikely case that she was there, what would he say to her? That they’d exchanged a few strange looks? And a note? And pie?

Despite the line of waiting guests, Ted sidled over and spoke in a quiet voice. “Everything all right last night?”

Jamie lifted a brow. Was it obvious that he was there to scope out a woman? But when Ted squared his shoulders as if bracing himself for a complaint, Jamie suddenly understood.

“Just couldn’t stay away.” Those words were truer than the guy would ever know.

“We love hearing that.” Ted grinned and nodded several times. “We’re slammed because the kids are off from school, but we’ll get you seated as soon as we can. And don’t worry about the cinnamon rolls. Sarah made extra...”

Jamie wasn’t sure what Ted said after that. At the mention of Sarah’s name, he couldn’t help scanning the room, looking for her again.

“Order up, table 21,” a feminine voice called out, somehow rising above the din of conversations.

He didn’t need the pounding of his pulse in his ears and the weightless feeling inside him to tell him the voice was Sarah’s. Sure enough, her head peeked out through the opening where waitresses collected their orders.

Her head was bent at first, but suddenly those pretty blue eyes were staring back at him and widening with something closer to uneasiness than surprise. Then, just like last night, she disappeared into the kitchen.

Well, that was one time too many. He wasn’t the one who’d written that note or cut that pie. She’d created all the questions, so it was about time for her to offer some answers.

Jamie squeezed through the line of customers and strode across the dining room, not stopping until he reached the kitchen’s swinging door. Before he could talk himself out of it, he rapped on it.

For several seconds, he waited. Through the window, he caught sight of several waitresses zipping past.

When her face appeared in the circle, his breath caught. Only she wasn’t smiling the way she usually did when she took his burger order. As the door opened a few inches, he backed out of the way.

“May I help you, sir? I mean... Officer?”

“Jamie,” he croaked.

She lifted a brow, but her flour-covered hands were gripped together. Though he’d dreamed of someday being this close to Sarah, he’d never imagined the event with anxiety pouring off her in waves.

“I’m, um, off duty,” he said.

“I can see that.”

“Right.”

As he brushed his sweaty palms on his jeans, he mined his memory for that list of questions that had been lining up like a troop formation. The waitress who appeared behind Sarah gave him a reprieve.

“Behind you, sweetie.”

“Sorry, Belinda.”

Sarah pushed through the doorway and held the door for the other waitress. Once the woman had passed, Sarah slid into the opening again.

“As you can see, Officer, we’re a little busy this morning, so...” She stepped back, allowing the space to narrow.

Jamie could feel the answers he craved and his first opportunity to have a real conversation with her slipping away with the incremental closing of the door.

“Wait.”

Her gaze lowered to his hand, which seemed to have shot out on its own to grip the door. Immediately, he released it, but when Sarah’s gaze lifted, that look was in her eyes again. Was it fear? Of him?

“Sorry. That’s not—” He cut off his words and took an obvious step back. “Look, I’m doing this all wrong. Can we talk? Just for a minute?”

She shot a glance over her shoulder, as if she would welcome any excuse to say no, but turned back to him and nodded. With a wave for him to follow, she stepped out from behind the counter and led him to the hall where the customer restrooms were located. At least there wasn’t a line. He was nervous enough without an audience.

Halfway down the hall, she wheeled around so quickly that Jamie had to jerk to a stop to avoid running into her.

“I didn’t mean anything by it,” she said.

“I don’t know what you mean.” He did, and that was the hell of it. Those small things he’d built up to Mount Everest proportions meant nothing at all to her.

She shrugged, watching the toe of her shoe as it tapped the industrial tile floor.

“You know. The note.”

“So, it really was for me.” The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them.

“Of course, it—” She stopped herself and gripped her crossed arms over her chest.

“There wasn’t a name at the top.”

“I just wanted to say thank-you. You know. For your work in the community.”

“Oh.” Well, she hadn’t announced that she found him irresistible, but it wasn’t the worst thing she could have said.

“Because I’d kind of overheard about your rough night.”

“Thanks,” he said, because there wasn’t much else he could say to that.

“I just wanted you to know that your work is appreciated. That’s all,” she rushed to add.

“And I appreciate your saying so.”

He would also be grateful for a graceful exit. Or an escape route of any kind. Everything made sense now. Her strange look when he’d arrived the night before. Charity, not a come-on. And the pie? She and Trevor had been in cahoots on that one. What kind of police officer added those measly clues up to a sum of romance?

“Well, thanks for clearing that up, but you probably need to get back to your tables.” His gaze lowered to the jeans and long-sleeved T-shirt she wore beneath her apron rather than a uniform, and then to the dusting of flour on her sleeve.

“Oh. You’re baking.”

“I do that in the mornings.” She cleared her throat. “And I should get back to it. Everyone seems to want cinnamon rolls instead of pancakes this morning.”

That she shuffled her feet then didn’t surprise him. He’d mentioned her baking again. But the way she wrung her hands and kept looking over her shoulder toward the restrooms and side kitchen door seemed excessive. How could she expect scrumptious desserts like hers to remain a secret?

“Can you blame them? They smell great.”

Her cheeks deepened to a pretty pink. “Do you want me to pack some up for you?”

Again, she glanced over her shoulder. Why she was so anxious for him to leave? Was she hiding something?

Then a door squeaked, and the answer to those questions ran out with a burst of energy and a mop of sandy blond hair he would have recognized anywhere. Aiden?

“Mommy, Mr. Mike said the oven timer—” The boy stopped midsentence. “It’s Mr. Jamie!”

He ran right past his mother and launched himself, his face landing soundly in Jamie’s stomach.

“Oomph.” He ruffled the boy’s hair, stalling for both a breath and the chance to absorb these new details. Sarah was not only a mom, but she was Aiden’s mom, and for some reason, she hadn’t wanted him to know either of those things. Why not?

“How’re you doing, buddy?”

Aiden beamed up as he eased him back, and Jamie’s stomach clenched. How could he have missed the resemblance before? Sure, he’d never seen them together since the babysitter rather than a parent always picked Aiden up from Kids’ Space. But even so. The child’s huge, almost impossibly light blue eyes were just like his mother’s. And his mother’s hit him like a gravel truck with a full load every time she looked at him. Which at the moment she was avoiding.

She spoke to her son instead. “Aiden, you know it’s not nice to throw yourself at people.”

Aiden took another step back, but his mischievous grin remained. “Sorry, Mr. Jamie.”

“Thanks. I think I’ll live.” He held his hands wide. “Hey, I heard you get to skip school today.”

“We had a day off, but Mommy made me come to work with her.”

“Yeah, moms are mean that way sometimes,” she murmured.

“You got to come to work with Mom?” Jamie slid his gaze to Sarah. “Looks like we have a pretty important someone in common.”

She finally nodded.

“And the note was really about this guy?” He gripped the giggling boy and rubbed his knuckles on that blond head.

“Yes, but I’d better—” She jerked to look down at her son. “Wait, did you say, timer?”

“Mr. Mike already took out the pies,” Aiden announced.

Jamie could have kissed the kid. Sarah wanted to answer his questions about as much as a suspect in an interview room, but her son hadn’t learned the art of excuses and wasn’t helping her to escape. “That’s great that Mr. Mike helped you out.”

“Mommy, can we eat breakfast with Mr. Jamie?”

She shook her head so hard her dangling earrings jiggled. “Sorry, sweetie. I still have a few things to finish in the back.”

“You said we could leave when the pies were cooked.”

“Yes, I did.” Then she smiled. “So, we’ll finish and then leave right away.”

Aiden opened his mouth, but then drew his eyebrows together as he must have realized that he’d won. Or lost.

“But I want to stay,” he whined.

“Yeah, he wants to stay.” Jamie gestured with a tilt of his head toward the dining room. “And if the line out there has moved at all, I’ll have a table soon. You don’t want me to eat alone, do you?”

Jamie couldn’t believe the words coming out of his mouth. They sounded more like something ladies’ man Nick or reformed womanizer Shane would say. Not him. He would have said anything then to convince her not to leave, but she was already shaking her head again.

“Please, Mommy. It’s Mr. Jamie.”

Her son’s words must have made the difference, because she dampened her lips and then nodded.

“Yay!” Aiden called out.

It was all Jamie could do not to shout, or at least grab the kid in a bear hug.

The boy slid past Jamie and scampered down the hall before turning back to them. “I’m going to go tell Mr. Ted.”

Sarah watched him go, her eyes awash with the kind of affection that a mother reserves for her child. Funny how Jamie wished she’d look at him that way.

She did look back at him then and caught him watching.

“He’s so full of energy,” she mumbled. “But then you already know that.”

“You’re right about that.”

Again, she glanced at her son, a watchful mother even though he was only twenty feet away.

“Thanks again for being so kind to my son. Making friends is always a struggle for him.”

“Really? I don’t know why. He’s such a great kid.”

“I wish the boys in his class could see that.”

Jamie brushed off her worries with a wave of his hand. “He’ll be fine. You worry too much.”

“What mother doesn’t?”

He had to give her that. His own parents had hovered over him for months after Mark’s death, even to the point of ignoring their own grief.

“Well, I’m glad I’ve gotten to know Aiden,” he said. “And I know a lot about him...if I can believe half of what a six-year-old tells me.”

She blinked several times. “Probably less than that.”

Her words were light, but her chuckle sounded strange.

“Okay, then, I’ll believe just 25 percent.”

She nodded, though from her look, she still wasn’t satisfied with that bargain. What didn’t she want Aiden to share?

“Then it’s good that we’ll be having breakfast together.”

Her gaze narrowed. “Why’s that?”

“So you can tell me which quarter to believe.”

This time she smiled, and the slow burn he always felt when she was around edged up a notch.

“I’ll be sure to do that,” she said.

“And while you’re at it, maybe you can do one more thing.”

“What’s that?”

“You can tell me why you didn’t want me to know you were Aiden’s mom.”

Chapter 4

At the clink of the bells, Sarah startled, her head twisting toward the sound. Another group of customers had squeezed inside the diner’s entry area and were waiting for their fill of eggs, pancakes and breakfast meats.

For a moment, she’d almost relaxed. She couldn’t afford to do that. Not with Aiden sitting next to her, right out in public where anyone could see them. Not when her back was to the restaurant door as Trooper Donovan had taken her preferred seat facing the exit.

And especially not while in the presence of the officer, who was too curious about her and her son.

She turned back to the table, where Jamie had settled in his chair, his arms crossed. Could he see right through her? Could he sense that she was living a lie?

“I never get used to those bells,” she explained, and then licked her lips.

“I hate them, too.” He forked another bite of his eggs but didn’t lift it off the plate. “They’re jarring.”

At least he hadn’t pointed out that she’d nearly climbed out of her skin over something she heard dozens of times each day. Something that should have been as familiar to her as the shrill of his patrol car’s siren probably was to him.

But instead of asking her about it, Jamie took a bite of his pancake. She was grateful for the reprieve but didn’t kid herself into believing that the officer’s earlier question about her son wouldn’t pop up again. If only she knew how to answer when it did.

“Aren’t you hungry?”

She glanced down at her plate, where she’d only scooted around her eggs and toast. “Guess not.”

His gaze felt warm on her crown as she bent and forced a bite.

“That means your mom won’t get to have a cinnamon roll.”

“Mom said I could,” Aiden said, over a mouthful of scrambled eggs.

“Aiden...”

At her warning, her son swallowed and then tried again. “Sorry, Mom. But you said I could if I finished my breakfast.” He pointed to the yellow and white mess on his plate, where he still had some work to do.

“Looks like it’s going to be just us two then.” Jamie reached across the table to give the boy a high five.

Despite the warning bells that should have been clanging in her head, she couldn’t resist smiling at the man who’d befriended her son. He was kind, unassuming and—What was she doing? It didn’t matter that he was easy to like. Too easy in her case. Jamie was a cop. If she had any sense, she would steer clear of him.

“Can you believe I’ve never even tasted your mom’s famous cinnamon rolls?”

Aiden’s eyes were wide. “No way!”

“They’re not famous,” Sarah said before she could stop herself.

She tucked her chin to her chest, hoping her cheeks weren’t as flushed as they felt. Over the top for a tiny bit of praise. Her dream of opening her own bakery was a lifetime ago, anyway...when she’d still foolishly believed in happily-ever-afters. She was nobody’s fool now.

“Maybe not, but they’re always all gone before my friends and I come in at night.”

“Well, Trooper Donovan... I mean Mr. Jamie...”

When he grinned at her, a tiny dimple that she hadn’t noticed before appeared in his left cheek. The flutter in her tummy took her by surprise. She ruthlessly shoved thoughts about that dimple and the laughter in his eyes aside to consider later. Or never.

“How about just Jamie?”

Because it was easier than meeting his gaze when he was making her so nervous, she turned to her son instead. “He’s a grown-up, so he’s still Mr. Jamie to you.”

“Your mom’s right about that.” Jamie gestured toward Aiden. “Come to think about it, though we’ve been first-name buddies at the center all year, I still don’t even know your last name.”

“Aiden Thomas Cline,” her son announced importantly.

The pulse thudding in Sarah’s ears nearly drowned out his answer. Of course, he’d said “Cline.” That and “Aiden” were the only names he’d ever known.

“Cline, huh? I like that.”

Though he was speaking to her son, Jamie was looking right at her. The skin on her forearms positively tingled, so she crossed her arms and covered them with her hands. What was the matter with her? She hadn’t felt so unsettled around a man since... No, she wouldn’t think about that now.

His gaze lowered to her arms, but he didn’t comment on them.

Sarah pushed her chair back from the table.

“Looks like you’re almost finished, so how about I package some rolls to go? There’s still a line over there...”

Jamie waved a hand to brush off her suggestion. “Our waitress can get those. Anyway, weren’t you just getting ready to answer my question from earlier?”

“Oh. Right.” Ignoring her rushing pulse, she slid closer to the table again. She still didn’t know how to answer him, but she refused to do it in front of her child. “Sweetie, why don’t you go wash off your face, and then you can have your cinnamon roll.”

“Okay, Mom.” He hopped up from the table.

Good thing his first-grade logic didn’t make him wonder why she would send him to clean his face only to make it dirty again.

When the restroom door closed, she turned back to Jamie, the answer rushing from her all on its own. “I’m not ashamed of being Aiden’s mom, if that’s what you’re asking. He’s the best thing I’ve ever done.”

“Sorry.” Jamie’s hands came up in surrender. “Didn’t mean to offend you.”

She wanted to ask him just what he had intended to do with a question like that, but she couldn’t encourage him to ask more. He knew enough about her already.

“You’ve met all the guys you work with, right?” She paused, waiting for her words to settle. “If you were a single mom like me, would you want any of them to know details about you? Including your last name?”

His jaw tightened the way it had the night before when his coworkers were joking about her. When he’d defended her.

“Point taken.”

“Then we’re agreed.” She took a bite of her cold toast and managed not to wince.

“If you ever need me to talk to the guys and make sure they remember their manners around a lady, I’d be happy to.”

“No! I mean I can handle it. They’re not half as bad as some of the guys who come in here.”

“Those must be some real bottom feeders if they’re worse than Vinnie and Nick.”

His jaw flexed again, and she somehow managed to keep from smiling at him. Again. Wait. Wasn’t it bad enough that she was enjoying a man’s compliments about her baking? And noticing his dimples? Now she was allowing herself to be flattered by his protectiveness. His offer to “talk” to his friends should have been reason enough for her to grab Aiden and sprint through the nearest emergency exit. What did it take for her to learn to steer clear of men who communicated with their fists?

Because she couldn’t afford to dredge up memories she’d tried so hard to bury, not when this guy already had her balancing on shifting ground, she waved the waitress over.

“Evelyn, would you mind packing up two cinnamon rolls for us? Two boxes.” She pointed to Jamie and then to Aiden as he reached his seat.

Aiden’s smile fell. “But I want Mr. Jamie to come over to play.”

From the word, play, she started shaking her head.

“Grown-ups don’t have play dates.” So why did the thought of playing with this particular grown-up send shivers up her spine? This had to stop. “Besides, just because you have the day off from school doesn’t mean that everyone has a day off.”

“Your mom’s right again. I have to go to work in a few hours.”

“In your police car?” Aiden planted his elbows on the table with his face nestled in his hands, excitement dancing in his eyes.

“Absolutely. I might even get to use the siren today.”

The boy’s eyes widened. “Will you take Pancake with you?”

“Pancake?” she asked.

Aiden sat taller in his seat. “That’s Mr. Jamie’s cat. She’s orange-brown.”

“Nah, she prefers to stay at home and take catnaps,” Jamie told him.

“Who names a cat Pancake?”

“Somebody who loves...” Jamie began.

“Pancakes!” Aiden filled in for him.

They both pointed to Jamie’s clean plate as the busser whisked it away. Sarah could only look back and forth between her son and the cop. How could Aiden know so much about Jamie? And if he did, just how much had Aiden told him?

She shoved her chair back so quickly that it toppled over and hit the floor as she stood. She jerked it up and held her breath while it wobbled and then settled. “Too much coffee this morning. Anyway, I should see how Evelyn is doing with those cinnamon rolls.”

The waitress emerged from the kitchen, carrying two white paper bags. She handed the first to Jamie as he stood.

“Now, sweetie, you’ll want to warm that up when you’re ready to eat it.” She gestured toward Sarah as she handed her the second bag. “But I’m sure your friend here will give you the specifics.”

“Thanks for the suggestion,” Jamie said.

He was counting out bills from his wallet, which was a good thing, since Sarah wasn’t ready for him to look her way.

“Let me get that.” She reached for the check, but he pulled it away.

“Don’t think so. Departmental rules. You wouldn’t want me to get into trouble for accepting gifts, would you?”

She reached for her purse, heavy with the tip money that would keep her account from flatlining later this morning. “That’s not a thing. Wait. Would you really?”

“Want to risk it?”

She frowned but lowered her arm. “Well, thanks. Then I’m sure Evelyn will help you at the cash register, and you—I mean we—can get out of here.”

“Sure thing. Want to run up there with me, buddy?”

Her son didn’t even look her way before trailing after his hero. The funny thing was she couldn’t blame him. There was just something about Jamie Donovan. An unassuming quality that could tempt an unsuspecting person to trust him. That might charm someone who wasn’t careful into sharing her secrets.

Neither of those things could ever happen. She had to protect Andrew—no, Aiden—as always. And she would.

Still, when Jamie slipped out the front door and her son skittered back her way, Sarah’s shoulders slumped forward. Her hands gripped the chair back for support. Relief. That had to be what she was feeling. She’d wanted him to leave, and now he was gone. That was a good thing.

So why did one part of her, no matter how small and ridiculous, wish that he would stay?

* * *

“He’s back!”

Aiden and his mom were just on the other side of the gaggle near the diner’s front door, but Jamie could have heard that excited voice all the way from the kitchen. Sarah had slipped one arm into her rain jacket, but she stopped and stared.

As Jamie opened and closed his hand in a wave, Sarah’s gaze darted away from him, while Aiden was waving as if they hadn’t crossed paths in months. Well, at least one of them was happy to see him again. The other one wasn’t thrilled at all. Jamie had predicted both things as he’d stood outside on the same sidewalk where he’d paced the night before. Only instead of wishing he could run from the building and escape from the thoughts pursuing him, this time all he’d been able to think about was going back inside.

To the woman who’d all but booted him to the literal curb with his bakery bag.

He glanced down at the white sack just as Aiden managed to snake through the crowd to reach him.

“Hi again, Mr. Jamie.”

Sarah caught up with them before he could respond. Her arms were gripped tight over her chest, though one of her jacket sleeves still dangled empty at her side. She spoke only to her son.

“I said to wait for me.”

“But Mr. Jamie is back.”

“I see that.”

She lifted her head and pinned Jamie with her questioning stare.

“I’d just thought of something,” he said, and then cleared his throat.

That something had seemed like a far better idea while he was still outside, his shoes resting on last night’s puddles that had dried to a crusty mud. But he couldn’t just watch her pulling away after spending the past year dreaming up ways to get closer to her. When his questions multiplied exponentially with every vague answer she gave. And when each moment with her made him crave another.

“That you can play before work?” Aiden asked hopefully.

“Not today. Sorry. But I was wondering if you,” he paused, his gaze darting to Sarah, “and your mom...might like to join me for a day at the Detroit Zoo on Saturday.”

“The zoo! Really?”

Aiden’s squeals caused several diners to turn toward the commotion. In contrast to the boy’s body, which vibrated with excitement, Sarah stilled.

“That’s nice of you to ask, but I don’t think—”

“Please, Mom!”

She shook her head, her gaze darting to the door before settling again on her son. “Sorry, Aiden.”

The boy crossed his arms. “But I want to go.”

“Not this time.”

“We never get to go to the zoo. Never ever.”

Sarah tightened her jaw as if preparing to correct her son, but then her shoulders slumped.

Jamie swallowed. He was a jerk, wasn’t he? Worse maybe than even the lechers she dodged at work every day. What kind of guy used a child to get to his mother? What kind of person invited them on an adventure a struggling single mom couldn’t easily afford?

He still had so many questions. How did the two of them end up here? How could Aiden’s father have left him? Left her? Most of all, though, Jamie wanted to know what put that stark look in her eyes. But just because he regretted not asking Mark enough questions before it was too late, that didn’t make wanting to know things about Sarah excuse enough to manipulate her. She deserved better than that. Better than him.

“It was just an idea,” he began.

“Please...!”

This time Aiden’s plea was so drawn out that it sounded like two syllables.

Again, Sarah shook her head, and when she spoke again, she didn’t look at Jamie.

“It was so nice of you to ask, but I always work the day shift on Saturdays.” She finally met his gaze.

“Well, not this Saturday.”

They all turned at the sound of Ted’s voice. When the restaurant owner had slipped past other diners to reach them, Jamie wasn’t sure.

Ted patted Sarah’s shoulder. “Marilyn can take your shift. She owes you, don’t you think? And every kid needs a trip to the zoo, right?”

He gave an exaggerated wink and then patted Aiden’s shoulder. Sarah’s side glance suggested she didn’t appreciate Ted’s matchmaking any more than she relished Jamie’s invitation, but she sighed.

Aiden must have noticed the change, as he was bouncing again.

“So, can we go, Mom? I want to see the new penguin exhibit and the tigers and the Kodiak bears.”

Whether it was because her son had just listed some of the most popular exhibits at the Detroit Zoo as if he’d been researching them or that their arguments had worn her down, she nodded.

“Yes, we can go.”

The words rang in Jamie’s ears. He’d won. He would get to spend a full day with a woman he’d dreamed of and a child he adored. She’d required some convincing, but they would have a great time on Saturday. He would make sure of that. So why did he get the feeling he was just one in a long line of people who’d taken something away from Sarah Cline?

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