A Time to Protect (11 page)

“I’m no shrink, but I think as long as you can still talk to him, that’s a good sign. It’s when they shut down that trouble starts.” He patted her shoulder awkwardly. “You’re a good mother doing a great job. They’ll come through.”

“We hope.” She sighed, put down her mug and descended the stairs. It took some time to get Kyle to open up, but when he finally did, Chloe was able to help him understand how much his behavior was affecting all of them.

“I didn’t mean to hurt Maddy, Mom,” he apologized. “Sometimes I just get so angry and I want to hit something. Brendan said maybe if I worked out, I wouldn’t get so upset. I thought it was something he and I could do together and then Maddy butted in that she wanted to do it too and I lost it. I’m sorry.”

“Thank you, sweetie. But it’s not me you should be apologizing to.”

“I know.” He rose, took off the gloves and set them on a shelf, then turned to look at her. “I wish we had enough money to make this into a workout room. We could haul those machines of yours down here, put in some lights and make it look cool. I’ll bet some of the guys would want to come over then.”

“I’ll think about it, Kyle. In the meantime, you’ve got some things to do.” She walked up the stairs beside him. “If you’re feeling upset or angry, sometimes it helps to tell someone. Don’t keep things bottled up inside. Let people know that their behavior hurts you. That’s the only way you can get change in your life.” The kitchen was empty.

“You’re talking about Dad, aren’t you?” he asked quietly. “That’s why you used the pills instead of telling him what he was doing hurt you.”

Tears rose to her eyes for this strong sensitive child who had seen so much and obviously been hurt by it.

“Your dad and I both made mistakes,” she told him softly. “But you two were my rock. You gave me a reason to get my
self together, to look toward the future instead of drowning in the past. Don’t make my mistake, Kyle, and shut it all inside.”

“I’ll try to remember,” he whispered, hugging her quickly before he disappeared upstairs.

Chloe spent a few moments in the laundry room trying to pray for her children, but the doubts would not be silent. Where was God? With another load sloshing in the washer she returned to the kitchen and her tea. Brendan was on the phone, his voice muted but brimming with excitement.

“What’s going on?” she asked Darcy, who wandered in from the next room.

“They just arrested Ritchie Stark. One of us has to go to the station to listen to what Stark has to say. Maybe we can finally figure out who
El Jefe
is and if he has any connection to the drugs that are showing up in town.”

“Wait a minute—did you say
El Jefe?
”

Darcy and Brendan both froze then slowly lifted their heads to stare.

“Have you heard that before, Chloe?” Brendan asked softly.

“Yes.” She nodded slowly. “I think so. One of the first overdoses that came in a couple of weeks ago. He was really high and rambling but it was all in Spanish. I didn’t catch much, but I’m certain I did hear him say the words
El Jefe
, as if he was begging him for something. My Spanish is lousy so I didn’t understand what he wanted.”

Brendan’s eyes blazed with excitement. “This is very important, Chloe. Can you tell me the patient’s name?”

“Juan something—Hildago, maybe? You could check the hospital files. They’d have his name.”

“Yes, we’ll do that.” Darcy, too, was excited. “Do you know whether Juan’s still in hospital?”

Chloe shook her head. “No, he isn’t.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Darcy said to Brendan. “We can get his address from records and go to his home, talk to him there.”

“Maybe he’ll be willing to take us to this
El Jefe
.”

“Juan won’t tell you anything.” Chloe glanced from one to the other, felt her heart pinch at the disappointment she saw.

“How can you be so sure?” Brendan stepped closer to the door. “He might realize—”

“He’s dead, Brendan. He died the day after he came in. I’m sorry.”

It was like watching a balloon deflate. Darcy and Brendan visibly sagged.

“He was recovering, we thought. He seemed to be on the uphill.”

“What happened?”

“Cardiac arrest. The damage was too severe. He passed away.”

Silence fell on the room, each one busy with their own thoughts. Chloe glanced from one to the other, wishing she could have told them something that would have helped. She saw a strange look pass between the two agents.

“You’re thinking Chloe’s attacker might also have had something to do with Juan’s demise?” Brendan’s lips pursed. “Could be.”

“Juan’s the only one that we know about who knew that name,
El Jefe
. Up till now it was just a tip from a snitch.”

“So maybe Juan was ‘helped along’ so he wouldn’t spill anything.”

“That’s what I’m thinking. I might as well go down and talk to Ritchie,” Darcy said, her voice empty of emotion. “See what he knows. You stay here. Fergus is in the other room. Everything should be okay.”

“I should go. I want to ask Ritchie why he ran into me.”

“I’ll ask for you,” Darcy assured him. “You won’t miss anything.”

Chloe held her breath, waited to see who would go. It was clear Brendan didn’t like being left out. Relief swamped her when he gave in and the other agent left. Brendan would remain in the house, with her.

When had she begun to place so much faith in this man?

“Say your prayers tonight, Chloe,” he told her when she finally announced she was going to bed. Darcy still had not returned. “With a little help from above we might just get this case cleared up before Madison’s final game. Then I’ll be out of your hair for good.”

Now why didn’t that thought cheer her up?

“I
don’t get it. Why wouldn’t my dad get in touch with me? I told him how important this is.” Kyle’s thin lips tightened into an angry line. “He could at least pretend he cares. Make an excuse or something—is that so hard?”

“Maybe he hasn’t received your e-mail yet. Do you want to call him?” Brendan waited to see how Kyle would handle what looked a lot like parental rejection.

“I can’t call him. He hasn’t got a phone.”

“Well then, we’ll just have to see if he turns up tonight, won’t we?” He reached over to pat the boy’s shoulder. “It’s just the first final model night, Kyle. I hope it won’t be the last. Truthfully I’m kind of hoping not too many fathers show up. After all, I’ve never done this before. I’m not exactly sure how it’s going to work out.”

“You mean
you’re
nervous?” Kyle looked shocked.

“Of course. Didn’t you notice how many of your mother’s cookies I ate? My stomach is dancing like crazy.”

“Mine would be too if I ate that much chocolate.” Kyle grinned at his glower. “Good thing she made extra so the other people could have some after they look at our models.” He tilted his head sideways. “I didn’t think you ever got nervous.”

“Everybody does. It’s the body’s way of telling us to think about what we’ve taken on.”

“Are you sorry you started the model club?”

“Not at all. I’m just sorry Quinn can’t fill in for me tonight. Then he’d be nervous.”

But once they arrived at the church and he saw the models on display, Brendan’s nervousness moved over to accommodate the sense of pride that bubbled up from inside at the careful work the boys had accomplished. He spoke to every father who showed up, praising each child, which seemed to make the parents happy, too.

There were only three men left to speak with when Kyle’s father sauntered in. Brendan’s heart clenched at the relief and pride that washed over the boy’s face as he introduced them.

“So you’re the guy that’s been keeping my kids away from me.” Steve Tanner barely glanced at the project Kyle proudly held.

“Not at all. I’m sure you can come and see them anytime. I know they’d be delighted.” He glanced down at Kyle’s tense face, smiled. “How do you like your son’s work? He certainly has a knack for detail. I don’t think I’d have had the patience to glue these tiny pieces together when I was his age.”

“Kyle’s always been a momma’s boy,” the man replied, his smile more of a sneer. “I was into football at his age.”

“Were you?” Instant dislike for the man burgeoned, but Brendan stuffed it down, for Kyle’s sake. “Kyle’s more the boxing type. Fast hands.” He feinted a few punches, ducked when Kyle made a few of his own moves. “Soft feet, too. A boxer’s best asset.”

“Boxer? Kyle?” Steve Tanner hooted with laughter. He reached out and punched his son’s shoulder so hard that the boy winced. “Look at that. Hasn’t got an ounce of muscle on him.”

“Maybe you’d like to see the other models.” Brendan forced himself to remain calm as he pointed to the few displays that were still left behind. “Next week we’ll be starting on a bigger
project. You’re welcome to join us, work with Kyle. Some fathers can’t come every week but they show up when they can and we’re glad to have them.”

“I have to work. Wouldn’t mind some of that coffee, though. And those cookies. Chloe made them, didn’t she?”

Brendan wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction the gleam in his eyes so clearly wanted. He pretended confusion. “She donated some. Those could be hers, I guess.”

“Ol’ Chloe was always a good cook. A real homebody. Not the type of woman a man like me needs.”

“Really?” Brendan let loose. “She looks like a movie star, holds down a demanding job and takes care of two kids. Tell me, Mr. Tanner, just what kind of woman do you prefer?”

“Steve?”

At that moment, a young woman Brendan guessed to be about twenty-two tripped through the door in a pair of high heeled sandals that almost unbalanced her. She wore far too much makeup, was barely covered by a slinky dress and had long silver nails that grabbed on to Tanner’s arm like talons.

“I thought you were never coming,” she said.

“I told you to wait in the car, Vanessa. I’m just having a coffee, talking to my kid’s teacher.”

Poor Kyle looked mortified as the woman leaned down and patted his cheek as if he were five. “Hi, Kyle. I’m Vanessa.”

“Hi.” The boy stepped back, beyond reach. “I’ll get you some coffee if you want, Dad,” he offered, setting his model on the table behind him.

“No, never mind. We’re going out for dinner as soon as Steve gets finished here.” She wrinkled her nose when Steve pulled her close beside him. “This place smells musty. Can we go now?” she whined.

“Sure, honeybunch. Whatever you want.” Steve held out a hand toward Brendan. “Nice to meet you. Kyle, we still on for next weekend?”

“Next weekend?” Clearly confused, Kyle glanced up at Brendan. “Uh, I don’t know.”

“I think you’d better call Chloe first,” Brendan suggested. “She may have other plans. There have been some developments—”

“No
development
between you and my wife is going to keep my kid from me.” Steve’s belligerent attitude sent Kyle rushing to explain.

“No, Dad. You don’t understand.”

“I sure don’t. That woman is supposed to be mothering you, not entertaining men.”

Brendan flashed his badge, teeth clenched.

“Your
ex-wife
isn’t entertaining anyone. I’m FBI. Chloe and the children are under federal protection at the moment. Anyone who tries to interfere with us will be thrown in jail. So I’d advise you to call first.” Wishing he’d held his temper, Brendan turned to Kyle. “I think you should pack that up. There’s a box in the kitchen that should fit your model. Then we’ll close things down. The other fathers have left anyway.”

“Okay.” Kyle hurried away as if he couldn’t bear to be around a moment longer. When he was out of earshot, Brendan faced the boy’s father.

“It would be nice if you could let Kyle know if you’re not coming next time,” he said quietly. “He gets really disappointed when you can’t keep your appointments with him. Madison, too.”

“I don’t need you to tell me about my kids.”

“Well somebody should,” Brendan grated, his fists itching to knock some sense into the man. “Your son needs a father in his life.” He gave Vanessa the once-over. “Maybe you should make time for him.”

“Kyle! We’re going.” As Kyle approached, Steve Tanner turned and deliberately knocked his son’s creation to the floor. “Oh, boy. Now look what I’ve gone and done. Clumsy me. Sorry, kid.” He squatted, began gathering bits of balsa wood that hadn’t endured the stress. “Maybe next weekend you and I can build a new one—something bigger and better than that.”

Brendan knew Kyle was crushed, though he tried not to show it. The boy took the pieces from his father, then carefully picked up the rest of the broken bits and set them in the box without looking at his dad.

“Sure,” he whispered. But his heart wasn’t it in and Brendan could tell Steve knew it.

“Okay, well, we’d better go. I’ll call you, okay?” He waited for the nod, shot Brendan a nasty glare then left with Vanessa trailing after him, trying to keep up.

Once the room was silent, Kyle rose, picked up the box and plopped it in the garbage. “It was just a bunch of junk anyway,” he mumbled. “I’m no good with stuff like that.”

Brendan clamped his lips together to stop the protest. But while Kyle got his coat, he collected the broken pieces and put them in a plastic bag. Maybe once Kyle cooled off, they could put it back together again.

Heart aching for the quiet boy, he drove home, praying for the words he needed to speak. “I’m sorry he didn’t appreciate your model, Kyle.”

“Doesn’t matter.” The boy peered out through the windshield, his expression unreadable.

“I think it matters quite a lot. You worked hard on it. Your father should have noticed that.” Brendan didn’t want the boy to start defending his father’s behavior so he continued before Kyle could protest. “When people disappoint us, I think we should remember that maybe there’s a reason.” Kyle twisted his head, obviously interested, so Brendan continued. “Maybe your father didn’t have a very good dad himself, so he doesn’t know how to be one.”

“My mom said something like that,” Kyle admitted. “I remember when they used to argue all the time because Mom wanted Dad to be home more often. He always said he was too busy earning a living to play and Mom said ‘Just like your father, Steve?’ He got mad at her.”

“Your mom was probably trying to help him see how much
you needed your dad to be there. Parents worry about that stuff a lot. They want the best for us. That’s why the Bible says to honor your parents—because there’s a lot you can learn from parents, a lot of bad stuff they can help you avoid.”

“I guess.” Kyle fidgeted. “But Mom is always trying to control things. She has to know exactly when Dad’s picking me up, where we’re going, when we’ll be back. It makes Dad so mad.”

“Does it?” Brendan felt like he was picking his way around a minefield. “But your mom has to know all of that stuff. What if you didn’t come home? How would she know where to find you if something happened to Maddy?” He paused and glanced over at Kyle. “She’s not being mean, Kyle. She’s doing exactly what the Bible says parents should do—being responsible for her children, making sure they’re safe and well cared for. She loves you the very best she can. That’s not a bad thing, is it?”

“No.” But Kyle didn’t sound totally convinced and when they reached home he answered his mother monosyllabically before retreating to the basement. Chloe looked at Brendan with a question in her eyes as she helped Madison return Kanga and Roo, her two guinea pigs, to their cage, then accompanied her to bed.

When Chloe returned to the kitchen, Brendan gave her a brief summary of Steve’s visit. Though her full lush lips tightened into a thin line and her blue eyes hardened to steely blue, she said nothing. She made coffee, handed him a cup, then stared out the patio door listening as the quiet thud of fists hitting a punching bag echoed into the night, long after Kyle’s bedtime.

Nothing Brendan said had seemed to soften Kyle’s pain and there was apparently little he could do to help Chloe, either, except silently pray for a heavenly balm on this family’s aching souls.

Chloe awoke a couple of days later with a stuffed head and many sneezes. She’d survived the night shift—barely—and had fallen into bed with a hot cup of tea as soon as she got
home. The tea still sat on her bedside table, cold with a slick layer on top that turned her stomach. She rose holding one hand against her aching head, grabbed a robe and descended to the kitchen, dumping the drink down the drain.

“Good afternoon, sleepyhead.” Brendan lounged against the counter looking disgustingly healthy. “Still feeling lousy?”

She gave him one telling look, then put on the kettle. “Where are the kids?” she rasped, only then realizing how sore her throat was.

“Madison’s getting ready for soccer practice. Kyle’s in his room doing something.”

“Practice?” She clamped a hand to her aching head, pushed away the lifeless strands and fought to summon an ounce of energy. “I forgot about practice.”

“I don’t think you should go.” It was not a question.

Chloe made a new cup of hot tea, added honey, then sat down at the table to sip it. “I never miss practice unless I’m working. How much time have I got?”

“Half an hour. But you don’t have to go. It’s not necessary. Madison will do just fine.”

“Not without you.” She twisted her head to stare at him. “Why don’t you leave one of the other agents with me and go do your coaching thing? I’ll be fine.” She hadn’t even finished before his head was shaking.

“My assignment is to follow you and that’s what I’ll do. Besides, Buddy’s been doing this for a long time. He’ll have them going through their paces in fine form.” He laid his palm against her forehead.

His hand was so cool. Chloe realized she was leaning into it and pulled back. How stupid could she be? He was an FBI agent, here doing his job. Why was it so hard to remember that?

“You feel warm. Have you taken something?”

“Yes.” She sipped the tea, closed her eyes and let it slide down her throat over the rough patches. “So far it’s not working.”

“At least you’ve got a couple of days off. You can rest, sleep it off.”

“But first there’s practice.” Summoning strength from some unknown reserve, Chloe rose and grabbed the edge of the table when the room began to spin.

“Whoa!” He gripped her arm, supported her while she regained her bearings. “Okay?”

“Yes.” She drew her arm away, pretended the current that zipped from his skin to hers meant nothing even though she suddenly felt more alive than she had in months. Was that the fever? Using one hand to hide her expression, she dragged back her hair, caught him staring at her. “I must look horrible.” She couldn’t tear her gaze away from his.

“You look beautiful. You always do.”

Something in the way he said it—or was it the look in his green eyes?—held her captive. Chloe froze, every nerve on high alert as he leaned closer.

“You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen,” he said softly. “I don’t mean just your eyes or the way you smile or even the way your skin glows as if it’s been polished by satin. You radiate a deeper beauty, something inside you that spills over onto other people.”

He drew her into his arms and held her, asking nothing. She relaxed in his arms. It seemed totally natural when his lips pressed a feather-light kiss against her neck. “I could go on doing this for a long time,” he whispered against her ear some time later. “But I think that noise is Madison coming downstairs.”

Madison? Chloe jerked away, felt a rush of panic. What was she doing?

“I’ll go get changed.” She turned away so he couldn’t see how flustered she was. “I’ll be down in a minute.”

“Chloe, I—”

Whatever he’d been going to say was cut off by the radio at his waist.

“Intruder. Front door.”

“Go upstairs, Chloe. Now. Take Madison with you and keep Kyle up there ’til I give the all clear.” Brendan transformed into a grim-faced enforcer who brooked no argument. His face grew hard, his eyes chips of ice. “Go.”