Perfect Fit (5 page)

He shook his head. “No, thanks.”

A few minutes later, both he and Cara were seated near Sam, who looked a hell of a lot better here than in a hospital bed. “You’re not green anymore,” Mike said of his brother’s coloring.

“I’m better. And I’m antsy.”

“And it’s only been forty-eight hours, so relax yourself. You’re a couple of weeks away from being cleared to return to work, so chill.”

Sam muttered a curse. “I’ve got things to do.”

“Nothing that can’t wait. Cara can hold her own with Dare. Once you’re back, I’ll give him a rookie to train as his new partner.”

“Better him than me,” Cara said, curling her bare feet beneath her on the oversized chair in which she sat.

Pink toes peeked out from beneath her navy-blue sweats, which rolled at the top. A faded gray T-shirt, imprinted with the SPD logo, had been cut off, revealing a tantalizing sliver of bare skin between the frayed edge and the waistband of her sweats.

“Mike, quit mooning over Cara and pay attention; this is important.” Sam’s voice broke into his musings.

Son of a bitch, his brother hadn’t just caught him, he’d called him out. When Sam was better, Mike intended to beat the living crap out of him.

Cara’s face blushed a cute shade of pink. Mike figured his was maroon by now. “What?” he snapped, knowing he
couldn’t admit or deny without getting himself in more trouble.

“We have a situation,” Sam said, his tone of voice more telling than anything else that this was big.

Mike sat up straighter in his seat. “What’s going on?” He looked from Sam to Cara.

She shook her head. “It has to come from Sam,” she said.

“You know how the mayor gave you a list of unresolved cases, especially those that involved the old Winkler place, and told you to do something about it?” Sam asked.

“Yeah. And I put you two on it,” he said to Sam and Cara.

“Right. Most of the open complaints about the Winkler place were tough to run down since nobody is willing to admit they visited that…umm, establishment.”

Mike still didn’t know where his brother was going with this. “I’m listening.”

“And I’m getting there. It’s not simple. Back in 1983, the cops pulled over a car on a random traffic stop. They found drugs, arrested the driver, and impounded the car. In the trunk they found ten grand in marked bills. The money and the drugs were locked in the evidence room until the feds could pick up the cash. Somehow it fell through the cracks, and the money’s still sitting there.”

Mike muttered a curse, and Cara laughed.

“Fast-forward some weeks,” Sam continued. “A women’s group began protesting the old Winkler Place.”

“The Best Little Whorehouse in Serendipity,” Mike said, using the nickname he’d learned as a kid.

“Right.” Cara waved a hand toward Sam, indicating he should keep talking.

“The group clashed with the people at the motel, the cops raided the place, and what did they find? The same type of marked cash, at which point it goes into evidence too. The hooker activity dies down for a while, the moms forget about the Winkler place, a new administration comes in, and lo and behold, the money sits and nobody takes another look.
Over time, any activity at the Winkler place ended, and nobody was willing to discuss what really went down there.”

Mike shook his head in disbelief. “Okay, well, let’s say I get that we’re in a small town with shitty record keeping. And I also get how that old boys’ network kept further investigation from continuing. We’re talking about what? Money laundering in addition to prostitution out there?”

“We don’t know,” Cara answered.

Mike raised his hands in frustration. “What do we know?”

Sam cleared his throat. “Well, we know that the only person currently on the force with possible ties to all this in the past—is Dad.”

Mike gripped the sofa seat, about to jump up, when Cara held up a hand. “Hang on. We’re not saying Simon did anything wrong.”

“At least not yet,” Sam added. “But the thing is, after Cara and I got up to speed on the history of this case, we went to the evidence room to see what we could dig up. It turns out that the original marked bills from the traffic stop were referenced—but now there are one thousand dollars’ worth of bills that don’t match up.”

Mike leaned forward in his chair. “Did you ask Dad about the bills?”

Sam nodded. “Damn right I did.”

“And what did he say?”

Sam frowned, and Mike’s skin prickled with unease.

“He outright refused to discuss it, and believe me, I pushed hard. I’d planned to bring it up again, but he was diagnosed and went right into treatment. The time hasn’t been right since.”

Mike gritted his teeth. “So…where do we stand now?”

Sam looked from Cara to the walls, everywhere but at Mike.

“What aren’t you telling me?” Mike asked, his underlying tone making it clear it wasn’t a question but a demand for answers.

“Go on,” Cara said to Sam. “He needs to know.”

Sam blew out a breath before answering. “Dad’s partner at the time of the incident was Rex Bransom.”

Mike swore and glanced at the ceiling, pulling himself together. Though he probably should have seen this coming as soon as Sam grew more reluctant to tell the story, he felt blindsided anyway. “My biological father,” he finally said.

Sam remained silent, giving Mike time to process the news.

His brother knew Mike’s “real” father was a sore subject. As far as Mike was concerned, Rex Bransom was a man who hadn’t wanted a family and who’d disappeared from his life when his mother was pregnant. Ella and Simon hadn’t sugarcoated the truth—that Rex had bailed on his pregnant girlfriend—explaining that Rex had too many flaws and problems to stick around. But Rex had been Simon’s best friend and partner, and when he’d taken off for parts unknown, Simon had stepped up, married Ella, and adopted Mike.

And they’d all had the perfect life without Rex Bransom involved in it. Deep down, Mike had always figured there was more to the story, but he hadn’t pushed for answers. Probably because since leaving Serendipity, he knew firsthand how much like his real father he actually was. He couldn’t bear to know more.

“Are you okay?” Sam asked.

Cara remained quiet, but he felt her perceptive gaze and sensed her pity, one emotion he did not want her feeling for him.

“I’m fine,” he lied. Mike was happiest when not thinking of the man who’d given him life and probably the rest of his bad habits and behavior before abandoning him.

“Then you understand someone has to take over the investigation with Cara,” Sam said, his point clear.

“Yeah. And because it involves Dad, that person is me.” Mike leaned his head back and groaned.

“Hey, don’t sound so happy about working with me,” Cara said, probably hoping her tease would bring him out of the mood he’d sunk into.

“It’s not about you,” he said, and rose to his feet. Without sparing either of them a look, Mike headed for the front door.

“Give him time,” Sam said to Cara, after his brother’s departure. “Anything to do with his real father brings out the worst in him.”

Cara bit the inside of her cheek, feeling sorry for Mike at the same time she knew he’d hate that particular emotion. “I didn’t know he was adopted by Simon until we started this digging.”

“It’s never been a secret. My parents were always open with Mike and with us. They wanted him to know he was wanted and loved by both of them. And I’ve never seen a hint of anything different from my dad, so you had no reason to know.” He shook his head. “Our dad. Simon’s always been our dad.”

“I get it. Family’s never easy,” she said, thinking of her own parents. “Speaking of family, my mother asked me to come to dinner tonight.”

Sam blinked in surprise. He knew she was basically estranged from her family, or as much as she could be, living in the same small town.

“Did you say yes?” Sam asked.

She shook her head. “No, I said what I always say. Get rid of your extra baggage, and I’ll be there in a heartbeat. I’ve even offered to help her do it. I’d take her to Havensbridge myself and help her get set up,” she said of the women’s shelter where she volunteered.

“What’d she say to that?” Sam asked.

“The usual. She ignored the comment and talked about something else.”

He sighed. “I’m sorry.”

“And sadly I’m used to it.”

She rose to her feet. “I’ll let you get some rest. I have some errands to run.”

“Thanks. And thanks again for letting me stay here. I’ll be gone by the end of the weekend. The doc said by Monday I can do more for myself.”

“I don’t mind the company,” she said, with a smile.

“Hey, make sure you keep me in the loop on the investigation. Because my brother probably won’t, and I know you’re going to need a sounding board in dealing with him.”

She forced a smile. “Don’t worry about me; I can handle him. And don’t go talking about me behind my back again, either. I appreciate you looking out for me, but I didn’t need you squeezing a semi-apology out of your brother.” Mindful that Sam was recuperating with stitches, Cara didn’t lay into him the way she normally would have. Besides, she knew he’d meant well.

Sam didn’t even wince at being caught. “Is that all he managed? A
semi
-apology?” he asked in disgust.

“Mind your own business,” Cara reminded him.

“I’m sorry you have to work closely with him now.” Sam’s frown showed all the disgust he felt at being laid up.

“Like I told you, I can handle your brother.” And she could.

As long as she figured out how to decipher the man’s moods and the reasons behind them.

Their last time together, he’d been an open book, as eager to flirt and sleep with her as she’d been to do the same with him. But since his return, reading his usually somber mood was never easy. Cara was never sure if his disposition was related to being around her, being coerced into returning to town for an undetermined period of time, his job, his father’s illness, or what.

Given that they’d be working together now, she’d have to figure it out because she couldn’t work in a dark vacuum with a brooding man. Not when so much was at stake, including her sanity, considering she could not ignore him.

Three

Later that day, Cara pulled into Havensbridge, a
women’s shelter located twenty minutes from Serendipity, situated on an unpaved street almost hidden by trees. The house was immense, with a multitude of bedrooms, and had been left to Belinda Vanderbilt, a distant cousin of
the
Vanderbilts, many times removed. Belinda, now forty-two, had the good luck to have been born into money and the bad luck to have chosen the wrong man. After nearly losing her life at his hand, she’d run from her New York City luxury apartment and settled into the estate left to her by her great-aunt. After she’d been forced to shoot her ex-husband before he beat her to death, she decided no other woman should have to suffer the way she had.

Belinda turned her estate into a haven for abused women, and often their children, providing them with safe shelter and helping them get strong enough to survive on their own. She’d even gotten a degree in psychology so she could, along with trusted friends in the profession, provide counseling
and care without alerting outsiders. The shelter had been in business for ten years.

Cara had been volunteering for the last two, her reasons for helping out here the same as the reasons she became a cop. She wanted the chance to make a difference in people’s lives. It didn’t take a psychiatrist to tell her she was overcompensating for not being able to change her mother’s life. But Cara loved both her job and her work at Havensbridge and the women she met there.

Cara parked and headed for the front door, where she was greeted by Jane Baker, a corrections officer, who also volunteered here in her spare time. Cara’s duties alternated between spending time with the women she’d referred or met here and guard duty, as Jane was doing tonight. Cara preferred one-on-one time with the women but was happy to stand in when they were short on security. Tonight she planned a short visit before meeting Alexa and her work friends at Joe’s for drinks.

She paused to talk to Jane for a few minutes, then headed for the kitchen. Inside the large, homey-looking room, Cara found the person she’d come to see. Daniella was by herself preparing dinner.

“Hi,” Cara said, not wanting to startle her.

“Hi!” The younger woman’s sky-blue eyes lit up as she met Cara’s gaze. “You came!”

“I said I would.” Cara hopped up onto a stool near where Daniella was chopping peppers. “Where is everyone?” Cara knew the house had a few other women living there too.

“Lindsay’s throwing her wash into the dryer, and Darla had a headache, so she’s lying down. I hope I’m not taking you away from anything important,” Daniella said, as she always did when Cara came over. She glanced at Cara with a shy smile.

“Nope. No place else to be,” Cara said, and she picked up a knife and started helping Daniella by cleaning
and cutting up carrots for the stir-fry she was obviously making.

For just this reason, Cara hadn’t changed into the dressier clothes she’d wear later to Joe’s. She wanted Daniella to believe she had no place better to be. And the truth was, Cara wasn’t in any rush. As long as Daniella wanted to talk or needed an ear.

“How have you been the last few days?” Cara asked as she sliced.

Daniella had been there for only a week, and she was very much a work in progress—someone who intuitively knew she had to get out of an abusive situation but had a hard time believing that the emotional and verbal harm her ex-boyfriend inflicted would escalate into physical violence. It was often hardest to convince women that words and emotional battering did as much damage as a fist, or more.

“Not bad. It’s hard being cut off from everyone back home, though.” Daniella glanced at Cara, her long brown hair obscuring the side of her face.

“You haven’t called anyone, have you?” Cara asked, aware of the catch in the other woman’s voice.

“No. But I’ve thought about it,” she admitted, dropping her knife to the counter.

Cara placed her hand over Daniella’s. “It’s hard in the beginning. All the women who’ve been here say the same thing, but once you make a plan, once you start looking forward to a healthy future, it’s going to be worth it.”