Sworn to Protect (3 page)

Padding into the living room, she rolled her shoulders, trying to work out the kinks. To relax some. But unwinding always took a while. Shane was far from being the sole source of stress in her life—working with juveniles was rewarding, but terribly exhausting. As much as she loved kids, never had she dreamed that seeing them in trouble, some of them desperately lost, their futures at risk of complete ruin when their lives should just be beginning, would be so heartbreaking.

It was her job to protect them, and she didn’t always succeed.

With a sigh, she grabbed the remote and turned on the television. The drone of the six o’clock news already underway assaulted her ears, and she wondered why she bothered to watch when the stories covered had a short range of bad to worse.

When did I become so cynical?

She knew the answer to that question—she just preferred not to face it.

Disgusted with herself as much as the depressing newscast, she picked up the remote, fully intending to silence the TV, when the camera switched to a live picture of one of the seasoned reporters standing in front of a residential home. A really large one.

“Chad, I’m sorry to interrupt. We have some breaking news here,” the reporter said in a grim tone. He quickly consulted a sheaf of paper in his gloved hand before continuing, the cold air causing his breath to puff with frost.

“I’m standing in front of the home of the Tennessee Titans’ longtime star running back, Brad Cooper. Moments ago, the Nashville police confirmed that earlier today Cooper was found dead inside the house by his sixteen-year-old son, Drew. No further details have been released at this time, including the possible cause of death, but I’ll be back with more information as it becomes available. All we know so far is that tragically, NFL star Brad Cooper, much-loved sports hero and native son, is confirmed dead at the age of thirty-seven. Back to you, Chad.”

“Shocking and sad news indeed,” the anchorman replied as the camera returned to him. His solemn face filled the screen. “We’ll give you more on that story as soon as we can. In other news . . .”

Flicking off the television, Daisy sat frozen, eyes wide. “Oh, my God. That poor kid. And . . . Shane!”

Scrambling off the sofa, she hurried to retrieve her purse and keys and dashed out the door. She was down the street before she remembered that she hadn’t grabbed her gun or shield, which she never went anywhere without. But that didn’t matter right now. All that did was getting to Shane, comforting him while he dealt with the blow of losing his mentor. His best friend.

God, what if he hadn’t yet heard the report? She had to reach him before he saw it on television, as she’d done, or worse, some reporter showed up at his house to get his reaction as fodder for their ratings.

The drive seemed to take forever, but was in reality just a few minutes. Shane lived in a gorgeous custom home on the Cumberland River, on the edge of Sugarland, that boasted a beautiful view. She was sure the house had to cost a ton of money. Not that it was any of her business, but she couldn’t help but wonder how a cop could afford such a spectacular place. Shane’s twin sister and her husband had built a place next door, and it was rumored they’d inherited the land from their deceased parents. Daisy had never asked if it was true.

Pulling her car into the drive, she stopped next to the front porch and shut off the ignition. The sun was about to disappear over the horizon, and she could see lights on in the house. She could picture him inside, sipping a cold one as she’d been doing.

Or maybe grieving the man who’d been his best friend. Alone.

With a deep breath, she got out, approached, climbed the steps, and knocked. In moments, the door swung open to reveal Shane’s surprised face. He was dressed in loose, holey jeans and a faded Metallica T-shirt, his chest stretching the material nicely. He was tall, long, and lean, with muscles everywhere they should be. His sable-brown hair, a little too long to be regulation, flopped over gray eyes that assessed her with very male interest—despite the fact that he’d broken things off between them.

She noted all of this in a glance, and his open, questioning look jolted her to reality, because it meant one thing: he didn’t know.

“Hey,” he said, clearly at a loss. “What are you doing here?”

The simple inquiry hurt, even though it was a normal thing to ask. “Can I come in?”

“Sure.” Looking puzzled, he held open the door and waited for her to come inside. After he shut it again, he followed her into the big living room. “What’s wrong? You look like somebody drowned your kittens.”

His attempt at levity fell flat as she turned to face him. Their gazes held, and the half smile that had been forming on his lips vanished.

“You haven’t turned on the news.” It wasn’t a question.

“No, I haven’t. What is it?” He closed the distance between them, brows knitting in concern.

“Shane . . .” Swallowing hard, she gripped both of his big hands in hers. Very gently, she said, “Honey, it’s about Brad Cooper.”

He stared at her, uncomprehending. “Brad? What about him? Did he get another speeding ticket? Or did they arrest him this time? Damn, his manager is going to have a fit—”

“No, that’s not it.” She shook her head.

Sucking in a breath, he said, “Daisy, you’re scaring me.”

“They said on the news that Brad is dead,” she whispered. “God, I’m so, so sorry.”

And as he slowly processed what she’d told him, Daisy watched the man she loved shatter into a million pieces.

Dead. Brad was dead?

“No. That’s just not possible,” he said reasonably, his mind refusing to accept her crazy words. “I spoke to him not even two hours ago and he was fine. He
is
fine. I’m sure there’s some mistake.”

“I’m so sorry,” Daisy repeated, her big green eyes filled with sympathy. And a sheen of tears for a man she didn’t really know.

No one did, save for Shane and Drew.

“Drew,” he gasped. “Oh, Christ . . .”

His mind reeled and he gripped the back of the sofa to keep from falling. Ice spread through his veins, the shock of the truth chilling him from head to toe, the blood draining from his face. “What happened?” he rasped.

“I don’t know.” She laid a hand on his shoulder. “The reporter just stated that he was found by Drew a short time ago in the house. Police aren’t releasing more details right now.”

“They’ll damned fucking well release them to
me
.”

Oh, God. Brad was dead. And Drew had found him.

Shoving his grief aside, he lurched for his cell phone resting on the kitchen counter. Right where he’d left it before going into the bedroom to change clothes. Grabbing it, he checked the display and his heart sank. Four missed calls. All from Drew.

Without listening to any of the messages, he called his godson. Waited through several rings before the teen answered.

“Shane? Where are you?” Drew sobbed.

“On my way,” he said firmly, jogging to the bedroom to fetch his wallet and keys. “I’ll be there in thirty minutes or less, I promise.”

“Shane . . . they’re gonna take me into protective custody or something! Please hurry!” His words were barely understandable.

“No, they absolutely will not. Tell them your legal guardian is on the way, okay? Tell them I have papers. Can you do that?”

“Yeah. Hurry . . . My dad . . .”

His heart broke. So did his voice as he said, “I know, buddy. I’m coming. Just hang tight.”

“Okay.” The kid’s voice sounded small and helpless. Nothing like the normally exuberant, self-assured son of a famous man.

“See you soon.”

Hanging up, he stuffed the phone in his front jeans pocket and dashed from the bedroom right past Daisy, down the hallway and into his study. There he ran to a four-drawer file cabinet, jerked it open, and rifled through the hanging files, as Daisy came inside.

“You have guardianship papers for Drew?”

The pain in his throat burned so badly, he could barely speak. He had to keep it together. “Yes. Brad had his lawyers set it all down legally, years ago, just in case anything ever—” Breaking off, he closed his eyes to stop the tears from escaping. “Brad’s estranged from his parents and would never trust them with his son, for very good reasons. Drew’s mother died of cancer when he was a baby, and Drew has no one else. Jesus Christ, he’s alone now.”

“No. He has you,” she said softly.

“Yeah.” Blinking the moisture away, he finally found the right file and quickly checked the contents. Assured he had the correct papers, he pushed unsteadily to his feet. “Thank you for coming, for being the one to tell me.”

She shook her head. “No thanks needed.”

“I have to go—”

“I know, and I’m driving,” she said in a no-nonsense voice. “You’re in no shape to get behind the wheel, and you might need some backup when you get there.”

In the depths of her beautiful eyes, he read the words she actually meant—y
ou might need a friend.

“All right.” Pushing a hand through his hair, he nodded. A wave of gratitude washed through him at the thought of having Daisy at his side, helping him face the impossible. “I might at that.”

Giving him a meaningful look, she held out her hand. He relinquished his keys without argument and he led her through the kitchen to the large, attached garage where he kept his truck, motorcycle, and a bass boat. Hitting the lock, she walked around and climbed into the driver’s seat of the truck, and he got in the other side.

As she punched the garage door opener and started the engine, it momentarily crossed his mind how strange it was to ride as a passenger in his own truck. But the feeling was fleeting, drowned in a wash of numbness as shock set in. Grief would come later, he knew. Would hit hard. For now, he was on autopilot, doing what needed to be done, for himself and Drew.

This wasn’t his first rodeo in this sort of situation. After his parents had been killed, after years of long, hard struggle to get himself and Shea on their feet, he’d never wanted to be in this position again.

Brad was supposed to be at home, alive and well, taking care of his son.

God. What happened? Why?

“The house is in Nashville, right?”

Daisy’s question brought him back to reality, and he nodded. “On the outskirts, north side. We don’t actually have to go into the city.”

“Okay, just tell me where to turn.”

They rode in silence for a few moments before she spoke again. “Do you have a bedroom ready for him?”

So practical, his Daisy. Again he was grateful for her companionship. “There’s a room he always uses when he stays with me. I guess it’ll be his now.” He stopped to rein in the emotions threatening to tear a jagged hole in his calm. “It needs airing out, the sheets changed, the closet cleaned out for his stuff. . . . Christ, I don’t know if I can do this,” he choked. “What am I going to do with a teenage boy?”

The warmth of her hand enveloped his, and squeezed. “You’re not alone. I’ll help you get the room ready and get him situated. The rest you’ll learn. You
can
do this and you will. He’s depending on you.”

Clutching her hand like a lifeline, he nodded. “Okay.”

It was far more than he deserved, and selfishly he wasn’t about to turn her down.

He found himself wishing the drive would never end. That he’d wake up from this nightmare and be glad that none of it was real. But it did end, all too soon, as Daisy pulled the truck to a stop outside the massive iron gates of Brad’s estate.

Outside it was fully dark, the night broken by the flashing of red and blue lights in the yard beyond the estate’s walls—and by the frenzy of the media on their side of them. An officer was stationed at the gate, and walked over to the driver’s door with an unwelcoming frown as flashbulbs created a strobe effect.

“No press and no unauthorized access to the premises,” he intoned, waving a hand in motion for them to get lost. “Please turn your vehicle around—”

“I’m Detective Shane Ford, Sugarland PD, and I’m Drew Cooper’s legal guardian,” he barked, shoving the papers and his shield in the officer’s face. “I’m here to pick up Drew, and I want to see him
now
.”

Arching a brow, the officer took the papers and scanned them with his flashlight. After a few seconds, he glanced up, his manner somewhat improved. “Hang on, Detective.” As he turned and walked a few feet away, Shane heard him speak into the microphone clipped to his shirt. “Got a man here, says his name is Detective Shane Ford . . .” His voice faded as he moved off.

I probably could’ve handled that better,
Shane thought, but right now, he didn’t give a shit.

A couple of long minutes later, the gate began to swing open. The officer walked back to the car and returned the papers and shield, thoroughly scrutinizing Shane and Daisy before saying, “You can go on through. The boy is outside with Officer Anita Daniels.”

“Thank you.”

He stepped back and Daisy pulled slowly down the drive, searching for a good place to park that would allow them to leave without being blocked in.

“I’m going to pull around back,” she said thoughtfully. “That way when we leave, he can crouch down until we’re out and the gawkers won’t know what vehicle he’s in.”

“Good idea.”

She found a spot in the driveway in back, and turned the truck around to face the entrance before shutting off the ignition. Glancing out the window, Shane saw Drew standing on the wide back deck with several uniformed cops, including the woman that must’ve been Daniels.

The boy looked so lost in the sea of activity. So alone. His shoulders were slumped, head down. And then he glanced up and spotted Shane getting out of the truck.

Drew cried out and bolted straight off the deck, running for Shane as fast as his legs would carry him. Shane met him halfway, caught him, and wrapped the boy tight in his embrace. Drew clung to him and broke down, face buried in Shane’s neck, sobbing his heart out. The kid might be almost as tall as Shane, but right now he was a hurting boy. Despite Shane’s effort to hold back, he couldn’t help the tears that slipped down his face and into Drew’s dark hair.

“I got home from school, got a snack, and messed around for a while, and—and I wondered where Dad was,” he gasped between sobs. “He d-didn’t come out to ask me about my day l-like he always does.”

“You don’t have to talk about this now if you don’t want.” But apparently the boy needed to get it out. Shane held him tighter.

“I walked around the house, calling him, but he didn’t answer. I—I found him on the floor of his study . . . He wasn’t breathing and I tried to help him! I couldn’t— He wouldn’t breathe!”

“I’m here,” Shane whispered over and over. “I’m here, and it’s going to be okay. I’ve got you.”

Vaguely, he was aware of Daisy taking the shield and papers from his hand and then speaking softly to someone. He wasn’t sure how long he and Drew stood clinging to each other, but gradually he stepped back, keeping his hands on the boy’s shoulders. Even in the poor lighting, he could see that Drew’s vivid blue eyes were swollen, the boy’s handsome face—so like his father’s—the portrait of devastation.

“There was nothing you could do,” he told his new charge, and prayed that was true. That, horrible as it might sound, Brad was gone long before the boy got home. “We’re going to get through this together.”

Drew’s chin trembled and his gaze dropped to the ground. “I don’t know what to do.”

“You’re coming home with me, all right? I’m going to see about getting inside to pack you a bag, and the rest we’ll worry about later.”

“O-okay.” He sniffled, looking around in a daze.

It hadn’t hit Drew yet that he wouldn’t be coming back here to live. That he’d not only lost his dad, but everything familiar to him as well—his home, school, friends, his entire way of life. Shane didn’t look forward to the coming explosion.

And there
would
be one, he was certain.

“Drew, this is my friend Daisy Callahan,” he said, feeling self-conscious about introducing her as such. She’d been
much
more than a friend. “We work together at the police department.”

“Hi.” The boy tried to muster a smile, but failed.

“Hey, Drew,” she greeted him warmly, placing a supportive arm around his shoulders. “I’m going to stay here with you while Shane gets your stuff and clears you to leave. Is that all right?”

“I guess.”

Tossing Daisy a look of sheer gratitude, Shane squeezed Drew’s shoulder. Then he turned to Officer Daniels, who motioned him several yards away from the stricken teen so they could speak discreetly.

“Your papers appear to be in order, and they support the call we received from Mr. Cooper’s attorney. You’re free to take Drew home.”

Shane blew out a breath. “Thanks.”

The officer wiped at her tired, bloodshot eyes. “I gotta be honest. If the dead guy was anybody else, nobody would give two shits about this kid or where he went.” She shot a pointed glare in the general direction of the gate and the clamoring press beyond. “As it is, I hope you’ve got a giant set of brass balls, ’cause you’re gonna need ’em to fend off the sharks. I don’t envy you one single bit.”

He merely nodded, not taken aback by her blunt observation. Cops tended to be direct like that with each other. But the reminder that the grieving young man would be under a microscope until the furor died down brought all his protective instincts to the fore. “We’ll be just fine.”
Eventually.
“Who’s in charge? I need to see about retrieving some of Drew’s belongings.”

“That’d be Detective Lacey. Go on in, tell him I sent ya.”

“Thank you, and thanks for taking care of Drew, too.”

The older woman gave him a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. Not an unkind smile, but one of a cop who’d seen too much. “No problem. He seems like a good kid, and I hope things turn out okay for him.”

“Me, too.”

He left her and made his way up the deck steps and through the French doors leading into the living room. No one spared him their attention, focused as it was on the activity in the study on the opposite side of the room. With every step in that direction, the band around Shane’s chest grew tighter until he struggled to breathe.

When two plainclothes detectives and the ME parted enough to give him a full view of Brad lying on the floor, arms and legs splayed helplessly, Shane had to stop. His best friend was faceup, lips blue, eyes open, staring sightlessly in what might have been mild surprise.

Dead. Not a horrible nightmare. It was
real
.

And poor Drew had seen his dad like this.