Sworn to Protect (6 page)

That afternoon, he headed for Drew’s room, determined to pry him out for a while. He had to keep the lines of communication open, whether the boy wanted to talk or not.

At the closed door, he rapped twice, and was met with a muffled “Come in.”

Stepping inside, he saw Drew perched on the padded window seat, arms around his knees. His gaze was fixed into the distance, perhaps studying the bare trees dotting his property or the lazy Cumberland beyond. He turned his head to look at Shane, eyes dry. And terribly blank. That void scared Shane a lot more than the outward grief.

Crossing the room, he sat on the edge of the bed close to his godson. “Been awake long?”

“Yeah. Couldn’t sleep anymore.”

“Feel like taking a walk?”

“Not really.”

“Please?”

The boy studied him for a long moment, then shrugged. “Fine.”

Grateful to have won even this slight measure of ground, Shane stood. “Come on, let’s get our coats.”

Once they were zipped up, Shane led them out through the sliding glass door that opened onto the large back deck. When the weather warmed up, he’d have the guys from the station over, grill some burgers. Maybe Drew would’ve made some new friends by then. He hoped.

As they picked their way slowly down the trail leading to the riverbank, Shane struggled over how to broach the subject. But it was Drew who broke the ice.

“When do I have to go back to school?” He frowned. “And who’s gonna take me if I’m staying here?”

“That’s one thing I need to talk to you about,” Shane hedged. “I live and work here, and since this will be your home now, too, it makes more sense for you to attend school in Sugarland.”

Drew stopped walking and gaped at him. “Here? In Hicksville, USA?”

Here we go.
“Sugarland is a nice city. You’ve always seemed to love it here.”

“Yeah, to visit.” His voice rose. “What about my friends?”

“They’re welcome to come see you, and vice versa. In the meantime, you’ll make new ones.” He hated the placating parental tone of his own voice. Seemed that came naturally, no matter how much of a novice you were.

“I wouldn’t need to if you’d just move in to Dad’s house! It’s my home!” the kid almost shouted.

“I know it is,” Shane said evenly. “But living there isn’t going to be feasible for the two of us.”

“Why not?” Drew shook his head, becoming more upset. “It’s, like, seven thousand square feet! We could go for freakin’ days without seein’ each other!”

“That’s part of the problem, son—”

“I am
not
your son!” he yelled, jabbing his finger in Shane’s face. “You’re not my dad!”

“I know that.”
Deep breaths. You expected this, and you can handle it.
“I’m your friend . . . your mentor. But I’m also an adult, your legal guardian, and I have to do what I think is best for you.”

“Even if I fuckin’ hate it,” the teen spat.

“Even if you fuckin’ hate it.” That got the boy’s attention, and he visibly struggled with his emotions. Shane softened his voice. “I know this is hard on you, so many changes at once. But I’m hoping you’ll meet me halfway.”

The kid tried to stare him down, but it obviously didn’t take him long to realize that tactic wasn’t going to work on a cop.

“Whatever.” Drew kicked angrily at a rock, scowling. “It’s not like I have that many friends at the academy anyhow.”

That surprised him. “Why do you say that?”

“Those rich asswipes mostly just care about who’s who, you know? I know they only like me because I’m Brad Cooper’s son.”

“That’s pretty cynical for a guy your age.”

Again with the shrug. They were going to have to work on that.

“You never said when I have to start school.”

“I’ve been giving that some thought,” he said carefully. “This week is going to be rough for both of us, with the funeral and getting you moved. I think next week is soon enough.”

“You’re not driving me, are you?”

The question was edged with such teenage angst, he almost smiled. “I take it that would be too lame?”

“Totally,” the boy agreed, rolling his eyes. “I usually take the shuttle from the academy.”

“Well, I’m sure the school district has a bus run out here. I’ll check on the schedule this week.”

“Or you could just let me get my driver’s license . . .”

At the hopeful suggestion, he gave in to the smile that had threatened. “Not yet. Your dad and I specifically talked about this. I know he wanted you to finish your junior year, and getting your license depended on your grades.”

“But
you’re
in charge now. Remember?”

“That’s right. And because I am, I’m carrying out your dad’s wishes.” At the boy’s protest, he held up a hand. “You make good grades, then we’ll sign you up for a summer driver’s course, get your license, and see about getting you something to drive. Something affordable and sane.”

“That sucks,” the teen grumbled.

“That’s the deal. Take it or leave it.”

“Fine.”

As they walked on, Shane felt a sense of accomplishment at winning rounds one and two. But deep down, he knew in his gut that had been much too easy. That feeling wasn’t going to last.

This week would mark the start of the rest of their lives. Futures forever changed. These would be the hardest days Shane had endured since the deaths of his parents. For Drew, they’d be the worst ever endured in his young life.

Shane knew the boy was still in shock, unable to grasp that his dad really was gone. Today’s conversation proved it—the boy was angry one minute, something approaching normal the next. He was struggling to make sense of a horrible, permanent hole in his heart.

He just prayed he could catch Drew when he fell.

•   •   •

Daisy managed to stay away all day Saturday and Sunday. She probably would have stayed away indefinitely—if it hadn’t been for that kiss.

The memory of it was inescapable, not that she’d tried to run. Though she should, far and fast. However, she couldn’t stop thinking of the naked vulnerability on Shane’s face before she’d left. The pain. That’s what lured her back now. The idea that Shane needed her, that he might not run this time.

If she escaped making a fool of herself, it wouldn’t be for lack of trying.

The late-afternoon sun was slanting through the trees, sending shadows across the yard. It would be dark soon, which was why she’d taken off a little early. In the winter, it always seemed later than it was.

She rang the doorbell and waited. Voices could be heard inside from the TV, and there was a lingering aroma of something cooking. Then the door opened to reveal Drew, gazing at her, unsmiling.

“Hey,” he said, stepping back. “Shane’s in the kitchen.”

Then he turned and left her standing there, returning to flop on the sofa and grab the remote.
O-kay.
Seemed the kid was going to be a tough nut to crack. Maybe more so than his guardian.

“Thanks.” Shouldering her purse, she walked to the kitchen, where Shane was stirring something in a pot on the stove.

“Who was at the door?”

“Me.”

Whipping his head around, he smiled. “Oh, hey! Sit down. Would you like a beer?”

“I’d love one, thanks.”

Tapping the spoon on the edge of the pot, he laid it down and wiped his hands on a towel. Then he fished two bottles from the fridge, twisted the top off one, and handed it to her. “How were things in the trenches today?”

“The usual,” she told him, then took a sip. “Two drug arrests at the high school, both of the kids sixteen. An assault—a dad who punched his daughter. Enough about that. How are you two holding up?”

His expression sobered. “Not too well,” he said quietly, with a glance toward the living room. “He’s slowly shutting me out, becoming withdrawn. There’s a lot of anger, denial.”

“If you need the name of a juvenile counselor, I’ve got a couple of good ones.”

“I’m thinking that’s not a bad idea.”

She nodded. “I’ll call you tomorrow with the names. Any word from the ME on Brad’s report?”

“We’re still waiting, but I’m expecting a call anytime. Detective Lacey from the Nashville PD phoned yesterday and said Eden had to work all weekend because of some extra stuff that came up.”

“He didn’t say what?”

“No, and it’s driving me crazy.” He gestured to the pot. “I made some chili, if I could persuade you to join us.”

“I don’t want to intrude—”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I made way too much, and besides . . . I like having you here.” A small smile curved his lips, and her stomach fluttered.

“In that case, I’d love to.”

“Drew, dinner’s ready,” he called. Obviously worried, he stared at the doorway until the boy came in. Then he visibly relaxed some. “Would you set the table, please?”

The teen rolled his eyes but did as he was told. None too gracefully, though. He yanked three bowls and three small plates from the cabinet, then let the door slam shut. Ignoring Shane’s stern frown, he slapped the dishware on the table, then went for the spoons with a noisy rattle.

“Attitude check, kiddo.”

“Whatever.”

Daisy could feel the tension between the two of them just about shoot through the roof. She felt sorry for them both, and could identify with each of them as well. They both looked haggard, dark circles under their eyes from little sleep. Shane hadn’t shaved, apparently, since she’d seen him last, and his mouth was lined with fatigue. He carried a platter of cornbread to the table and practically collapsed in his chair.

“Let’s eat,” he said.

They sat, grabbing pieces of cornbread, and Shane served the thick, delicious-smelling chili. Daisy and Shane dug in, but Drew mostly picked at his. After taking a few bites of cornbread and not much more than that of his chili, he carried his plate and bowl to the sink.

“I wish you’d eat a little more—”

“I’m full. Check ya later.”

After the boy left, Shane’s shoulders slumped. “I’m at a total loss with him. We usually get along great, and now it’s like we’re strangers.”

“Give him time,” she said softly. “It’s been only three days.”

“I know. I just—” The doorbell interrupted whatever he’d been about to say. “Hold that thought.”

Daisy remained where she was, figuring he didn’t need her hovering over his guests. She was about to take another bite of her dinner when she heard him say hello, and two very familiar voices drifted her way.

Chris and Taylor were here.

Shoving to her feet, she hurried into the living room, where the men were standing. Her colleagues glanced her way and didn’t razz her good-naturedly for being at Shane’s house, as she’d thought they might. Instead their faces remained grim, and her pulse tripped. That could mean only one thing.

“We have some news about the autopsy results,” Chris said, glancing around. “Where’s Drew?”

“In his room, most likely.” Shane sighed. “That’s where he stays most of the time. Hang on, why are
you
guys here about the results of Brad’s autopsy?”

“Because Detective Lacey gave us a call and figured it would be best if we talked to you in person,” Shane’s cousin replied.

Taylor spoke up. “It appears we might have some crossover on our cases.”

Shane glanced back and forth between his friends, frowning. “So, Brad’s test results warrant opening a case? How so?”

Chris gestured to the sofa. “Let’s sit and we’ll run through what Lacey told us.” Once they were seated, he went on, bracing his elbows on his knees. “This isn’t going to be easy for you to hear, cuz, so I’ll give it to you straight. Brad died as the result of an adverse reaction to a designer drug.”

Shane’s face paled. “A-a what?”

“Designer drug,” Chris repeated, expression sympathetic. “The DEA has jumped in with both feet and all sorts of tests are being done, but the preliminary consensus is that this drug is something nobody has seen before. It’s illegal as hell, with traces of amphetamines mixed with a bunch of other shit, likely performance enhancing, or at least that’s how they feel the drug is being marketed on the street. A pick-me-up, iron-man drug that makes steroids look like aspirin.”

“Jesus, Brad. Why?” Shane’s eyes closed and for several long moments he said nothing. When he opened them again, it was apparent he was holding it together by a thread. “Official cause of death?”

“Heart failure due to adverse drug reaction,” Taylor said. “Not technically an overdose.”

“The shit stopped his heart.”

“Yes. I’m sorry, man.”

Shane grappled with that, blinking moisture from his eyes. “What does that have to do with one of our cases?”

“It connects with the one we just caught the other day,” Taylor told him, leaning forward to hand Shane a file folder. “The dead guy in the ditch with the hole in the back of his head—remember him? He was identified as Larry Holstead, age twenty-eight.”

“Who’d he run with?”