The Lawman's Legacy (Love Inspired Suspense) (14 page)

The fact that the owners spoiled Tyler only made it easier to visit.

“Is that my boy?” Vanessa Connolly hurried over, her freckled face wreathed in a smile.

“Ms. Vanessa! I’m going to have chicken.”

“And fries, right?” Vanessa scribbled something on an order pad, and turned her attention to Merry. “Heard there was trouble last night. Are you both okay?”

“We’re fine.”

“Thank the good Lord for that. I’d hate to lose two of my favorite customers.”

“All your customers are your favorite.”

“But some have a special place in my heart. You want the Cobb salad?”

It was what Merry usually ordered but she’d had a long night, a long couple of days, and she wanted more than salad greens and boiled eggs.

“Actually, I’ll have the fish of the day. We’ll both have a small root beer.” Another thing she never had and didn’t allow Tyler to drink.

“Good choice, my dear. I’ll have that for you in a few minutes. Don’t want to keep you from work too long. Or, maybe you’re not working and that Victorian getup you’re wearing is all the new fashion rage.”

“Even if it were the newest fashion trend, I wouldn’t be wearing it unless I was working. It’s tight and itchy.”

Vanessa smiled. “I guess that explains why the Victorian misses look grumpy in their photos. I’ll be right back.”

She rushed away, and Merry settled into the chair, willing herself to relax, willing her headache away, willing herself to believe that things were going to be okay.

Beyond the parking lot, the bay stretched toward the horizon, choppy blue-green water lapping against the docks. Several boats were moored there. How much would it cost to rent one and hire a captain to sail her away?

A waitress set two small glasses of root beer on the table, and offered Tyler crayons and paper.

He scribbled happily, and the warmth of the restaurant, the easy flow of conversation and laughter seeped into Merry’s chilled body, her eyes drooped, and she was tempted to close them, go ahead and let Vanessa cater to Tyler while she dozed.

“Here you are, Douglas,” she heard Vanessa say. “The ladies will be very disappointed that you’re not at tea, but I’m sure they’ll get over it.”

Douglas?

The name was like a splash of ice water in the face, and Merry straightened, her heart racing as she looked into deep blue eyes and a hard, handsome face.

Douglas.

“You don’t mind sharing the table with my nephew, do you, Merry? The place is really hustling today.” Vanessa didn’t wait for an answer, just set a place mat and silverware at the end of the table and motioned for Douglas to pull over a chair.

He sat down, eyeing Merry solemnly as she shifted uncomfortably.

She wanted to get up, grab Tyler and run, but she knew he’d follow. “What are you doing here?” she asked, instead.

“I was supposed to come for tea this afternoon, but I decided to stop by a little early.”

“Tea?”

“Vanessa invites me every couple months.”

“I pictured you more as a coffee guy.”

“You pictured right, but I love my aunt, and I can’t say no to her invitations.” His gaze dropped to Merry’s high-collared cream-colored Victorian blouse, his lips curving into a half smile. “Cute outfit. I guess it was my sister’s choice.”

“Yes.”

“You don’t look happy about it.”

“I’m not happy about anything today,” she mumbled, and he covered her hand with his.

She wanted to pull away.

Wanted to hold on tight.

Wanted so much more than what was safe or reasonable or smart.

Her heart jumped at the thought, and she looked away, staring into the bay.

“You’re not thinking of running again, are you?” His fingers smoothed over her knuckles, skimmed along her wrist, every touch trailing heat and reminding her of dreams she’d given up on long ago.

Romance.

Love.

Forever with someone who cared more about her needs than he did about his own.

She pulled away, rubbing her knuckles along her thick cotton skirt, trying to wipe away the heat of his touch, the longings of her heart.

“Not running. Just…getting into a boat and sailing into the sunset.”

“Sorry to break the news to you, but that’s not going to be possible.”

“Because you won’t let me leave town? I already know that. There’s no need for a reminder.”

“Because, the sun
rises
over the bay. It doesn’t set there.”

His words surprised a laugh out of her.

“In my dreams it
sets
over the bay, and I sail into it, okay?”

“What other dreams do you have, Merry?” His words flowed over her, smooth as melted chocolate, and she knew she could drown in them if she let herself.

Drown in him and all the things he represents.

Safety, normalcy, a place to settle in and become a part of.

He could give her that if she let him.

But letting him would mean giving up her secrets, and that would mean giving up the one thing she couldn’t bear to let go of.

“I need to…use the restroom. Can you watch Tyler for a minute?” She didn’t wait for him to respond, just ran, nearly knocking over the waitress in her hurry to put some distance between herself and the dreams she knew could never come true.

FOURTEEN

“T
hat went well, huh, buddy?” Douglas asked, and Tyler looked up from the picture he was drawing, his eyes shadowed. Too shadowed for such a young kid.

“You going to watch me like my mommy said?”

“Yes. What are you drawing?”

“A picture.”

“Looks like a two-headed dragon.” Douglas eyed the colorful creature Tyler had drawn.

“It’s a dog.”

“With two heads?”

“He’s got one head and two ears.”

“Oh. I can see that.” Sort of.

“Mommy says I can have a puppy in the spring.” Tyler scribbled some more, the mark on his inner wrist peeking out a little more with every movement.

Douglas leaned close, trying to see it more clearly.

A scar of some sort, the skin raised and purple-blue. It looked like it had been caused by a deep burn, the edges sweeping in a curve that formed a perfect circle. Inside the circle, there seemed to be a shape of some sort. A triangle? A letter? Douglas ran his finger over the lines, traced what could have been an
R
or a
B
.

“What’s this on your wrist, Tyler?”

“Nothing.”

“Really? Then where did this mark come from?” Douglas touched the ridged flesh again. Definitely a burn. As a matter of fact, if he didn’t know better, he’d think it was a brand.

The thought chilled him to the bone, and his hand dropped away, his stomach churning.

Had someone branded the little boy?

“Sorry about that.” Merry returned to the table, her gaze dropping to Tyler’s wrist, and then darting to Douglas.

“He has an interesting mark there. What’s it from?” Douglas asked, and Merry’s gaze dropped again.

“It’s a scar.”

“Right.
What’s it from?
” He emphasized the question, willing her to tell the truth without him prodding and pushing and asking a million times.

“A burn,” she hedged, not giving him everything, but not telling an outright lie, either.

“From?”

“It happened when he was a baby. I’m hoping it will fade more in time.”

“You’re avoiding the question.”

She lifted her gaze, looked into his eyes.

Stark fear.

Deep longing.

He could see that she wanted to tell him everything, and he wanted to push her into it, force her hand by revealing the information he’d already learned.

But he wanted her to trust him, too.

Then,
he could help her.

Then, they’d be a team with common knowledge and a common goal.

The waitress set plates in front of them, refilled their drinks and walked away, and still, Merry held her silence and her secrets.

“Let’s thank God for our food and eat, Ty. I don’t want to be late getting back to work.” She grabbed her son’s hand, shifting his arm so that the scar was hidden.

“Can I pray, Mommy?” Tyler asked, reaching for Douglas, his chubby fingers soft and warm, his little hand swallowed by Douglas’s. The idea that someone might have purposely scarred the kid made Douglas’s blood boil.

He reached for Merry’s hand, capturing it before she realized what he planned.

“You don’t mind if I join your prayer, do you?”

“No. Of course not.” But her hand was stiff beneath his, her words terse as she told Tyler that he could offer thanks for the meal.

She tugged away as soon as he finished, rubbed her fingers on her old-fashioned skirt, her hand trembling slightly.

“No need to wipe off my touch. I don’t have cooties.”

“I wasn’t wiping away anything.” She blushed and dug into her plate of fried fish.

“You’re not very good at lying, Merry. I’m not sure why you keep doing it.” It was a waste of their time. She must know that he’d learned the truth, or at least suspect that he had. He’d taken her fingerprints, after all. Told her flat out that he planned to run a background check. That had come up empty. Merry had no criminal record. Not even a parking ticket. What she did have was another name. He wanted to know why, and he wanted her to tell him.

“My mommy doesn’t lie.” Tyler frowned, his black eyes flashing with anger and what looked like tears.

“Hey, sport, I’m just playing around, okay?” He ruffled soft dark hair, his stomach clenching again as he looked into Tyler’s face. A little boy shouldn’t have circles beneath his eyes and fear in the depth of his gaze. He shouldn’t have scars that looked like brands or danger stalking him.

“That’s not a nice kind of playing around. I thought you were nice.” Tyler’s chin wobbled, a tear slipped down his cheek, and Douglas felt like the biggest loser on the planet.

“Don’t cry, sweetie. Captain Fitzgerald was just kidding.” Merry wiped away the tear, shot a heated look in Douglas’s direction.

“What’s going on over here? Why is my boy crying?” Vanessa appeared at the table, spearing Douglas with the same look Merry wore.

“That man said my mommy lies,” Tyler wailed, and Vanessa lifted him from the chair, patted his back.

That man?

Douglas had thought they were buddies.

“How could you, Douglas? In front of the boy!” Vanessa hissed. “Of course, your mommy doesn’t lie, dear one. Of course, she doesn’t. Now, you just stop your tears. Dry them right up, because I have a cake that needs frosting, and I need you to help.”

“Carrot cake?” Tyler sniffed back more tears.

“Isn’t that your favorite kind?”

“It
is
my favorite!” Tyler sniffed again, and Vanessa smiled.

“Then, let’s go frost it, and you can have a big piece when we’re all done.”

“Can I, Mommy?”

“You haven’t eaten much of your lunch,” Merry said, then sighed. “I guess you can finish when you come back. Go ahead.”

“Thanks, Mommy!” Tyler wiggled out of Vanessa’s arms, threw his arms around Merry, and for a fraction of a second, Douglas imagined moving in, scooping him up, tickling his belly. Apologizing again.

That man.

He’d come down a few notches in Tyler’s eyes, and it bothered him more than he wanted to admit.

He waited until Vanessa and Tyler walked away, then turned to Merry. “I’m sorry about that. I should have thought before I spoke.”

“It’s okay.” She picked at her food, not meeting his eye.

“No, it’s not. Tyler is a little boy. He has nothing to do with your lies.”

She dropped the fork, her face pale as she finally looked into his eyes. “You seem to have something you want to say. Why don’t you just come out and say it, Douglas?”

“Because I’d rather
you
say it.”

“I’m too tired for games. Just tell me what you want and we can both get on with our day.”

“We found a match on the prints I pulled from a window sill at your place. They came up the same as some we pulled from Olivia’s apartment. Want to guess who they belong to?”

“No.”

“Then I’ll tell you. They belong to a woman named Lila Kensington. A woman whose name you said you’d never heard.”

“I said I’d never heard Olivia say it,” she said, her voice weak.

“Can we stop playing games for a minute? Can
you
stop playing them? Just for a minute?” The anger that had burned in his gut since he’d learned the truth welled up and spilled out.

“I’m not playing anything,” she choked out.

“Then why did your prints match the other two sets? Why does a background check reveal nothing about Merry O’Leary and plenty about Lila Mary Kensington?”

“I changed my name a few years ago. That’s not a crime.”

“Who are you running from, Merry?”

“Tyler’s father.” The words spilled out, and Douglas knew they were still only a partial truth.

“Why?”

“He’s a dangerous man. I don’t want him near Tyler.”

“You’re still hedging around the truth. You’re still not telling me everything,” he growled, and she winced.

“I—”

“Don’t lie to me again, Merry. I need the entire truth if I’m going to help you and Tyler.
Everything.
”

“I need to go. Fiona is expecting me back.”

“Running won’t fix things.”

“Nothing can fix things.” She tossed her napkin onto her plate, stood, but he couldn’t let her go.

Not this time.

“We’re not done talking, Merry.” He didn’t touch her, but she froze, her face so pale he thought she might pass out.

“I can’t tell you anything more.”

“You have to. Come on. We’ll talk outside where it’s more private.”

“Tyler—”

“Is with Vanessa.” He took her hand, led her onto the pier where his uncle docked his fishing boat. Led her to the very edge of the wood planking, so that the bay stretched out in front of them, the restaurant noise fading behind them.

She didn’t protest, didn’t speak as he turned her so he could look into her face. “It’s time to stop running, Merry.”

“I can’t lose Tyler.” Her voice broke, and a tear slipped down her cheek.

“Why would you?” He brushed the tear away, his palm resting on her cheek, some of his anger fading away as he looked into her face and read the terror and the sorrow there.

“Why?” he asked again, softly, quietly, because he didn’t want to scare her more than she already was, didn’t want to send her running again. She looked deep into his eyes for a split second before turning away, staring out into the bay.

Seconds ticked by, her silence stretching out as gulls cried and muted laughter drifted from the restaurant.

Finally, she spoke, the words so quiet he had to lean close to hear, and even then, he wasn’t sure he had heard correctly. “He’s not mine.”

“
Who
is not yours?”

“Tyler. He’s not my son. Not legally.” Her voice broke and more tears slid down her cheeks.

“Then whose is he? Legally.” He kept his voice steady, his tone gentle, but his pulse raced with shock. When he’d learned that she had run from Boston and changed her name, he’d assumed she’d been running from Tyler’s father, that she was hiding her identity out of fear for herself and her son. He’d never imagined how deep her secrets ran.

“It’s a long story.”

“I have plenty of time to listen to it.”

“Of course you do,” she said, her hollow laughter drifting out into the bay, her face empty and cold, tears spilling down her cheeks. “Because, when you’re done listening, you’re going back to your home and your family and your life. But when I’m done telling it, my family won’t be mine anymore.”

“Why not? Whose son is he, Merry? If he’s not yours, why are you raising him?” He captured her chin, forcing her to look him in the eye. He wanted to see the truth when she told it, wanted to know there were no more secrets between them.

“His mother was a student of mine. Her name was Nicole Anderson. She was seventeen when we met. Eighteen when Tyler was born.” The tears came more quickly as she spoke, and endless stream of sorrow that made Douglas want to pull her into his arms, hold her until they stopped.

“Where is she now?” he asked instead, because the story had to be told. All of it. No matter how painful.

“She’s dead. Murdered a few weeks after Tyler was born. Before she was killed, she asked me to take care of Tyler until she could come for him. She was never able to come, and I just raised him as my own.” Her voice broke, silent sobs wracking her body.

He tugged her into his arms, giving into what he wanted and what he thought she needed. Holding her felt right, comforting her felt right.

She
felt right.

In his arms. In his life.

“I’m so sorry, Douglas. I just didn’t know what to do.” Her head dropped to his chest, her hands clutching his waist, tearstains splotching his leather bomber jacket.

“You didn’t do anything you need to be sorry for. If Nicole asked you to raise Tyler—”

“She did.” She lifted her head, looked straight into his eyes. For the first time since he’d met her, there were no shadows in her gaze.

“Then you didn’t commit a crime, and you have nothing to be afraid of. Not from the law, anyway. You said you were running from Tyler’s father?”

“Yes. His name is Tyrone Rodriguez. He’s a high-ranking member of the Boston Red Bloods, and I’m sure he murdered Nicole. She told me he was capable of it. Told me he wanted his son and would do anything to get him.”

Douglas knew the gang name. Notorious in Boston, they’d infiltrated many of Massachusetts’s small towns and coastal villages, bringing drugs, illegal weapons and crime.

He thought of the mark on Tyler’s arm. The circle with what could have been a letter in the center of it. He’d seen something similar on a gang member’s arm. A new way of displaying the gang colors. A brand rather than a tattoo.