Shielded By The Lawman
He dodged the land mines of crumbling concrete on his way up the walk. Deciding that the cracked doorbell wasn’t worth a try, he knocked hard on the door.
When no one answered, he considered bashing in the window next to it. But since the impact might have been enough to bring down the whole house, he knocked again.
“You sure someone’s supposed to be there?” Larry called out the car window.
“The guy said he’d be here...with the key.”
Finally, a rheumy-eyed skeleton of a man opened the door a crack and pushed a clipboard out. Michael signed without reading it, plunking down the envelope of cash and reaching for the key in the man’s other hand. He could have wrung the weasel’s neck for closing his fist and counting the bills before handing the key to him and closing the door.
With each creak as he climbed the apartment steps, Michael reminded himself that this was temporary, like that sentence he shouldn’t have had to serve. They would find her, and she would return to him, where she belonged. She would be sorry, too. For saying those things to the judge. For ignoring a court visitation order. But most of all, for keeping him from his money and his son.
The instant he flipped the switch inside the apartment, he wished for his prison cell. Yellow, nicotine-scarred walls encased a sunken, stained couch and matching chair. A lone TV tray served as a side table, but there was no television, only a shadowy mark on the wall where one used to be.
This would be fine, he decided, as he took in the lumpy looking mattress with a coverlet on top. From his bag, he pulled out a three-by-five photo of Maria, smiling on their wedding day, tresses of her hair curling around the lacy, borrowed veil. He always imagined her this way. Smiling. His.
“It won’t be long now, sweetheart. We’ll be a family again.”
Michael’s lips formed a grim line. Maybe he wouldn’t be able to make Maria understand that he couldn’t live without her. But that wasn’t the point, was it? He wouldn’t let her live without him.
Chapter 3
“Welcome back, Officer.”
Jamie stopped, the open door still pressed against his shoulder. Sure enough, Ted, the same diner owner who’d cashed him out less than twelve hours before, waved at him through a crush of customers waiting to be seated. Didn’t the guy ever go home? And why were there so many kids there on a school day?
Not for the first time, Jamie wondered what he was doing there, even if the mingling scents of cinnamon rolls and bacon already had his mouth watering. He waved back as he realized that his plan might have a hole in it. If Sarah had worked last night, she probably wouldn’t be there to answer his questions this morning. And, in the unlikely case that she was there, what would he say to her? That they’d exchanged a few strange looks? And a note? And pie?
Despite the line of waiting guests, Ted sidled over and spoke in a quiet voice. “Everything all right last night?”
Jamie lifted a brow. Was it obvious that he was there to scope out a woman? But when Ted squared his shoulders as if bracing himself for a complaint, Jamie suddenly understood.
“Just couldn’t stay away.” Those words were truer than the guy would ever know.
“We love hearing that.” Ted grinned and nodded several times. “We’re slammed because the kids are off from school, but we’ll get you seated as soon as we can. And don’t worry about the cinnamon rolls. Sarah made extra...”
Jamie wasn’t sure what Ted said after that. At the mention of Sarah’s name, he couldn’t help scanning the room, looking for her again.
“Order up, table 21,” a feminine voice called out, somehow rising above the din of conversations.
He didn’t need the pounding of his pulse in his ears and the weightless feeling inside him to tell him the voice was Sarah’s. Sure enough, her head peeked out through the opening where waitresses collected their orders.
Her head was bent at first, but suddenly those pretty blue eyes were staring back at him and widening with something closer to uneasiness than surprise. Then, just like last night, she disappeared into the kitchen.
Well, that was one time too many. He wasn’t the one who’d written that note or cut that pie. She’d created all the questions, so it was about time for her to offer some answers.
Jamie squeezed through the line of customers and strode across the dining room, not stopping until he reached the kitchen’s swinging door. Before he could talk himself out of it, he rapped on it.
For several seconds, he waited. Through the window, he caught sight of several waitresses zipping past.
When her face appeared in the circle, his breath caught. Only she wasn’t smiling the way she usually did when she took his burger order. As the door opened a few inches, he backed out of the way.
“May I help you, sir? I mean... Officer?”
“Jamie,” he croaked.
She lifted a brow, but her flour-covered hands were gripped together. Though he’d dreamed of someday being this close to Sarah, he’d never imagined the event with anxiety pouring off her in waves.
“I’m, um, off duty,” he said.
“I can see that.”
“Right.”
As he brushed his sweaty palms on his jeans, he mined his memory for that list of questions that had been lining up like a troop formation. The waitress who appeared behind Sarah gave him a reprieve.
“Behind you, sweetie.”
“Sorry, Belinda.”
Sarah pushed through the doorway and held the door for the other waitress. Once the woman had passed, Sarah slid into the opening again.
“As you can see, Officer, we’re a little busy this morning, so...” She stepped back, allowing the space to narrow.
Jamie could feel the answers he craved and his first opportunity to have a real conversation with her slipping away with the incremental closing of the door.
“Wait.”
Her gaze lowered to his hand, which seemed to have shot out on its own to grip the door. Immediately, he released it, but when Sarah’s gaze lifted, that look was in her eyes again. Was it fear? Of him?
“Sorry. That’s not—” He cut off his words and took an obvious step back. “Look, I’m doing this all wrong. Can we talk? Just for a minute?”
She shot a glance over her shoulder, as if she would welcome any excuse to say no, but turned back to him and nodded. With a wave for him to follow, she stepped out from behind the counter and led him to the hall where the customer restrooms were located. At least there wasn’t a line. He was nervous enough without an audience.
Halfway down the hall, she wheeled around so quickly that Jamie had to jerk to a stop to avoid running into her.
“I didn’t mean anything by it,” she said.
“I don’t know what you mean.” He did, and that was the hell of it. Those small things he’d built up to Mount Everest proportions meant nothing at all to her.
She shrugged, watching the toe of her shoe as it tapped the industrial tile floor.
“You know. The note.”
“So, it really was for me.” The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them.
“Of course, it—” She stopped herself and gripped her crossed arms over her chest.
“There wasn’t a name at the top.”
“I just wanted to say thank-you. You know. For your work in the community.”
“Oh.” Well, she hadn’t announced that she found him irresistible, but it wasn’t the worst thing she could have said.
“Because I’d kind of overheard about your rough night.”
“Thanks,” he said, because there wasn’t much else he could say to that.
“I just wanted you to know that your work is appreciated. That’s all,” she rushed to add.
“And I appreciate your saying so.”
He would also be grateful for a graceful exit. Or an escape route of any kind. Everything made sense now. Her strange look when he’d arrived the night before. Charity, not a come-on. And the pie? She and Trevor had been in cahoots on that one. What kind of police officer added those measly clues up to a sum of romance?
“Well, thanks for clearing that up, but you probably need to get back to your tables.” His gaze lowered to the jeans and long-sleeved T-shirt she wore beneath her apron rather than a uniform, and then to the dusting of flour on her sleeve.
“Oh. You’re baking.”
“I do that in the mornings.” She cleared her throat. “And I should get back to it. Everyone seems to want cinnamon rolls instead of pancakes this morning.”
That she shuffled her feet then didn’t surprise him. He’d mentioned her baking again. But the way she wrung her hands and kept looking over her shoulder toward the restrooms and side kitchen door seemed excessive. How could she expect scrumptious desserts like hers to remain a secret?
“Can you blame them? They smell great.”
Her cheeks deepened to a pretty pink. “Do you want me to pack some up for you?”
Again, she glanced over her shoulder. Why she was so anxious for him to leave? Was she hiding something?
Then a door squeaked, and the answer to those questions ran out with a burst of energy and a mop of sandy blond hair he would have recognized anywhere. Aiden?
“Mommy, Mr. Mike said the oven timer—” The boy stopped midsentence. “It’s Mr. Jamie!”
He ran right past his mother and launched himself, his face landing soundly in Jamie’s stomach.
“Oomph.” He ruffled the boy’s hair, stalling for both a breath and the chance to absorb these new details. Sarah was not only a mom, but she was Aiden’s mom, and for some reason, she hadn’t wanted him to know either of those things. Why not?
“How’re you doing, buddy?”
Aiden beamed up as he eased him back, and Jamie’s stomach clenched. How could he have missed the resemblance before? Sure, he’d never seen them together since the babysitter rather than a parent always picked Aiden up from Kids’ Space. But even so. The child’s huge, almost impossibly light blue eyes were just like his mother’s. And his mother’s hit him like a gravel truck with a full load every time she looked at him. Which at the moment she was avoiding.
She spoke to her son instead. “Aiden, you know it’s not nice to throw yourself at people.”
Aiden took another step back, but his mischievous grin remained. “Sorry, Mr. Jamie.”
“Thanks. I think I’ll live.” He held his hands wide. “Hey, I heard you get to skip school today.”
“We had a day off, but Mommy made me come to work with her.”
“Yeah, moms are mean that way sometimes,” she murmured.
“You got to come to work with Mom?” Jamie slid his gaze to Sarah. “Looks like we have a pretty important someone in common.”
She finally nodded.
“And the note was really about this guy?” He gripped the giggling boy and rubbed his knuckles on that blond head.
“Yes, but I’d better—” She jerked to look down at her son. “Wait, did you say, timer?”
“Mr. Mike already took out the pies,” Aiden announced.
Jamie could have kissed the kid. Sarah wanted to answer his questions about as much as a suspect in an interview room, but her son hadn’t learned the art of excuses and wasn’t helping her to escape. “That’s great that Mr. Mike helped you out.”
“Mommy, can we eat breakfast with Mr. Jamie?”
She shook her head so hard her dangling earrings jiggled. “Sorry, sweetie. I still have a few things to finish in the back.”
“You said we could leave when the pies were cooked.”
“Yes, I did.” Then she smiled. “So, we’ll finish and then leave right away.”
Aiden opened his mouth, but then drew his eyebrows together as he must have realized that he’d won. Or lost.
“But I want to stay,” he whined.
“Yeah, he wants to stay.” Jamie gestured with a tilt of his head toward the dining room. “And if the line out there has moved at all, I’ll have a table soon. You don’t want me to eat alone, do you?”
Jamie couldn’t believe the words coming out of his mouth. They sounded more like something ladies’ man Nick or reformed womanizer Shane would say. Not him. He would have said anything then to convince her not to leave, but she was already shaking her head again.
“Please, Mommy. It’s Mr. Jamie.”
Her son’s words must have made the difference, because she dampened her lips and then nodded.
“Yay!” Aiden called out.
It was all Jamie could do not to shout, or at least grab the kid in a bear hug.
The boy slid past Jamie and scampered down the hall before turning back to them. “I’m going to go tell Mr. Ted.”
Sarah watched him go, her eyes awash with the kind of affection that a mother reserves for her child. Funny how Jamie wished she’d look at him that way.
She did look back at him then and caught him watching.
“He’s so full of energy,” she mumbled. “But then you already know that.”
“You’re right about that.”
Again, she glanced at her son, a watchful mother even though he was only twenty feet away.
“Thanks again for being so kind to my son. Making friends is always a struggle for him.”
“Really? I don’t know why. He’s such a great kid.”
“I wish the boys in his class could see that.”
Jamie brushed off her worries with a wave of his hand. “He’ll be fine. You worry too much.”
“What mother doesn’t?”
He had to give her that. His own parents had hovered over him for months after Mark’s death, even to the point of ignoring their own grief.
“Well, I’m glad I’ve gotten to know Aiden,” he said. “And I know a lot about him...if I can believe half of what a six-year-old tells me.”
She blinked several times. “Probably less than that.”
Her words were light, but her chuckle sounded strange.
“Okay, then, I’ll believe just 25 percent.”
She nodded, though from her look, she still wasn’t satisfied with that bargain. What didn’t she want Aiden to share?
“Then it’s good that we’ll be having breakfast together.”
Her gaze narrowed. “Why’s that?”
“So you can tell me which quarter to believe.”
This time she smiled, and the slow burn he always felt when she was around edged up a notch.
“I’ll be sure to do that,” she said.
“And while you’re at it, maybe you can do one more thing.”
“What’s that?”
“You can tell me why you didn’t want me to know you were Aiden’s mom.”
Chapter 4
At the clink of the bells, Sarah startled, her head twisting toward the sound. Another group of customers had squeezed inside the diner’s entry area and were waiting for their fill of eggs, pancakes and breakfast meats.
For a moment, she’d almost relaxed. She couldn’t afford to do that. Not with Aiden sitting next to her, right out in public where anyone could see them. Not when her back was to the restaurant door as Trooper Donovan had taken her preferred seat facing the exit.
And especially not while in the presence of the officer, who was too curious about her and her son.
She turned back to the table, where Jamie had settled in his chair, his arms crossed. Could he see right through her? Could he sense that she was living a lie?
“I never get used to those bells,” she explained, and then licked her lips.
“I hate them, too.” He forked another bite of his eggs but didn’t lift it off the plate. “They’re jarring.”
At least he hadn’t pointed out that she’d nearly climbed out of her skin over something she heard dozens of times each day. Something that should have been as familiar to her as the shrill of his patrol car’s siren probably was to him.
But instead of asking her about it, Jamie took a bite of his pancake. She was grateful for the reprieve but didn’t kid herself into believing that the officer’s earlier question about her son wouldn’t pop up again. If only she knew how to answer when it did.
“Aren’t you hungry?”
She glanced down at her plate, where she’d only scooted around her eggs and toast. “Guess not.”
His gaze felt warm on her crown as she bent and forced a bite.
“That means your mom won’t get to have a cinnamon roll.”
“Mom said I could,” Aiden said, over a mouthful of scrambled eggs.
“Aiden...”
At her warning, her son swallowed and then tried again. “Sorry, Mom. But you said I could if I finished my breakfast.” He pointed to the yellow and white mess on his plate, where he still had some work to do.
“Looks like it’s going to be just us two then.” Jamie reached across the table to give the boy a high five.
Despite the warning bells that should have been clanging in her head, she couldn’t resist smiling at the man who’d befriended her son. He was kind, unassuming and—What was she doing? It didn’t matter that he was easy to like. Too easy in her case. Jamie was a cop. If she had any sense, she would steer clear of him.
“Can you believe I’ve never even tasted your mom’s famous cinnamon rolls?”
Aiden’s eyes were wide. “No way!”
“They’re not famous,” Sarah said before she could stop herself.
She tucked her chin to her chest, hoping her cheeks weren’t as flushed as they felt. Over the top for a tiny bit of praise. Her dream of opening her own bakery was a lifetime ago, anyway...when she’d still foolishly believed in happily-ever-afters. She was nobody’s fool now.
“Maybe not, but they’re always all gone before my friends and I come in at night.”
“Well, Trooper Donovan... I mean Mr. Jamie...”
When he grinned at her, a tiny dimple that she hadn’t noticed before appeared in his left cheek. The flutter in her tummy took her by surprise. She ruthlessly shoved thoughts about that dimple and the laughter in his eyes aside to consider later. Or never.
“How about just Jamie?”
Because it was easier than meeting his gaze when he was making her so nervous, she turned to her son instead. “He’s a grown-up, so he’s still Mr. Jamie to you.”
“Your mom’s right about that.” Jamie gestured toward Aiden. “Come to think about it, though we’ve been first-name buddies at the center all year, I still don’t even know your last name.”
“Aiden Thomas Cline,” her son announced importantly.
The pulse thudding in Sarah’s ears nearly drowned out his answer. Of course, he’d said “Cline.” That and “Aiden” were the only names he’d ever known.
“Cline, huh? I like that.”
Though he was speaking to her son, Jamie was looking right at her. The skin on her forearms positively tingled, so she crossed her arms and covered them with her hands. What was the matter with her? She hadn’t felt so unsettled around a man since... No, she wouldn’t think about that now.
His gaze lowered to her arms, but he didn’t comment on them.
Sarah pushed her chair back from the table.
“Looks like you’re almost finished, so how about I package some rolls to go? There’s still a line over there...”
Jamie waved a hand to brush off her suggestion. “Our waitress can get those. Anyway, weren’t you just getting ready to answer my question from earlier?”
“Oh. Right.” Ignoring her rushing pulse, she slid closer to the table again. She still didn’t know how to answer him, but she refused to do it in front of her child. “Sweetie, why don’t you go wash off your face, and then you can have your cinnamon roll.”
“Okay, Mom.” He hopped up from the table.
Good thing his first-grade logic didn’t make him wonder why she would send him to clean his face only to make it dirty again.
When the restroom door closed, she turned back to Jamie, the answer rushing from her all on its own. “I’m not ashamed of being Aiden’s mom, if that’s what you’re asking. He’s the best thing I’ve ever done.”
“Sorry.” Jamie’s hands came up in surrender. “Didn’t mean to offend you.”
She wanted to ask him just what he had intended to do with a question like that, but she couldn’t encourage him to ask more. He knew enough about her already.
“You’ve met all the guys you work with, right?” She paused, waiting for her words to settle. “If you were a single mom like me, would you want any of them to know details about you? Including your last name?”
His jaw tightened the way it had the night before when his coworkers were joking about her. When he’d defended her.
“Point taken.”
“Then we’re agreed.” She took a bite of her cold toast and managed not to wince.
“If you ever need me to talk to the guys and make sure they remember their manners around a lady, I’d be happy to.”
“No! I mean I can handle it. They’re not half as bad as some of the guys who come in here.”
“Those must be some real bottom feeders if they’re worse than Vinnie and Nick.”
His jaw flexed again, and she somehow managed to keep from smiling at him. Again. Wait. Wasn’t it bad enough that she was enjoying a man’s compliments about her baking? And noticing his dimples? Now she was allowing herself to be flattered by his protectiveness. His offer to “talk” to his friends should have been reason enough for her to grab Aiden and sprint through the nearest emergency exit. What did it take for her to learn to steer clear of men who communicated with their fists?
Because she couldn’t afford to dredge up memories she’d tried so hard to bury, not when this guy already had her balancing on shifting ground, she waved the waitress over.
“Evelyn, would you mind packing up two cinnamon rolls for us? Two boxes.” She pointed to Jamie and then to Aiden as he reached his seat.
Aiden’s smile fell. “But I want Mr. Jamie to come over to play.”
From the word, play, she started shaking her head.
“Grown-ups don’t have play dates.” So why did the thought of playing with this particular grown-up send shivers up her spine? This had to stop. “Besides, just because you have the day off from school doesn’t mean that everyone has a day off.”
“Your mom’s right again. I have to go to work in a few hours.”
“In your police car?” Aiden planted his elbows on the table with his face nestled in his hands, excitement dancing in his eyes.
“Absolutely. I might even get to use the siren today.”
The boy’s eyes widened. “Will you take Pancake with you?”
“Pancake?” she asked.
Aiden sat taller in his seat. “That’s Mr. Jamie’s cat. She’s orange-brown.”
“Nah, she prefers to stay at home and take catnaps,” Jamie told him.
“Who names a cat Pancake?”
“Somebody who loves...” Jamie began.
“Pancakes!” Aiden filled in for him.
They both pointed to Jamie’s clean plate as the busser whisked it away. Sarah could only look back and forth between her son and the cop. How could Aiden know so much about Jamie? And if he did, just how much had Aiden told him?
She shoved her chair back so quickly that it toppled over and hit the floor as she stood. She jerked it up and held her breath while it wobbled and then settled. “Too much coffee this morning. Anyway, I should see how Evelyn is doing with those cinnamon rolls.”
The waitress emerged from the kitchen, carrying two white paper bags. She handed the first to Jamie as he stood.
“Now, sweetie, you’ll want to warm that up when you’re ready to eat it.” She gestured toward Sarah as she handed her the second bag. “But I’m sure your friend here will give you the specifics.”
“Thanks for the suggestion,” Jamie said.
He was counting out bills from his wallet, which was a good thing, since Sarah wasn’t ready for him to look her way.
“Let me get that.” She reached for the check, but he pulled it away.
“Don’t think so. Departmental rules. You wouldn’t want me to get into trouble for accepting gifts, would you?”
She reached for her purse, heavy with the tip money that would keep her account from flatlining later this morning. “That’s not a thing. Wait. Would you really?”
“Want to risk it?”