Emilie Rose - A Cop's Honor

“Yes, but kitchens are expensive projects, so it’s pretty far down the list.” And now it was off it completely because one salary would never be enough to cover the cost.

“Could I see the report?”

She sighed. If it would get him out of the way, she’d give it to him. Crossing to the built-in desk, which she rarely used, she opened the file drawer, flipped through the folders and extracted the file.

“You’re still organized, I see.”

“Yes. Here you go.”

“Thanks. I’ll read it after I take a look at the computer.”

Anxiety burned in her chest. “You won’t find anything. Like I told you, I have all kinds of parental controls on it, and—”

“Then you don’t have anything to worry about.” He retrieved the laptop from the den and brought it to the kitchen table then pushed a button and the machine hummed to life. “Do each of you have separate log-ins?”

“Yes. That way the programs we use are on the desktop and my bill paying is out of the kids’ reach.”

“Do you ever sign in as Mason to see which sites he visits?”

“No. I trust him.” She didn’t need to see Brandon’s lips compressing to know he didn’t like her answer—especially given she’d demanded his help. “I don’t know his password.”

“No problem.” Long fingers moved rapidly over the keyboard.

She rinsed the remaining dishes and loaded the dishwasher, trying hard to ignore him clicking away. What if he found something? If she confronted Mason with it he’d know she’d gone behind his back and invaded his privacy. How would he react? The way her mother had? She tamped down the fear. Brandon wouldn’t find anything on the computer. She was too proactive for that.

“I’m in,” Brandon stated.

She stilled, water dripping from her hands into the sink. “How did you get in without his password?”

“I signed in as the administrator.” He looked back at the screen then frowned. “Mason’s history has been deleted. Did you show him how to do that?”

Her anxiety level climbed. “No. Maybe the computer is set to automatically delete the browsing history?”

Click. Click. Click. “His account is.” More taps. “Neither yours nor Belle’s is. It’s not the computer’s default. If you didn’t set it up this way, then Mason did.”

“But why...?”

“Exactly.”

Acid burned the base of her esophagus. She dried her hands. “I...could ask him.”

But if she did, then he’d know she was spying on him. And spying on someone was a violation of trust that couldn’t be forgiven or forgotten.

“You think he’d tell you the truth?”

“Yes.”

“Your hesitation says differently. Hannah, he’s a kid doing something he wants hidden. Let me talk to him.”

“No! I don’t want you interrogating him like a criminal. He’s a little boy.”

His jaw shifted. “Then let me take the computer with me so that I can find out what sites he’s been visiting. I’ll bring it back tomorrow.”

“That’s spying.”

“That’s parenting. If you want to know what’s driving his behavior and you won’t let me take the computer, then at least let me install some software that’ll track his activity. He’ll never know it’s there.”

Fear tightened her chest. “I’m not violating his trust like that.”

He shut down the computer, set it aside and stood. In three strides he was by her side. Close. Too close. She had to tip back her head to look at him. He wasn’t as tall as Rick, but he was...imposing in his breadth. Dark evening stubble shadowed his jaw and his eyes were...intent. She shuffled backward and nearly tripped over the open dishwasher door.

He reached out, but she caught herself and held up her hands before he made contact. “I’m fine.”

“Hannah, I can’t help you if you won’t let me. Mason is probably nothing more than a curious boy looking at porn, and he’s picked up some of the language. But it could be more. And software is the easiest way to find out what’s going on.”

“You’re just paranoid because of your job chasing cyber criminals. But my son isn’t a criminal.” Then another thought dried her mouth. “He won’t be able to tell you logged in as him, will he?”

“No. Think about a tracking program. It’s your best bet.”

“No software. I want you to promise me you won’t do anything to violate his trust.”

Frustration radiated from him, pleating his brows and making his shoulder muscles bunch. “Hannah, we’ve covered this.”

“Promise me, Brandon. I want Mason to feel he can come to me with anything, and if I go behind his back he won’t feel that way.” She saw opposition in his face. “If you can’t make that promise, then leave and don’t come back. I have enough problems with the Leiths trying to undermine me. I don’t need you doing the same.”

A muscle ticked in his jaw. “Fine, I agree. But only as long as I don’t think he’s in danger or a crime’s being committed. If I suspect either of those, then I’ll do whatever it takes to keep your son safe. I owe Rick that.”

Mason wasn’t committing a crime. As his mother, she’d know if he was. Brandon’s half promise wasn’t the unconditional one she wanted, but it would have to do. “Okay.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow. And while I’m here I’m going to check out the gutter over your garage. It’s sagging and it needs to be repaired before you have water damage.”

He swung around and left the kitchen before she could protest. The old adage “give ’em an inch and they’ll take a mile” came to mind. She’d invited Brandon back into her life. She hoped she didn’t regret it.

* * *

BRANDON RETURNED HIS ladder to the bed of his truck on Sunday morning. He had come over early to work on Hannah’s gutter. As he’d suspected, the gutter repair was going to involve more than hammering a couple of nails. Good thing he’d gone ahead and brought the necessary materials.

He bent to check his face in the side mirror and winced. The mug reflected back at him wouldn’t win any beauty contests. His right eye was swollen almost shut, his upper lip looked ready to burst and an assortment of other bulges puffed out his cheeks and chin. He gingerly touched the worst spot beneath his eye and swore. It hurt. Hell, his whole face hurt. But a promise was a promise. He hoped he didn’t scare Belle.

He checked his watch. Hannah should be home from church any minute. As if on cue, her minivan came up the driveway. Hannah parked outside the garage. Mason bailed out of the side door, scowled in Brandon’s direction then did a double take and smirked. “How bad does the other guy look?”

The kid thought he’d been in a fight. He decided to play along. “There were about fifty of them. And I’m still standing.”

The boy’s mouth dropped open and his eyes widened.

Hannah stopped as she rounded the hood, a horrified look on her face. A flowery sleeveless dress fluttered above her knees, displaying long, tanned legs. She looked good. Really good. He squashed that thought and noted that Belle wore an identical dress.

“Fifty yellow jackets,” he elaborated. “They nest in the ground. I ran over their hole this morning with my lawn mower.”

Belle tugged his hand and pointed at his face. “Does it hurt?”

He wasn’t going to lie. “Yeah. But not as bad as it looks.”

Hannah moved closer, concern puckering her forehead. “Have you removed the stingers?”

“The ones I could reach.”

“You have more?”

“Some of the bast—buggers got in my shirt.”

“Have you taken an antihistamine or put anything on the wounds?”

“I didn’t have anything but antiseptic.”

“I have a first-aid kit. Come inside. I’ll fix you up then you can go home.”