Kylie Brant - Hard To Handle

Meghan looked at him as if he’d lost his mind. Maybe he had. He’d never been considered one of those white knights charging to rescue ladies in distress. He found jackets and ties confining enough; armor would be murder.

“I’ll take another look into your sister’s accident for you. In return, you’ll cooperate by allowing your nephew to assist us in any way we need him. You get what you want, I get what I want. It’ll be strictly business.”

Sensing the protest she was about to utter, he went on. “Of course, maybe you’d rather work with Officer Wadrell instead.…”

“Believe me, I find cops eminently resistible. For that matter, how can I be sure that I wouldn’t have to fight off your advances, Detective?”

“’Cause I make it a point to steer wide of your type.”

Don’t miss Born in Secret (IM 1112)

Kylie Brant’s emotional, sensual contribution to the FIRSTBORN SONS series.

www.millsandboon.co.uk

lives with her husband and five children in Iowa. She works full-time as a teacher of learning-disabled students. Much of her free time is spent in her role as professional spectator at her kids’ sporting events.

An avid reader, Kylie enjoys stories of love, mystery and suspense—and she insists on happy endings! When her youngest children, a set of twins, turned four, she decided to try her hand at writing. Now most weekends and all summer she can be found at the computer, spinning her own tales of romance and happily-ever-afters.

Kylie invites readers to write to her at P.O. Box 231, Charles City, IA 50616.

To Aunt Red, with love and fond memories.

Special thanks to Sergeant Charles Holz of the Chicago Police Department, 8th District, for answering endless questions about CPD procedures. Your infinite patience and generosity of time were greatly appreciated! Any mistakes that occur in accuracy are the responsibility of the author.

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

His mom was dead.

Danny huddled in the corner of the blue-patterned couch clutching his Pokémon backpack to his chest. The lady, his aunt Meghan, he reminded himself, had gone to get him a glass of milk. He hadn’t really wanted one, but she’d had to leave the room to get it. That was good ’cuz he didn’t want to hear her say the words out loud. He already knew what she was thinking. It made his stomach hurt and he felt like he might throw up.

His mom had been killed in a car accident and she wasn’t coming back for him this time. Not ever.

He reached up a hand to swipe at his eyes furtively. Only babies cried. That’s what his mom always said, but she wouldn’t be saying that again. No, not anymore. He knew then, deep down in his stomach where he felt sickest, that not saying the words out loud didn’t make them not true. He was all alone.

His aunt came back into the room and handed him the glass. He took it, but didn’t drink. He couldn’t. There was a hard ball in his throat and he didn’t think he could swallow anything. He wrapped his fingers tightly around the glass and scooched down farther in the couch. He wanted to run away before his aunt could tell him, but he couldn’t do that, either. There was nowhere to run. No one to run to.

“You know, don’t you?”

He didn’t look up at the words, just nodded. He’d had a real bad feeling when his mom didn’t come home last night. She’d left him alone before, and so that hadn’t scared him. Not really. He was almost six. He’d stayed home at night lots of times. Once his mom hadn’t come home for two days, and maybe that had scared him, just a little. But last night had been different. The bad thoughts, the knowing, wouldn’t go away. And so he’d waited for someone to come, wanting it to be his mom, already sure that it wouldn’t be.

“What’s gonna happen to me?” His aunt didn’t answer right away, so he did look up then and stared hard at her, concentrating on her thoughts. That’s where the truth was, his mom said. People would lie and lie out loud, but they kept the truth in their heads, where people couldn’t see. At least, most people couldn’t.

Danny didn’t really understand words like telepathic and clairvoyant, but he understood that he was different, just like his mom had been. Sometimes she would tell him that they had this superspecial gift, one that made everyone else jealous. He liked that. He liked to pretend that they were a team, like Superwoman and Spiderkid, with cool powers no one else had. But deep in his heart he’d known the real truth was what his mom had said all those other times; after two empty bottles, when her words would start running together. They were freaks, him and her.

He knew what freaks were. They were bad and ugly and made people afraid. Meghan had been afraid the only other time he’d met her, and that had made him feel bad. He’d never had an aunt before, and Meghan was pretty, with long, curly blond hair and big blue eyes. He looked into her eyes now and beyond, searching for a comfort he wouldn’t find.

“I don’t want you to worry.” Meghan sank down onto the couch beside him. She pushed her hair back from her face and tried to smile. “I know that sounds pretty dumb. Of course you’re worried. And sad. Me, too. But I’m not about to let anything happen to my only nephew.”

With a child’s single-minded logic, he asked, “Where will I live?”

Meghan didn’t answer, and for just an instant he could see a flash of white, as if her mind had been wiped clear. Then it was like she drew a big curtain over her thoughts. He couldn’t see them anymore, no matter how hard he tried to peek.

“Well…you’ll stay here, of course. At least for now.”

He thought about that, and he wondered what thoughts she was hiding behind that curtain. She put her hand on his shoulder then, and the hated tears filled his eyes again.

“How about if you stay with me until we sort this out? Then later…you and I will talk about our options. Is it a deal?”

Her hand left his shoulder, and she held it in front of him. He looked at it, then at her. He tried poking under that curtain one more time, but it was closed tight. He couldn’t tell what the truth was. And although he didn’t have the words for it, he knew he was out of choices.

Slowly, tentatively, he loosened his grasp on the glass and placed his hand in hers.

Three Months Later

Gabe Connally had been alive and he’d been dead. It’d taken a few years, but he’d developed a preference for being alive.

His gaze met his partner’s in a silent exchange before he lifted his fist to pound on the door. “Police, D’Brusco. We have a few questions for you.”

There was a tiny noise in the apartment, and the detectives had an instant to act before bullets splintered the wood in a miserable parody of a greeting.

With his cheek resting against the smooth, cool tile of the hallway floor, Gabe recalled being told that it had taken a miracle to return him from the ninety seconds he’d spent suspended above his bullet-ridden body in St. Lucien’s emergency room. In the tension-filled moments that followed the barrage of gunfire, he fleetingly wondered how many miracles a man was allowed in one lifetime.