Alice Sharpe - The Lawman's Secret Son

He had a son? Just like that? One moment alone in the world, the next moment, a son?

Very slowly, he lowered his hand until the backs of his fingers grazed the baby’s round cheek. How could skin be that soft?

His son. Nathan.

“Will you lift him for me?” she said, glancing at him.

He nodded. And just like that, he lifted his son for the first time, careful to put one hand behind the little guy’s heavy head. The baby kicked and squirmed and Brady held on tight, terrified he’d drop him.

“Relax,” Lara said. “You’re doing fine. Just comfort him. Hold him closer. Don’t be afraid.”

He pulled Nathan against his chest, one hand all but covering the small boy’s back. Then he tipped him away from his chest for a moment, anxious to really look at this few pounds of humanity that instantly redefined his life.

This book couldn’t have been written without

the patient support of my son, Officer Joseph Sharpe

(mistakes are mine, not his), and is dedicated, with love,

to his wonderful daughter, Carmen Amelia Sharpe.

Alice Sharpe met her husband-to-be on a cold, foggy beach in Northern California. One year later they were married. Their union has survived the rearing of two children, a handful of earthquakes registering over 6.5, numerous cats and a few special dogs, the latest of which is a yellow Lab named Annie Rose. Alice and her husband now live in a small rural town in Oregon, where she devotes the majority of her time to pursuing her second love, writing.

Alice loves to hear from readers. You can write her at P.O. Box 755, Brownsville, OR 97327. SASE for reply is appreciated.

Brady Skye—The oldest son of alcoholic parents, this ex-cop has lost both the career and the woman he loves. Now someone’s out to take something even more precious—but they’ll have to kill Brady first.

Lara Kirk—Brokenhearted, she left when Brady rejected her. Now she’s back with a secret capable of destroying them all.

Tom James—Will Brady’s old partner let his temper be the death of him?

Chief Dixon—The chief’s decades-long hatred of Brady’s father has now spilled over onto Brady.

Billy Armstrong—Brady is almost positive the boy drew a gun. Most think it never existed. Billy’s death throws Brady’s and Lara’s lives into a tailspin.

Bill Armstrong—Billy’s father’s lust for revenge is pushing him over the edge of sanity. He swears to ruin Brady as well as anyone Brady loves.

Jason Briggs—This teenager must be silenced.

Roberta Beaton—The querulous old woman will pay a price for her curiosity.

Karen Wylie—A rebellious teenager with dreams of becoming a movie star.

Nicole Stevens—She’s positive something horrible has happened to Karen Wylie. And she may know what.

Charles Skye—Brady’s father has been lost in a bottle for thirty years.

Garrett Skye—Brady’s younger brother has become a bodyguard for a casino comptroller and his attorney wife. This decision to make more money so he can gain custody of his toddler daughter is about to blow up in his face.

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Officer Brady Skye scanned the dark, empty road. Parked on a side street, he waited for his shift to end, using the dashboard light to attend to last-minute paperwork. He checked his watch—a quarter of midnight and still hot outside. Well, that was August for you.

He checked his watch again a minute later and smiled at himself. Talk about being anxious. But in fifteen minutes, he’d be off duty for two weeks and in fifteen hours, he’d stand at the altar with Lara Kirk.

Again.

He had to admit he’d been confused when Lara suggested they elope a week before the wedding. Why would she want to ruin her big day?

Her smile had been wistful when she replied, “My big day? You mean my mother’s big day. This wedding is turning into the social event of the year, Brady, it’s not about you and me anymore. I want to go to a justice of the peace. I want to get married, just the two of us, the way we wanted. Then we’ll come back and do it Mom’s way.”

The memory of that private, secret ceremony and the night that followed made Brady all the more anxious to put this shift to bed. He would make her the happiest woman in the world. Things would be perfect. He’d make them perfect.

The squad car radio burst into life at that moment. Brady leaned forward, adjusting the volume. He caught little more than blue sedan, dented right front fender before a car matching the description sped past. He reported his location and that he had the vehicle in sight, rattling off the license-plate number as he trailed behind.

Apparently noticing Brady’s flashing lights, the sedan accelerated. It made a series of turns, brake lights flashing through intersections. Brady followed, but not too close. They weren’t going to get very far and he didn’t want to push them into doing something stupid.

More information came in over the radio as the sedan made a wide turn toward the river. Car stolen, two suspects, both minors, unarmed, alleged to have lifted beer from the all-night store up on Breezeway…

Brady and his brother, Garrett, had grown up in Riverport, Oregon, not far from this very neighborhood. Unless the kid driving that sedan had a trick up his sleeve, he’d soon dead-end against the gate securing the old Evergreen Timber loading dock.

But the gate was old, the chain connecting the two sides weak with rust. With barely a pause, the sedan busted through the gate and kept going, careening back and forth as it skidded toward the waterfront and the Columbia River beyond.

Dumb kids. Lifting a couple of cases of beer was nothing to die for, even if they’d compounded the offense by stealing a car. Brady backed off as his buddy and soon-to-be best man, Tom James, chimed in he was seconds away from lending backup.

A collision with a stack of oil drums saved the car from plunging into the river. With a series of thuds, the sedan came to a grinding halt in the middle of the pile, heavy drums rolling and bumping into each other with dull heavy clunks. An overhead light illuminated the scene. Brady stopped his car and exited, rushing forward as the welcome sound of a waning siren announced Tom’s arrival.

A few empty beer cans fell to the ground as the driver and passenger doors opened. Two kids got out of the car. The passenger looked familiar, hardly unusual given Riverport’s modest population of under five thousand. The driver, closest to Brady, stumbled once before taking off across the torn concrete, leaping over oil drums with surprising agility.

“Hey,” Brady yelled as he pursued the driver, leaving the passenger to Tom who he’d heard come up behind him. Within a hundred yards, Brady caught up with the kid and wrestled him to the ground. He avoided a few drunken punches and a torrent of swearwords as he flipped him onto his stomach and cuffed him. He pulled the boy to his feet and marched him back to the squad car where he found no sign of Tom or the passenger.