Deadly Obsession. Maggie Shayne
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perimeter. The bed was still unmade. His pajamas and a used T-shirt lay on the floor, even though I’d bought each kid a big plastic hamper to put their laundry in. Myrtle found that pile of clothes, smelled them, pawed them into a perfect little bulldog nest, and then, sighing, collapsed on top of it. As always, she was snoring before she even hit the floor.
Broke my damn heart.
I tugged the blanket and pillow off Josh’s bed, tossed them down beside Myrt and curled up next to her. She snuggled a little closer. And that was where the two of us spent the night. She was missing her guy as much as I was missing mine.
You’re fucking doomed, you know that, right?
Yes, Inner Bitch. I know it. I hadn’t intended for it to happen. I’d tried real hard to keep this—God, I hated the word—relationship in perspective. Don’t get too close. Don’t use the L word. Don’t need him, because if you do, then when you don’t have him anymore, it’ll hurt.
Too late. Too late for all of the above. Except for the use of the L word, of course, but that was on my to-do list. I just needed the right moment. And it probably ought to be one when I wasn’t as pissed off at him as I was right now. Damn him for not being here with me.
Damn him for taking the boys back.
Wow. If you’d told me a year ago that those words would whisper through this brain, I’d have called you a dirty liar.
* * *
Saturday morning dawned bright and beautiful, and Mason was up, showered, dressed and halfway down the stairs before he smelled the coffee. His heart took a little leap in his chest. Was Rachel here? Had she come over bright and early to make them breakfast and assure herself that he wasn’t overdoing it?
By the time he entered the kitchen, his grin was a mile wide. But Rachel wasn’t there. Just the boys. Joshua was setting the table, and Jeremy was making French toast and a lot of smoke. The coffeepot was full and calling to him, though, so he grabbed a cup off the table.
“Morning, boys.”
They were so focused on their work they hadn’t seen him. “Morning, Uncle Mace! We’re making breakfast,” Joshua said.
“I see that.” He moseyed to the coffeepot and gave the burner a sneaky downward turn underneath Jeremy’s pan before filling his mug. “Mmm. Looks great.”
Jere shrugged. “You’re supposed to take it easy. We figured we’d help out.” He turned the burner back up, but not as high as it had been.
Josh ran behind his uncle to pull out a chair, and Mason sat down. “Don’t feel like you have to do this every morning, guys. I’m fine. I really am.”
He wasn’t. His lungs still felt as if they’d been scrubbed on the inside with steel wool. And his arm still hurt like hell. It was healing, but he was pretty sure there were going to be lasting scars.
Jeremy brought a plateful of charred bread to the table. Mason helped himself to a couple of slices, and applied liberal amounts of syrup to help it go down. “Nice job, Jere. Thank you.”
Jere shrugged. “It was no big deal.” He stabbed a slice for himself.
Josh looked at the stack. “Is it s’posed to be so black?”
“It’s fine, Josh. Try it—you’ll see,” Mason told him.
“Ooookay.” Josh speared a slice with his fork, looked at it doubtfully, then dropped it on his plate. Before he did anything else, he broke off a corner of the crust with his fingers, and looked down at the floor. And then he sighed. “I forgot. Myrt’s not here.”
“You miss her already, huh?”
“Yeah.”
Mason nodded slowly. “Well, maybe it’s about time we talk about getting you a dog of your own, Josh. We have the room here, and you’re old enough to handle the responsibility now.”
Josh nodded slowly. “I guess. It won’t be the same, though. I want Myrtle.” He looked up. “You think Rachel will bring her over today?”
“I’ll call her and ask.”
Josh’s answering smile was as bright as the June sunshine.
June. Gosh, it was June, Mason realized. “Jeremy, about your graduation...”
“Don’t worry about it. Misty and I have it all planned.”
“You mean Rachel and Misty’s mom, don’t you?” Joshua asked him.
Jere made a face. “All of us. It’s gonna be at Rachel’s. We’re renting a party barge, and a big tent for shade.”
“Or in case it rains,” Josh said.
“Rachel ordered a cake, and Misty’s mom is taking care of decorations. And I’m making a playlist for the DJ.”
“There’s going to be a DJ?”
“Rache asked if I wanted a DJ or a band. I said DJ.” He wiggled his eyebrows and grinned. “Saves more money for the present.”
Oh, God, Mason thought. He needed to do something about a present. “What about the rest of the food?”
Jeremy shrugged. “Rache said something about catering. I don’t know.” Then his smile faded. “Don’t be mad at her, Uncle Mace. You were in the hospital, and graduation is only a week away.”
“Mad at her? I think I’ll buy her a present.” A week. Hell.
There was a knock at the door, and Mason started to get up, but Jeremy sent him a “don’t you dare” look that reminded him of himself, so he sat back down and let his all-grown-up nephew open the door.
“Hello. I’m looking for Detective Mason Brown.”
It was a woman’s voice, and not one he knew.
“He’s here. Come on in.”
Mason did get up then, as Jeremy opened the door wider to admit a blonde who was within a year, one way or the other, of thirty. She had rivers of hair, all wavy, flowing halfway down her back, pretty blue eyes and an infectious smile.
“I’m Mason Brown,” he said, offering a hand. “You are...?”
“Your new nurse, I hope,” she replied, taking his hand. She clasped it firmly, still smiling, smoothing her white and sunshine-yellow floral-print sundress with her other hand.
“I...” He drew out the syllable. “I haven’t even posted the ad yet. How did you know?”
“I have friends who work at Saint Joe’s,” she said. “I just left my job to move into a home care position in Binghamton. But it’s going to be a few weeks before I start.” She lowered her head, shook it slowly. “I misunderstood, thought I would be starting immediately. My own fault, but the gap leaves me in a little bit of a lurch. I have rent and a car payment and...well...” Her head came up again, and she replaced her bright smile. She was like little Mary Sunshine, he thought. “You don’t need to hear my woes. The thing is, when my friend told me about the hero cop who was being discharged and would be needing home care, I figured I could be the first one to apply for the job.”
“I was going to go through an agency.”
“This is my résumé, work history, et cetera,” she said, thrusting a folder at him “I’m really good at what I do, if that’s not too immodest a thing to say.” Then she blinked. “Maybe it was. It was, wasn’t it?”
“Not at all,” Mason said. He was getting a kick out of her, revising his estimate of her age back three or four years. She had a very young, bubbly personality. Twenty-six, maybe twenty-seven. “I just wasn’t expecting...” He shook himself, looked back at the boys, shrugged. “Why don’t you come in and have a seat? I’ll pour you some coffee and—”