A Cop's Honor. Emilie RoseЧитать онлайн книгу.
to see. “These are our choices.”
Brandon pointed to a familiar name. “Your dad and I used to eat here. Food’s good. It’s not a chain. May I?”
At Mason’s nod, Brandon reached across him and used the touchpad to open the restaurant’s menu. “Large, all-meats okay with you?”
“Sounds great!” Mason said enthusiastically. “Whenever we get pizza we have to get plain cheese. That’s all Belle will eat. And it’s cheaper.”
Brandon hated the idea of Hannah having to watch every penny. He deliberately closed the window and straightened, then stopped, feigning a puzzled expression. “Wait. Did the phone number end in two six or six two?”
“Uh... I don’t know.”
Brandon clicked on the arrow that would bring up the search history. As he’d expected, it came up blank. “The URL’s not there.”
Mason’s fingers poised over the keys. “I can get the website back up.”
“Is your computer set to delete histories?”
Tension invaded the boy’s face and body. “Um...yeah.”
“How do you know how to do that?”
Mason hunched over the keyboard, ducking his chin. “I learned at school. I have to take a computer class every year, and they make us erase our histories so the next class can’t cheat and use our answers. So I do it at home. Out of habit. Because I do it every day at school. That’s all. Nothing else. Just habit.”
Plausible answer. But it didn’t explain Mason’s sudden wariness or why he’d used so many words and spoken so fast. Excessive explanations usually meant the subject had something to hide.
Mason found the page. Brandon dropped the subject. There was a time to press for more info and a time to ease up. If he didn’t want Mason on the defensive, this was the latter. He dialed the number and placed the order for pizza and the garlic knots Hannah used to love.
“Pizza won’t be here for forty minutes. Let’s see if we can get the gutter hung before the rain or the pizza arrive.”
Mason abandoned the computer easily and followed him outside. The lack of hesitation made Brandon question whether the computer was the root of the problem. No, there were too many clues implicating the device as a link.
The air was thick and heavy with a pending storm. They gathered the tools and set up in front of the garage. Brandon talked about anything but computers for half the job then asked, “You keep looking at the woods. Are you expecting company?”
Mason dropped his hammer. It clattered loudly down the aluminum rungs. “Ummm. No. I’m never here on Wednesday nights. Nobody would be looking for me.”
The kid sounded a little defensive. Brandon searched for a neutral subject. “Right. Ballet. Do your mom and Belle always dress alike?”
Mason’s face screwed up like he’d bitten into a lemon. “Yeah. Belle’s idea. She loves it. I think it’s stupid.”
“It’s kind of cute.”
Mason faked a vomiting sound.
“Could be worse, bud. They could make you wear the same color.”
“I’d shoot myself first.”
“You have any guns in the house?” Rick had owned several.
“No. Jeez. It’s just a sayin’.”
Brandon held the level and waited for the boy to retrieve the hammer and get back into position. “Do you have any friends in this neighborhood? I didn’t see bikes, toys or basketball goals in the other yards when I drove in.”
“Nah. Only old people live on our street.”
That shot down one theory. “What about behind you?”
Mason stiffened. “I don’t know.”
Looked like the friend he’d been going to study with wasn’t fictitious. “I just wondered if you have anyone to shoot hoops with.”
“Nah. Somebody left the net here one Christmas. Mom says it was Santa.” The sarcasm in his voice and the accompanying eye roll silently voiced his opinion about that.
“Not buying that, huh?”
“No.”
“You ever shoot?”
“Sometimes. I’m not very good.”
“Your dad and I used to play together.” Mason said nothing. Brandon let a few more minutes pass, then asked, “Do you like computers?”
“I guess.”
“Your dad was good with them—probably the best I’ve ever known.”
“Why do you keep talking about my dad?”
“Because he was my best friend for more than twenty years. More like a brother. He was a big part of my life. I miss him.”
“Well, I don’t even remember him, and he wasn’t a big part of mine. So stop it. Okay? Pizza’s here.” Mason scrambled down the ladder and headed for the delivery vehicle just entering the driveway, ending the discussion.
It pained Brandon to hear that Mason didn’t remember his father. Rick had been too great a guy to be forgotten—especially by his own son. Brandon resolved to find a way to rectify that situation. That meant he now had two assignments: figure out where Mason’s bad behavior originated, and help him remember his father.
* * *
“I WAS ABOUT to call you,” Lucy said when Hannah bustled Belle into the dance studio’s waiting area. “You’re never late.”
Hannah checked her watch. “Hi, Lucy. We’re not late, but we are cutting it close. Is Ella feeling better?”
“No. That stomach flu has knocked her out. She’s staying with my mom while Celia gets her groove on.”
Hannah glanced through the window overlooking the dance floor to Celia, Lucy’s youngest. She’d worn her dress-up tiara tonight. Belle would be begging for one on the way home.
“I hope you and Celia don’t come down with it.” Then she turned to Belle. “Hurry and put on your slippers, sweetie. The other girls are already lined up.”
Belle did as asked then dashed through the door and galloped across the room to the barre to greet her friend Celia. Hannah scooped up her daughter’s sandals and sank onto the bleachers provided for parents. Her pulse was racing, but only because she’d been rushing and because she was having second thoughts about leaving Brandon in charge at her house. It had nothing to do with the man himself. Nothing at all.
Lucy scanned the room. “Where’s Mason?”
“At home.”
Red eyebrows shot skyward. “Alone? Given what’s been going on, is that wise?”
Hannah took a long, calming breath. Aside from Brandon, Lucy was the only one who knew about Mason sneaking out. Her friend’s question was understandable. “I left him with a former colleague of Rick’s.”
“A cop?”
“Yes.”
“Then I guess Mason won’t get into anything.”
Hannah glanced around to make sure no one was listening. “Hope not.”
“So who is this colleague?”
“Brandon Martin.”
Lucy’s green eyes and mouth rounded. “It’s-his-fault, Brandon Martin?”
Hannah put a finger to her lips and nodded. She didn’t want her business shared.
“I thought you hated his guts,”