LITMIR.BIZ

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made sense based on his father’s upcoming surgery. “Anything else?”

      “No squawking about illegal activity, if that’s what you mean. But we wouldn’t hear even if there was a hint of scandal. Cops don’t like to advertise when one of their own might be dirty.”

      “True, especially not the police chief’s son.” The task he faced suddenly seemed insurmountable. He did his best to shake off the impending sense of doom. “Hawk, would you do something else for me?”

      The PI heaved a loud sigh. “Now what?”

      “Dig into the background of a woman named Shayla O’Hare and a four-or five-year-old boy named Brodie.”

      “The sister? Why?”

      “She’s in danger and claims she doesn’t know why. Denies she’s running from the boy’s father, but I need to know what I’m dealing with.”

      “Why not?” Hawk once again abruptly disconnected. The guy didn’t like to use words like hello or goodbye, but Mike was used to it.

      His phone rang again. This time it was Miles. “That was fast,” Mike said.

      “Yeah, well it’s my turn to put Adam to bed so I have to make this quick. I was able to get Pete’s address and a cell number.” Miles rattled off the information as Mike scribbled it down on the motel notepad with a stubby pencil.

      “How is Adam? Sleeping through the night?”

      “Most of the time, but he’s teething again so it’s a toss-up whether or not he will this week.” Pride was evident in his brother’s tone. Miles and his wife, Paige, had two kids—Abby, who was seven, and Adam, who’d just turned one. Rumor had it that Miles and Paige were trying for baby number three, which was unfathomable.

      Just because Mike and his siblings came from a family of six kids didn’t mean they each needed to have the same number of children. But try telling his brothers and sister that. It seemed the Callahans were determined to populate the city.

      Except for him. After his relationship with Shayla had disintegrated beyond repair, he’d focused on nothing more than finding the man responsible for his father’s murder.

      Besides, he wasn’t interested in opening himself up to being hurt like that again. Not after the way Shayla had shattered his heart.

      “Oh, I almost forgot,” Miles continued, breaking into his thoughts. “The cops were already out at Duncan’s place, someone reported the sound of gunfire. But they haven’t found much.”

      “Not even a bullet fragment? That seems unlikely.”

      “It’s early in the investigation,” Miles pointed out. “But you also need to know there’s a report of a black SUV fleeing the scene. I’m sure that was you, right?”

      “Yep.”

      “No license plate number, but you might want to consider changing your vehicle, just to be safe.”

      “Okay, thanks. I appreciate the intel.”

      There was a slight pause then, “Mike?”

      “Yeah?”

      “Is this about Dad’s murder?”

      He hesitated. “Honestly? I think so, but have no proof.” Yet.

      Another pause. “I need you to be careful, okay?” Miles finally said. “And don’t forget we’re here if you need us. After all, our motto is that family sticks together. Don’t shut us out. We all want to find the truth behind Dad’s murder.”

      “I know.” Mike was touched by his brother’s offer. His siblings knew he was a bit of a lone wolf, forging his own path in the world. Which was exactly why he and his father had got into that fateful argument a week before his murder. His father had railed at him for being selfish, for not giving back to the community. Mike had tried to explain that he’d changed his mind. That he didn’t want to wait to become a detective—that he’d wanted to do that now. But his father hadn’t listened. And rather than try to talk it through, Mike had walked away, turned his back on his family and his faith.

      The last words he’d said to his father had been in anger. After the murder, Mike had been assailed by guilt, desperately wishing he’d taken the opportunity to tell his dad he was sorry. That he loved him.

      Something that still bothered him every single day.

      Months later, after he’d come back to his family and his faith, he’d prayed that his father knew that he was sorry for the way they’d parted that day.

      And hoped his father would forgive him.

      “Mike?” Miles’s voice brought his attention back to the present.

      “Yeah. Thanks, Miles. I won’t forget.”

      “Later, then.” Miles hung up, leaving Mike to wonder how he should approach the new information. He wanted nothing more than to head right over to talk to Peter Fresno, yet at the same time the idea that his SUV might have been seen leaving Duncan’s house nagged at him.

      It wouldn’t be the first time he’d asked Hawk to swap rides. He could always use one of his undercover identities to rent a different vehicle, too. It wasn’t illegal to have an alternate ID as long as he didn’t commit a crime while using it. He debated between doing something tonight or waiting until the morning.

      Normally he wouldn’t hesitate, but he didn’t want to disturb Shayla and her son. The chances that someone could have tracked him from Duncan’s house to the American Lodge were slim to nonexistent. And if they had? There would be cops already knocking at the door.

      Convinced they were safe for the moment, he slipped his phone back into his pocket. Feeling restless, he paced the small interior of the room. He wanted to go over to Shayla’s room to grill her about Duncan, but knew she wasn’t going to tell him anything more than she already had.

      And maybe she truly didn’t know anything more. Interesting to find out she lived in Nashville and had only returned because of her father’s illness. No wonder their paths hadn’t crossed in the past four years.

      Mike doused the lights and stretched out on the bed fully dressed. Since he didn’t have his file on his father’s murder to review, he thought it best to get caught up on rest. Working eighteen-hour days and sleeping less than six hours per night had taken its toll.

      He fell asleep almost immediately, only to be woken by a piercing scream. Bolting out of bed, he grabbed his gun from the bedside table and barreled through the connecting door into Shayla’s room, his heart practically thumping out of his chest as he frantically scanned for an intruder.

      All he saw was Shayla cuddling Brodie close, whispering reassurances to him. Mike’s heart rate slowed and he lowered his weapon, gulping air as he realized there wasn’t any danger.

      “Is there something I can do?” he asked, approaching cautiously.

      “Put the gun away,” she whispered harshly. “You’re scaring him!”

      He didn’t bother to point out the kid had screamed in terror before he’d come in with his gun. He tucked the weapon into the back of his waistband, then stood awkwardly for a moment. “Are you sure you’re not running from his father?” he asked.

      “I’m sure.” Her tone was firm.

      “Then why the nightmare?”

      Her deep brown eyes narrowed. “Obviously the scene in my brother’s driveway must have scared him more than I realized. Hearing gunfire would frighten any child.”

      The boy’s dark hair was a stark contrast to Shayla’s riot of blond curls. He’d noticed earlier, the kid’s brown eyes were identical to hers, though; a fact that niggled at him.

      He glanced around the room, then took a step back. “Let me know if

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