Bundle of Trouble

“What did you mean ‘the corner she was working’?”

“You know. Her corner.” Brandon paused and then cleared his throat. “You didn’t know? Beth Kirksey goes by the name Bunny. She’s one of the local hookers we’ve hauled in on occasion for prostitution.”

The air left Tate’s lungs. For a moment or two he didn’t say anything. When the silence stretched on, he swallowed past the lump building in his throat. “Uh, thanks, Brandon.”

“Anything else I can do for you, just let me know.”

“I might be taking you up on that,” Tate said quietly. He clicked the off button and slid the phone into his pocket. Then he hugged Jake so hard, the boy squealed and patted Tate’s face.

“Sorry, little man.” His eyes burned, but Tate refused to surrender. Not yet. Just because Beth Kirksey was dead didn’t mean she wasn’t Jake’s mother. Tomorrow his family physician was making a house call to collect the DNA samples. Until then, Tate refused to give up hope. Jake was his, damn it!

He carried his little boy into the dining room, intent on telling the trespasser just that.

Rosa stood at Sylvia’s shoulder, her arms crossed over her chest.

Tate almost laughed at her stance, sure she’d used the intimidating glare on more than one traffic violator in her job as an Austin cop.

He was surprised Sylvia could eat while Rosa stood over her. But she finished off one fajita and loaded another tortilla with chicken. She must be really hungry.

A twinge of guilt threatened to creep into Tate, which he promptly squashed. After all, this woman threatened the only family he had left. Jake reached out and grabbed Tate’s ear and giggled.

Sylvia had raised the tortilla to her mouth to take a bite. Her hand froze, her lips open and ready. When Jake giggled again, her face paled and she turned in her chair. Her face softening as soon as her gaze took in Tate and Jake.

“Oh, baby. Look at you all grown-up.” She choked on the last word, the fajita falling to the plate, forgotten. She wiped her fingers on her napkin and stood next to her chair.

“Don’t try anything, lady,” Rosa said, taking a step closer, putting her body between Tate and Sylvia.

“It’s okay, Rosa,” Tate said.

“I’ll tell you when it’s okay. I’m Jake’s bodyguard,” she said. “If I think he needs protecting, I’ll do it.”

Tate chuckled. “Always the protector, aren’t you?”

“Damn right. And I can take you, too, if I have to.” Without turning her back on Sylvia, Rosa asked over her shoulder, “Want me to take Jake to the kitchen?”

Tate stared at Sylvia, whose eyes swam with unshed tears. “Promise to keep your hands to yourself?”

She dragged in a deep, shaky breath and let it out before she nodded. “I do.”

“Then I take it you wouldn’t mind if Jake and I join you at the dinner table?”

Sylvia’s mouth twisted into a sorry attempt at a smile. “It’s your table. I’m the one who doesn’t belong.”

Tate’s jaw tightened, but he refused to rise to her words. “Right.” He glanced down at his son. “Jake, do you think you can control your urge to throw your food just this once?”

Jake patted his sticky palm against Tate’s face. “Da, da, da.”

“I’ll take that as a yes.” Tate tilted his head toward Jake’s bodyguard. “Rosa, could you bring Jake’s chair?”

She stared at Sylvia and back at Tate before she responded. “Sí, Señor.”

“Rosa. Stop with the señor, already.” Tate shook his head. “I pulled your ponytails, we should be able to call each other by our first names for heaven’s sake.”

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