Protecting The Single Mom

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“So he’s going to want her back.”

“I’m hoping so. If he concentrates on Indian Lake, where he hasn’t set up safe houses, hideaways and escape routes, we just might catch him in the act.”

“Is CPD thinking to set up another sting?”

“Think we, buddy. Both Chicago PD and Indian Lake need to plan this carefully. By the way, my inside guy says that Le Grande thinks the wife will want him back now that he’s wealthy.”

“I don’t see that at all,” Trent countered.

“Well, you’d know that from your end. I’m giving you a heads-up. We have to work out a lot of details. I’ll be in touch.”

Trent had a great deal to consider. He’d been relieved to know that Cate had no part of Le Grande or his drug trafficking business. Her sweet persona had not been put on, and she was the caring mother he’d gauged her to be. For a brief moment, he felt his tension lift. However, the focus of the CPD and ILPD was now on Cate. Trent knew that Richard was dedicated to ending Le Grande’s reign in Chicago. Trent wanted the drug lord out of Indian Lake for good.

Trent felt his nerves jangle. Utilizing an untrained citizen for a police sting was precarious, but often effective. Already he could think of a dozen reasons not to move forward and one reason they should.

With Trent and his military skill set as a Green Beret at the helm, it should work.

Drake Parsons, Max’s handler, bumped him with his elbow. “Help me with this poster, would ya, Trent?”

“Yeah, sure.” Trent cleared his mind of thoughts about Cate and Le Grande. He tacked the poster to a wooden framework he’d put together to display snapshots of the annual policemen’s picnic in City Park, and the police baseball team in their winning game at the city championship in late August. Trent had pitched after the regular pitcher had torn a ligament in his shoulder. Trent had surprised himself since he hadn’t pitched much since high school and a few impromptu games in the military.

In Afghanistan.

Just the thought of a baseball, its stitches fitting familiarly in his palm, skin against skin, brought back horrors. He dropped his arms and felt a spring of perspiration on his forehead. Nerves. Not heat. Would he ever get past the past?

“Trent, is that you?” He heard a woman’s voice behind him. He whirled, holding the hammer like a weapon.

He shook away the sticky cobweb of memories, peering through it to see Mrs. Beabots holding a huge apple pie.

She had the bluest eyes he’d ever seen. Approaching her was Cate Sullivan, whose eyes were dull—due to the brown contacts she wore. He wondered what color her eyes were. Blue? Green? Hazel? He’d probably never find out. Strangely, he wanted to know. It mattered to him, but he didn’t know why. It was probably because of his overactive detective antennae.

“Wow.” Trent reached to take the spectacular-looking pie from Mrs. Beabots. “This should bring a good price. Maybe we should auction it.”

Mrs. Beabots winked at him. “That’s the ticket. I like that idea.”

“Hi, Cate,” Trent said, noticing her eyes were focused on him. She stood still, holding a tray with two pies.

“Hi,” Cate replied with a faint smile. She continued to look at him, as though she were inspecting him. Taking stock. Her behavior was odd based on their meeting the night of the intruder.

But then she’d been frightened.

Terror twisted things. He should know.

Danny wiggled in between both women and shoved a canvas bag at Trent. “We have more in the car,” the boy said. “I’m going back.”

“Not without me you aren’t, young man,” Cate said instantly.

Trent could have sworn the little shake of her head was to break her focus on him. He wasn’t sure why she took such close inventory. Did cops make her nervous? He had to believe that was partly true since she’d been lying to everyone in town.

Fascinating, when he thought about it. He wondered exactly how she had picked Indian Lake. It could have been as simple as the fact that she didn’t know anyone here. No relatives to blow the whistle on her. No former friends. Anonymity. That had to be it.

He’d seen the scenario a million times over. Fresh starts. New vistas. And no past to think about. But even he knew that no matter how focused one was on the future, the past never left. His past crept around like slinky varmints with sharp teeth ready to gnaw at his Achilles’ heel.

“Do you have a lot of stuff?” Trent asked Cate as she started to walk away.

“Enough to fill all four of these tables,” Mrs. Beabots said. “Cate and Danny were kind enough to help me.”

Trent turned to Drake, who was placing price stickers on jars of green pepper jelly. “I’m going with Cate. Be back in a few.”

Drake’s eyes shot over to the pretty brunette. “Sure, Trent.” He chuckled with a playful lift to his grin. “You go right ahead.”

He was no more interested in Cate romantically than he was in pigs flying. He followed her, noticing the tight fit to the skinny jeans she wore and the feminine, aqua-and-blue print blouse. There were silver hoops in her ears that hung below the precision-cut edge of her chin-length dark hair. She wore some kind of open-toed canvas shoes that revealed brightly painted aqua toes.

The toes matched her blouse. She liked fashion? Or was she meticulous about her appearance? He remembered that her house was very clean—and she had a six-year-old son. The way he remembered being six, he’d been constantly in and out of dirt, and almost never walked into the house without grass stains from playing baseball at the nearby park. Was she overprotective? Paranoid? Or both?

They reached the SUV, and Cate opened the hatch. Trent noticed that the vehicle, too, was immaculate. The windows didn’t have a speck of dirt or grime, and it would take him half a Saturday to get a wax gleam this perfect.

Cate lifted a tray of cupcakes. “You take these. I’ll bring the pies. Danny, sweetheart, you take the pan of brownies.”

“Yes, ma’am!” Danny replied, staring wide-eyed at the chocolate confections.

Trent couldn’t help it; he had to ask. “You just have your car detailed?”

“Huh?” She looked at the tan leather seats. “Not really. I keep it up myself. An agent’s car is practically the office, you know. First impressions to clients are crucial.”

“I’ve heard that,” Trent replied with a smile.

Cate didn’t return the smile, only scanned him with laser-like scrutiny.

Had he revealed too much too soon? He had to win her confidence if he was to get any information about Le Grande. He continued smiling as they walked to the booth.

Keeping up with small talk was important. As an investigator, he never knew when an important piece of information would drop in his lap. “Well, you must be doing something right because you’ve built a good business here in town. How long have you been in real estate?”

“A little over five years. The minute I had my license, I went right to work. I swear, I haven’t had a day off since. It’s been good to me, and I enjoy every minute. My clients have become friends, as well.” There was a slight stiffness to her response.

Trent had the impression she’d given this same explanation many times before. She was treating him like a prospective client.

At the booth, Mrs. Beabots had rearranged half the goods on the tables and made room—in the very front, of course—for her pastries. Trent couldn’t hide his smile. Mrs. Beabots was the take-charge woman he’d heard so much about. This proved it.

“I’ll take those blueberry pies, Cate.” Mrs. Beabots put them on the table. “Then the brownies next to them. I brought some paper plates so we could arrange them in groups of half a dozen. After all, no one eats just one.”

“Don’t say that,” Cate said, putting her hands over Danny’s ears in mock fashion. “I tell him one is plenty.”

Danny pulled her hands away. “She’s right, Mom. One for each hand. Right, Mrs. Beabots?”

Trent crossed his arms over his chest and shot a stern look at Danny. “I’m pretty sure your mother knows what’s best for you, Danny.”

Mrs. Beabots nodded. “I said a cookie for each hand, Danny. And those were my small Snickerdoodles. My brownies are very rich.”

Danny hung his head. “Aw, gee.”

Cate’s gaze again clamped on Trent. He wished he was a mind reader. Or that she would drop her guard. He had to hand it to her. She’d learned how to mask her emotions like a highly trained actress. He couldn’t tell if she was angry, concerned, curious or pleased. He had to wait for her comments, but unfortunately, she thought long and hard before speaking.

Looking away from Cate, Trent saw Sarah and Luke Bosworth, Annie and Timmy.

“Mrs. Beabots!” Sarah called and waved. “We got here just in time. I want that apple pie before anyone else buys it.”

Mrs. Beabots looked over Sarah’s shoulder at Luke. “Really? No objections from you, Luke?”

“Me? Object to you? Never.”

“How goes it, Luke?” Trent asked, placing his left hand on Luke’s strong shoulder and shaking his right hand with a firm grip.

“Great. You working out tomorrow?”

“I was planning on it,” Trent replied. “I’ll meet you at the Y. One o’clock?”

“Great,” Luke replied and looked at Timmy, who was trying to get his father’s attention by grabbing his belt. “What is it?”

“Dad. Mrs. Beabots made brownies. The really good ones. Can I buy some? I have my allowance.”

Luke rolled his eyes.

Trent laughed. “Think of the kids he’s helping. It’s a good cause.”

“Okay.”

Timmy’s jaw dropped. “You mean it?”

Sarah’s eyes shot to Luke. “What are you saying?”

Luke shrugged. “I caved.”

The tented booth was filling with patrons buying jewelry and jams, pies and what was left of the brownies.

Trent saw Danny as he watched his friend, Timmy, leaning against his father’s leg, eating a brownie. Luke was talking to Sarah and Mrs. Beabots, absentmindedly running his hand over Timmy’s thick hair, then down to the boy’s shoulder. Timmy barely made any sign that he felt his father’s endearing touch; he was used to love and comforting caresses.

Danny’s expression showed sadness sifted over jealousy. And yearning.