through the windshield in case the kid tried to make a break for it. All he did was slump in defeat.
Once Ethan was in, he hit the button to lock the doors. “All right,” he said. “No more dancing around. I need your name.”
The kid jerked a one-shoulder shrug and mumbled again, although this time Ethan heard him. “Jake Vennetti.”
“Vennetti.” Oh, damn. Why hadn’t he seen the resemblance right away? “Your father was Matt Vennetti.”
Jake sneaked a look sidelong with those chocolate-brown eyes just like his father’s. “Yeah.”
Ethan opened his mouth and closed it before he could say aloud what he was thinking. Oh, shit. Jake was right; his mother was going to freak. She had good reason to hate guns.
In fact, this boy, sitting beside Ethan, had to be the one who’d gotten his hands on his father’s service weapon and accidentally shot another kid, who died. From there, the tragedy had cascaded. In the end, Portland Police Bureau Officer Matt Vennetti had ended up killing himself. Not with the same gun, but he’d swallowed a gun nonetheless. It all happened—Ethan wasn’t sure. Five years ago? Six? He knew Matt’s only son was a little boy and not to blame, which wasn’t to say he didn’t blame himself.
“I went to your father’s funeral,” he said quietly. Despite his rage at a man who’d leave that kind of burden on his wife and child. “Your dad and I rode patrol together early on.”
Head ducked, Jake didn’t respond.
Perturbed, Ethan said, “I can look up your address if I have to. Why don’t you just give me directions.”
“Like I have any choice,” the boy spat.
Ethan started the engine. “You didn’t do anything so bad today. I cut school in my time, too.”
Jake turned his head sharply away. Ethan had a bad feeling it was to hide tears.
* * *
WHERE COULD HE BE?
Laura Vennetti paced, her phone clutched in her hand. Fear squeezed her heart. She’d be purely mad instead of scared if Jake had ever done anything like this before, but he hadn’t. It wasn’t like him at all. He was a good student. Never in trouble. She’d fear a kidnapping if a classmate hadn’t reluctantly told the principal that he’d seen Jake get on a city bus.
He’d been gone hours now. School had let out. She’d called all his friends, none of whom would admit to knowing his plans, although it was hard to tell with preteen boys, who seemed to communicate primarily in grunts and hoots.
“I swear I’ll ground him until he leaves for college.” The sound of her voice was meant to fill the silence. Instead, it seemed to echo, leaving her even more conscious of being alone in the house. She reached the back door and swung around to stalk through the kitchen and dining room into the living room. “I won’t let him leave for college. He doesn’t deserve—” Her voice broke.
She’d thought it was dumb for a boy his age to carry a phone, but she had just changed her mind. If he was in trouble, how could he call her? There weren’t many pay phones anymore, and he might not have money with him anyway, and she discouraged him from talking to strangers.
Maybe it was time to report him missing to the police. Her gaze went to the clock on the DVD player. No, it wasn’t even four yet. Kids cut class all the time. Nobody would take her seriously.
Soon.
She heard a deep engine outside and rushed to the front window. A black SUV had pulled up to the curb in front of her house. The passenger side door opened and—
Laura clapped a hand over her mouth. Thank you, God. Thank you. She raced for the front door and flung it open. Her son lifted his head and saw her, then, ducking his head again, trudged across the lawn toward the porch. She was barely aware that a man had gotten out, too, and came around the big SUV to follow Jake.
She planted her fists on her hips in lieu of bounding down the porch steps and snatching him into her arms. “Where have you been? Do you have any idea how scared I was?”
He sneaked a shamed look at her. “I didn’t think the school would call you.”
The man came to a stop behind Jake and laid a large hand on his shoulder. She thought he squeezed, just a little, before letting the hand drop. Laura had to lift her gaze a long way to the man’s face. He was...well, not a foot taller than Jake, but a whole lot taller. He had to be six foot three or four.
Her heart drummed for an entirely different reason now. Calm eyes she thought were hazel held hers. His hair was brown, but not as dark as Jake’s, or as her Italian husband’s had been. He might not be male-model handsome, but came close, with a strong jaw, prominent cheekbones and a high-bridged nose. He had broad shoulders and the long, lean build of a basketball player. Standing so close to him, Jake was dwarfed.
“Jake.” She heard how sharp her voice was. “Come here. Right now.”
The stranger arched dark brows but stayed where he was when Jake slouched his way up the steps onto the porch. She pushed him behind her into the house.
Only then did she see that the stranger wore a gun.
“Who are you?” She sounded hysterical, with good reason.
“Ms. Vennetti.” He nodded. “I’m Detective Ethan Winter, with PPB.”
A police officer had brought her son home. Dread closed her throat. She had to swallow before she could ask, in a harsh whisper, “What did he do?”
“Nothing more serious than cut school.” That slow, deep voice was as calming as his steady gaze. “I was hoping to talk to you for a minute, though.”
She bit her lip and gave a choppy nod. “Come in, then.” She turned to find Jake hovering on the other side of the living room. “Go to your room,” she said. “I’ll talk to you later, after I’ve heard what Detective Winter has to say.”
“I didn’t do—”
“Your room,” she snapped.
His expression stormy, he thought about defying her, but the moment lasted a matter of seconds before he bolted for his bedroom. The door slammed hard enough to make pictures on the wall bounce. Laura closed her eyes, prayed for strength and once again faced the police officer who had brought Jake home.
He stepped inside, his shoulder brushing her, his gaze skimming the room in what she guessed was automatic assessment.
“Please, have a seat,” she said, and closed the front door.
He hesitated momentarily, making her aware none of the furniture was built on a scale for a man his size, then chose one end of the sofa. She sat in her favorite easy chair facing him over the coffee table.
“I knew your husband,” he said abruptly. “We patrolled together for about a year early on in our careers. I’d been on the job a little longer than Matt had, but not much.”
She suddenly felt stripped bare. All she could do was hold up her
