haven’t seen my baby girl yet,” Gram was saying, throwing a discard on the pile, on her way to beating him in a second game of gin rummy. The cast on her lower arm didn’t affect her ability to pick and throw cards any.
“She’s in a class this morning.” He’d already told her so. Twice. But he didn’t think she was having any trouble remembering that. Her problem was knowing she couldn’t leave. She’d been bobbing her right foot under the table since they sat down.
Miriam Thomas was used to looking after her home, her family, her community. She wasn’t good at inactivity. Never had been.
“Seems like they could pull her out of class to see her Gram. Especially since it’s my first day here.” There was no petulance in her tone, more like...suggestion. Gram’s way of demanding—and every single one of her men knew to jump at that tone.
Mason drew a card. Threw one on the pile.
Brianna was in a counseling session—to see what she could tell them about her visits with her father—with Harper in attendance. When she was through, Harper was going to take her back to day care and meet him and Miriam at the card tables. Gram’s visit with Brianna was going to have to wait.
The room they were in was a decent size and nicely appointed, with couches and chairs arranged in conversational areas with plenty of lamps for reading. A family living room atmosphere, though, for safety purposes, family members didn’t generally visit the shelter. It took special permission and security clearance for anyone other than staff, residents and police to get inside. At the moment, they had the place to themselves.
Mason’s high-level government clearance allowed him access to the entire facility. He’d asked for Gram to be called to the main building. He wanted her bungalow to be a place none of the Thomas men had ever visited. If they were going to get her to admit that Bruce was mistreating her, they had to break her belief that it was her duty to serve her men.
“Gin.” Miriam laid down her cards. He played what he could. Tallied up the score, then gathered the cards and shuffled.
“I need to get home to Bruce.” Statement. Not question. In navy polyester pants and a matching tunic, with her short hair curled and styled as usual, Miriam could have passed for someone on her way to a business meeting. Even at seventy-five, she could’ve handled herself at one just fine. Her strong will was part of the reason he’d had to bring her to the Stand. She was determined that her place was with his younger brother, whether it was healthy for her or not.
“He needs me.” Probably. At the moment, Mason didn’t give a shit.
“Does he know where I am?”
Again, probably. His younger brother was a damned good cop. Mason might have been expelled from Bruce’s life, but he’d kept track of him, relieved to see that his little brother was doing so well. Had been proud of him, too. But even if Bruce hadn’t done well, Mason would’ve watched out for him. He’d be the big brother until the day he died.
“I haven’t told him.”
“What did you tell him?”
He’d been waiting for the question. And wouldn’t lie to his grandmother. “I told him I got a call from urgent care saying you’d been hurt, and your injuries were most likely caused by another individual. I said I was taking you someplace safe for a few weeks until you healed.”
He hadn’t accused his brother of hurting her. Not yet. But he hadn’t not done so, either.
He was still holding out hope that he was wrong—not that he’d given Harper that impression. He needed her to believe it was possible that Bruce was guilty, so she’d help him find out, one way or the other.
He was holding out hope, but he didn’t think he was wrong. No matter how much he wished differently.
Miriam drew. Rearranged the cards in her hand. Discarded. He waited for her to ask about Bruce’s response and found it telling that she didn’t.
“He’ll find me.”
“He won’t get in.”
Gram looked at him, her green eyes filled with the intelligence he’d known all his life. “He’s a decorated cop with security clearance,” she said clearly, easily. “They won’t be able to deny him access.”
It was his turn to play. He waited for her to look over at him, then held her gaze. “Yes, they will, Gram. You have my word on that.”
She nodded. Didn’t argue. But he knew she wasn’t convinced.
Where the hell was Harper?
“You really think if it’s Bruce against her, she’ll come out on top?”
Her.
“I met with Harper this morning,” he said. He’d been debating whether or not to tell her. To preempt the meeting they were about to have. But he’d decided to let things play out and observe the two women together because he wasn’t truly convinced his grandmother had a problem with Harper. The older woman had adored her. Sung her praises every single time Mason called or stopped by to see Miriam and his father during the year of Bruce and Harper’s marriage. She’d been certain that Harper Davidson would be the perfect cop’s wife, just as Gram herself had been. And Mason and Bruce’s mother, too, until the day she died.
“She thinks you don’t like her, Gram.”
“I don’t.”
They were both drawing cards. Discarding. He had three aces and three kings. All he needed was a fourth to go out on her.
“Why not?”
“She took the easy way out. Bruce makes one mistake and she leaves him. He changed after that. Worked all the time. Volunteered for the most dangerous assignments. Nothing I could do or say would bring him around. You think your grandfather didn’t make a mistake or two? Or your father, for that matter? You and I make mistakes. We don’t turn our backs on each other because of them. We stick together. That’s what family does.”
He’d been raised on this rhetoric. Believed most of it. “What mistake did Bruce make?” If he’d been talking to anyone else, his nonchalance would’ve been persuasive, but Gram saw right through him. He knew it when she paused, hand halfway to the discard pile, and looked over at him.
“He didn’t tell you?”
Mason stopped just short of rolling his eyes. “You think that’s likely?”
He’d spent five years telling himself he didn’t need to know why Harper had left his brother a year into the marriage she’d insisted on going through with. That he didn’t care. And that it was none of his business.
All lies—except the last part.
But now...it felt like his business. So he pushed. “What did he do?” he asked his grandmother.
“He had sex with a perp. Her older brother was a gang leader involved in human trafficking. He recruited local kids to use as drug mules. Bruce had to get close to get enough evidence to make a conviction stick.” Gram had spent more than fifty years living with law enforcement. There wasn’t a lot she didn’t
