had been a cop for ten years. He’d been John Kincaid’s son long before that. Doing the hard thing—doing the right thing—simply because it had to be done wasn’t something he’d backed down from before. He wouldn’t skip out on his duty now. No matter how raw he was already feeling inside. “No. You know the players better than any of us. You need to be there at the precinct office to keep track of information as it comes in. I’ll go.”
“Thanks, Sawyer.” Seth apologized for his and his wife’s early departure after the funeral. “I’m sorry Bec and I didn’t make it to the reception. You know how much John meant to both of us. But when the call came in—”
“Forget it. I’m glad you’re there to handle it.”
“I had a lot of respect for your dad.”
“We all did.” The heartfelt words should have calmed him, centered him. But for a man who was used to doing rather than talking, the lengthy conversation made him antsy to get this errand over with. “You go back to work. I’ll get over to Melissa’s.”
Seth seemed to understand, and traded instructions instead of goodbyes. “Flash your badge to the man in the squad car. Captain Taylor gave him orders to shoot first and ask questions later if anyone approaches the house.”
“Got it.”
“Is there a problem, son?” The swinging kitchen door closed behind Susan Kincaid as Sawyer hung up the phone. She looked tired, like she wasn’t eating enough, like maybe there were a few more threads of gray in her dark brown hair than had been there a week ago.
But Sawyer still stood up a little straighter when she crossed her arms and tilted her chin with that I-dare-you- to-lie-to-me look that had gotten him to fess up from the time he was a small boy. “I’m sorry. Something’s come up at work. I need to go take care of it.”
That stern-mama look had never lasted for long. It didn’t now. Instead, Susan reached up and tugged Sawyer’s wrinkled tie free from his collar. She smoothed the front of his unbuttoned uniform jacket and straightened his shirt. “Of all my boys, you never were one to sit still and worry things through for very long. Probably why you were the one we always had to drive to the emergency room.” Her hands settled at the center of his chest, warming Sawyer all the way through to his heart. “Staying dressed up and putting on a game face all day long must be driving you crazy.”
Sawyer grinned. “You think you know me that well, huh?”
“Please. After thirty-two years, I know you better than you know yourself. If you need to crash out and take care of something, do it. Your father’s assistant, Brooke, is here to help me, and she’s keeping things running so efficiently that there’s nothing much for any of us to do. Your brothers will understand if you need to leave. I understand.” She turned him toward door and gave him a push. “Now go. Just give me a call later so I know you’re all right.”
Though Susan Kincaid’s will was a force to be reckoned with, Sawyer was twice her size and refused to be ushered out just yet. He turned at the door, scooped her up in a bear hug and planted a kiss on her cheek before setting her down. “I love you, Mom.”
She smiled. It was the first real smile he’d seen on her throughout this long, long day. “I know.”
Chapter Two
Twenty-five minutes later, Sawyer pulled his truck up behind the black and white, killed the lights and wipers and turned off the engine. A smile from his mom had improved his mood if not his trepidation about tonight’s visit to Melissa Teague’s tiny white house in the Kansas City suburb of Independence. The place was neat, but plain and unassuming, showing the signs of its age in the sag of the front porch and the cracks running through the brickwork along the house’s foundation.
He pulled his badge from his jacket and slipped it back into his wallet before checking the gun on his belt and climbing out. Squinting into the rain, he braced his shoulders for the unpleasant task at hand and moved toward the officer in the squad car.
“I’m a friend of the family,” he explained, fudging a little on the friend part as the blue suit read his badge and ID and okayed him to approach the house.
Sawyer caught a glimpse of his drowned-rat reflection when the officer rolled up his window against the moisture splashing into his car. Big scary man coming in from the dark and the storm. Yeah, he’d be a real re-assuring sight.
One more reason to hate the rain.
Muttering a curse that was half damnation, half resignation to the inevitable, Sawyer jumped the torrent running along the curb and hurried across the street. Pausing for a quick scan up and down the sidewalk and into the side yards, he made sure there were no unwelcome eyes watching the place. In fact, other than the officer in the car, the block was deserted. The isolation of locked doors and dark windows nagged at him almost as much as the sight of someone spying on the house would have. But he supposed he was the only one without the sense to stay in on a night like this. Tomorrow, he’d order a rundown on all the neighbors to make sure there were no empty houses and that the residents were who they said they were.
Resolved that he could at least do that much to keep Melissa safe, Sawyer climbed the steps onto her front porch. The wood shifted and creaked beneath his weight, groaning like an ominous portent of unseen danger. But the light beside the door was on, so she’d be able to get a good look at him before opening it.
He pressed the doorbell, then shook the excess water from his unbuttoned jacket, making sure his Glock was tucked out of sight behind his back. He was squeegeeing the rain from his hair when the inside door nudged open a crack.
Sawyer braced for the impact of seeing Melissa again.
But the breath he’d been holding eased from his chest in an odd mixture of disappointment and relief as he caught his first glimpse of the woman peeking over the chain latching the door to its frame.
Not Melissa. Just as petite, though, maybe five foot two or three at the most. Pretty in a soft sort of feminine way that must be an inherited trait. The wary suspicion in this woman’s eyes was similar. But the hair was shorter, curlier, laced with silver amongst the gold. “Yes?”
“Mrs. Teague?”
“Who’s asking?”
Sawyer held his badge up beside his face. “KCPD, ma’am. I’m Detective Kincaid from the Fourth Precinct.”
The older woman squinted. “The Fourth Precinct’s in downtown Kansas City. What are you doing out…? Oh, shoot.” She turned away from the door and shouted inside. “Benjamin? Bring Grandma her glasses. Please.” She looked back through the screen that separated her from Sawyer. “I wondered when someone was going to come up to the house. That police car has been sitting out there for a half hour. I was still cleaning the dinner dishes when he pulled up. Makes me nervous.”
“It’s just a precaution, ma’am. He’s keeping an eye on the neighborhood.” Sawyer tucked his badge onto his belt and retreated a step to hopefully ease her concern. “Is Miss Teague here?”
“Gandma?” Short, chubby fingers pushed a pair of glasses into the woman’s hands, and then a little boy with shaggy black hair, barefoot and dressed in overalls, peeked around her leg.
Sawyer’s pulse hitched in recognition as he looked down into a carbon copy of Melissa’s clear blue eyes.
