Protecting Her Son. Joan Kilby

it.”

      “I can’t be positive the crystal meth came from him. I’m only speculating. But—” She glanced up. “He called me the day I started at Summerside P.D. He has my phone number. He knows where I live.”

      No wonder she’d been tense. Riley lifted his cap and dragged a hand through his hair. “What did he want?”

      Again she hesitated. Riley got the feeling she was choosing her words carefully.

      “He…didn’t say. Maybe just to scare me. Maybe he wants revenge.” She straightened and scowled at Riley as though he were the villain. “He’d better look out before he tangles with me again.”

      Riley studied her, frowning. One minute she was hesitant and uncertain, the next minute she was full of bravado. Was she hiding her own wrongdoing, laying the groundwork for a cover-up by admitting Moresco had called her? Or was she simply justifiably anxious because a drug lord was contacting her?

      “Have you told John? If you’re in trouble, the police force will back you up.”

      She gave him a look that was part scorn, part pity for his naivety. “Yeah, right.”

      “What happened seven years ago to get you busted back to uniform?” Riley asked. “You reacted strongly to the hazing. Did you get caught pilfering drugs from the evidence room? Are you an addict?”

      “No! Are you nuts? I would never do drugs.” She was really angry now. “My father was killed by a junkie while he was trying to resuscitate the man’s girlfriend.”

      “Oh.” Riley sat back. “I’m sorry. Was he a doctor?”

      “Paramedic.” Her shoulders squared. “I went into policing so I could bring creeps like the one who killed my dad to justice.”

      “Then what did you do?” He returned to his initial question. “Why has your past followed you here?”

      “I don’t talk about it. I made that clear to John. What’s done is done.”

      “But it’s not, is it? Not if crystal meth is showing up in our sleepy little town because you’re living here.”

      She shrank away, her face pale and drawn.

      “You need me to watch your back?” Riley said. “I need to know what I’m watching out for. A soldier doesn’t go into a dangerous situation without intel. His mates wouldn’t let him.” He hardened his voice. “So what’s the story?”

      “I’m not required to divulge that information to you, or anyone.” She got to her feet. “I’ve got to go. My son is waiting for me.”

      Riley watched her stride off. Was she really bent, as rumor had it? Why else would she have moved from station to station? In a long, deep-cover investigation sometimes the line between good guys and bad guys blurred. Boundaries shifted, cops began to see the law from the dark side. Maybe she had money problems. A cop’s salary wasn’t that great. Undercover vice cops were vulnerable to all sorts of illegal temptations besides drug use. Taking bribes, selling drugs or protection, tampering with the evidence. She had definitely overreacted to the bag of sugar in her locker.

      Was Moresco threatening her with violence if she spoke up? Paula didn’t seem like she scared easily. Or maybe it was the other way around. Maybe she’d gotten too close to Moresco.

      Riley had known from the beginning that Paula wouldn’t be an easy partner. She could be abrupt, she had a giant chip on her shoulder and at times, talking to her was like chatting to the sphinx. Then there was her attitude to traffic duty. Clearly she felt it was beneath her and what a joy that was to work with.

      On the other hand, she was gutsy and he liked a bit of attitude. Being a single parent couldn’t be easy, dealing with the guys at the station was a pain sometimes and she had to be disappointed that her career was at a low ebb. But she worked hard and didn’t complain—unless it was that there was too little to do.

      He’d expected she’d be difficult, but he hadn’t thought she’d bring her problems to Summerside. She was his partner, yes, but if her actions violated his moral code, if he found any evidence of illegal activity on her part, either now or in the past, he was going to John, he was taking her down.

      Riley pushed off the bench. She’d dodged his questions but the interrogation wasn’t over.

      * * *

      HOURS LATER RILEY was still mulling over the drug haul and what exactly Paula’s deal was. After she’d left he’d made a trip to the Frankston hospital hoping to question the driver of the Holden. Timothy Andrews had severe internal injuries and kept slipping in and out of consciousness. The nurse told Riley to call in the morning.

      Paula thought there was a connection between Moresco and the crystal meth. What was the connection between her and Moresco? Her behavior didn’t add up. Was it merely a coincidence that Jamie must have been conceived around the time she was working on the Moresco case? Surely she was too smart, and too classy to get mixed up with a lowlife like Nick Moresco.

      Hell. Why was he wasting his free time trying to figure out his partner when she so obviously intended to keep her secrets?

      Instead he took out his frustrations by dismantling his kitchen. He disconnected the plumbing to the sink. The stove he’d removed to the corner of the room. There was a gaping hole where the fridge had been.

      Riley levered a crowbar deep into a gap between the wall and the cabinet. Bracing his foot on the wall, he hauled on the crowbar. With an ear-piercing screech, the screws holding the unit pulled out of the wood and the cabinet shifted, buckling the ancient linoleum.

      Riley staggered backward, panting, to survey his efforts. His mother’s kitchen was well and truly on its way to being destroyed. In a way it felt wrong, as if he were being disloyal to her memory. But she’d be the last person to want him to make worn cabinetry and old-fashioned appliances a shrine to her.

      Damn, the pain in his right temple had started up again. His heart raced with an irregular, thready pulse. He must be breathing in too much dust. The paint was so old it might even have lead in it. He hadn’t thought of that. He could be getting brain damage.

      He opened the back door and sank onto the steps. The air, cooler now it was evening, was heavy with the scent of the red roses climbing the trellis on the wall next to him. Mum had planted the rose bush the first year she and his dad had moved into the house. Riley picked up a petal and held it to his nose.

      His dad and Sandra hadn’t changed much about the house and grounds over the past ten years. The huge fig tree that shaded a corner of the backyard still held remnants of the cubby house he and John had built in its branches when they were ten years old. His mum used to bring out cookies and lemonade and they’d winched them up in a bucket.

      In the other corner of the yard was her gardening shed where she grew seedlings for the vegetable patch on the sunny side of the property. Smack in the middle of the grass was the rotary clothesline where she’d hung out the laundry. Summers had been cricket on the lawn, barbecues, the sound of his parents’ conversation continuing into the warm night as he lay in bed lulled to sleep by his father’s deep rumble and his mother’s soft musical laughter.

      Heat pricked the back of his eyes. Part of him was grown up and practical. He recognized the value of the property and wanted to improve it, making a nice home for himself in the process. Another part of him wanted to preserve the small shabby dwelling as a time capsule, a tribute to the golden days of his youth and, yes, as a shrine to his mother.

      His head throbbed harder. He let the petal in his fingers fall to the overgrown grass and pushed to his feet. He couldn’t stay a kid forever. And he didn’t have time to sit around being sentimental.

      He would take a couple of painkillers and get back to work. The kitchen wasn’t going to renovate itself.

      * * *

      PAULA STOOD BEFORE the bathroom mirror, pinning up her hair while Jamie brushed his teeth at the