A Cop's Honor. Emilie Rose

expression turned apologetic. “I hope you don’t mind baked spaghetti. It’s one of the few things my picky eaters like.”

      “Sounds good.” He stopped on the threshold of the dining room. The once dark walls and wainscoting gleamed white. “You painted in here.”

      “We’re working our way through the list, slowly, but surely.”

      “We’re going to paint my room ’morrow,” mini Hannah chirped.

      Brandon heard opportunity knocking. “Oh yeah? Maybe I can help. I like to paint.”

      He glanced at Hannah for confirmation. She nodded.

      “I’ll be here first thing in the morning.”

      Hannah shook her head. “We won’t get home from church until 12:30.”

      “I’ll be here when you get home.”

      “Don’t you go to church, Occifer Brandon?”

      Was the half-pint channeling his mother? “I’m usually working. But tomorrow I’m off. And I can’t think of a better way to spend the day than painting with you.”

      Belle beamed. Hannah and Mason looked less than thrilled. But Hannah had asked for his help, and she was going to get it.

       Chapter Two

      HANNAH WAS HAPPY to see the end of the meal. Belle had chattered almost nonstop, but that hadn’t been enough to cover Mason’s monosyllabic responses to Brandon’s questions. Even though Brandon had appeared relaxed, Hannah doubted he’d missed her son’s rudeness, and she was sure she’d hear about it—the same way she heard about it from her in-laws—as soon as they left the table.

      “Mason, go take your shower. Belle, pick out your pajamas and a book.”

      The children left the room, Belle skipping, Mason moving at a slower, rebellious pace. Hannah missed the days when they both raced up the stairs like a thundering herd and all she had to worry about was one of them falling and getting hurt.

      After the footsteps faded Brandon hit her with a somber look across the table. “He wasn’t thrilled to have me here.”

      Hannah bolted to her feet and started stacking dishes. “It takes him a while to warm up to strangers. Just like his father. But I really appreciate your efforts to draw him out.” When Brandon rose and grabbed what she couldn’t carry she protested, “You don’t have to do that.”

      “In my house, if you eat, you clean.” He followed her into the galley-style kitchen and set his load in the sink.

      She hadn’t had a man in this room since Rick’s death. And even then, preparing the meal and cleaning up afterward had been her job while Rick had played with the children or watched TV. Brandon’s shoulders were broader than Rick’s had been, and he took up more space. His presence made her feel claustrophobic in the narrow area between the counters.

      Brandon rinsed a dish and offered it to her. She jumped into action. Her hip bumped his as she bent to open the dishwasher, and her pulse blipped erratically. Nerves over what his take on Mason’s attitude might be. That was all it was. She was certain.

      “Brandon, I’m sorry, but until I renovate this kitchen there’s only room for one of us in here, so...if you don’t mind...”

      He scanned the room. “I forgot you wanted to knock out some walls.”

      “Just that one.” She pointed to the wall dividing the den and kitchen.

      “Did Rick ever get that structural engineer’s report he talked about?”

      “Yes, but kitchens are expensive projects, so it’s pretty far down the list.” And now it was off it completely because one salary would never be enough to cover the cost.

      “Could I see the report?”

      She sighed. If it would get him out of the way, she’d give it to him. Crossing to the built-in desk, which she rarely used, she opened the file drawer, flipped through the folders and extracted the file.

      “You’re still organized, I see.”

      “Yes. Here you go.”

      “Thanks. I’ll read it after I take a look at the computer.”

      Anxiety burned in her chest. “You won’t find anything. Like I told you, I have all kinds of parental controls on it, and—”

      “Then you don’t have anything to worry about.” He retrieved the laptop from the den and brought it to the kitchen table then pushed a button and the machine hummed to life. “Do each of you have separate log-ins?”

      “Yes. That way the programs we use are on the desktop and my bill paying is out of the kids’ reach.”

      “Do you ever sign in as Mason to see which sites he visits?”

      “No. I trust him.” She didn’t need to see Brandon’s lips compressing to know he didn’t like her answer—especially given she’d demanded his help. “I don’t know his password.”

      “No problem.” Long fingers moved rapidly over the keyboard.

      She rinsed the remaining dishes and loaded the dishwasher, trying hard to ignore him clicking away. What if he found something? If she confronted Mason with it he’d know she’d gone behind his back and invaded his privacy. How would he react? The way her mother had? She tamped down the fear. Brandon wouldn’t find anything on the computer. She was too proactive for that.

      “I’m in,” Brandon stated.

      She stilled, water dripping from her hands into the sink. “How did you get in without his password?”

      “I signed in as the administrator.” He looked back at the screen then frowned. “Mason’s history has been deleted. Did you show him how to do that?”

      Her anxiety level climbed. “No. Maybe the computer is set to automatically delete the browsing history?”

      Click. Click. Click. “His account is.” More taps. “Neither yours nor Belle’s is. It’s not the computer’s default. If you didn’t set it up this way, then Mason did.”

      “But why...?”

      “Exactly.”

      Acid burned the base of her esophagus. She dried her hands. “I...could ask him.”

      But if she did, then he’d know she was spying on him. And spying on someone was a violation of trust that couldn’t be forgiven or forgotten.

      “You think he’d tell you the truth?”

      “Yes.”

      “Your hesitation says differently. Hannah, he’s a kid doing something he wants hidden. Let me talk to him.”

      “No! I don’t want you interrogating him like a criminal. He’s a little boy.”

      His jaw shifted. “Then let me take the computer with me so that I can find out what sites he’s been visiting. I’ll bring it back tomorrow.”

      “That’s spying.”

      “That’s parenting. If you want to know what’s driving his behavior and you won’t let me take the computer, then at least let me install some software that’ll track his activity. He’ll never know it’s there.”

      Fear tightened her chest. “I’m not violating his trust like that.”

      He shut down the computer, set it aside and stood. In three strides he was by her side. Close. Too close. She had to tip back her head to look at him. He wasn’t as tall as Rick, but he was...imposing in his breadth. Dark evening stubble shadowed his jaw and his eyes were...intent. She shuffled backward and