Her Detective's Secret Intent. Tara Taylor Quinn

last year of college. Or even to trace her to a particular college. Or to identify a girl who’d been friends with a boy who died. No way to discover who she really was.

      “Wow. I’m so sorry.”

      So was she. Jeff had been one of the greatest guys she’d ever known, and he hadn’t deserved the blows life had dealt him. “I miss him every day,” she said, allowing one more piece of her real self through. Jeff had been the only one who ever knew the whole truth about her. The only one in her past life she’d told.

      “That had to be hell, to lose him and be pregnant at the same time.”

      She shrugged. “You’d think so, but being pregnant, knowing that Ethan was part of him, and a new part of me, a whole new life... I’m sure that’s what saved me.” In more ways than Tad could ever imagine. If it hadn’t been for Ethan she might never have had the strength, the clarity of mind, to get away.

      Jeff, who’d been a foster kid, had believed in her, trusted her to raise his child—even knowing the truth about her life.

      Tad’s brows had been drawing closer together as she talked, giving Miranda the impression that she was coming on too heavy. She was suddenly aware that she wasn’t in their own little cocoon, with her son playing safely in the distance. Instead, she—and Tad—were in a noisy diner with Friday-night happiness going on all around them.

      She tried to think of a way to change the subject.

      But she didn’t manage before he asked, “How long did you know him? Ethan’s father?”

      “Four years.”

      “You were obviously close...”

      Obviously. She’d had his son. Though not close in the way Tad would assume. “We were best friends.” And that was all they’d been. Friends. Not a “thing.” Best friends. With Ethan, she’d given her best friend his dying wish—a child who would always be part of him, carrying on a life that had been cut far too short.

      “How long were you married?”

      Her mind went blank. What did she say? Would the truth give her away somehow? She tried to think of everything she’d been told. By the lawyers who helped her legally change her identity. By Lila and Sara at The Lemonade Stand, the unique women’s shelter in town that had founded the High Risk Team. Everything she’d heard during her time with the team about the ways information could travel to the wrong people.

      Marriage meant records.

      The haze of panic receded. “We weren’t married.” She told him the truth. No one could find what didn’t exist. She was safe.

      And no one knew that Jeff was Ethan’s father. She hadn’t named him on the original North Carolina birth certificate, and their new identities certainly didn’t name him. To begin with, she’d kept the secret to protect Jeff from her father’s wrath; Jeff had so little time to live and she couldn’t bear the thought of bringing more tension into his life. And when he’d died before Ethan was born...she’d just kept the secret.

      Tad sat back, adjusted his knife on the table. Took a sip from his straw. What was he thinking?

      Surely, in today’s world, he didn’t respect her less for having a baby outside of marriage?

      She wanted to tell him that they knew Jeff was dying. That they’d decided not to marry so there couldn’t be any legal chance she’d be held responsible for any of his medical bills.

      It seemed to be taking an inordinately long time for their dinner to arrive. But then, it was Friday night and the place was packed. Ethan had glanced their way a few times, but was still happily engaged with Jimmy. The two were in the sandbox now, trying to plow roads for their cars around the other children playing there.

      All in all, less than ten minutes had passed. It just seemed like forever.

      “I haven’t dated anyone since Ethan was born.” She had to tell Tad something that would get them out of this awkward mess. “A conscious choice I’ve made.” For reasons she’d never tell him, no matter how badly she wished she could.

      Tad wasn’t asking her out, but she was guaranteeing that he wouldn’t, although her heart was clamoring for a chance to see what life with him would be like.

      Even if just for the months he was there.

      Because it was only for however many months he’d be there. There’d be no risk of having to live a whole life of lying to him... It would be a question of living in the moment for the few months he was around.

      Which her heart was telling her would be better than nothing.

      It would be great, actually, to have such a memory to take with her into the future. To hold close. A good secret to combat all the bad ones...

      “In honor of his father?”

      “No. But...” She searched for an explanation that would shut him down. And yet she didn’t allow anything remotely credible to surface. Would it be so wrong to get to know him better? He wouldn’t be staying, had an entire life, an important job, to return to.

      “I haven’t had the time,” she finally said, wondering if leaving a door open to him was emotional suicide. Or maybe it was the only personal bliss she’d know in her life. “I’m a single mother, and not all men want to take that on. Added to that, until last year I was in school full-time and working, too.” While becoming a PA had only taken two years of additional schooling, she’d been unable to take her college degree with her and had to earn that all over again, too. Thankfully she’d been able to test out of more than two years of that, having to pay just for the class equivalent, not actually retake the classes.

      “So now that you’re fully accredited and have more time...”

      Oh, God. Was he going to ask her out? Flooded with heat, she felt she was possessed by something stronger than herself—this desire to get closer and closer to him.

      She shrugged when he didn’t complete his sentence.

      He nodded, as though her lack of a definitive “no” was interesting.

      She smiled.

      He nodded again.

      And dinner was served.

      * * *

       What in the hell was he doing?

      Walking the dark streets of Santa Raquel sometime after midnight, hunched in his department-issued coat with the collar turned up, Tad warded off the thirtysomething-degree chill of California ocean air. He’d intended to head over two blocks to the beach, but had only gone one and then turned, choosing sidewalk instead of sand.

      If it hadn’t been for dinner arriving, he was pretty sure he would’ve asked out his client’s daughter. The subject of his current job.

      If he ever hoped to work in law enforcement in North Carolina again, he couldn’t be pissing off the state’s chief fire marshal—a man with more connections, both law enforcement and political, than Tad could ever hope to have.

      Did he hope to go back to some form of law enforcement work?

      He’d quit his job.

      The department had refused to accept his resignation, so officially, he was on administrative leave for the year they’d agreed upon.

      Time for the department to fully investigate, review and further discuss his last case or, more accurately, the one really bad decision he’d made in a career of relatively great ones. His solved-cases record was better than that of anyone in the department.

      They wanted to keep him on.

      They also wanted him to take some time to get his head on straight. To show them that he’d be able to regain any trust he’d lost with his peers.

      But...did he hope to go back?

      Noting that he’d