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The Becks. Closest thing to a real family Jarrod had had in years. They’d been targeted by associates of Handley Barratt years ago. They’d almost been killed. Handley Barratt had escaped. Jarrod’s former partner, Melody, had married Barratt’s only son Houghton Barratt—one of the richest men in the United States—during that whole shitstorm.
She was happy now. The Becks were all safe now.
But Handley Barratt was still out there.
Jarrod couldn’t find that sonofabitch anywhere. He’d definitely kept looking since the guy had left Melody crying in a hospital chapel three years ago. Jarrod had almost convinced himself the billionaire was on a Mexican beach somewhere, living the high life with hot senior ladies and laughing about the chaos he’d left behind in Finley Creek.
Wrong.
Billionaire Barratt was still around. Around long enough to have paperwork printed from the internet with his wishes for his kid on it. There had been a Mexican birth certificate for the boy in that bag, too. Listing one Handley Barratt as his father. All nice and tidy and everything.
Apparently, Barratt had been close enough to be watching his family. To swoop in and save his niece’s best friend when abductors had taken the woman so handily. “I won’t deny it. I’d partner with the devil himself if it means catching that man. Finding out what he knows. He belongs in jail—accessory after the fact, if nothing else.”
“This woman lived because of him. That’s hard to overlook. The world is a complicated mix of grays, Foster. Not black and white. You might want to remember that.”
He scowled. She had a point. And a bit of a chip on her shoulder where the TSP and the Becks were concerned. No denying that. It was understandable, too. Her sister and niece had both almost died during that Eastman shitstorm three months ago. She’d said once in his hearing she doubted they would have gotten them back if the rich guys’ family—including Sydney Beck, Houghton’s sister-in-law—hadn’t been taken, too.
“We should wake her,” Heather said quietly. “You want the honors?”
“I’m awake,” a soft voice came from the bed. “But since I recognize that man’s voice, I’m contemplating just not opening my eyes. For a really long, long time. And hoping he’ll just go away. Where’s Beck? Is he okay?”
“A better question is who is Beck?” Jarrod asked, moving closer. Heather grabbed Haldyn’s glasses and handed them to the woman on the bed. “And how did you get him?”
Blue eyes stared at him, from a pale, beautiful face. One with bruises. Those bruises burned right through him.
“Beck is Handley Barratt’s son.”
She struggled a little to sit up in the bed. Before he could stop himself and let Heather do it, Jarrod put his hands around her and helped her up. His hands lingered on her shoulders.
Haldyn Harris didn’t feel all that substantial to him right now. The exact opposite. She’d always seemed so delicate and prissy and wimpy to him in the entire time he’d known her.
The queen-needing-her-peasants-to-serve-her-every-whim type.
The kind of woman who needed a man to protect her or something.
His mom had been like that. Her three sons were just dragged along with her—from hero to hero, town to town. Until they’d each said enough one by one. And stopped.
“Where’s Daniel? I thought he’d be here when I woke.” She slipped those little glasses on and just blinked at him.
“He’s busy. Trying to find the guys who did this to you. That’s his job.” His boss at Major Crimes and Haldyn Harris were exceptionally close. Speculation around the TSP was that they’d been having an affair for years.
Heather elbowed him. Sent him a glare. “Don’t be a jerk, Foster.”
“It’s his natural state, Heather. I’ve known that for years. Especially where I’m concerned. Where is Beck? Is he with the Barratts?” There she went again, saying things about him without inflection, all in that quiet, reserved little voice of hers. Like she couldn’t even be bother to get angry at him anymore.
Getting angry at him was beneath the queen or something now. She hadn’t gotten angry and loud with him in months. Since right after the choir hall shooting.
She’d lost a lot of her fire then. Jarrod missed it.
He wasn’t certain what he thought of this new quiet little queen thing she had going on. He couldn’t figure her out now. He hated puzzles.
“They kept him here at the hospital last night. Melody Barratt and her husband are in Mexico, and should be here in a few hours.” Heather nudged Jarrod out of the way, then patted Haldyn’s hand. Fussed a little. It surprised Jarrod. Heather didn’t seem like much of the fussy sort. Apparently, he was wrong about that. “He stayed up in Peds last night. My sister Joy arranged it. Detective Dodson stayed with him, too.”
Jarrod didn’t miss the instinctive flinch when the Heather got too close.
Haldyn Harris hated to be touched. Everyone knew that.
Well, except by Daniel. And maybe Gunnar. That was it. She was a damned icicle. He was convinced one hundred percent. Queens usually were. “We need to find out what happened to you after you were taken off the road.”
