Page 16 of Mike

“Spoilsport.” Dilly huffed under her breath but still loud enough for Mike to hear. “I knew you’d say that,” she grumbled.

Yup. She was a sassy one.

“Spoilsport,” Mike repeated. “That’s me. The man who wants to keep his children safe, and uninvolved in anything that seems even remotely sketchy.”

Tim nodded, clearly agreeing wholeheartedly, but Dilly still didn’t look convinced.

“Whatever,” she glowered, then flounced into the house.

Damn. Mike was going to have to put his parents on high alert to keep a close watch on his daughter. If she did go against the rules and come back to the house, once the cameras were up and running, Mike would get a notification the minute she stepped foot on the property. He’d then call his father to come collar her, and…she’d be grounded for a month.

Ignoring the small tantrum, Mike thanked Welker profusely, telling him there’d be piccata for him after he returned with his tech-goodies and had things installed. Mike then placed an affectionate hand on the back of Tim’s neck, guiding him back toward the house.

“I’m really starving, Dad,” Tim, the bottomless pit complained. “How long before supper?”

Mike snorted. He liked how easily his son returned to normal.

“Give me half an hour.”

Two hours later, the kids had been fed and were in their rooms packing.

Welker, standing at the counter, scoffed down the leftovers, having completed his work for the evening. “This food is terrific. You cooked it?” He looked around as if just considering something. “Hey. Where’s your wife? I haven’t seen her tonight.”

“Uh, she’s, um, taking some…courses out of state right now.”

“Courses?”

Fuck, Mike hated to lie. Once someone went down that road, it never went well trying to keep track of exactly what you’d told to whom, so Mike made up his mind on the spot and bit the bullet.

“Actually, no. That’s not true.” He swallowed around the big lump of trepidation in his throat. “Mellie walked out on us about eleven months ago.”

Welker look shocked, then saddened. “Shit, man. I’m sorry. And my bad for bringing it up.” He didn’t leave it alone, however. His eyes narrowed. “Does anybody on the team know?”

Mike grumbled. “Nobody knows except my family, and now you.”

“That really sucks.” Welk paused for a moment, chewing. “You want me to keep my mouth shut?”

“If you could,” Mike acknowledged with a sigh. “Now that I’ve actually managed to say it to you, I guess I’ll find a way to tell everyone else this weekend.”

“You know, nobody’s going to be all that surprised,” Welker speculated. “We all kind of wondered what’s been going on, especially when Melanie didn’t show up on your arm for the last four weddings. There was definitely speculation going around.”

“I figured as much. But there are details…” Mike huffed. “Listen. Can we drop this for now? I’ll give you and the team all the deets tomorrow after we’ve had our day.”

“Sure. No problem.” Welker forked up another bite and shoveled it into his mouth. “Damn. If I’d known what a good cook you were,” the man told Mike, “I would have made excuses to visit you more often. Bachelorhood obviously agrees with you.”

Mike laughed, not calling Welk out on bringing his single status up again, but instead, he clarified his meager talents. “My repertoire isn’t huge. I do a mean red sauce, this piccata, and burgers, dogs, and steaks on the grill. Other than that, it’s frozen or take-out.”

“Better than I can do,” Welker stated, smacking his lips over the last bite. He wiped his mouth on a napkin. “Now back to business. Give me your phone, and I’ll get you set up with your new undercover software.” He wiggled his fingers at Mike.

Mike pushed his phone across the counter to Welker, and the man’s hands flew over the screen. Within seconds, he was sending the device back Mike’s way.

“That’s it?”

“Yup. I put the two new icons on your home screen. One is for the cameras; the other is your movement detector.”

Mike looked, and saw two new symbols on his phone. He clicked the first—the camera feed—which gave him three views to choose from. Welk had named them. One was called “street end”, and was positioned at the inception of his driveway, “house end” had been placed at the gravel egress just before the tree-line gave way to his yard, and “back 40”, was some kind of panoramic deal that encompassed his entire rear acreage.

“That’s very cool, Welk,” he praised.

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