Page 74 of Single Mom's Firemen

I steal a glance at my brothers. Wyatt’s busy watching the men in front of us while Chase is holding his breath, trying to contain his anger. The three of us step through the doors and into Harriet’s office.

“What’s this about my son?” she immediately demands, her eyes lingering on documents on her desk.

“Good morning to you, too. He’s in deep shit, Mrs. Nash,” I say.

Finally, she looks up. For a moment, she doesn’t recognize us. But once the familiarity kicks in, her eyes grow wide with a mixture of dread and confusion.

“What the hell are you doing here?” she croaks.

Upon her surprised response, the bouncers whip out their guns. They’re not fast enough, though. Chase and Wyatt instantly disarm them, taking their own guns out and pressing the muzzles into their chins. “One move, it’s all I need,” Chase tells the man in his grasp. “One move, and I’ll paint the walls red.”

“I’m calling the police!” Harriet snaps, reaching for the phone.

“You won’t make it past 9,” I reply and take a step forward.

A split second later, her phone flies across the room, smashed against the wall. Harriet gasps and jumps out of her chair. “What is the meaning of this?”

“We need to talk, Mrs. Nash. About your son. I’m afraid it can’t wait,” I say.

“You have some nerve!” she says, but I can tell she understands what’s going on. I’m just not sure how much she knows regarding Halle’s disappearance. The mere fact that we were able to come all the way up here tells me she wasn’t expecting retaliation on our part. Though she doesn’t strike me as an idiot with zero foresight, either. “What do you want?”

“Where is Halle?” I demand.

She shakes her head and reaches for something on her desk. I follow her every move, my gun trained on her, ready to pull the trigger if I have to. “I imagine you would know better than me. Seeing as you all pay so much attention to her.”

Slowly, Harriett takes several photos out of her desk drawer and lays them out on the desktop for all of us to see. She’s working hard at keeping herself from smiling, clearly enjoying this a little too much, despite the gun that’s pointed at her.

One glance at the photos and my blood runs hot. Son of a bitch. “You’ve been spying on us. That’s illegal on so many levels, Mrs. Nash. No court will ever admit this as evidence in your custody hearing.”

“I don’t need the court’s approval. Just the judge’s bias, and that’s easily remedied, given how many tabloids I keep on speed dial,” she replies. “Didn’t Helena tell you?”

I stare at her expressionless.

“Oh. I thought she would’ve come running to you as soon as she saw the photos. I gave her copies. Keepsakes. But I am getting my grandchildren back,” she says.

Our mission cannot be derailed, regardless of the photos. Chase is staring at them, and I can almost hear the wheels grinding in his head, the rage testing his resolve as he squeezes the trigger, ever so slightly. He has complete control over his weapon but I sure hope the bodyguards aren’t dumb enough to test him.

“When did you give her the photos?” I calmly ask, unable to look at the images again. Our experience that night was beautifully intense, and Harriet’s maliciousness has soiled it. “Mrs. Nash, I’m not gonna ask you twice.”

“I met with her earlier this morning. She wouldn’t let me anywhere near my grandchildren, so I had no choice but to show her precisely how dangerous this game is when she is obviously so ill-equipped to play it.”

“Where did you meet her?”

“At the park. The kids were feeding the ducks.”

“Halle and the children are missing. We were supposed to meet them after they left the park, but they never showed up. Her phone keeps going straight to voicemail.”

As soon as she hears that, Harriet’s entire expression changes. I see a hint of doubt and fear transpire on the features of the formerly confident and defiant shrew. She looks from one bodyguard to the other, then settles back on me and my gun. Within that short time frame, I’m able to plant a listening device just under the lip of her desktop—a tiny but capable object that will survive most wiretap sweeps. We amassed a small fortune’s worth of intelligence gadgets during our years in the service. I’d hoped we’d never have to use them again but here we are.

“I wouldn’t know anything about it,” Harriet says, her voice trembling.

“Mrs. Nash, here’s how it’s looking right now. You’re in deep shit and so is your son. Colby is suspected in not one, but two, arson investigations, including the warehouse fire that killed quite a lot of people. Whatever you thought you had swept under the carpet in previous years is about to come back out. There’s a federal task force currently digging into every single file and bank account that is linked to you.” It’s a bit of a gamble telling her this, and I’ll have to find a way to appease Charlie once it’s all over, but I need Harriet shitting her pants right now. “You’re not getting away with anything anymore. And your son is about to make the FBI’s Most Wanted list. You’re done. Now, you can be done in a way that you’ll never see the light of day, or you can be done in a way that allows you to be able to enjoy a couple of years of retirement in this rapidly declining sunset of your life. It’s entirely up to you.”

“Or I can just kill the bitch and be done with it,” Chase mutters.

Harriet narrows her eyes at him. “You need me.”

“Then help us,” I say. “You claim to be a champion for your grandchildren. How safe do you think they are in the presence of their deranged father, the very same one who set that diner on fire with them still in it?”

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