Page 109 of Defenders of Jawhara

Slade leaned back in his chair, heard it give an ominous creak, and leaned forward again. “Didn’t I just buy you state-of-the-art laptops and tablets so you could be wired twenty-four seven?”

“You did, and thanks, but what you’re talking about needs secure connections and a few favors called in. It’ll also take time, so give me twenty-four hours. But I can get you a fast brief right away.”

“Do that. Oh, Tayra has…had, a son named Jason. Get me whatever you have on his file, too.” Slade unbuttoned his cuffs and rolled them up to his elbows.

“Okay. And…Wells, this wouldn’t by any chance be Brock’s ex?”

“It would. For now, I want Brock out of the loop. I’ll bring him in when we need to. But he has his hands full right now, and…well, I’m not even sure what this is yet.”

“You’re thinking scam? Supposed sister shows up with supposed son? But she did her homework on Slade Security being one of the top firms employed by the rich and don’t-want-to-be-famous.”

“Could be.”

Travis gave a low whistle. “Sounds like fun. Let me know if you need anything else. I’ll get some files emailed to you right away.”

Slade nodded. “Keep ’em coming.”

He hung up. His smart phone beeped right away with a file—a fast profile on Bethany Simmons.

Travis had found her basic information online. Bethany was actually Tayra’s half-sister, and something of a tech genius, it seemed. She was only twenty-eight and worked as a freelance mobile phone software developer. He heard the screen door bang shut and looked up.

Bethany stood with a faded, metal tray in her hands, a glass pitcher on it, filled with ice and what looked like lemonade. Two tall glasses stood next to the pitcher. She’d changed into jeans and a bright pink T-shirt that left her looking younger than her age.

For an instant, the image struck him as funny—him on a porch, his sleeves rolled up, a woman with lemonade, and a kid napping inside. It was the sort of scene he’d avoided all his life. He didn’t have time for attachments, didn’t have room for them, and in his experience, they only brought complications.

Well, he had the complications all right. He just didn’t have any of the side benefits that came with them—like a smile from that woman, or a kiss from her. He had the lemonade and a pretty face and figure to serve it up. What else was she serving him?

Bethany set the tray on a small wooden table just as weathered and rickety as the chairs. The glasses clinked. He could smell the tart citrus of the lemonade. She straightened and put her fists on her hips. “Jason’s down for a nap. So, are we going to have it out now?”

Slade glanced up at her. “Before we have any conversation, I don’t suppose you have something stronger to drink?”

She disappeared back into the house. She came out with a bottle of Wild Turkey. “This might mix with lemonade, but you can always go for straight up.” She poured two fingers into each glass and handed one to Slade. “To sad endings. Like Truman Capote once said, life’s a play with a bad third act, or something of that nature.”

She started to lift her glass to drink, but Slade stopped her hand. “To new beginnings. There’s one in every ending, and I don’t think anyone said that before now.”

A small smile appeared, revealing a dimple in one cheek. He hadn’t expected that, and it caught him off guard, spreading warmth over his skin. She clinked her glass against his. “Drink up.”

He did, and then asked, “Okay, what’s the real deal here?”

4

Bethany watched Slade throw back his drink. She sipped hers. The Wild Turkey was—had been—Tayra’s, but Bethany welcomed the hot flash it put in her stomach. She needed something so she would stop noticing Slade. He had sinful hands with long fingers and strong wrists, and that rugged face of his just about screamed trustworthy.

She’d also done her research on him and Brock Wells—what she could find. Slade Security had a sterling reputation. The temptation to sit down and just unload on him stirred her, along with heat and a tingle. She wasn’t sure if that was the drink, a delayed reaction to grief and stress, or Slade stirring her up.

She licked her lips, tasting the bite of the Wild Turkey.

Jason had been processing Tayra’s death a lot better than she was. He had a kid’s ability to bounce back. Bethany just felt…numb. And angry.

When she’d been ill, Tayra had actually been at her best. She’d hidden her pain from her son, had spent as much time as she could with him, and Bethany had had to remain strong for both of them. Until today. Today it had all become way too real. Slade had shaken her out of her daily routine. She didn’t know what she’d do if she lost Jason.

Tears stung the back of her eyes and burned her nose. She rubbed a hand over her face. “Boy, this has a kick.” She gave a sniff.

Slade pulled out a white handkerchief. He handed it over. Bethany blew her nose and wiped her eyes. She had cried too much already for her sister and for Jason. She would be damned if she’d wallow in self-pity now. However, she had no idea what she was going to do next. This wasn’t a line of code that she could crack and fix. This wasn’t logical flow charts. This was about a guy sitting in front of her who looked like he was made from solid granite, and a little boy inside who needed her.

She glanced up at the blue sky, then down at the pale golden liquor in her glass. She threw it back and fixed her stare on Slade. “This isn’t about money. Well, it is, in part, but I can handle that. It’s about Jason. I want to adopt him. No…I’m going to adopt him. I thought his father—Brock—knew about him; but if he doesn’t, and if he wants to make a stink about my taking Jason as my own, he’s going to have a fight. Jason…Jason needs an operation.”

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