Secrets in Four Corners

Secrets in Four Corners
Debra Webb

Secrets in Four Corners

Debra Webb

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

Table of Contents

Cover Page (#u692371b2-1355-5f2a-9b5c-99059ebcfd1a)

Title Page (#u076c9e59-7416-5083-a274-b17625881edf)

About the Author (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter One (#u57f897b1-4bec-582e-89fd-951e92413b00)

Chapter Two (#u2a972d1a-bb7e-50a9-90f0-37f276e93e63)

Chapter Three (#u6271c4c5-f073-58c3-8514-f7941e3cafba)

Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter One

Sabrina Hunter fastened her utility belt around her hips. “Eat up, Peter, or we’re gonna be late.”

Peter Hunter peered up at his mom, a spoonful of Cheerios halfway to his mouth. “We’re always late.”

This was definitely nothing to brag about. “But,” his mother reminded him, “our New Year’s resolution was to make it a point not to be late anymore.” It was only January twelfth. Surely, they weren’t going to break their resolution already.

Chewing his cereal thoughtfully, Peter tilted his dark head and studied her again. “Truth or dare?”

Bree took a deep breath, reached for patience. “Eat. There’s no time for games.” She tucked her cell phone into her belt. Mondays were always difficult. Especially when Bree had worked the weekend and her son had spent most of that time with his aunt Tabitha. She spoiled the boy outrageously, as did her teenage daughter, Layla. Even so, Bree was glad to have her family support system when duty called, as it had this weekend. She grabbed her mug and downed the last of the coffee that had grown cold during her rush to prepare for the day.

Peter swallowed, then insisted, “Truth. Is my real daddy a jerk just like Big Jack?”

Bree choked. Coughed. She plopped her mug on the counter and stared at her son. “Where did you hear something like that?”

“Cousin Layla said so.” He nodded resolutely. “Aunt Tabitha told her to hush ’cause I might hear. Is it true? Is my real daddy a jerk?”

“You must’ve misunderstood, Peter.” Breathe. Bree moistened her lips and mentally scrambled for a way to change the subject. “Grab your coat and let’s get you to school.” Memories tumbled one over the other in her head. Memories she had sworn she would never allow back into her thoughts. That was her other New Year’s resolution. After eight years it was past time she’d put him out of her head and her heart once and for all.

What the hell was her niece thinking, bringing him up? Particularly with Peter anywhere in the vicinity. The kid loved playing hide and seek, loved sneaking up on his mother and aunt even more. His curious nature ensured he missed very little. Tabitha and Layla knew this!

Bree ordered herself to calm down.

“Nope. I didn’t misunderstand.” Peter pushed back his chair, carefully picked up his cereal bowl and headed for the sink. He rinsed the bowl and placed it just as carefully into the dishwasher. “I heard her.”

Bree’s pulse rate increased. “Layla was probably talking about…” Bree racked her brain for a name, someone they all knew—anyone besides him.

Before she could come up with a name or a logical explanation for her niece’s slip, Peter turned to his mother once more, his big blue eyes—the ones so much like his father’s and so unlike her brown ones—resolute. “Layla said my real daddy—”

“Okay, okay.” Bree held up her hands. “I got that part.” How on earth was she supposed to respond? “We can talk on the way to school.” Maybe that would at least buy her some time. And if she were really lucky Peter would get distracted and forget all about the subject of his father.

Something Bree herself would very much like to do.

She would be having a serious talk with her sister and niece.

Thankfully her son didn’t argue. He tugged on his coat and picked up his backpack. So far, so good. She might just get out of this one after all. Was that selfish of her? Was Peter the one being cheated by her decision to keep the past in the past? Including his father?

Bree pushed the questions aside and shouldered into the navy uniform jacket that sported the logo of the Towaoc Police Department. At the coat closet near her front door, she removed the lockbox from the top shelf, retrieved her service weapon and holstered it. After high school she’d gotten her associate’s degree in criminal justice. She hadn’t looked back since, spending a decade working in reservation law enforcement. The invitation to join the special homicide task force formed by the Bureau of Indian Affairs and the Ute Mountain Reservation tribal officials had been exactly the opportunity she had been looking for to further her career.

Besides her son and family, her career was primary in her life. Not merely because she was a single parent, either, although that was a compelling enough motive. She wanted to be a part of changing the reservation’s unofficial reputation as the murder capital of Colorado. This was her home. Making a difference was important to her. She wanted to do her part for her people.

Not to mention work kept her busy. Kept her head on straight and out of that past she did not want to think about, much less talk about. An idle mind was like idle hands, it got one into trouble more often than not.

Enough trouble had come Bree’s way the last few years.

No sooner had she slid behind the wheel of her SUV and closed the door had Peter demanded, “Truth, Mommy.” He snapped his safety belt into place.

So much for any hopes of him letting the subject go. Bree glanced over her shoulder to the backseat where her son waited. She could take the easy way out and say his aunt and cousin were right. His curiosity would be satisfied and that would be the end of that—for now anyway. But that would be a lie. There were a lot of things she could say about the man who’d fathered her child, but that he was bad or the kind of jerk her ex, Jack, had turned out to be definitely wasn’t one of them.

“Your father was never anything like Big Jack.” Even as she said the words, her heart stumbled traitorously.

“So he was a good guy?”

Another question that required a cautiously worded response. “A really good guy.”