Daddy Protector

“You’d make a great mom,” Vince was agreeing when Hale returned.

He broke stride, evidently having overheard the end of the conversation. “Did I miss something?”

“Nothing important.” Vince paid for his purchases. “If things do work out, don’t forget my daughter, Keri, has a home daycare license.”

“She’s first on my list.” Connie’s friend Rachel, whose step-daughter stayed with Keri after school, sang the woman’s praises.

With a wary nod to both of them, the ex-chief exited. Hale stared at the man’s retreating back. “What was that about?”

“Vince rents the apartment across the hall from Skip’s. They’re friends.”

“Yeah, well, he seems awfully chummy with you. ‘You’d make a great mom,’” Hale mimicked. “You haven’t forgotten the guy’s got wandering hands, have you?” Part of Vince’s problems with the PD had involved his misconduct toward a female officer.

Connie couldn’t decide whether to laugh or take offense. “He’s never made a pass at me. Besides, he’s too old.”

“How old is too old to pursue younger women?” Hale scoffed. “Besides, why was he plying you with compliments?”

She curbed her temper by remembering that her neighbor had risked his neck to investigate the noises. Softly so the boy wouldn’t hear, she replied, “He was responding to my statement that I’d like to adopt Skip.”

“Gee, I guess you forgot to mention that to me. But of course everybody confides in Villazon’s Grandpa of the Year, don’t they?” Hale muttered.

How unfair! “You may find this hard to believe, but Vince has changed. He cares about people.”

“What did he offer to do—plant incriminating evidence on Paula so she’d lose custody?” he cracked.

The remark undoubtedly reflected deep-seated anger at Vince and the painful impact he’d had on his colleagues. A few years earlier, Officer Elise Masterson had accused the then-chief of sexual harassment and named Joel as a witness—his job as a watch commander put him in a key position to observe departmental goings-on. Joel had also had to testify in a separate investigation into claims that a lieutenant had beaten a prisoner and that Vince had covered for him.

The department had endured a rough period, its reputation besmirched and the officers’ loyalties divided, with many criticizing Joel for testifying. Hale had stood by him, and after the hiring of a new chief, the whole affair had blown over.

Vince had taken early retirement and the department fired the lieutenant, Norm Kinsey. Both had left the area until, six months ago, Vince moved back to be near his daughter.

On his visits to the shop, he seemed affable and courteous. In Connie’s opinion, the ex-chief had learned a hard lesson from the loss of his career and the breakup of his marriage. It wasn’t his fault that, a few months ago, he’d shot and killed a prison escapee who’d targeted his family, and news reports had rehashed the entire original scandal just as it was fading from the public’s memory.

Plant evidence against Paula! How absurd. “He didn’t offer to do anything of the sort.”

“Take my advice and watch out for him,” Hale answered dourly.

How could he be so paranoid? “You’re being unreasonable,” she said.

“Do me a favor and keep your guard up.” Before she could answer, Hale added, “You’re seriously interested in adopting?”

She nodded. “Very much so.”

He checked that Skip remained in his corner before asking, “Why a boy? You’ve got a house full of frilly stuff.”

She was taken by surprise. “This isn’t about choosing just any child! It’s about Skip. Hale, we don’t choose who we love.”

He tugged at his tie. Whoever he was dating tonight, he must think highly of her to endure such discomfort. “The boy deserves a father figure.”

“I grew up without a father, and I’m fine!”

That she’d grown up fatherless wasn’t entirely true. Although Connie’s parents had divorced when she was ten, Jim Lawson had lived nearby and remained theoretically involved. But Connie had never felt he’d played any meaningful role in her life.

The incident that stood out in her mind had occurred when she was fifteen and spending a weekend with him, her step-mother and their one-year-old son. On Saturday night, their babysitter had canceled at the last minute. Never mind that Connie was excited about attending a school dance with a new boyfriend; her father had insisted that she stay home and fill in. He’d dismissed her tears as selfish.

Selfish! She still got mad thinking about it. If she’d had other, warmer memories of her dad, no doubt she’d have forgiven him. But she didn’t.

“Yeah, well, I grew up without a mother, so between the two of us, we had an almost perfect childhood.” Hale grinned, then added, “Before you adopt, though, remember that the great thing about other people’s kids is, when you get tired of ’em, you can send ’em home.”

“That’s what I used to think, too,” she admitted. “But people change. I’ve changed. Maybe you will, too, someday.”

“Stranger things have happened.” A slight concession, or perhaps simply a way of ducking the subject. “I’d better be going. Lock the back door first, okay?”

“Absolutely.”

After she did so, he left via the front, passing a couple of teenage girls who ogled him blatantly. They giggled incessantly while picking out hair ornaments, and Connie suspected the subject was Hale.

She rang up their purchases, amused that her neighbor inspired so much girlish interest. He had been considerate to drop off Skip’s bag.

And fiercely protective when he heard the noise in back. Remembering the tension in his dark eyes and the power in his movements gave her a twinge of longing. A zap of common sense followed on its heels.

The great thing about other people’s kids is, when you get tired of ’em, you can send ’em home. She could hardly expect any other attitude from Hale. Vince Borrego might have reformed, but she doubted her playboy neighbor ever would. Too bad. He sometimes showed hints of potential for being a good man.

Connie went to switch off the video and collect Skip. She had enough love in her heart to make a home for this child if she was ever lucky enough to get the chance. That would be family enough, at least for now.

AS USUAL ON A Monday morning, Hale found his desk piled with reports from the weekend. His assignments in the Crimes Against Persons Unit ranged from missing persons to assaults. A small city like Villazon had mercifully few homicides but plenty of felonies, and he spent the morning reviewing crime-scene accounts and citizen complaints, following up on witnesses and conferring with other law-enforcement agencies whose cases overlapped his.

Recalling the adrenaline rush he’d experienced during the incident on Saturday at Connie’s shop made him miss his years on patrol. Not that he didn’t occasionally get to take down a suspect, but in his position as a detective, the paperwork drove him crazy.

Still, Hale enjoyed the challenge of discerning the facts and tracking down crooks. He supposed he ought to be studying for the exam to earn promotion to sergeant, which Joel had passed several years ago, but that might mean a transfer to a different division.

He didn’t require extra income to pay alimony, either. Sipping his third—or maybe fourth—cup of coffee of the morning, Hale flexed the arm muscles he’d strained yesterday replanting Connie’s flowers. Darn, that woman was bossy! But fun to tease, and kind of sweet once in a while.

Opening the first case file, he got to work. The hours vanished silently and swiftly, until the scream of sirens from the fire station next door jolted him from his absorption. “Chemical fire in a warehouse on the east side,” noted Detective Lieutenant E. J. Corwin, who paused in striding toward his office.

A second siren blared. “What kind of chemicals?” Things could get ugly fast in any blaze, especially one that involved toxic substances. Firefighting was even more dangerous than police work, according to Hale’s insurance agent.

“Unidentified.”

Not a good sign. However, police usually only got involved with fires to control traffic. Or when bodies turned up, which he hoped didn’t happen.

Thirty minutes later, as the idea of buying a sandwich from a vending machine loomed large in his mind, the phone rang. To his terse response, a woman said, “The chief would like to see you in his office, Hale.” The voice belonged to Lois Lamont, the sixtyish secretary whose tenure dated back to the late Mesozoic era.

“I’m on my way.” He rang off. He had no reason to expect trouble, but neither did he usually pal around with Willard Lyons.

The new chief had come on board the previous year to clean up the PD’s image. At Saturday night’s party, he’d glad-handed the community leaders and stayed until the bitter end, or at least as much of the bitter end as Hale had observed before bowing out at eleven.

The man worked hard, and according to office gossip, he’d had a reputation as a decent cop in his previous positions with the Whittier PD and LAPD. The guys respected him, even if no one felt particularly chummy. Will Lyons’s manner didn’t invite chumminess.