Where the Truth Lives, Page 2

  Reed held back a smile of his own, nodding as seriously as he could. “I think your dad means you don’t give up easily.”

  Arryn’s eyes lit up. “Oh! Is that why I’d make a good lawyer?”

  Reed laughed. And he already knew Arryn was right—he’d like her if he knew her better. He already liked the kid after a few minutes with her.

  “So what’s the deal? Are you going in or not?” she asked.

  Reed’s smile faded. He regarded her for a moment. “When you said, she’d be happy to see me, did you mean—”

  “Mom.”

  Mom.

  Reed cleared his throat, his chest giving a harsh squeeze. Arryn was watching him closely, her eyes squinted very slightly. “I’ve seen you out here a few times before, over the last year, and when I saw you this time, I decided to come talk to you. I thought”—she glanced off behind her toward the house—“well, I thought you might need someone to hold your hand.” She looked down, grinding one sneaker-clad toe into the dirt, momentarily shy. “That’s what sisters are for,” she said, glancing up at him.

  Reed swallowed, his throat suddenly tight. Overwhelmed. That’s what sisters are for. This girl, this gap-toothed, skin-kneed girl was his sister. His half-sister, to be more accurate, but still. A sibling. He’d thought so long and hard about what it’d be like to know his birth mother, but he’d never really considered what it’d be like to know the half-sister, and two half-brothers he knew Josie Stratton had gone on to mother.

  What age was Arryn now? Nine, he thought? Yes, nine. He’d been nine himself when she was born, completely ignorant of her existence until three years later when he’d turned twelve and his adoptive parents had sat him down and rocked his world in the most loving way they possibly could.

  Arryn held out her hand. It was smeared with dirt, and she had callouses along her palm as if she spent a lot of time gripping monkey bars. Reed put his larger hand in her smaller one. She squeezed it and he was surprised by the immediate comfort the gesture provided. He allowed his sister to lead him to the house he’d only seen from a distance.

  The screen door squeaked when it opened, Arryn grasping his hand more tightly as though he might turn back rather than step beyond the threshold. And truth be told, he had a mind to. His nerves were buzzing, heart thumping as he entered the house, the screen clattering closed behind him. As Arryn led him through a foyer, his gaze jumped around, landing on a photo gallery hanging on the wall, and another leading up the stairs. His steps slowed and his breath caught when he spotted his own eyes staring back at him from among the other smiling faces. Third grade, fourth grade . . . fifth . . . all the way up to his high school graduation photo near the top of the stairs, easily recognizable because of the scarlet red cap and gown. Reed swallowed hard. He’d told his mother he looked like a cardinal and she’d laughed and said, yes, but a smart cardinal, one with a diploma . . .

  Arryn dropped his hand as if she instinctively knew there was no turning back for him now.

  Reed ran a hand through his hair, overwhelmed by emotions he couldn’t even name. He’d thought . . . what had he thought? That Josie had started her own family, and that he should let her move on? But she hadn’t moved on. Not from him. It hit him then—she’d meant every word of the letter she’d written, the one that he’d read over a hundred times since that day his adoptive parents gave it to him, and then sat clenching their hands, gazing at him with worried eyes as he read it.

  I want you to know that even before they took you in their arms and welcomed you into their hearts and their home, you were already loved, deeply and unconditionally . . .

  Yes, Josie had meant every word. Not just then, but every day since then. She’d not only loved him, but she’d made room for him in her family despite that, physically, he wasn’t there. She’d made room for him in her heart.

  She hadn’t let him go. Ever.

  A sudden feeling of intense remorse hit him that he hadn’t come sooner. He looked down at the little girl staring up at him. Waiting for him to be ready to move forward. “Thank you,” he said, his voice gritty with gratitude.

  She smiled sweetly just as the sound of a woman’s voice came from what he thought must be the kitchen beyond. “Arryn? Is that you? Get washed up for dinner, honey. I could use some help—”

  A woman stepped into the doorway holding a stack of plates. Her gaze landed on him and she came to a dead halt, eyes flaring with . . . fear. The plates slipped from her hands, crashing to the floor and shattering loudly. No one moved. As quickly as he’d seen the flash of terror, it was gone, replaced by shock, then . . . understanding. Her expression collapsed and she brought a trembling hand to her mouth. “Reed,” she whispered. “Reed.”

  He stared at her, assessing her reaction to him. The fear . . . for the breath of a moment she’d thought he was his biological father. He cringed internally. He knew he looked like him, the infamous serial killer. He knew that much. “I’m sorry it took me so long to . . .” His words faded away, and he sucked in a quick breath, trying to rein in the emotions running rampant through him, trying to gain control. “I’m sorry it took me so long to get here. I probably should have called.” He definitely should have called. He should have prepared her, not appeared out of nowhere. He hadn’t even considered that she might mistake him for the man who’d victimized her. Stupid of him. Selfish. It was just, he hadn’t had any idea what to say. Didn’t know what to say now. “I just wasn’t sure . . .” He frowned, glancing out the front window toward the field beyond filled with white and yellow wildflowers. It bolstered him somehow, gave him the strength to continue. “I came by a few times before but I couldn’t seem to make myself knock on the door. I was, uh, nervous, I guess. Scared.” He managed a quick smile, glancing at Arryn, who was looking between him and Josie with great interest. “Arryn helped me out today.”

  Josie let out a gust of breath as though she’d been holding it since she’d stepped into the doorway and spotted him. She looked at her daughter, her eyes brimming with tears as she smiled at her. “I’m so glad.” She looked back at Reed, a tear spilling over and tracking down her cheek. “I’m so very glad you’re here now.”

  **********

  The field shimmered golden in the glow of early evening. Josie trailed a hand behind her as she walked, her palm grazing the tips of the tall wildflowers. She kept glancing at Reed, a nervous smile tipping her lips. “So, UC.”

  Reed smiled back, nodded. “Yeah.” He looked toward the farmhouse where the happy shriek of a child could be heard. Josie’s husband, Zach, had come home with their two younger children moments after he’d arrived, his gaze moving swiftly between Reed, Arryn, Josie, the broken plates and back to Josie. “I’ll clean that up,” he’d said. “And I’ve got the boys.” He’d looked at Reed and Reed had seen worry in his eyes. Worry, but also kindness. And so Josie had led Reed outside to the field beyond where they now walked under the lowering summer sun.

  “UC has a great criminal justice program.” He looked over at her to gauge her reaction, his stomach tightening. Funny thing that she was a virtual stranger and yet he found that he wanted her approval. He respected her. He wanted to tell her how much. He wanted to tell her how often he’d pictured what she’d gone through as he grew within her body, but it wasn’t the time for that. Not yet. But he also hoped someday it would be. He wanted to know her. Maybe he hadn’t been ready to admit just how much until right then. “I want to be a cop,” he explained, and she peered up at him again before squinting into the distance. He couldn’t read her expression, but her body language changed in some minor way he couldn’t articulate, but sensed all the same.

  “My husband’s a detective,” she said, giving him a small smile.

  He nodded. “Yes. I know. My parents told me that.”

  She paused, a worry line appearing between her brows. “Does . . .” She looked away from him as though rethinking the wording of what she was about to ask, or maybe second-guessing asking it at all.
But after a beat she said, “Does your interest in law enforcement have anything to do with . . . with—”

  “My birth father?” he finished for her.

  Josie bobbed her head, her eyes moving over his features as if there was where she’d find his every thought and feeling about the man who had raped and impregnated her. The man he shared DNA with. The man responsible for his creation, a creation that had resulted from such a heinous act against the woman standing in front of him. But he refused to give him the credit for that. It was Josie who’d nurtured him, not just his body, but his heart, when she’d unselfishly left him to be raised by the only parents he’d ever known so soon after she’d finally found him.

  He stopped their slow stroll, turning toward her and she did the same. If he wanted a relationship with this woman—and he did—then he wanted to begin with the truth. “Partly.” Mostly? How could he put this into words? He never had. When people asked him why he wanted to go into law enforcement, he gave all the stock answers . . . he wanted to make a difference, serve his community, protect the innocent, and all of that was true. But the main reason stemmed from the man named Charles Hartsman. “I want my life to mean something.” He looked her straight in the eye. “I want what you went through to . . .” He let out a frustrated breath. “I want it to be for something.”

  She was staring at him so intensely, hanging on every word, and he suddenly felt embarrassed. Vulnerable. Unsure. But then he spotted it, the pride in her eyes. The . . . what was it? Relief? A mix of emotions he didn’t know her well enough to break down. “Oh, Reed. You don’t ever have to feel like you need to make up for what he did. You bear no responsibility for that. None.”

  He nodded, looked away. He knew that. He knew that. Or at least he did on a rational level. But in his heart, a specific desire burned brighter. The need to prove he belonged. That he wasn’t just a terrible accident not meant to happen. That his existence mattered—not only to him or those who loved him, but to others too. Strangers who might one day be thankful he’d shown up in their life when he did. “I know.” Only his voice sounded unconvincing, even to himself. A flicker of worry crossed through Josie’s eyes, but he still saw the pride there too.

  “Good.” She paused. “You’ve had a good life so far, Reed.”

  She hadn’t posed it as a question. After all, she’d obviously kept up on his life. He knew his adoptive mom had sent Josie pictures and annual updates, even before he’d walked into her house and seen the many photos on the wall, but he answered it anyway so she’d have confirmation from him. “Yes. I’ve had a great life so far.”

  She smiled, reaching out tentatively. He offered her his hands and she took them, squeezing gently. “Good,” she breathed. “It’s all I ever wanted.”

  With her touch, conviction filled Reed. Yes, he’d work hard, for Josie, for his adoptive parents who’d raised him to respect life and others. Every day, he’d strive to honor the people who’d loved him so deeply. Both from up close . . . and from afar.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Ten Years Later

  Reed sidestepped his overserved co-worker before he could stumble into him, stepping off the small platform the bar used as a karaoke stage.

  “One more!” he heard Broyer yell as he headed toward the bar. “Oh shit, they’ve got ‘Purple Rain.’ Come on, guys. ‘Purple Rain’!”

  No fucking way. Reed laughed over his shoulder, holding up his hand and gesturing an I’m done signal. He’d only joined the guys in a boisterous rendition of “Another One Bites the Dust” because it was his co-worker DiCrescenzo’s bachelor party and he’d been pressured to serenade the guy. They hadn’t been . . . awful, but then again, he’d had a couple of beers since he’d arrived an hour ago, and the other guys had been there since eight and it was now almost midnight. He didn’t plan on catching up to them, but if he was going to resist leaving early like he wanted to, it would take at least another drink—maybe three.

  He moved through the smallish crowd, finding an opening at the bar and leaning forward to see that the bartender was busy pouring a line of martinis from a silver shaker at the other end. A girl in a leopard-print top standing in front of the line of drinks raised her arms and let out a loud squeal. The three girls surrounding her followed suit.

  “That was something.”

  He swiveled his head as a blonde directly next to him took a casual sip from the glass of white wine she was holding in her elegant fingers. When she lowered her glass, she turned to face him, and his mouth went dry. Jesus. Something punched hard at his gut, nearly stealing his air. She looked like an angel. All lips and eyes and supple skin. She’d said something to him. What had she said? That was something. For a second, he couldn’t figure out what in the world she was talking about. Then it dawned, she must have watched him and the guys on stage.

  He grinned. “Thanks.”

  “I didn’t mean it as a compliment.” The line was delivered as dry as smoke, though a teasing glint entered her wide, blue eyes.

  Surprised laughter bubbled out of Reed, his smile ending in a grimace as he put his hand to his heart. “Ouch.” He turned more fully to her. “So by something, you meant—”

  “Disastrous. Migraine-inducing.”

  Reed pressed his lips together, resisting another grin. Evidently, he’d been optimistic about the quality of the performance. Reed bowed his head, indicating concession and then held out his hand to her. “I’m—”

  “Wait, let me guess,” she said. She tapped one finger on her full lips as her eyes perused his features. God, she really was so incredibly pretty. Reed wanted to stop time, to stare at her uninterrupted, the way one might stare at a beautiful work of art, letting the vision itself fill something previously empty deep inside. He gave his head a small shake. Shit, maybe he was more drunk than he thought.

  As if on cue, the bartender appeared. “What can I get you?”

  He looked at the woman, pointing at her glass with raised brows, but she shook her head. “A Sam Adams please.” The bartender turned away, and he looked back at the woman who had just finished typing something into her phone and was returning it to the purse in her lap. “You were going to guess my name.”

  She nodded, pressing her lips together for a second. “Spencer. But everyone calls you Spence.”

  Reed feigned surprise. “Are you a detective too? How come I’ve never run into you at the station?” She laughed just as the bartender slid the beer in front of Reed, and Reed handed him a ten, telling him to keep the change.

  “No, not a detective. A psychic,” she said.

  He leaned closer, cupping his hand over his ear. “I’m sorry, did you say a psycho?”

  She’d just taken a sip of wine and she brought her hand to her mouth, swallowed, and then laughed. “No promises.”

  “All right.” He took a sip of his beer. “Two can play at this game. Let me guess your name.” He allowed himself to peruse her slowly. His gaze moved from her black heels to the tight black jeans that hugged her slim legs up to the loose black top that went halfway up her neck. The top that was somehow wildly sexy even while being completely demure, old-fashioned even with the small pearl buttons on the side of the high neck. He met her gaze. In the midst of the black, her flaxen hair and creamy skin were that much more stunning. What did he really read about her? A rule follower with a secret, rebellious side, something edgy and darker that she didn’t talk about with her friends. A woman with enough confidence to sit in a crowded bar alone and strike up a conversation with a stranger, but with a certain . . . innocence in her eyes. Hmm. She was a conundrum. A puzzle he’d like to piece together, see where the parts of her joined and why. He’d always had a thing for puzzles though. It was one reason he liked his work so much. He didn’t say any of that however. They were playing a game and he liked the sound of her laughter. “Brittany. But your sorority sisters started calling you Bunny for reasons you only disclose to close, personal friends, or after you’ve had one too many cocktails, and i
t stuck.”

  She cracked up, making a small snorting sound that made Reed laugh too. “Amazing. And on the first guess.”

  He tipped his beer back, pausing his grin just long enough to take a sip. Behind him, the beginning notes of “Purple Rain” started playing. Oh dear God, Broyer, don’t do it. Don’t do it, man. He glanced over his shoulder to see an obviously drunk Broyer sitting in a chair on stage, head bowed, microphone to mouth, preparing to sing the first lines of the iconic song. And when he did, Reed shuddered. If Reed wasn’t so taken with his present company, he’d rush up there and lead his co-worker away, save his reputation, but he was, so Broyer was on his own. Given the phones held high ready to capture this catastrophe, the poor guy was never going to live the humiliation down. When he turned back to the woman, she was also turning her head from the stage. “Well. That will forever be known as a song I once liked.”

  Reed laughed. “I think I’m with you there. All right, Bunny. It’s become very clear my friends and I can’t hold a tune. But you have to admit, our dance moves were stellar.”

  She turned more fully to him as well, a lock of silken hair brushing her cheek and making his hand twitch to feel the texture of it between his fingers. He shrugged off the inappropriate impulse, tapping his fingers on the bar instead. She shrugged. “I didn’t see. I was too busy searching for something to stuff in my ears.”

  “Ah, but that’s a lie. How else would you know I was one of the guys up there if you didn’t look?”

  The woman laughed, shaking her head. “All right, you’ve caught me. I sneaked a peek. You’re a good detective.”

  “It’s why the city of Cincinnati pays me the big bucks.”

  “Hmm, interesting. So solve this mystery for me, Detective. Why do men get married if they see it as biting the dust?”

  “I’ll tell you a secret.” He looked over both shoulders, pretending concern at being overheard. “See, there are rules. We have to relinquish our Man Card to the Bureau of Masculine Affairs if we don’t at least pretend we’re being dragged to the altar kicking and screaming.”