Innocent Hostage (4 page)

Breck scoured his mind, wondering what a ship had to do with Tania and Marty. They had left Subway well behind before he clicked. “Did Mom say something like ‘shape up or ship out’?” he asked. Kit had a mouthful of prosciutto and lettuce on Italian bread, so he just nodded.

Breck thought it sounded familiar. Tania had said the same thing to him about his working hours. But he could swear she adored Marty. She’d always been happy to tell the world she’d found her soul mate. She sure as hell had never made any comments like that when she was married to
him
. He tried to suppress a smug smile. The very reason she’d cited for the breakdown of their marriage—that his work hours didn’t jive with being a husband and father—had now reared up to bite her on the bum. Seems it wasn’t so crash hot when your partner didn’t have a job at all.

Breck finished his sub and stuffed the paper bag into the trash receptacle. Then he switched his cell phone back on. He’d been off air now for almost three hours and he’d never been that unprofessional before. If he wasn’t careful, he’d be without a job too.

Sure enough, there were messages backed up the wazoo. He’d check them out at home. Normally, he’d flick over to loud speaker, but with Kit in the car, well…the boy had had enough trauma for one day. He didn’t need to hear how the authorities were dealing with his stepfather.

When Breck elbowed open the apartment door with his arms full of shopping, he got the shock of his life.

“Where the hell have you been?” Baz stood with arms akimbo in the hallway. Breck’s tiny living room was full of cops.

“How did you get in?” Breck asked inanely.

Baz looked at him and cast his eyes up.

“Stupid question,” Breck muttered to himself. Walking through to the bedroom, he dumped his shopping on the bed. Kit hung back, holding tight to his books and his bottle of OJ. He stared at all the people and blinked.

Breck realized that Abel’s wife was here too. “Sorry, Jace. Didn’t see you amongst all the navy blue. What are you doing here?”

“Finding a temporary solution to your problem, I hope,” she said, smiling.

“Okay!” Baz shouted. “Now he’s here, we’ll start the debriefing.” The buzz of cross-conversations toned down.

Breck’s eyes went to the whiteboard set up in the corner of his living room next to a laptop that was flicking through a video of this morning’s operation. Shit, Kit shouldn’t be watching this. “Uh, Kit, how about a nap? Or you could read those books we bought. Bunk down on my bed until yours is delivered.” Did four-year-olds take naps? He expected mutiny from the boy but his son obediently turned away and headed for the bedroom. Breck guessed Kit was no keener on rehashing this morning’s events than he was.

“I’ll look after him,” Jace offered.

“Thanks, Jace. You’re a real trouper,” Breck said gratefully. As he shut the bedroom door behind her he heard her say, “Cool books, Kit. Let’s read about how everyone gets sad sometimes. Even mommies and daddies. And children. Especially children.”

****

Two hours later, the debriefing finished. It was the most efficient debriefing Unit Four had ever held.

“Brilliant!” Baz exclaimed. “Forget Central. In future we’ll meet here and do without all the paraphernalia.”

Breck hoped not. It had just dawned on him that his apartment was full of hungry, thirsty people and he didn’t have a scrap of food in the kitchen. His shopping expedition with Kit had been for clothes and toys to make his son feel comfortable. He’d have to race out and buy some food. Kit would probably wake up from his nap ravenous. This fatherhood thing was damned hard.

“Munchies!” caroled Jace, and in she strode with a tray of savory bites. They were gone before she set the tray down. She laughed and sent Breck to fetch more from the kitchen. He stood there, open-mouthed, at the sight of wall-to-wall food and drink in his kitchen. Jace and Abe, he thought. What fantastic friends they were. And the rest of Unit Four weren’t far behind, even if they
were
treading crumbs into his carpet and yelling out for more beer.

“Here’s to good results!” Baz shouted. “And here’s to Breck Marchant, the new leader of Unit Four!”

Breck damn near dropped the tray he was carrying. He set it down carefully. “You know something I don’t?” he asked Baz.

“Maybe,” Baz grinned, his round, good-humored face creased into wrinkles of amusement. “I’m off, boyo, and as of next week, you’re the man.”

He’d got it! He’d got the promotion to team leader! A tentative grin began slowly, and then spread across his face from ear to ear. He punched the air. “Yes!!”

The whole Unit cheered. “Go, Marchant!”

Someone touched his hand and he looked down. “Daddy?”

Oh, God. His heart plummeted. For a few seconds he’d forgotten all about Kit. He could feel his grin cracking into a thousand pieces. “Hi, son. Come and eat something.” Breck stretched out a hand to his son.

He would never take over as leader of Unit Four. Today he’d become a solo parent and Kit was his main responsibility. Being leader meant even longer hours. On top of normal police duties, the leaders of the AOS units were responsible for operational policy, planning, debriefing and reporting. Harley Max, the District Commander, would never look at a solo parent as a unit leader. And he’d be right.

How could Breck cope with all that and one small boy too? Oh shit, oh shit. He felt his smile waver as his stomach turned over. In his mind’s eye he could see a roaring bonfire, and in the flames, all his plans for the future were burning brightly.

He let the party racket on around him and concentrated on Kit, making sure his son was not awed by the roomful of cops. Breck noticed that Jace seemed to take it all in her stride. She said to him quietly, “Don’t look so worried. I’ve got a temporary solution for you.”

Breck turned to her and thought once again how damned lucky Abe was. Well, almost lucky. Abe had told him they weren’t able to have kids, but that didn’t stop them from volunteering their time to a couple of kid’s charities, and last year they’d applied overseas to adopt. They’d be great parents, not like him.

Jace reminded him of Ingrid Rowland. She was pretty too, and she had the same calm, capable mien around kids that Ingrid had. He preferred Ingrid’s softer style though. With Jace, what you saw was what you got. But he had the feeling that Ingrid Rowland had hidden depths. He liked that in a woman.

Jace leaned over and snaffled a piece of sausage off Kit’s plate. Kit grinned up at her. “Breck, until we’re given the go-ahead for the adoption, I can look after Kit outside of his normal preschool hours.” She dipped the sausage in the puddle of ketchup on Kit’s plate. “How’s that for a bargain? I get a kid to play with and you get peace of mind.”

Breck stared at her, his heart full. “I couldn’t let you—”

“Of course you could. Who fielded all our calls from Russia last year when we were going through the initial adoption visit? Who did extra duties when Abe had flu last year? Huh?”

Breck smiled. “Abe would do the same for me.”

“Yep. So that’s the plan. I’m sorry I can’t promise you anything permanent because we may have to drop everything suddenly to fly to Russia. And Breck,” she laid a hand on his arm, “I’m really sorry about the promotion thing. Something will come up.”

Breck shook his head and tried to grin. His throat was so tight he had to swallow so he could speak. “Thanks, Jace. But I don’t understand. You work part-time. How can you—?”

“Not any more. Since we applied to adopt, I’ve become a full-time housewife. And very boring it is too.”

Yes. Breck could imagine quick-silver Jace whizzing through the housework by nine a.m. and getting antsy for the rest of the day. Her home gym was probably taking a pounding.

“Well…I—”

“Done,” she said, getting up. She waggled her fingers at him and strolled across to where Abe was watching them. He gave Breck the thumbs-up and put his arm around Jace.

Breck blinked hard. He’d been alone for so long he’d forgotten he had good friends-—really good friends—in the unit. When his marriage disintegrated, he’d gone within himself. The other members of the unit had partners and wives and he’d been a fifth wheel. Anyway, he hadn’t wanted to socialize. Socializing had always been painful for him, but while Tania was there she’d made things easier.

Yeah, for a short time he’d had it all, and then it had been taken away. Okay. He probably didn’t deserve it anyway. That’s what his parents would say. They’d made him work for every little privilege, and if he didn’t get the privileges, well then…he hadn’t deserved them. And if that hadn’t worked, they used the cupboard. His stomach squeezed just thinking about that damned cupboard.

He didn’t intend to bring Kit up the same way. He respected his parents but he didn’t like them and he sure as hell didn’t love them. He would never use the twin weapons of guilt and shame that they’d used so effectively on him. No, he loved Kit and he hoped that over time, Kit would come to love him.

Having to forego promotion was devastating, but as he’d learned before, time healed most things. And at least he still had a job, which was more than Marty Kerr had.

He shoved a smile on his face and looked down at his son. “Think you’ll enjoy spending time with Jace?”

Kit nodded, his mouth full of sausage. “Cool.”

Cool? Kit was recovering rapidly.

Breck grinned. A genuine grin this time. He was in for a hell of a ride, but it would be worth it to know that Kit was safe and happy. When Kit was in bed he’d contact Harley Max to thank him for the opportunity he’d been offered. He ran his side of the conversation through his mind. He always found that planning conversations helped. He would explain why he had to refuse it, but not go into detail. He doubted Harley Max cared a fig about a lowly senior constable’s domestic problems. Perhaps if Breck hinted that his decision had been forced upon him, Max might give him another chance sometime in the future. Perhaps. And perhaps pigs flew.

His cell phone vibrated in his shirt pocket and he tugged it out. There was so much noise he couldn’t hear the ring tone and he strode into the kitchen to answer it.

“It’s Ingrid Rowland here. I was just checking up on Kit. How are things?”

The fairytale lady. She’d been on his mind all day. Just sitting there quietly. She was that sort of woman, not intrusive, just…there. Thrilled that she’d phoned, he felt an uplift in his spirits. “Kit’s doing really well, Ingrid. We’ve been keeping busy.”

“So I hear,” she said, her tone as dry as aloes. “I didn’t realize I was interrupting a party.”

Oh, hell! All the noise the unit was making probably sounded like a rip-roaring party from her perspective.

“No. That’s just the guys from—”

“Tell Kit I phoned. Bye.” She clicked off.

Damn it! He needed this woman’s cooperation and she’d just bounced him. The lady was a little too quick off the mark. “Jeez, talk about jumping to conclusions,” he muttered to himself. Her disapproval stung.

“Who are you talking to, Daddy?” Kit was standing at his elbow. The kid crept around like fairy-dust. Must have caught a sprinkle from Ingrid Rowland.

“Ah, that was Ms. Rowland. She wanted to know if you were okay.”

Kit waited.

Breck surrendered. “Okay, she wanted to know how you were, but she also got mad at me. She thinks we’re having a party and she considers it’s inappropriate after what you’ve been through today. At least, I suppose that’s what she’s so angry about.”

Kit shrugged. “Mommy and Marty have lots of parties. Sometimes Mommy says ‘thank you, Breck’ and she sort of lifts her glass up—you know.”

“Oh, does she?”
And this was the environment I left Kit in.
He’d forked out more and more money hoping Kit would be the beneficiary, but he’d never asked for a reckoning. It served him right. “Well, never mind,” he said. “Let’s go and have some more sausage.”

Since he was on day shift, he’d work all that sausage off in the gym early Monday morning.

Ingrid Rowland jabbed the phone back on to its recharger on the kitchen counter. Just as she’d first thought. She shouldn’t have been swayed by his concern for Kit at the hostage situation today.
Any
man, no matter how bad a father he was, would be concerned in such circumstances.

“That’s what comes from admiring a nice set of pecs,” she admonished herself. “Great body, handsome lived-in face and no sense of responsibility.” Well, he must have
some
sense of responsibility, otherwise he wouldn’t be a cop. But like many cops, his responsibility was toward the public, not his own family.