Chapter Twelve
It was a rare event for Win to get off tour early, but with their suspect ensconced in his mansion in New Jersey with his girlfriend, and no activity in the eight hours he and Forrest had been on surveillance, they decided to break for the day. Of course, “early” was a relative term when you’d been at your post since six in the morning. But Win was more than happy to bail out and go pay his parents a visit after filing his report. He sent a text to make sure they were home and smiled at the response.
Putting the coffeepot on now.
Their fifty-five-and-older community sat on several green acres on the border of Queens and Long Island, so it wasn’t very far, but with the traffic, it still took him forty minutes to get there. His mother didn’t even wait for him to get out of the Jeep before running to meet him.
“Oh, look at you, my bad-boy son.”
“Cute, Mom.” He exited the car. “You’re looking good.”
“I try. Not that I’m not thrilled, but to what do we owe the honor of a visit during the week?”
With her hair in a ponytail and dressed in slim jeans and a sweater, his mother looked even younger today than when his father retired from the force. She confessed that once they’d moved, she could finally stop worrying about whether she’d get the call that he wasn’t coming home. Now she only had to worry about Win. He remembered the day he’d told his parents he was going to join the force, she kissed him and shook her head.
“I knew it. You couldn’t have been an accountant, could you?”
But no one was more proud of him when he got his gold shield, and she had a necklace made up of miniatures of both his and his father’s and never took it off.
He hugged her tight. “Thank the bad guys. Looks like they decided to take the day off, so I did too.”
“The day off meaning how many hours for you? Eight instead of twelve?”
“You would know. How many of those hours did you spend waiting up for Dad?”
Only a few inches or so shorter than him, she gazed at him with sharp eyes, but only said, “Come. The coffee’s waiting.”
She hooked her arm through his, and they went to his father, who was waiting at the front of their town house. Even after retirement, he’d kept to his strict exercise regimen, and Win knew he still enjoyed his morning runs. His father had always been his role model and best friend, and Win often wished he had his father’s company when he found the time to run himself. He hated to exercise alone, and his thoughts strayed to Elliot, wondering if he’d exercise with him early in the morning.
“Looking good, Dad.”
A smile lit his eyes, and the late-afternoon sun gleamed off his short, silvery hair. “And I’m hoping this new look of yours is the result of a special detail and not by choice?”
They hugged, and Win snickered and brushed the long strands of hair from his face. “You better believe it. I can’t wait for it to be over so I can get a haircut and get rid of the earring and tattoos.” Although maybe not quite as short, since Elliot liked tangling his fingers in it, and Win had to admit he enjoyed the pleasure-pain it gave while they were having sex.
They walked inside, and as usual headed straight for the kitchen, where Win saw three places set at the round table, with plates, mugs, and a container of milk in the center. His stomach growled at the scent of vanilla and sugar in the air.
His mom squeezed his arm briefly, then brought the coffeepot to the table. “Your call came at the perfect time. I made some muffins, and now the coffee’s nice and hot. You can tell us what’s on your mind.”
He pulled out the chair against the wall, facing both his parents. “Why do you think something’s on my mind? I speak to you all the time.” He reached for a muffin.
“By phone. You haven’t come out to see us in a while. And not that we don’t know you’re busy, but we’re worried you might be having a rough time of it again. Fall and winter are the hardest with all the holidays coming up.”
His appetite shriveled up, and he left the muffin sitting in the pile with the others. “I’m fine.” He smiled. “See? No need to worry.”
“Don’t bullshit us, Win.”
His father cursing was as shocking to him as a snowstorm in summer, and his stomach cramped, anticipating what was to come.
“We’re your parents. Don’t you think we know when you’re hurting? There’s no need to see your face. It’s in your voice and what you’re not saying.”
“But—”
His father held up a hand, and out of respect, Win kept quiet.
“Please. We understand because we’re still hurting too. We loved Kevin. He was our second son, the man who brought you happiness. With him you were able to laugh and leave the serious side of yourself behind, something we’d never been able to accomplish. Ten years wasn’t long enough, son.”
“It wasn’t.” The pain sitting beneath his skin ran its poisonous trail through his blood.
