The practical side of his brain knew she was right, but the part of him that had been imagining how this night would end wanted to argue. Instead, he nodded and headed toward the back of the house, knowing he had no choice but to trust that the universe wouldn't destroy what they'd built tonight.
He called both kids out of their rooms and explained what was happening, watching their faces carefully for any sign of concern or fear. Emma, ever the mature one, crossed her arms and gave him a look that was pure preteen attitude.
"Dad, I'm twelve, almost thirteen, and Toby is eleven. We're going to be fine, even if Sandra wasn't staying. But if she wants to, that's okay, too."
The confidence in her voice made him proud and slightly terrified at the same time. When had his little girl become so self-assured? He kissed Emma's forehead, then turned and hugged Toby, pressing a kiss to the top of his head and breathing in the scent of shampoo and childhood that always made his throat tight.
"I have the greatest kids," he said, meaning every word.
They smiled up at him with a trust that made him want to be better than he was, then headed back into their bedrooms with the easy acceptance of children who'd learned that their dad’s work could call him out at any time.
He headed back to his own bedroom, moving through the familiar routine of preparing for a callout. The DTF body armor went on over his shirt, the weight of it settling across his shoulders like a comfort. His badge clipped to his belt, and his service weapon settled into its holster with practiced ease.
Once he was properly armed and equipped, he walked back toward the front door, where Sandra was waiting. The sight of her standing in his entryway, looking perfectly at home in his space, made something fierce and possessive rise in his chest.
He didn't care if his kids happened to walk down the hall and see them. He pulled Sandra against him, angling his head to capture her mouth in a kiss that was hard and fast and loaded with everything he couldn't say.
He wanted to take it deeper, wanted to pour all his frustration, desire, and growing feelings into the contact between them. He wanted to carry her back to his bedroom and remind them both exactly what they had together. But right now wasn't the time, and he had enough self-control left to pull back before he did something that would make leaving impossible.
When he finally broke the kiss, her eyes were half-lidded and dreamy, her lips slightly swollen from the pressure of his mouth. The image burned itself into his memory with a clarity that would carry him through whatever was waiting for him at that beach house.
"I'll be back as soon as I can," he promised, his voice rougher than he'd intended.
"I'll be here," she replied simply, and those three words felt like the most beautiful thing anyone had ever said to him.
15
Terry drove down the narrow lane leading to the massive, multi-million-dollar beachfront house, his headlights cutting through the darkness. A few miles south of Baytown, the rental property sat on prime real estate. It was a location that generated serious secondary income for owners smart enough to capitalize on the Shore's summer tourism, or for those with money who built large retirement homes for the bayfront view out their windows.
Tonight, the lane looked like a war zone. Red and blue lights strobed against the darkness, casting eerie shadows across the manicured landscaping as deputy and EMS vehicles crowded most of the circular driveway.
Pissed that his perfect evening with Sandra and the kids had been obliterated, Terry climbed out of his SUV and slammed the door with more force than necessary. The metallic bang echoed through the night air, and he figured it was better to take his frustration out on his own vehicle than on the teenagers who'd caused this clusterfuck. His jaw clenched as he spotted a few young people milling around the perimeter, their faces pale and shell-shocked in the harsh glare of the floodlights that had been set up to illuminate the scene.
He offered chin lifts to several deputies who were securing the area, their expressions grim and professional. The weight of his body armor felt heavier than usual as he jogged up the front steps, his boots echoing against the expensive stone pavers that led to the massive double-wide front doors.
Stepping through the entrance into the brightly lit foyer, Terry blinked hard, trying to process the destruction that greeted him. The formal living room, which could have been featured in a high-end design magazine, looked like a hurricane had torn through it. Beer cans, wine bottles, and empty liquor bottles were scattered about. Expensive side tables, plush upholstery, and a solid wood coffee table now bore the water rings of countless drinks.
A foul, acrid smell hit his nostrils, and he glanced down to see where someone had vomited right at the entrance to the formal dining room. The stench created a nauseating cocktail that made him breathe through his mouth.
Most of the noise was coming from toward the back of the house, so he continued down the wide center hallway, his footsteps muffled by what had probably been an expensive runner before whatever the hell had been spilled on it. The hallway opened into a massive kitchen that flowed seamlessly into a huge family room. If Terry had thought the living room looked trashed, it was nothing compared to the destruction he now witnessed.
Alcohol bottles and cans covered every available surface. Someone had apparently made a late-night snack run, but judging by the amount of crushed chips, cookies, and candy littering the hardwood floors, granite countertops, and expensive leather furniture, Terry wasn't sure if anyone had actually consumed the junk food or just used it as ammunition in a food fight. Pizza boxes lined the counter, the contents mostly consumed.
The room was packed with young people, their faces ranging from defiant to terrified to completely wasted. A quick head count brought the number close to twenty, though several others were probably scattered throughout the rest of the house. He looked across the chaos and recognized several detectives from the sheriff's department—Sam Shackley, Aaron Bergstrom, Mark Robbins, and Brad Stowe. The presence of so many senior investigators told him everything he needed to know about the severity of the situation.
Holy shit, it looks like everyone has been called out tonight.
More chin-lift greetings were exchanged, the kind of wordless communication that developed between law enforcement officers who'd worked together long enough to read each other's expressions. Mark Robbins jerked his head toward a door to the side, his face carrying the kind of grim satisfaction that meant they'd found something significant.
"Captain."
Terry turned toward the voice and spotted Jeremy at a doorway. He walked into a study untouched by the partygoers. A pool table was off to the side. And on top of the pool table were evidence bags containing multicolored pills and smaller bags of white powder that could have been cocaine, heroin, or any number of synthetic drugs flooding the market these days.
"Christ," he growled under his breath, his shoulders slumping as the idea of the kids using that shit hit him like a physical blow.
He was furious on multiple levels—professionally angry at the stupidity of these kids who'd turned what should have been a quiet weekend into a potential overdose scene, and selfishly frustrated as he looked around, knowing there was no way in hell this evening would end in time for him to get back home and salvage what had been shaping up to be a perfect night with Sandra.
The image of her curled up on his couch, probably wondering where he was and whether this was what dating a cop would always be like, tightened his chest with regret. She'd offered to stay with his kids without hesitation, willing to step into his complicated life with the kind of grace he’d come to expect from her.
