can if she’s not home.” He was starting to look excited, gesturing with his hands as he spoke. “My cousin Kelsey is married to a guy in the military. He’s been overseas a lot but now he’s got a six-month assignment in Alaska. She’s going to join him, and I arranged for a friend to house-sit. All the regular bills are set for automatic drafts out of Kelsey’s bank account. As long as you’ve got cash for stuff like groceries, you and Little Red would be set. It’s perfect!”
“I don’t understand. What about your friend who already agreed to do it?”
“She’ll be inconvenienced when I tell her Kelsey’s changed her mind. And a little peeved,” he admitted. “But I’ll make sure she lands on her feet. You have a hell of a lot more at stake, Heather.”
She was all too aware of the high stakes. To keep the panic at bay, she tried to lighten the moment. “Heather, huh? I think that’s the first time you’ve ever called me anything but ‘Red.’”
“About that.” He tilted his head, considering. “You stand out with that hair color. Ever thought about going brunette?”
She pressed her fingertips to her eyes. “Not until just now. I’m new at this whole fugitive thing.”
“Different hair would help. So would different names. I can assist you there.”
She glanced up, startled. “There’s a limit to what I’ll let you do for me.” Even as she said the words, she prayed they were true. How much risk would she let a friend take if it meant protecting her daughter?
“I didn’t mean like create new social security numbers for you or falsify a passport,” he clarified. “This isn’t a Bourne movie. But I might know someone who, uh, dabbles in fake IDs. It would have an upcoming expiration date because the new ones are too hard to copy and it probably wouldn’t fool a professional beyond a quick glimpse, but it’s a start.”
Counterfeit identification and lying about who she was? Bryce’s intentions were good, but did she dare continue on this path? Then again... She cast one more anxious glance in Josie’s direction. How could she dare not take Bryce’s help?
Chapter Two
“You haven’t said anything since we left the steak house.” Stupid. Since when was Sergeant Zane Winchester reduced to stating the obvious? His razor-sharp instincts had helped solve cold cases and take down crooked politicians. Colleagues sought his input because he was known for having a quick mind, but a few hours in his teenage daughter’s company made him feel like an inept rookie fumbling with a gun for the first time, capable of shooting himself in the foot with one stray word.
Eden glared from the passenger seat of the truck. “What do you want me to say? Thanks for ruining the first nice time I was having since I got shipped to this godforsaken town?”
There were so many things wrong with her retort that he didn’t know where to begin. My fault. Too out of practice. He hadn’t tried hard enough to keep a close bond with her while she and his ex, Valerie, lived in California. Eden didn’t let an hour pass without reminding him that she hated her parents’ decision to relocate her. She saw her mother as selfish for ditching her, and she clearly viewed Zane more as prison warden than father.
“What exactly did I do?” Zane asked, trying to better understand the daughter he no longer knew.
“You practically threatened that cute waiter at lunch! You might as well have pulled your gun on him.”
“You’re exaggerating by a mile. And that ‘cute waiter’ was too old to be flirting with my fifteen-year-old daughter.” He steered onto their street. “You may think you’re an adult, Eden Jo, but you’re not. Adults face the consequences of their actions. You blame your mama for sending you here, but you refuse to take responsibility for your part in forcing her hand.”
“Why are you defending her?” To Eden’s credit, she sounded genuinely baffled rather than sarcastic. “You should be mad, too. You didn’t want me here.”
“That’s not true!” Rather than take the time to pull into the garage, he angled crookedly in their driveway and cut the engine so he could focus on her. He studied her face, marveling at the changes. This wasn’t the little girl with blond pigtails he used to carry on his shoulders. She was a young woman now, with two thin streaks of hot pink framing her face.
Strips of neon aside, she looked so much like Valerie that he couldn’t help a twinge of nervous déjà vu. As a teenager, Val had been beautiful, fascinating and self-destructive. He prayed the similarities between mother and daughter would prove superficial.
He put a hand on Eden’s shoulder, an awkward substitution for a hug. “I love you. Even if I’m not crazy about the behavior that led you here, I’m glad to have this time with you.”
Her green eyes glittered. “Yeah, I can tell how much you care by all those visits to California and the dozens of phone conversations we had.” She wrenched open her door and hopped to the pavement.
He followed, still trying to frame his explanation as he unlocked the front door. On the other side, the dog was already going nuts, barking in manic greeting.
It had hurt like hell to let go of his daughter, but he’d thought it best. When he and Val had divorced, Eden had been just starting that tumultuous journey from adolescence to physical maturity. He’d known there would be questions and scenarios she’d be embarrassed to discuss with him. Instead of an acrimonious custody battle that would compound the pain of the divorce, he’d let Val take her. As Val had reminded him, at least she was around for their daughter, rather than chasing bad guys all across the state of Texas.
With Eden’s displeasure filling the foyer, it seemed even colder in the house than it had out in the brisk March breeze. “I never would have given up custody so easily if I hadn’t believed it was in your best interest. I figured you’d be better—”
“I was better off in California,” she interrupted. “If you really loved me, you’d let me go back to my friends and my life there!” Tears spilling from her eyes, she stalked down the hall to the guest room. A moment later, the little ranch-style house shook with the force of her slammed door.
He shifted his weight, torn between the urge to go hug her and the urge to reprimand her for the temperamental display. At the rate she was going, he’d have to replace all the hinges in the house by the time she went back to school on Monday.
“I need some air,” he told the dog, a black border collie and shepherd mix splotched with white and gold. “Want to go for a walk?”
Grabbing the leash that hung on a nearby Peg-Board, he called out, “Eden, I’m taking Dolly for a walk around the neighborhood.” Unsurprisingly, there was no answer.
Zane hesitated. Was it better to intrude, to hammer home the fact that he was here for her, or should he give her space to adjust to their new arrangement? He wasn’t used to feeling conflicted. In years past, Zane and his ex-wife had argued about his “rigid” black-and-white worldview, but having a teenager in the house certainly challenged that perspective. Throwing tantrums and slamming doors were inexcusable for a fifteen-year-old, yet it was difficult to fault Eden’s behavior when he was so ashamed of his own. As a father, it had been his responsibility to stay involved in her life, no matter how many miles separated them.
A couple of years ago, when Eden had asked to skip visiting Fredericksburg for the summer because she wanted to attend camp with her friends, he’d agreed instantly. He’d been mired in task force duties as the Rangers sought to shut down a cartel whose members kept slipping across the border. The following June, Eden had stayed in California because her uncharacteristic dip in grades necessitated summer school. He’d seen her for a few days at Christmas, but awkwardly exchanging presents before sticking her back on a plane wasn’t real parenting.
With a sigh, he hooked the leash on Dolly’s harness and stepped outside. After only two weeks, Zane was feeling as weary as Val had sounded