Mine to Hold

“We’re divorced.”



Fuck. And there came the two-by-four to his gut again. Tyler didn’t ask why; he knew the answer.



“I’m sorry as hell, Del.”



And he was. But there was a selfish side of him having a full-on, get-down party at the news that Del was single again.



Self-consciously, she rubbed her thumb under her naked ring finger. “Thanks. It was final sixteen months ago. I haven’t seen much of him since.” She pursed her lips together, glanced behind her at the quiet street again. “We don’t talk a lot.”



Son of a bitch, he’d bet the split was ugly. And why did she keep glancing behind her?



“Delaney . . .” Tyler didn’t know what the hell to say. It wasn’t all his fault. But a good deal of the blame rested on his shoulders. The need to know why she was here now also kept circling his brain.



“It’s okay. I know you have company and that this is uncomfortable. I know I handled everything between us badly in the past. I’m sorry. I regret it like hell.”



Delaney’s blue eyes filled up with tears. As she fought them back, Tyler resisted the urge to comfort her as he had when they’d been friends . . . then more.



“Can I come in? There’s something we really need to talk about—and we shouldn’t do it on your porch.”



Everything inside Tyler seized up. The last time they’d talked, she’d asked him to leave, then cut him out of her life. Whatever was on her mind, it would be heavy. She hadn’t come all the way to Lafayette from Los Angeles to shoot the shit.



Despite everything, how the hell could he say no? He’d ruined her life, and deep down, he’d been pretty damn sure that would be the outcome the second the deed was done. He owed her. Besides, he’d never been in love . . . but he’d come perilously close with Delaney.



“Sure.” He swallowed, grabbed her duffel, and stepped back. “Come in. How did you know I had company?”



Delaney glanced at the object with the tall plastic handle beside her, the rest hidden by the exterior wall of the porch. She looked distinctly uncomfortable. “I rang the doorbell a bit ago, and no one answered. So I popped around to the side of the house and . . . saw that you weren’t alone.”



“They’re my buddies’ wives.” He’d meant the words as an explanation, a defense. Then he winced. God, Delaney probably already imagined—with good reason—that he was fucking each and every one of them.



“It’s none of my business.” She glanced at the hidden object beside her again, then the empty street behind her. “I came because I need your help. Really badly and right now.”



“You look tired, Del. And too thin. Come in and tell me what you need.”



She drew in a deep breath, then bent to the hidden item just beside her. A trunk? A dolly? Did she mean to move in?



A moment later, she straightened up, clutching a child. A little boy. He was deadweight in her arms, half asleep, his face against her shoulder, thick blond hair askew. Tyler’s heart skidded to a stop.



The kid’s meaty hands and feet peeked out beyond the arms and legs of his Spider-Man pajamas that were just a bit too small. He hooked one arm around Delaney’s neck, then began rubbing an eye with his little fist. Then the kid turned. That little face possessed the Murphy nose. His own green eyes, uncertain and watchful, stared back at him.



Tyler’s entire body went cold. His jaw dropped as his mind came to a screeching halt. Oh God. Oh fucking God . . .



“Tyler, meet your son, Seth.”



His son. Tyler had known this kid was his at a glance. A thousand emotions pelted him at once. Shock blazed through his system first. Wonder crashed in next.



He had a son. He and Delaney had created life together that beautiful May night when he’d finally stopped seeing her as a friend and had little choice but to touch her as a woman.



But she’d never bothered to tell him. Had she even tried to find him or just decided that he was irrelevant and had the child on her own?



Fury swept over him, relentless. One scathing accusation after another perched on the edge of his tongue. Gritting his teeth, he pushed it down for the boy’s sake.



“Hi, Seth,” he spoke in soft tones, then speared Delaney with a glare that dared her to defy him. “I want to hold him now.”



Suddenly, Tyler ached to. This was his son. His . . . with her.



Regret made Delaney’s mouth tremble as she nodded. She kissed the little boy’s head, then whispered, “It’s okay, little man.”



Seth frowned and watched him suspiciously, but went into his arms without a fight. Then Tyler was holding his son for the first time, wrapping him as tightly in his arms as he dared.



He tried to swallow, but his throat felt too tight. His jaw ached. His heart beat fast, like a fucking racehorse at the Kentucky Derby. Something warm flooded his chest. Tyler had never fallen instantly in love with anything or anyone, but Seth seized his heart in a single moment. He kissed the little boy’s forehead, and the feeling swelled tenfold.



“Why am I just now finding out about him?” Tyler tried to keep his voice calm and even. But his eyes accused her. What he really wanted to know was how the fuck she could have robbed him of the first fifteen months of his own son’s life.



She glanced at the street behind her again apprehensively and shimmied out of the porch’s light. “You have every right to be angry. Things were complicated, and you became impossible to find once you moved out of state. And I know those seem like poor excuses. At the end of the day, I didn’t know what to tell you or if you’d even care. You can take it out of my hide later. I’m sure I deserve it. But right now, I need your help. I need you to protect Seth.” She swallowed, her red-rimmed eyes looking stark and afraid. “Someone is trying to kill me.”



***



TYLER’S face changed immediately, closing up, tensing. Cop mode; she recognized it. He might not be an LAPD Vice detective anymore, but some instincts never changed.



He dragged her into the house, then rolled her duffel and their son’s stroller into the little foyer. Shoulders taut, he slammed the door, then locked it behind him.



When he turned to her again, his green eyes were laser sharp and focused. “Tell me everything.”



Delaney licked her lips, her legs about to wobble out from under her. She was starving and exhausted. All of her cash had gone toward feeding Seth and buying gas. She hadn’t dared to use her credit cards.



Her thoughts were racing, and her son stirred restlessly. He’d been cooped up for days. Now that he was awake, he would want to roam around. As a mother who knew the bastard after her didn’t care if Seth was collateral damage, she was terrified to let the little boy out of her sight.



Sensing her problem, Tyler gently rocked him. “Hey, it’s okay.”



Seth frowned. Delaney handed the little boy the last of his apple juice from his sippy cup and a few animal crackers in the colorful but dented box.



Once he settled down, she risked a glance at Tyler. The man was waiting for an explanation—and not patiently. Where to begin?



“You remember Martin Carlson?”



“One of L.A.’s upcoming assistant district attorneys, right?”



“Yeah.”



“Slimy bastard.”



“That one, yes.” She sighed. “You know how Eric always teased me about reporting on fluff pieces, like society baby showers and dog shows, when I first started writing for the Times?”



He shrugged. “Of course.”



“So I pushed and pushed my editor, Preston, for meatier stories. On New Year’s Eve, he assigned me to cover a party that Martin Carlson and his wife were giving. During the party, I sneaked away to call the babysitter and check on Seth. I overheard Carlson on the phone, talking. He threatened that he’d better see the money show up in his Cayman account or the police would be banging on the door the next day. Then I heard Carlson specifically call Double T by name and tell the guy not to fuck him over or he was going to find his ass in prison and his operation shut down.”



Thunder rolled across Tyler’s face. “The gangster Double T of the 18th Street gang?”



“Precisely,” Delaney said grimly. “Everyone who knows anything about the drug scene near the Pico-Union district knows that he rules his turf with an iron fist. Carlson didn’t see me, thank God. It was a short conversation, two minutes max. But after that, I started digging. I wanted to write a story that would blow Preston away.”



“Oh, fuck. Double T isn’t the person to get all tenacious and crusading about.”



“Preston said the same thing. He wanted me to call the feds.”



“Clearly, you didn’t listen.” And Tyler looked more than pissed about that fact. “So Double T is trying to kill you because you know some of his crap?”



“I think it’s Carlson, actually. I got my hands on a copy of one of the evidence logs down at your old precinct, Rampart. I’m pretty sure it was tampered with. A whole bunch of guns and bags of white powder, supposedly with Double T’s prints, suddenly turned up missing. I took a picture of the original log. Carlson and some beat cop went in the evidence room. But when I looked again, it only listed the beat cop’s name. I hunted that rookie down and found out he’d supposedly died during a drive-by.”



The frown that crossed Tyler’s face wasn’t comforting. “Gangsters don’t usually shoot cops without provocation. It brings too much shit raining down on their head, which is bad for business.”



“Exactly. No one else died in the incident, either. One shooter, one bullet, which seemed even more fishy. So I kept investigating. I found one of Double T’s lieutenants, Lobato Loco, who wanted to make a power play, so he was willing to talk off the record. He didn’t like his boss giving the ADA a cut of the money and figured that he could eliminate the problem and Double T at once by snitching anonymously to a reporter. He said he’d sign an affidavit to that effect.



“Armed with information, I went to Carlson’s office and asked him about his dealings with Double T on the record. Of course he denied everything, but after that, shit started happening fast. I went to the police, but none of Eric’s buddies wanted to lift a finger to help the bitch who’d cheated on him, least of all that creep, Becker the Pecker. So I had to fend for myself, especially since I didn’t have any tangible proof of Carlson’s guilt.”



“Motherfucker,” Tyler muttered. “Did you tell Eric this? You might be divorced, but he wouldn’t want you dead.”



“I left messages. He didn’t call back.” She pressed her lips together, watching as Tyler got angry all over again.



In some ways, Tyler had always been more protective than Eric. Her ex-husband had always said that she was strong and capable. He’d never seen her as needing a champion. Tyler had his affable moments, but underneath, he was pure caveman. He’d threatened to bust up just about any asshole at Rampart who’d dared to ogle her or acted a bit too friendly.



“Wait!” She pushed a hand against Tyler’s chest when he looked ready to charge forward and find someone to beat the crap out of.



But her fingers encountered hard muscle, bulges, sinew—all male. Delaney gulped and withdrew her hand from the burning heat of Tyler’s skin. Too often, she’d mentally replayed their night together and remembered the utter masculine perfection of his body. The way his lips had lingered on her neck, his rough fingertips had scraped every inch of her flesh, his sex-roughened growl had talked her through each one of the five orgasms he’d given her in that sublime hour.



Those thoughts wouldn’t help her now. Lives were on the line.



“What the fuck am I supposed to wait for? I’m going to tear Eric a new one. And Carlson was always a fucking prick, more concerned with his own ambition than justice. If he’s threatening you, I’m going to put a stop to it.”



“You can’t.” She shook her head. His urge to help her was sweet . . . but misguided. “I started this. I have to finish it. Lobato Loco will only talk to me. No one else knows the facts like I do. Or has cultivated the contacts. But I can’t keep Seth in the middle of this danger. After the bomb destroyed my Toyota—I’m so glad I hadn’t strapped Seth in his car seat before I started the car with my key fob—I realized that—”



“The prick bombed your car?” Now Tyler sounded beyond furious. He’d gone deadly, with his jaw clenched damn tight. Delaney wasn’t sure she’d ever seen him so enraged. “They meant to kill both you and our son?”



“Me more than Seth. Focus. All the admittedly circumstantial evidence I’d collected against Carlson was in that car, and now it’s gone. He means business. So I need you to protect Seth. It kills me to ask this of you.” She pressed her lips together, her eyes watering as she stroked her son’s arm, then gripped his little hand. “So please, don’t make this harder. I don’t want to leave him, but I’d rather he be alive with you than dead with me. No one knows you’re his father, and no one will think to look for him here. I have to go back to California and fix this mess. While I do, please keep our son safe.”