Lawman's Redemption

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Authors: Marilyn Pappano
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door before realizing that he wasn’t following. “We-ell?”
    â€œWho are you?”
    She clomped back to stand in front of him and sneered.
    â€œDon’t you recognize me? Why, I’m your own little girl, and I’ve come to stay with you.”
    Behind the counter, a clipboard clattered to the floor, and overby the coffeemaker, someone muttered, “What the—” Brady didn’t look at either eavesdropper. He didn’t take his gaze from the girl.
    He never thought of himself as a father, not even as having been a father for a few short months. Even though he’d paid child support without fail for the past fourteen years, it was testament only to how desperately he’d wanted out of the marriage. Sandra had wanted money, and he’d agreed to give it in exchange for a quick divorce and escape to go off and lick his wounds.
    Even after she’d admitted to sleeping with any man who was willing.
    Even after she’d taunted him with the fact that he wasn’t the father of her little girl.
    Even after she’d stripped him of even the slightest hope that the baby whose birth he’d been awaiting so anxiously could possibly be his.
    He studied her, trying to reconcile this tall, skinny, odd-looking child with the tiny, cuddly baby he’d fed, rocked to sleep and changed diapers for. That baby had smiled sweetly and cooed whenever she saw him, and she’d clung to his finger every time he’d held her.
    This one…
    This one was waiting for some sort of response from him. So was everyone else in the squad room.
    He moved a few steps closer to her. “What’s your name?”
    â€œLes Marshall.” Then she rolled her eyes as if he were making unreasonable demands. “Alessandra Leigh Marshall. Can we go now?”
    See? Sandra had explained, still woozy from giving birth. Sandra, Alessandra. Her pretty little girl could be named after her and yet still have her own name. Wasn’t she clever?
    Cleverer than he’d been.
    He glanced around at the curious faces in the squad room. No one even tried to pretend that they weren’t openly listening, and he couldn’t blame them. He hadn’t been kidding when he’d told Hallie he had deep, dark secrets. He’d worked with these peoplefor more than six years, and this was the first any of them had heard of a marriage, a divorce or Texas.
    Or a daughter.
    â€œTell me something,” he said, gesturing from her spiked purple hair all the way down to her combat boots. “Are you making a fashion statement, or do you just enjoy making your mother squirm?”
    The question took her by surprise. She blinked, then sneered, “That’s none of your business.”
    Which meant she was making her mother squirm. Brady couldn’t begin to imagine how intensely Sandra hated her daughter’s look. She was the vainest, trendiest, most appearance-conscious woman he’d ever known, and it must have killed her every time Les walked into her line of sight.
    Aware that everyone was still watching, he gestured toward the door. “Let’s discuss this outside.”
    He hustled her out the door into the courthouse lobby, then outside. On the east side of the building, the lawn stretched across half a block, with sidewalks leading to park benches and war memorials. In cooler weather, retired old men and other folks with time on their hands often filled the benches, but thanks to the day’s heat, they were the only ones there.
    He stopped in the dappled shade of a large oak. There was a breeze blowing, but all it did was rustle the leaves. It didn’t provide any cooling. “So you’re Sandra Whitfield’s daughter.”
    With a put-upon sigh, she ticked off names on her fingers. “Actually, Sandra Whitfield Marshall Davis Thompson Valdez Napier. For the moment.”
    So Sandra had five marriages and four divorces behind her. Of course, she wasn’t

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