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get to see everything in your files.”
    He wasn’t sure that condition was even possible to meet. “It’s an open investigation—”
    “And I’m a Bitterwood police officer. It’s a condition of my agreement. I get to see all the files. I might recognize a clue you wouldn’t.”
    He released a sigh. “Okay. But you have to tell me everything you can remember about your late husband’s time with Davenport Trucking.”
    He could see the idea made her uncomfortable, but she finally gave a swift nod and extended her hand toward him. “Agreed.”
    He took her outstretched hand, closing his fingers over hers. Her handshake was firm and businesslike, her palm dry and callused. He felt a sudden unexpected surge of anger at the feel of that small tough hand rasping against his. God only knew how hard a life she’d lived, trying to make a future for her son. How many more years of struggling and saving still lay ahead of her. The thought of those sons of bitches out there trying to rip her son away from her for who knew what reason—
    He caught himself before his rage reached full throttle. There was a lot about her life he couldn’t change. But he could do this one thing. He could make the next few weeks of her life as comfortable and secure as he could.
    “Let me tell the others,” she suggested, releasing his hand and pushing to her feet. “Watch Logan for me?”
    He stared after her as she stepped out to the porch and closed the door behind her, realizing what an honor she’d just bestowed on him by trusting him to watch her child alone, even for a few moments with her so close by.
    He looked down at the sleeping boy, carefully flattening his hand against his warm, flannel-clad back. He was so tiny, so breakable, Dalton thought, holding his breath as he felt the child’s rib cage expand and contract with his slow, deep respirations. And tonight someone had tried to rip him out of his mother’s arms, for reasons they still hadn’t quite figured out.
    “Nobody’s going to take you away from your mama,” he whispered, his own breathing falling into rhythm with the boy’s. “Not on my watch.”
    * * *
    P OKE , POKE , POKE .
    Briar opened one eye and found herself looking up at her son’s bright, wide eyes. He poked her again in the ribs and laughed.
    “Hey there, mister.” She pushed herself up on her elbows and looked around the borrowed bedroom, so unlike her bedroom at home, and wondered how on earth she’d let Dalton Hale convince her to come here to stay.
    “I’m hungwy,” Logan informed her, patting her cheeks with his little hands. He bounced, too, foot to foot, the springy mattress too great a temptation for an energetic boy his age.
    “I bet you are.” She hugged him to her, dipping her nose into the curve of his neck for a nice long smell. “Did you find the potty okay?” The guest room had a bathroom of its own, and somehow in the chaos of the previous night, she’d managed to remember his step stool for the bathroom.
    Poor Dalton Hale, she remembered with a little smile as she followed Logan to the bathroom. His eyes had grown so huge watching her gather up the necessities of life with a three-year-old, she’d half expected that he’d rescind his offer of a place to stay.
    Her watch read nine in the morning. She wondered if Dalton had left for the office already without waking them. He’d given her the grand tour of the place the night before so she’d know where everything was and how to work the security system. But by the time he’d shown her the guest bedroom where she and Logan would sleep, she’d been riding the last fumes of her adrenaline rush. He’d cut the tour short, told her to get some sleep and escaped to his own room before she’d been able to ask about his plans for the next morning.
    Holding Logan’s hand, she helped him down the long flight of stairs down to the first floor, trying not to gape like a hillbilly on her first trip to town. It wasn’t so much