Page 35 of Every Little Kiss
CHAPTER 8
Friday afternoon, Ford arrived at the station expecting to find Harris busy in his office fielding calls from citizens in need. Instead, his desk was covered with missing pet reports dating back a decade, but Ford’s boss was absent. Maybe on a call. Which meant that Ford was free to eat his lunch in peace.
Only when he got to his office, Harris was sitting behind his desk, feet propped up, with a blonde in his lap. A giggling pixie of a blonde with big blue eyes, wearing ballet shoes and a tiara.
“Hey, Emma,” Ford said to Harris’s daughter, who was already scrambling off his lap trying to get at Bullseye. But unlike other kids who would launch into a dog, Emma stopped at Ford’s feet and looked up, her hands behind her back, little hips swaying. “Mr.Ford, can I play with Bullseye, or is he still working?”
Ford looked over at his dog, who hadn’t worked a day since they’d arrived, and said, “He’s on a break, so have at it.”
Emma bounced on her toes, the skirt of her dress moving like a pogo stick. “Can I take him into Daddy’s office?”
Ford looked at Harris and gave a smug-ass grin. “I don’t see why not. It’s probably quieter in there, more room to play too.”
“I have a bunch of files on my desk,” Harris said.
Ford waved a hand and sat down in the spare chair. “She’ll be careful, won’t you, Emma?”
“Very,” she promised, and looked up at the toughest son of a bitch Ford knew, decimating him with a single dimple. There was something so comical—and endearing—about watching it.
Harris’s world revolved around someone small enough to fit in a rucksack.
“All right, but only for a few minutes because we have to leave for dance soon.” Which explained why Harris’s SAR uniform had been replaced with sweatpants and aSHE’SMYSUGARPLUMFAIRYT-shirt.
Emma raced out the door with Bullseye hot on her trail. They hadn’t even slammed the office door when Emma pulled out her favorite Disney doll, and Bullseye let out a contented yowl.
Ford looked at Harris’s pink knee brace and smiled. “Who’s the princess, you or her?”
“It’s her first dance class, and parents are encouraged to join their kids. Emma picked out the brace,” Harris explained. “And since I’m Emma’s only parent, that means I get to spend my afternoon off doing pirouettes or some shit. And tonight, when you and the guys go to the bar to watch the game, I’ll be at home playing Emma’s version ofChoppedbecause I haven’t gone shopping. Do you know why I haven’t gone shopping?”
Ford felt like a jerk. “Because you’ve been busy fielding calls about lost pets?”
Harris rested his elbows on the desk and leaned in—so close that Ford could see he meant business. “No, because if I had gone shopping, then there would be no need to make a mash-up of food for dinner. And Emma’s favorite dinners are mash-ups, like coconut-crusted chicken and chocolate-chip mashed potatoes. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
It was obviously a rhetorical question, because Harris didn’t wait for an answer.
“Being a single parent is hard. Rewarding, but hard as hell,” he said. “It takes sacrifice and worrying—a lot of worrying about if you’re doing the right thing. Because the kid comes first, always, even before your own happiness. Which can make for some pretty lonely nights. So lonely, sometimes—”
“Whoa,” Ford said, standing. “Are we talking about your sex life? Because I’m not cool with knowing how you spend those lonely nights. If you need a sitter, just ask.”
“I’m talking about how you spendyournights, Ford.”
“Again, not comfortable with the direction of this conversation,” Ford pointed out, unsure if he was amused or confused by the direction the conversation was taking.
“Well, it’s about to get a hell of a lot worse than uncomfortable.” Harris slid a letter across the desk toward Ford, but he didn’t let go. “I had a chat with one of the moms at Emma’s camp the other day. I didn’t know that her son was enrolled because she wasn’t at the parent meeting. Seems that there was a lucky spot that opened a few weeks before camp started. It got me thinking, what are the odds that the camp I was talking to you about and happened to mention a random opening was filled by Sam’s son?”
“Fuck.” Ford sat in the chair and leaned back.
“Oh, you’re more than fucked, because this just gets better.” This time Harris let go of the file, but Ford didn’t need to look at it to know what it was. A clear sign that his time here was up.
“I can explain,” Ford said.
“I hope to Christ you can, because I’m not sure there’s a way to explain how the camp tuition, of a kid you rescued, was covered by an anonymous donation that—oh, and here’s where the fucked comes in—you used Washoe County Search and Rescue funds to cover.” Harris shook his head. “What the fuck were you thinking?”
“It wasn’t department funds,” Ford pointed out. “It was my money. I can prove it. I just sent the money order in an envelope with department letterhead so she wouldn’t know it was me.”
“Oh man,” Harris said, slowly sitting back with the biggestOh shitexpression Ford had ever seen. “This is more screwed up than I thought. This isn’t about Sam. This is about Liv.”
“What? No. This has nothing to do with her.” And everything to do with that freaking promise he couldn’t let go of.
