Prologue

PROLOGUE

" W hy are you standing by yourself in here?"

Van Harlowe turned to look at his father. "Because it's quiet and I can be left alone."

His father snorted. "You'll be left alone plenty just like me when this is done," his father said. "You can get your ass out there and greet people. Most are going to be your mother's friends or coworkers or people from the force paying their respects to you ."

He didn't need his father to tell him those things. He'd been to more than one funeral during his four years on the police force.

Four years as an officer, and if there was one thing he hated, it was a funeral.

He never expected he'd be attending one for his mother this soon.

"I know," he said. "I've got time."

"Not as much as you always think," his father said, then turned and left.

He didn't want to get into a pissing match today, but he was holding it in as best as he could.

His mother had been sick for less than a year. No one thought it'd come to this, though they'd been told. They hoped otherwise, but it didn't happen.

Between him and his father, they cared for Lauren Harlowe the best they could.

More him than his father, but he got it. It wasn't easy to see your wife suffering, even if that man had been an ass to the woman he was grieving for publicly.

Van waited a few more minutes and then walked outside to get some fresh air.

The last thing he expected to see was his father talking to a woman that he'd never seen before. Or the woman to hug his father and kiss him on the lips. Not a consoling one. But more on the sexual line.

He opened the door to storm back in when his father turned and caught his eye.

There was no time for them to talk and it was for the best or he might deck the guy that he'd butted heads with for more than half his life.

The funeral director came up to him and told him they were opening the door. It's not like there was any other family here. None of his mother's because she'd cut them out of her life before he was born. The bits and pieces he'd heard told him that his mother's parents were more controlling than his father was.

His father was an only child and Adam Harlowe's parents had passed years ago.

One by one, people came up to him at the casket, many he knew from his mother's job. She was well liked and always had been.

Not his father. Not many could stand the guy and he always wondered why his mother stayed with him. Sure, his father put a polite face on in public, but an idiot could see through it.

At the end of the night, one of his mother's friends was still there. Fiona had been sitting in the chair all night and talking to people as they came in, keeping an eye on him but staying back.

Fiona and his father didn't always get along.

"I'm so sorry," Fiona said, coming up to him. His father had gone off to talk to the funeral director. "I thought for sure your mother's father would have been here. She'd hoped he might come."

"What?" he asked. This was all news to him. "Did my mother talk to her father?"

"You don't know?" Fiona asked, angling her head to the side.

"Know what?" he asked as the two of them walked outside.

"That your mother asked your father to contact her father last week right before she slipped into a coma. She fought until the end, you know that." Fiona wiped her eyes. "I think she thought she'd be fine and could do it herself."

"I had no idea," he said. Why wouldn't his mother ask him to do it? He'd been caring for her more than his father lately. He was the more reliable of the two, but he just figured his father needed a break. It'd been a rough year for everyone.

"She couldn't find his information or where he could be. Toward the end she was more confused and I wonder if she even had it and forgot. But she did say she thought he still lived in Boston where he always was, but your mother was in no shape to find him. I offered, but she said no, that your father would be able to. She was adamant it be him. I'm guessing whatever was between them couldn't be mended prior."

"Guess not," he said softly.

Fiona took her leave and he went back inside. There'd be no gathering afterward. His father had said his mother didn't want it. He wasn't so sure about that, but it wasn't his place to argue.

"We need to talk," he said to his father when he saw him coming out of the back office.

"Not now," his father said. "We just buried your mother."

"We're talking," he said firmly. "At the house. If you're not there behind me, I'll find you and we'll do it in front of anyone around."

He turned and stalked off.

At six foot two and two hundred and twenty pounds, not many messed with him. Being a law enforcement officer had nothing to do with it either.

Van was a guy who didn't say much and hardly ever smiled.

He went about life doing what needed to be done. No nonsense, his mother often said. It was the quiet ones you always watched out for—his mother had told him that more than once too.

After a deep breath, he went to his truck and drove to his childhood home in Wichita. His father was right behind and they got out together and went into the house.

"I can explain," his father started to say.

"I don't give a shit about any explanations. Yes or no answers are all I care about. Have you been cheating on Mom?"

"Listen, Van."

"No!" he shouted. "Answer me."

"It's not a simple answer."

"Fuck that. It is. Yes or no?"

"Yes," his father said, grinding his teeth.

"Tell me why I shouldn't deck you right now," he said.

"Because it solves nothing," his father said. "It's not your business. I've been there for your mother for the last year and caring for her day and night and you know it. I never left her side."

"Don't give me any of that shit to ease your conscience. You knew she was dying. If you couldn't wait and keep your dick in your pants until she passed, then you've got to live with that."

He turned to leave. "You'll never understand because you've always been a Mama's boy. You've always believed everything she's said without listening to anyone else."

"Yeah, there was a reason for it," Van said. "The same reason everyone thought she was a sweetheart and you were a piece of shit. Guess you had no problem living up to it."

"Don't talk to me like that in my home," his father snarled.

"That's right," he said. "It's your home. Everything is yours . You made sure to always rub that in Mom's face even though she had a job and worked too."

"She was a Goddamn secretary for the city. She didn't make shit. I supported you and her and you both knew it. I've got every right to say this is my house."

"I'm out of here," he said. "I can't deal with you or this or anyone else."

"That's right," his father shouted. "Run away like you always did. Mom used to let you go and that was her mistake. For as big and tough as you are or want everyone to think, you're nothing but a pussy inside. You can't handle anything and never could."

He walked up to his father and lifted him by the shirtfront. His father was five inches shorter and fifty pounds lighter. Van never could figure out where he got his height and build from.

"You don't know me. You never even made the effort to do it," he said. "So you can keep your damn opinions to yourself and go on with your life. I hope you can live with yourself."

He tossed his father aside and stalked out the door knowing that he'd probably never return.

The last remaining family he had in this world was gone in his eyes.

He supposed it was true that he was a loner in more ways than one.