Andrew’s funeral was well attended, the burial full of the pomp and ceremonial rites traditionally on display for a fallen police officer. His brothers and sisters in blue packed the church and lined the street as the funeral procession made its way to the cemetery.
Through it all, Reid Colton tried to stay in the background. He knew his presence could prove a distraction from the send-off Andrew deserved, and he refused to be responsible for any disruption to the service. Seeing all the dress uniforms, the military-like formality of the service, made Reid glad he’d never made formal allegations that his partner was mixed up in something bad.
Whatever Andrew had gotten involved with in recent weeks didn’t negate the years of loyal service and heroism Andrew Clark had shown the community and the police force. Andrew had been a good friend, a great partner and a decorated police detective. Reid’s purpose in investigating Andrew, in making his quiet allegations of theft and drug use, was only an effort to rein in his partner, to bring him to his senses before he got in over his head. Before Andrew got addicted, got arrested, got thrown off the force in disgrace.
For his efforts to save his partner’s career, save Andrew’s life, Reid had become the one under investigation, the one whose career had been sacrificed due to innuendo and unsubstantiated claims of wrongdoing.
Hugh Barrington, the Colton family’s lawyer and Andrew’s father-in-law, had tried to salvage Reid’s reputation and position with the police department, but in the end, Reid had walked away in disgust. He’d given too many years, too much of his heart and soul to his post as a Dallas police detective to continue working under the shadow of suspicion. He wouldn’t put himself through the indignity of skeptical side glances, sneers of disrespect and walls of silence from his fellow officers. He’d rather leave on his own terms than wait to be cleared of the trumped-up charges or let half-truths end his career. He had his pride. He was a Colton, after all, and he deserved some modicum of respect for all his family had done for the community, if not for his years of service, loyalty and sweat.
Yet even knowing he was persona non grata, he’d needed to come today. He had unfinished business. And so, after the interment ended and the crowd of well-wishers had largely dispersed, he made his way toward Andrew’s wife, wanting only to extend his sympathies. Penelope Barrington Clark dabbed at her eyes as the chief of police spoke to her and gave her hand a consoling pat. Pen, as Andrew and her close friends called her, flashed a strained smile, the corners of her mouth quivering with the effort to be polite. Once the chief walked away and while Pen greeted an older couple, Reid stepped out of the shadow of the big oak tree where he’d lingered, waiting, and approached his partner’s widow.
He’d spent numerous Sunday afternoons in the Clarks’ home, watching the Cowboys with Andrew. He’d driven Andrew from a stakeout to the hospital when Pen had gone into labor a week early, and he’d been one of the first to hold their son, Nicholas, when he was born a few short hours later. He’d been to cookouts, birthday parties and the celebration following Nicholas’s baptism. He’d come to count Penelope Barrington Clark as one of his closest friends. After all, she was Hugh Barrington’s daughter. As the daughter of the Colton family’s lawyer, he’d known of Penelope even before he’d gotten to know her. He’d admired her from afar as a randy teenager and been the one to introduce her to Andrew at a police-department fundraising event seven years ago.
He never regretted that Penelope had chosen to marry Andrew. They’d been happy together, and he’d been happy for them. But he’d been a tad jealous of his partner. While Reid had his back turned and his womanizing interests focused elsewhere, Pen had grown from a shy but attractive teenager into a tall and willowy bombshell. More important, Pen and Andrew had built the kind of domestic partnership and loving home he secretly longed for. They may have been solidly middle class, living solely on Andrew’s detective’s salary after Pen’s falling-out with her wealthy father, but all of the Coltons’ billions hadn’t made his home life as harmonious and satisfying as what the Clarks had shared. Which, he knew, meant Andrew’s death was all the harder for Pen.
Reid kept a steady gaze on her as he approached, waiting for that moment when she first saw him. After years of studying people, their body language and emotional tells, he knew her first reaction to seeing him would be her most honest one. Penelope had always had a certain grace bred into her by her society parents. But today, with her silky auburn hair twisted up in a severe knot at her nape, her ivory skin blotchy from crying and her hazel eyes luminous with tears as she grieved her husband, she looked fragile. Vulnerable. Yet still as beautiful as a cherished china doll. Reid’s gut twisted seeing her so wrecked by her grief, so torn. Though she was surrounded by mourners offering condolences and had her father standing just behind her in a theatrical show of solidarity, Reid knew from the bleak look in her eyes, the wooden formality of her expression, she felt completely alone in her loss.
He wished he could simply push his way to the front of the crowd and pull her into a bear hug. But how would that impulse be received? Did she buy into the hype and lies that had been told about him since Andrew’s death? Was there any of the old respect and friendship left?
That instant moment of truth came as she dropped the hand of the older man, turned toward the last woman in the line of well-wishers...and her eyes met Reid’s. For one second, that first startled heartbeat, her one unguarded moment of recognition, she stared at him. He saw the raw emotion, the heartache and her longing for the refuge and support she knew he’d give her. And he prayed his eyes said all that was in his heart, because that one brief moment was all he had before her hazel eyes grew glacial.
Her shoulders stiffened and her back drew up straighter. Despite the hostile ice in her glare, he approached her. “Pen, I’m so sorry for—”
“You have a lot of nerve showing up here,” she spat at him, spots of color rising in her cheeks.
“Pen, I only wanted—”
“No!” She raised a trembling hand to ward him off. Then aiming her index finger at him like a gun, she snarled, “I don’t ever want to see you or your lying face again! Leave me the hell alone, Reid.”
Her warning hit him in the gut, as painful and final as if she had fired bullets at him instead of icy words. “If you’d just hear me out, Pen, I only wanted—”
“You heard her, Reid.” A firm hand closed on his shoulder and pulled him away from Penelope. “I think you should go.”
Reid turned to meet the cool blue gaze of Hugh Barrington. Behind his silver-framed glasses, Hugh’s eyes