“Get in the car, Elliot,” Ruth ordered, pointing a pudgy finger at Elliot.
“He’s not going with you. I’ll have my attorney draw up the papers and deliver them next week.” Bruiser’s deadly quiet voice carried a threatening undercurrent.
John stepped backward a few steps and moved behind his wife, not hard to do since she was as wide as she was tall. What a fucking coward.
The big woman puffed out her chest and snarled at Bruiser. “He’s going with us. I’ll call the police and report you for kidnapping.” She looked down the street. “Even better, I’ll go get them right now.”
“I’ll report your husband for child molestation,” Bruiser countered, his voice as frigid as the waters of Puget Sound in the winter.
Mac noticed the woman didn’t blink once, which meant this might not be the first accusation she’d heard of this nature.
“I never touched that kid,” her husband insisted.
He hadn’t, according to Elliot, which meant they might not have a legal leg to stand on.
“You bastard, I’m going to—” Bruiser surged forward, hands fisted.
Mac dove in front of him, knowing she had no hope of stopping him if he didn’t want to be stopped. She clutched at his sleeves. “Please, let me handle this. Trust me.”
Bruiser nodded tersely but stayed on the balls of his feet like a prizefighter waiting for his opponent to engage.
Mac smiled sweetly at the Joneses even though playing nice curdled her stomach. “We all want what’s best for Elliot. Bruiser has the means to take care of Elliot’s expensive medical treatments and special needs. He can give Elliot a loving home surrounded by caring people, which is of the utmost importance to both of you.”
Ruth relaxed slightly, while her husband coughed and elbowed his wife in the ribs. “We do our best, but it’s difficult with the size of our existing family,” she said.
“Bruiser is willing to give your church a healthy donation. That should ease your stress level.” Bruiser tensed behind Mac. She lifted one foot, stepped back, and planted her heel strategically on the top of his foot. He grunted but kept his mouth shut.
“A donation would help,” John spoke from behind his wife.
Ruth’s fat face pinched together, and her triple chin became more pronounced. “What would the congregation think if we allowed Elliot to live with this—this playboy?”
Her husband rubbed his chin and shrugged.
“You can tell them that those days are over for Bruiser. He’s getting married, settling down, building a big house on a farm—a perfect place for a kid to grow up with his younger brothers and sisters, a stable home in the country with loving parents, horses, dogs, cats. Your congregation will be thrilled.”
Ruth nodded, warming to the idea and the money. “And we’ll be able to afford improvements the church and the parsonage so badly need.” She turned to her husband, and they held a subdued conversation.
Bruiser whispered in Mac’s ear, his long fingers spanning her waist. “And exactly who am I marrying and creating this Camelot with?”
“Me, of course.” Mac turned her face so that their lips were mere inches apart.
“Are you proposing to me, Mackenzie Hernandez?” His eyes sparkled, and one corner of his sexy mouth tipped upward.
“I believe I am.”
Bruiser grinned like a kid with a new bike at Christmas and pulled her around to kiss her soundly. He felt so good she forgot about their audience until Elliot tugged on her sleeve. Mac pushed on Bruiser’s chest, and he released her, resting his big hands on her hips.
“We’ll agree to your terms. Have your attorney call us at her convenience,” Ruth said, her lips puckered in disgust at their public display of affection. She hauled on her husband’s arm and dragged him to the car.
Next door, the police emerged from the house with Ben and Sonja in handcuffs.
Mac realized her father must have fallen asleep in the easy chair and missed all the drama, but Mac wouldn’t have missed it for the world.
Elliot threw his arms around her, and she hugged him back. Bruiser put his arms around both of them and held tight.
Grinning, Elliot glanced up at both of them. “So, when am I getting a pony?”
* * * * *
Bruiser stood behind Mac as a backhoe rumbled across the neighbors’ huge backyard toward the garden area. Several uniforms and plain-clothes policemen swarmed the area now cordoned off with crime scene tape. Behind them, her father paced back and forth in a lather. Elliot slept in Mac’s bedroom, exhausted from his all-night adventure.
“Dad, sit down. You’ll have a heart attack.” Mac didn’t leave her station in front of the window.
Much to Bruiser’s shock, Craig slumped into a chair, put his hands up to his face, and started crying, big, silent sobs that shook his shoulders and made him gulp for air. The man had never cried, not once during this entire ordeal, but he was now. “It’s over, Mac.”
“I know, Dad, I know.” She patted his shoulder, while Bruiser stood back, feeling helpless. He hated that feeling.
“I’ll be all right now. Thank you, Bruiser.” Craig actually smiled.
Bruiser smiled back. “You know, Craig, maybe we should start a detective agency to help people find missing family and friends. You have tons of experience, and I have the capital. We could find an experienced detective to be in charge.” The words flooded out, as if the germ of an idea had been caged inside his head and finally been turned loose. He liked the idea, really liked it.
“I might consider that.” Craig wiped at his eyes.
“Think about it.”
“Thank you.” Mac grabbed his hand and squeezed it. “He needs a purpose in his life.”
Bruiser nodded. He couldn’t agree more.
“What did you have to do to get the information out of Trudy?”
“Don’t worry. Nothing, really. She thought she might be next on Ben and Sonja’s hit list.”
Mac almost smiled. “We need to report Elliot’s uncle. If
