Surrender to a Donovan (Kimani Romance) (12 page)

The conversation had turned to their upcoming family reunion, and Tate was listening with only half an ear. She missed her own family terribly. She thought about what Sean had said and considered calling, or at the very least emailing, her sister Blake.

When Tate thought nothing could disturb this quiet family-filled evening, flashing lights invaded the darkness.

“We’ve got company,” Dion said, walking past the women toward the front of the house.

“And not the welcome kind,” Savian said with a frown.

Tate was already standing when she felt Sean’s hand on her shoulder. “Stay here,” he told her.

Sean gave his cousin a nod, and Regan came to stand beside Tate. “We’ll just wait until we see what’s going on,” Regan told her.

Out of the shadows of the night, a man who looked like one of those wrestlers on TV came sauntering over to her. “Stay close to me, Ms. Dennison.”

“Who are you?” Regan asked.

Tate wanted to know the answer to that question, too, but unfortunately the unwanted guests had arrived.

“Good evening,” said one of the policemen who had walked out to the deck. “We’re here to take Sean Donovan and Tate Dennison in for questioning. Right now, no one is under arrest, so we’d appreciate your cooperation.”

This came from an officer with one hand on his belt and the other gripping a long stick. Two more officers were behind him.

“What the hell are you talking about? This is my home,” Bruce Donovan said. “And just what do you want with my son and his girlfriend?”

“Your son has been accused of assault. We’d like to ask him a few questions about that. Ms. Dennison has been accused of theft, and we need to get to the bottom of that.”

“Patrick,” Tate whispered and made a move toward the police. She wanted to tell them that Patrick was a thieving liar, but the bulky man stopped her.

“We’ll go to the station,” Sean said finally.

He moved around Dion, who’d stood in front of him, and then came to stand beside Tate, taking her hand. When he looked up and nodded at the large man, Tate presumed they knew each other.

“I’ll drive them,” the man said.

“Who the hell are you?” Regan asked again.

“Devlin Bonner. Trent sent me,” he said in a voice deeper and raspier than any Tate had ever heard.

She didn’t know who Trent was, but she assumed the rest of the family did, because they all breathed a collective sigh.

“Briana…” Tate started to say.

“I’ll keep an eye on her, don’t you worry. And you’ll be back shortly to pick her up,” Janean said with absolute certainty.

Tate wasn’t so sure. She’d never been taken to a police station before.

Chapter 18

T
he room was cool, with drab gray walls, a table and two chairs. In front of her there was a cup of coffee that looked more like crude oil. In her lap were her hands, no longer shaking but a little sweaty. Her back was straight and her mind focused on telling the truth.

“Tate Dennison?” A woman dressed in what almost looked like a three-piece suit said in a crisp tone.

“Yes,” she answered, determined to look the woman right in the eye. She wasn’t going to be intimidated, wasn’t going to back down, because she knew she had done nothing wrong.

“And you were married to Patrick Dennison?”

She’d taken a seat across from Tate, opening a folder and reading the first sheet of paper there.

“Yes. We were divorced a year ago.”

“And you two have a daughter together?”

Tate nodded. “My daughter is two years old.”

“When was the last time you saw your ex-husband?”

Tate had been over this in her head a million times. “Before this recent incident, it was April third, two days before our divorce was final.”

“And did you talk to him then?”

Tate nodded.

“What did you talk about?”

“He wanted to make sure I wasn’t going to change my mind about child support. I gave it up for a quick dissolution of the marriage.”

The officer looked at her then, with a shocked expression on her face. After a few moments she shook her head and went back to the papers in the file.

“He says you stole something from him, but he won’t say what it is. Do you have any idea what he’s talking about?”

Tate shook her head. “I absolutely do not. And believe me, I’ve been thinking about it a lot since seeing Patrick yesterday. If I had something of his, I’d give it back to him so fast he wouldn’t know what hit him. Whatever it takes to get him out of my life for good.”

“So if you had something of his, you’d give it back?”

“Damn right I would. And for the record, he’s the one who broke into my car and stole my daughter’s car seat. He also broke into my house. Then he physically assaulted me in the parking garage. I should be pressing charges against
him.
”

The detective straightened her papers and closed her file. She flattened her palms on the table and looked directly at Tate. “You’re absolutely right. You should be pressing charges against him. I’d highly advise you to do so. And another thing—get your child support or get him to give up his rights to your child.”

Tate was stunned. She let her own hands fall to the tabletop and blinked a few times trying to decide if she’d heard correctly.

“Boy, you don’t beat around the bush, do you?” she asked with a slight chuckle. Her chest was heaving with relief.

“No,” she said with a smile. “I don’t. He’s an ass. Want him out of your life for good? Get him out of your daughter’s life. Believe me, I’ve dealt with more than my share of deadbeat dad drama. If he doesn’t want any part of your child, then put him out of her life totally.”

She was standing now, and for the first time Tate recognized the signs. This woman was probably in her mid-thirties. She had children but no wedding ring. She looked tired, most likely worked long hours and then spent even more hours with her kids at home because she, too, was a single parent. Her advice had been startlingly clear, and, as one who made her living giving advice, Tate thought she should at least take it into consideration.

She stood, too, wiping her hands over her skirt as she did. She extended her hand to the officer and smiled. “Thank you.”

The officer nodded and offered her hand. “Detective Linds. It was nice to meet you, ma’am.”

“Same here,” Tate said.

And when the detective was gone she sat back down, let her head fall into her hands and sighed again.

* * *

“Sounds like self-defense to me,” Devlin said once Sean had gone through his account of the events.

Devlin wasn’t an attorney and by no means should have been allowed in the interrogation room with Sean and the two detectives. But Sean was a Donovan. His father played golf with the mayor, and his mother served on a committee alongside the governor’s wife. It was apparent that the police department had been warned to allow him some liberties.

Only mildly agitated by the fact that he’d been brought here at all, Sean really just wanted to get back to Tate as soon as possible.

“But he didn’t assault you first,” Detective Alvarez said to Sean with an even glare.

Sean shook his head. “He did not. He did, however, have Ms. Dennison in a tight grip and had pushed her against the car. I had reason to fear for her life.”

Detective Sessom, a thirty-something African American female, gave him an understanding look. “I think that’ll be all for now.”

Alvarez, the fiftyish male, smirked. “Yeah, don’t leave town.”

Sean stood. “I wouldn’t think of it.”

“What about Dennison?” Devlin asked.

“He’s trying to make bail. That’s why he keeps yelling about Ms. Dennison having something that belongs to him. I get the impression it’s something expensive, something that can be sold to make his bond,” Sessom replied.

Sean shook his head as he and Devlin moved toward the door. “You might want to check with the Feds before you let him go. I hear he’s got their attention for fraud.”

Alvarez stepped his burly body in front of Sean and asked, “And how do you know this?”

Devlin stepped closer, as if he were trying to wedge his own muscular body between Alvarez and Sean. “We have our sources looking into this as well. So take the tip and contact the Feds about your prisoner before you let him walk.”

Sean walked out of the room with Devlin right behind him. At the same time a door across the hall opened and he saw Tate standing there. He went to her immediately, pulling her into his arms when he was close enough.

“He’s in jail, and he’s going to stay there. I don’t want you to worry,” he told her.

He was stunned when she pulled back and looked up at him. “I’m not worried. I just want to get Briana and go home.”

Home was his place, Sean realized after her words had a few seconds to sink in. She would never return to that apartment if he had anything to do with it.

* * *

In the early morning hours, Tate rolled over in search of the man who had been holding her throughout the night. She’d had a bad dream, as juvenile as that sounded, and she instantly reached for his comfort.

But Sean wasn’t there.

Panic hit her like a sucker punch to the gut, and she bolted out of bed. Her bare feet slapped across the hardwood floors leading to the guest room they’d temporarily made into Briana’s nursery. The crib that Sean had purchased yesterday sat at an angle so that when Briana awoke she could look up through the floor-to-ceiling windows and see either the sun or the moon. Sean thought that was better than a mobile and swore Briana liked the outside scenery best. Tate hadn’t argued because, well, Briana hadn’t argued. So Sean must have been right.

Only this time, Briana wasn’t in the crib.

Panic soared through Tate like a spreading fire. She clutched at her throat as air struggled to make it through from her lungs. She took the stairs two at a time, almost falling down the last couple but holding onto the railing for dear life. She came to a quick stop when she saw through the living room that the patio doors were open.

Heart still tapping a quick, rhythmic beat in her chest, she walked to the door before stopping to stand completely still. She stared.

Sean walked back and forth, his steps slow and measured. Briana lay on his shoulder, her wide eyes staring right at him. His feet were bare, shorts hanging attractively at his hips, chest also bare. He supported her by her bottom, his other hand with a finger that Briana held tightly. As he walked he talked in a hushed tone to Briana.

Tate couldn’t hear what he was saying, but whatever it was, Briana was mesmerized. For endless moments Tate stood there, arms folded across her chest, watching this man with her daughter. Every so often he’d dip his head and kiss her forehead. Briana’s chubby cheeks would rise with a smile. Then Sean would smile, looking at her as if he’d never seen anything that precious before.

She knew that look and knew the feeling that went along with it. Sometimes she’d simply hold Briana in her arms and look at her that way. Inside she’d be filled with an unconditional love that was all encompassing. Tears blurred her eyes as she wondered if Sean were feeling that same way. Then, because her feet refused to stay still a moment longer, she walked toward them. When he saw her he stopped and turned to face her. Then, to her further astonishment, he released the hand holding Briana’s and extended his arm to her. Tate walked into his embrace willingly. Then they stood, the three of them swaying in the slight breeze, as if there were some music around that only they could hear.

* * *

Concentration came even easier this morning as Sean sat at his desk poring over sales stats and simultaneously reviewing the proposed outline for the magazine show. He was meeting with Parker, Dion and Savian in about fifteen minutes and wanted to make sure he was clear on all the aspects they needed to discuss. There weren’t many. Savian had done a great job outlining a show that echoed the pages of
Infinity
while expanding their popular areas.

Regan would have time to feature any red-carpet spotlights as well as tidbits on local, up-and-coming designers. Savian had suggested they not focus too much on CK Designs during the magazine show, since Regan and Camille were already working together on the reality show. Tate’s segment would come at the end, with her actually inviting the writer of one of her advice letters to the show for a face-to-face therapy session.

With that, his thoughts turned to the woman who’d been sharing his bed, his living space, and his life. Sean always knew he’d settle down one day and build a family of his own. He hadn’t imagined that day would come so soon, but he wasn’t the type of man to fight the inevitable. He was in love with Tate Dennison and her beautiful daughter. Holding Briana in his arms, watching her sleep, and seeing her enjoy her dinner and play with toys he’d bought her gave Sean a joy he’d never felt before. No, she wasn’t his blood daughter, but that didn’t stop him from feeling protective and nurturing toward her. His mother had noticed the same thing when they’d returned from the police station late Sunday evening.

“She looks good on you,” Janean had told him.

She’d come up behind him when he was collecting Briana’s diaper bag and the dishes they’d bought for her.

“She’s a great baby. Hardly ever cries,” had been his simple reply.

“And her mother? Is she great, too?”

Janean had been watching him closely, and Sean recognized the “I’ll be quiet and let you figure it out” stance his mother had. It was one she used with him often, most likely because she knew he would think long and hard enough to do just that.

“Yeah, she’s great, too.”

She nodded. “And what do you intend to do about these two great girls who’ve appeared in your life?”

He paused then, diaper bag on his shoulder, stuffed animal in his hand. He’d thought of this last night as he’d held Tate in his arms, thought about what the future held for them. Of course, Tate had reservations—he knew that right off the bat. She’d say they were moving too fast, that she’d been burned before, that they should take things slow. And he could counter each and every argument with one of his own and probably come out successful. But this morning as they’d shared breakfast, he’d realized something. He didn’t just want to get Tate because he was a Donovan and Donovan men always got what they wanted. No, what he desired from this woman was so much deeper than that. He wanted Tate to be as ready for him as he was. He wanted her to fall in love with him in her own time, on her own terms.

“I intend to let her figure out what she wants to do about me,” he said to his mother.

She’d chuckled in response. “You’ve already given that a lot of thought, I presume.”

He smiled back. “You know me.”

His mother had taken his face in her palms. He’d bent down so it would be easier when she kissed his lips with a loud smack, the way she used to when he was younger. “I know you very well, son. You’re such a good man.”

So his mother approved of his method. Sean only hoped Tate did, too.

“Daydreaming?” Savian said, coming into his office.

“Thinking,” was Sean’s friendly retort.

“Figures,” his cousin said as he headed straight for the conference table across from Sean’s desk.

Sean started gathering his papers and stood. He grabbed a pen out of the holder on the end of his desk as he walked to the table as well.

Savian went to the small refrigerator and pulled out a bottled water. He did a double-take at the bottles of fruit juice Sean had stashed in there and gave Sean a quizzical stare. Sean knew what he was thinking and decided not to voluntarily address it. If Savian wanted to know, he’d have to ask.

“Pass me an orange juice,” he said instead.

With a seldom-heard chuckle, Savian tossed him a plastic bottle. Sean caught it, opened it and took a swallow before sitting down.

“She’s domesticating you,” Savian said when he’d finally taken his seat.

“What are you talking about? I’ve always been the most domestic of the bunch. You guys are the ones stuck in perpetual bachelorhood.”

“Hey, I resent that comment, even though I wasn’t here to participate in the beginning of the conversation,” Parker said as he came in with his usual jovial demeanor. His sunglasses were propped on top of his head, his suit jacket probably thrown somewhere in his office. White dress-shirt sleeves were rolled up to his elbow and his tie was crooked, as if he’d been tugging at it just before he came in. Even though Parker received compliments for how he looked in a suit, he’d never liked dressing up, ever. So the minute he could get out of dress clothes, he was peeling them off, like a kid.

“He’s got fruit juice in his refrigerator,” Savian said with a smirk.

Parker shook his head. “He’s always been a problem. That’s why I go to his house to raid his fridge all the time. He’s like our mothers in a male body.”