Page 155 of Paranoid

Forget it! that nagging voice in her head insisted.

It’s over.

Deal with it.

Disgusted with the turn of her thoughts, she set her jaw, double-checked that the doors were locked, and engaged the security system, such as it was. Then she told herself she was a fool for even thinking about her ex and wishing him here. He wasn’t her husband any longer and there was a good reason for that. Her sexual fantasies were just memories that would never be relived.

For the time being, she and her kids were on their own.

And she and Dylan were going to have a long-overdue talk.

She sensed her son not only growing up, but slipping away from her and that couldn’t happen. Not yet. He was still too damned young.

She knocked on his bedroom door and stepped inside the clutter.

He was seated at one of his computers, staring at the screen. He didn’t look up, but said, “I know, I’m in trouble, probably grounded for life, and you’re going to tell Dad.”

“For starters.”

“Great. It’s not like I’m in trouble enough with what’s going on in school.” He glowered into the computer screen. “And you’re probably pissed because Lila and Lucas are involved. Right?”

“Right.”

She was standing at the foot of his bed, watching the play of emotions on his face in the light from the monitor. It seemed, for now, as if he got where she was coming from. “Okay, Dylan, that about covers it. Almost.”

“But?”

“You want to tell me why you were supplying kids with spy equipment?”

“I already told you: for money, Mom. Duh.” His eyebrows slammed together as he reminded her, “You’re the one who’s always talking about how tight money is, and now that you’re looking for a job, it’s gonna be worse. Right? Harper can’t get a car until she saves up what, like half of the price of it or something. Well, I’m turning sixteen next year and I figure you’ll have the same deal with me. I thought I’d get a jump on it. That’s all. It’s not like you would ever let me get, like, a real job, not yet. Right? So this seemed like an easy way to make some cash. That’s all.”

“That’s not all,” she said. “Because, Dylan, you did it behind my back.”

“Yeah. I know.” He sighed through his nose. “But you wouldn’t have let me.”

She didn’t argue, just studied him, this boy who would soon be a man. “So . . . is there anything else I need to know?” she asked and he looked up quickly. Guiltily.

She saw a lie forming in his eyes, then, second-guessing himself, he said, “Nah. Nothin’.”

“You’re sure about that.”

“Yeah. Uh-huh.” He was nodding rapidly, as if trying to convince himself.

“Okay. But if you think of something, you’ll let me know.”

A pause. Silence stretching between them.

“Dylan?”

“Yeah.” He nodded. “Right.” Then, “And you don’t have to say anything. I know I’ve got to tell Dad.”

* * *

With his phone connected to his favorite hard rock playlist, Ned touched up the final coat of paint on his bathroom, making certain he didn’t leave the tiniest line on the tile he’d so painstakingly laid himself, a subway-patterned backsplash that didn’t look half bad.

Standing back surveying his work, he caught his reflection in the mirror, an aging man with a potbelly, once-blond hair now silver and thin, glasses perched on a nose that showed a road map of blood vessels just beneath the surface. Once a cop with a good reputation, a decent woman for his wife, and a daughter he adored, he was now doing security work, walking the mall in Astoria for the most part; divorced; and living with an ever-replaced half pack of Bud and the ghosts of his past.

A major comedown in life.