Page 52 of Paranoid

Another family trauma.

How many had this old house witnessed? How many while he was growing up? Cade hated to think.

“What’s going on?” he asked as he mounted the familiar steps and felt a cool breeze ripple off the Columbia and blow inland. The door to the house was open, the foyer chandelier aglow, a patch of light silhouetting the group gathered just beyond the threshold.

“This,” she said, indicating the boy he didn’t recognize, “is Xander Vale.” She yanked the door shut, throwing the porch into semidarkness, the only illumination cast by the interior lights through the transom, sidelights, and windows. “He and Harper were getting pretty friendly upstairs in Lucas’s room.” She shot the kid a hard glare.

Vale stood his ground.

Harper seemed to wither.

Cade felt his muscles tense.

Rachel was just gathering strength. “And, though I can’t prove it, I think there might

have been some marijuana involved.”

It was the big kid’s turn to blanche. “No—” he said, and met Cade’s gaze. “No weed.”

Marijuana would change things. In Oregon it was still illegal for minors.

“Seriously,” Harper said, finding her voice. “We were not smoking.”

“But you and Xander were . . . together?” Cade glanced at his daughter.

Harper crossed her arms over her chest and, with her chin set, met his gaze defiantly.

Xander Vale said simply, “I like Harper.”

Cade nodded, glanced at his daughter. God, how did she get to be so grown up? “I like her, too,” he said, trying to remain calm.

“It was going far beyond ‘liking’ her,” Rachel said sharply.

“Mom!” Harper said, mortified.

“Harper, you were making out with this guy”—she jabbed an accusing finger toward Vale—“with your brother and Lucas in the room and me just downstairs! So don’t act like you’re embarrassed now. For the love of God, what were you thinking?”

“Mom! Stop!” Harper yelled. “God, please just stop!”

The Vale kid winced in the half light, and Harper looked like she wanted to sink through the floorboards right then and there. Cade didn’t blame her even though he wanted to throttle Vale right then and there. Instead, jaw tight, he stuck out his hand. “Cade Ryder.”

Vale hesitated, then shook his hand warily.

Harper fought tears.

Dylan moved his head to the beat of some song only he could hear through his earbuds, though Cade caught him sneaking glances at both of his parents and Xander Vale. Maybe his son wasn’t as out of it as he let on. Cade hoped so.

Vale said, “Look, Mr. Ryder—”

Rachel cut in, “Detective Ryder,” and shot Cade a hard glare, silently reminding him to be the father here. And maybe a hard-nosed cop to boot. As if he’d forgotten his role.

Not likely.

Vale swallowed hard. “She, your wife, she did say you were a . . . with the police.”

Cade nodded. “I am.”

“Ex-wife,” Rachel clarified, then to Harper, “Geez, didn’t you tell him anything about you? How long have you been . . . dating . . . or seeing each other or whatever it is you call it?”