Ramsey Security (Ramsey Security #1-3)(101)

I take the knife she hands me and begin slicing the carrots.

"You have nice knife skills," she murmurs.

"You have no idea."

Ruth smiles at me. "I didn't like you much when you first showed up here. Probably didn't hide the fact either. I'm wary of new people especially ones I can’t read well."

"I hadn't noticed."

"You lie better than I do."

I grudgingly smile while finishing with another two carrots. Taking the ones I've chopped, Ruth adds them to her pot.

"In your line of work," Ruth says without looking at me, "I would think hiding in plain sight is an asset rather than a negative."

"Yes."

"So maybe I was wrong about you."

Remaining silent, I fear I'll say something that might make her change her mind. Ruth stops working on her sweet potatoes and takes my shoulders so I'll look at her. Her gray eyes study me, and I feel like a naughty child under her gaze.

"Just promise me one thing," she says, still holding my shoulders, "You won't play with my boy. You won't use him for money or because you think it's fun to twist up a man's heart. Brad is a grown man, but he isn't jaded like most men his age. If you hurt him, I'll find a way to hurt you."

Rather than finding her threat silly, I want her to trust me. Ruth raised Brad and cared for him when he was scared and sick. She kept him safe all these years. Kept him sane too. Many men turned mean after suffering like Brad had with the cult freaks.

"Do you promise you aren't planning to hurt my son?" Ruth asks.

If I speak, I fear my voice will break and betray my cool exterior. Holding her gaze, I only nod. Ruth smiles warmly at my response and releases my shoulders. We return to cutting vegetables.

"My mother was an excellent cook," Ruth says. "She couldn't clean for shit, and she hated entertaining, but the woman cooked like a dream. Taught me everything she knew too. I always wished I'd have a daughter to teach, or Brad might take an interest in cooking. Never happened, of course."

"I don't know much about cooking."

"Well as long as you're around, I could show you a lot of nifty recipes."

Remembering Brad's expression when I got too honest in the hotel room, I feel wrong remaining in this home. My mind quickly brushes aside that memory, replacing it with a one from our dinner together in New York. That night, the world didn't exist outside of us.

Ruth's cooking lesson won't fix what's broken between Brad and me, but her approval feels good anyway.

"What does Brad like to eat?" I ask.

"Potatoes," Ruth says, grinning. "He'll eat them at every meal of the day. The boy loves his starch."

I smile at her tone. Ruth loves her son in a way I can't truly understand. I know in theory about the strong bond between parent and child. I've never felt such a bond, though. Not even with Sela.

"How did you feel about Brad writing the book?"

Ruth's smile fades. "I thought he was taking his therapy too seriously."

"How did he find Marx?"

Stirring more raw vegetables into the giant pot, Ruth shakes her head. "It was the other way around. Marx contacted Brad repeatedly about writing a book. He claimed to have done a lot of research already and felt Brad's story was an important one to share. At first, Brad said no. He said no quite a few times but eventually changed his mind."

"Did his therapist talk him into it?"

"No, I don't think so. Brad had been seeing Lawrence for a long time and felt guilty for not improving more. I think he was lonely too and thought he could force himself to change. So one day, he came to me and said he was meeting with Marx. Next thing I knew, they were working on the book. I kept waiting for him to change his mind, but you know how that turned out."

I finish with the carrots and begin working on an onion. "What do you think about Marx?"

"He's eager. Hungry, I guess. He wrote two other books that didn't sell much. I think he went looking for a celebrity-type story and focused on Brad."

"Do you think he's trustworthy?"

"How do you mean?"

"Would he share your private details with the press?"

Ruth considers my words. Until I say the words, she trusted Marx completely. With my single question, she's ready to change her mind.

"Do you trust him?" she asks.

"I don't trust anyone."

"That's not really an answer."

Smiling grudgingly, I shrug. "I think he's a man with the power to make a mess for your family. He has inside knowledge, and you said he's hungry."

"Should I worry?" she asks, patting the gun hidden under her shirt.

"No, not like that. I'm having him checked out again. This time, we're digging a bit deeper."

"Does Brad know?"

"No. He and I haven't spoken since New York."

Ruth leans against the counter and crosses her arms. "Why?"

"I'm not the person he'd like me to be, and changing isn't an option. We're not fighting, just giving each other space."

Ruth studies me for a long time and then nods. "He hasn't been with a woman in years. I don't know what he's thinking. I doubt he does either."