Free Hit 'N' Run (Under Suspicion #1) by Lori Power Page A

against the fence. “Mama, like this?” He danced around on the spot, splattering the paint here, there, and everywhere, except on the fence.
    Squatting over her work, a few pickets down from the youngster, pushing the brush between the posts, she paused to glance over. “Just like that.” Lorna beamed.
    There had been a time when it would have driven her crazy to see the paint splattered all over. She would have felt compelled to fix it immediately. But like mother, like son. Kris taught her, in a way Natasha never could, that it wasn’t a big a deal. She understood her son very well, and he just wanted to help, but he would grow bored soon and toddle off to do something else. When he did, Lorna would simply paint over the small spot, and voila, all would be well. For now, fun was the name of the game. They listened to pre-school radio off the computer, enjoying each other’s company.
    “Hey, it’s the hotdog song!” Lorna called as they both started to flap their arms up and down doing the requisite dance, paintbrushes moving wildly through the air.
    “I be Mickey,” said Kris.
    “I’ll be Daisy.” Lorna sang and danced around the yard as they marched and jumped, singing along.
    When the song finished, Lorna couldn’t resist grabbing him up in a big hug, not minding the saturated paintbrush slathering her back. “Maybe we have hotdogs for supper?” Kris said as she twirled him around, her ears filled with the melody of his giggles, before setting him down in front of the fence again.
    “I think Nana made your favorite—lasagna,” she replied, retrieving her fallen brush.
    Easily distracted from hotdogs as the next song came on, Kris said. “Oh, yes, noodles. I love noodles.”
    “Noodles,” agreed Lorna. “You’re a big noodle.”
    “No, you a noodle,” he parroted. And they both laughed.
     
    ***
     
    Kiddie music and laughter streamed down the driveway as Mitch alighted from his truck. Before committing to walking up the drive, he reached in his pocket for his phone, checking the address again. Two-forty-six Dunfield. It’s the right house . He adjusted his ball cap, not for the first time, and wondered why he was there, unannounced, uninvited, and likely unwelcome.
    Was it the look she gave me when she laid her hand on mine? That familiar warmth—a hidden smolder in her amber eyes? Do I need closure? Damned if I know!
    Fresh laughter floated down the drive on the wings of an undistinguishable tune. Perhaps she had company over. Giggling was simply not a sound he associated with Lorna. His step faltered as he lost his nerve. Pangs of regret filled him—he again put her in an unfair disadvantage just dropping in on her like this, but curiosity won out. He didn’t know what he was thinking when he pulled her over like some juvenile prank, but he had wanted to see her, thinking that would put paid to it. But of course, it didn’t. Seeing her again only opened his own Pandora’s box, and he couldn’t seem to stop pondering the mystery of Lorna. Had I ever stopped?
    He knocked on the front door. Red. Interesting. Goes with the nose stud.
    When no one answered, he pondered the doorbell, but hearing the activity coming from the backyard, he decided to take a peek. Before leaving the wide front porch, which housed a cozy three-person swing off to the side, the cop in him made him check the front door to see if it was locked.
    “Good girl,” he said, before walking along the neat cobbled path to the side of the house, leading to the backyard.
    Not wanting to intrude on a backyard full of company, Mitch peered over the tall fence to see a woman with her back to him, playing with a little boy. The well-rounded ass clad in cut-off shorts that reached to just above her knees, grabbed—and held his attention. However, it wasn’t the cut-offs or the roundness of her backside causing his lower body to tense. Nor the fact she was covered provocatively in paint splatters. Instead, what caused a slight