Thirty-year-old Daisy DiStefano has two people she holds dear: the grandmother who raised her, and
her three-year-old son, Elliott. But when Daisy’s grandmother is killed in a seemingly random act of
violence, Daisy must take steps to protect herself and her child.
Despite a thriving career in San Francisco, thirty-six-year-old Brooks McClain has returned home to
spend what little time his mother has left before she succumbs to the deadly disease that is ravaging
her. The seasoned investigative reporter has taken a position with the local newspaper and been on the
job less than twenty-four hours when he’s summoned to cover the death of Pauline Thorpe.
Brooks is all business, but the more time he spends with Daisy DiStefano, the more invested he
becomes; there’s something about a single mother, a defenseless child, and an unsolved crime that has
stirred Brooks’s protective instincts like nothing ever has before.
And when the unthinkable happens, Brooks will do whatever it takes to clear the name of the woman
he’s fallen for and the child he’ll protect at any cost.
Romantic and suspenseful,
Every Time I Think of You shows how far two people will go to
fight for the ones they love, and the life they’ve always imagined.
Pre-Order Every Time I
Think of You at Amazon
Chapter One
Three-year-old
Elliott DiStefano hid underneath his mother’s bed when the shouting started. He
didn’t understand what the raised voices coming from the living room meant, but
instinct told him to hide.
No one ever
yelled in his house. Sometimes they used a different tone with him, firmer.
“Stop climbing everything, you little monkey,” his mama would say or, “It’s
time to pick up your toys and get ready for bed,” Nana would announce. Most of
the time he would do what they said, although sometimes they had to ask him
twice, especially if what he’d rather do was play a little longer. But they
never spoke to him in such a harsh way, and they never told him to shut up like
the man in the living room just did to Nana.
Elliott
clutched his favorite green army man tightly in his hand. His nana had given
him a bath after their early dinner at five, and asked if he was ready to put
on his pajamas. “I can do it myself,” he’d told her, and she’d smiled and
walked out of the bedroom he shared with Mama, closing the door behind her.
She’d promised they could watch a movie and that Elliott could have one of the
cookies they’d baked earlier that day for his bedtime snack. But then someone
knocked on the door and now there was yelling and no movie and no cookie.
The man’s
voice was scary and mean. Nana sounded like she was crying and as Elliott’s
fear grew he began to tremble. The yelling got a little louder, followed by a
crash and a thud. Then nothing. Was the bad man still there? What if he’d left
but planned to come back? Elliott could no longer hear Nana’s voice and he
wondered where she went. Did she leave? Did she go with the man? He curled
himself into a tight ball and began to cry silent tears.
He had no
way of knowing how much time had passed. It was dark under the bed and the
crying had tired him out, so he rubbed his stinging eyes and took a little nap.
When he woke up he desperately needed to go to the bathroom. His mama and Nana
had been so proud of him when he stopped wearing diapers, and he hardly ever
had accidents, but he couldn’t risk leaving the safety he’d found under the
bed. The minutes ticked by and though he tried his best to hold it, he peed in
his pajamas, soaking himself from the waist down. He started to shiver.
It was quiet
for a long time and then someone banged on the door and shouted something, but
Elliott didn’t know if that was bad or good. He heard voices in the living
room, not yelling, just talking, but he remained hidden. Mama would be home
soon and she’d know what to do. Elliott decided to wait for her under the bed.
More voices,
drawing closer. The door to the bedroom opened. Elliott froze, wondering if it
was the bad man coming to get him. He didn’t make a sound as a pair of legs
wearing dark blue pants, with a stripe down the side, came into view. If he
didn’t say a word or make any noise, maybe the person would leave.
No one would
have known he was there if he hadn’t coughed at that very moment. It was a bit
dusty underneath the bed, and Elliott already felt a little wheezy, like he
might need another dose of his medicine.
The legs bent as someone crouched down to look under the bed and Elliott
squeezed his eyes shut, terrified of what he might see.
“It’s okay.”
The man said, speaking softly. “I’m a policeman. I’m here to help. Can you come
out from under there?” Heart pounding, Elliott didn’t answer. He couldn’t.
More
footsteps. More dark blue legs. Elliott stayed put. No one was yelling, but
Elliott’s heart was still beating fast, and his body felt like Jell-O. A lady
wearing a dark blue uniform lay down on the floor next to the bed. “What’s your
name?” she asked. She sounded a little like his mama. Her smile was nice like
Mama’s, too. He didn’t think a bad person would smile at him, so he answered
her. “Ewiott,” he whispered.
“My name is
Officer Ochoa but you can call me Regina, okay?” He nodded. “How old are you,
Elliott?” she asked. Using the hand not clutching the army man he held up three
fingers.
“Three, huh?
That’s a good age. I want you to know that you’re safe and no one will hurt
you. Can you come out from under there? Here, take my hand.” She stretched out
her hand to him and he hesitated but finally touched her palm with his fingers.
She urged him gently toward her. Once he was close enough she reached in and
grabbed him by his pajama top, pulling him the rest of the way out.
Elliott
blinked and let his eyes adjust to the light. One of the officers noticed his
wet pajamas, and his shivering, and they wrapped his Thomas the Tank Engine
comforter around him, speaking in low, soothing tones.
“I want Nana
and Mama,” he said. They could barely hear him.
“What is your mama’s name?” they asked.
“Daisy,” he
said. He knew this was true because it was the name other people called her
when they said hello. And it was easy to remember because it was the name of a
flower, and he liked flowers.
“Do you know
your last name?”
He nodded.
He and Mama had practiced saying it. “DiStefano,” Elliott said. Maybe it didn’t
come out as clearly as it sounded to him because they repeated it back like a
question and he nodded.
The officers
exchanged a glance and one of them said, “Got it.” The officer who spoke
scribbled something on a pad of paper and left the room.
“We’re going
to take you to the police station and we’ll call your mom so she can come get
you,” Officer Ochoa said. “Okay?”
He wanted
his mama more than anything, so he said okay, and when she bent down and
scooped him up, comforter and all, he put his arms around her neck. She hurried
down the hallway and just before they got to the door, when he would have tried
to look for Nana to make sure she was coming too, Officer Ochoa pulled
Elliott’s head down to her chest and all he could see was the dark blue of her
uniform.
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About Tracey Garvis-Graves
Tracey
Garvis-Graves is the author of On the Island and Covet. She lives in a suburb of Des Moines,
Iowa with her husband, two children, and hyper dog Chloe. She blogs at
www.traceygarvisgraves.com using colorful language and a snarky
sense of humor to write about pop culture, silly television shows, and her suburban neighborhood. You
can e-mail her at traceygarvisgraves@yahoo.com. She’d love to hear from you.
