A Guilty Affair

by Maureen Smith

  Janie shrugged. “You don’t have to apologize. I had to throw the question out there.” She paused, then couldn’t resist adding, “You and Noah might not be bosom buddies, but there’s definitely an attraction there. I can sense it every time you’re around each other, and so can Kenneth.”

  Riley hesitated, then gave a slow nod of assent. “You’re both right. I won’t deny it. I am attracted to Noah.”

  Janie grinned. “And he’s definitely attracted to you, girl.”

  “Maybe,” Riley murmured, afraid to even consider the possibility. She was still convinced the kiss she had shared with Noah meant nothing. She could handle the attraction if it was one-sided, because she could control her own thoughts and actions. But if Noah began fantasizing about her…God help them both.

  Janie tilted her head ever so slightly to the side, her eyes narrowed shrewdly on Riley’s face. Riley could see the wheels spinning in her mind, but after several prolonged moments, Janie remained silent.

  Finally, when Riley couldn’t take the suspense anymore, she blurted out, “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

  “I was just thinking about something,” Janie murmured. “But maybe I shouldn’t tell you. I don’t want to offend you.”

  “I won’t get offended,” Riley said, albeit warily. “What were you thinking?”

  “Well, I know how much you loved Trevor. I would never question that. But have you ever wondered…” Trailing off, she shook her head. “Forget it. It’s probably an inappropriate question.”

  But it was too late. The air had stalled in Riley’s lungs. She licked her dry lips and stared at Janie, wondering why she felt a sense of dread, as if whatever Janie said was going to tilt her world on its axis, never to be righted again.

  “Have I ever wondered what?” she asked faintly.

  Janie pinned her with a direct look. “Have you ever wondered what would have happened if you’d met Noah and Trevor at the same time? If they’d both attended that conference in Houston?” She paused, her tone softening. “Do you think you would have made the same choice?”

  Do you think you would have made the same choice?

  The question echoed in Riley’s mind as she left the office a few minutes later and headed home. Thankfully, right after dropping her loaded bomb, Janie had been called away by the ringing telephone, and Riley had been spared from answering her.

  Not that she’d needed the reprieve. She already knew that her response would have been a categorical, resounding yes. She would have made the same choice if she’d met Noah and Trevor at the same time. She didn’t even have to think twice about it.

  Hopeless romantic that she was, Riley had always believed in serendipity, the guiding hand of fate. She believed everything in the universe happened for a reason. If she and Noah had been meant for each other, he would have shown up at that convention five years ago, not Trevor. He would have been the one who charmed his way into her life and eventually into her heart. And then again, maybe not. If she and Noah had found themselves at that conference together, would their paths have even crossed? There’d been over five hundred people in attendance, representatives from nearly every law enforcement agency across the state of Texas. If their eyes had met across a crowded room, would Noah have approached her afterward, as Trevor had done? Given Noah’s aloofness toward her over the past five years, she seriously doubted he would have put himself out there by asking her out on a date. For all she knew, she probably wasn’t even his type. He hadn’t stood at the window and ogled her the way he’d done with Delilah Stanton.

  Riley scowled at the foolish turn of her thoughts. What did it matter whether or not she was Noah Roarke’s type? He wasn’t the man she was destined for. She knew that as surely as she knew her own name.

  And yet, Janie’s provoking question nagged at her conscience, taunting her, tormenting her.

  Because she’d never even considered it before. And because, damn it, she had stopped to ponder her answer.

  Two miles from home, Riley pulled into a tiny strip mall to pick up her grandmother’s dry cleaning. As she climbed from her car and headed toward the storefront business, the familiar rasp of a woman’s voice stopped her cold in her tracks.

  “As I live and breathe, it is Riley Kane.”

  Riley turned to watch the approach of a tall, thin white woman with red hair worn in a bouffant and pale green eyes that were so piercingly familiar Riley’s breath caught. Dressed in a pair of tight blue jeans, a satin emerald blouse with a plunging neckline, and high-heeled leather boots, the woman could easily have passed for forty. Until one got closer and saw the deep lines carved into her face, a result of grief and years of hard living.

  Riley blinked in shock. “H-how are you doing, Ms. Simmons?” she managed weakly.

  Lips painted a bright shade of scarlet pursed in disapproval. “Now, is that any way to greet the woman who almost became your mother-in-law?” Before Riley could react, Trevor’s mother rushed forward and enveloped her in a hard, quick embrace. Ignoring the heavy odor of cigarette smoke that assailed her nostrils and stung her eyes, Riley returned the woman’s hug with equal fervor.

  Drawing back, Leona Simmons took careful measure of her. “You look wonderful. But then, you always were one of the prettiest girls my Trevor ever brought home. How long have you been back in town?”

  “Just over a week.” Riley hesitated. “You probably didn’t get my voice mail message.”

  “No, hon, I’m sorry. I’ve been in Dallas visiting family. Just got in last night.” But there was something in those pale green eyes that made Riley question the story.

  As if sensing her skepticism, Leona pasted on a too-bright smile. “How’re your parents doing? And your grandma—is she still as colorful as ever?”

  Riley grinned. “You know it. Matter of fact, we’re having a party in a few weeks to celebrate her seventy-fifth birthday. You’re more than welcome to come.”

  “I’d like that very much. Let me check my calendar and get back to you, hon.”

  Riley’s grin wavered. “Sure. No problem.”

  After an awkward moment of silence, Leona clasped her hand and gave it a warm squeeze. “So how’ve you been? I heard you’re a big-time reporter for the Washington Post.”

  “I don’t know about the ‘big-time ’part,” Riley said sardonically. “I’m surrounded by Pulitzer Prize-winning journalists with decades of experience in the business. I’m not being modest when I tell you that I’m a very small fish in a very big pond.”

  “Oh, that’s all right, hon,” Leona said, giving her hand a reassuring pat. “Everybody’s got to start somewhere. But, gosh, now I’m wondering if it was such a good idea for you to take so much time off from work. Not that I’m not thrilled to see you, but two months is an awfully long time for a sabbatical from the Washington Post, don’t you think?”

  Riley opened her mouth, then snapped it shut, confused. If Trevor’s mother hadn’t received her voice mail message, how had she known that Riley would be in San Antonio for two months?

  At the same time the thought occurred to her, she could tell by Leona’s stricken expression that she knew she’d been caught in a lie. Closing her eyes for a moment, she heaved a deep, nicotine-scented breath.

  “Oh, Riley, I’m so sorry,” she said resignedly. “I can’t lie to you anymore. I did get your message, as well as all the nice letters you’ve sent me over the years. The reason I haven’t responded is not because the letters got lost in the mail between my changing addresses, as I told your friend Lety. The reason I never responded is because I didn’t want to.”

  Riley stiffened. “I see.” She couldn’t keep the hurt from her voice.

  Leona’s expression softened with regret. “No, hon, you don’t see. I couldn’t call or write you back because it was too painful for me. You were—are—a constant reminder of my son and everything I lost when he died. You were such a big part of his life, Riley. I couldn’t think of you without thinking of him, and
well, that just wasn’t good for me. I hope you can understand that.”

  Riley swallowed a hard lump that rose up in her throat. “I think I can, Ms. Simmons,” she said quietly. After all, it was the same reason she herself had fled from San Antonio—to escape the memories.

  An odd light suddenly filled Leona’s eyes. “Can you understand?” she pressed, a hint of bitterness lacing her words. “Can you really?”

  Without meaning to, Riley took an instinctive step backward. “I should probably go. My grandmother—”

  “There’s so much you can’t begin to understand,” Leona murmured wearily, closing her eyes and pinching the bridge of her nose. “If you only knew what I’ve been through these past three years. A mother should never have to bury her own child. Especially when that child—” She broke off abruptly with a mournful shake of her head.

  Riley waited, not daring to breathe, willing the woman to finish what she’d started to say.

  But when those green eyes met hers they were clear once again, if not slightly embarrassed. “Don’t mind me, hon. The doctor’s got me on these new antidepressants. They mess with my concentration at times. Either that, or I’m finally getting old,” she joked lamely.

  Riley smiled, but it fell as flat as Leona’s failed attempt at humor.

  Leona wagged a reproachful finger at her. “Don’t you go worrying about me, Riley Kane. I can see the concern in your eyes, but it’s not necessary. I told you I’m fine.” She glanced at her slim gold wristwatch. “Listen, I’d better run. Tell your family I said hello, and if you happen to see Noah, tell him hey for me.”

  “I will,” Riley promised softly.

  But as she stood there watching Trevor’s mother climb into a cherry-red Mustang convertible—a car that some would argue was inappropriate for a sixty-year-old woman—a chill ran through her, twisting and coiling in the bottom of her stomach.

  Because Riley knew with unerring certainty that Leona Simmons was not fine. And what ailed the woman went deeper than grief.

  What ailed Trevor’s mother was the burden of a terrible secret.

  With a Cuban cigar clamped firmly between his teeth, Noah leaned over the pool table, positioned the tip of his cue stick, and took aim at his next target. In a matter of a few effortless strokes, he ran the table, the final ball rolling into the pocket with a satisfying clack.

  He straightened slowly and reached for the Heineken sweating on a corner of the table next to two other empty bottles. He removed the unlit cigar from his mouth to take a swig of beer. He had just enough of a buzz to ensure he’d sleep soundly and dreamlessly through the night—the dreamless part being the most important.

  Since Riley’s return to San Antonio, he’d dreamed about her every damn night. When he awakened that morning reaching for her in his bed, he knew something had to be done. The only problem was, he didn’t know what. He couldn’t exactly force her to go back to Washington, D.C. This was her home-town; she had as much right to be here as he did. And because she’d been doing such a great job at the office, he couldn’t fire her, not without providing a rational explanation to Kenneth and Janie.

  The only way he could get rid of Riley was to give her what she wanted. A private investigation into Trevor’s shooting.

  And that wasn’t going to happen.

  Some way, somehow, he had to make the dreams stop and get the woman out of his system once and for all—without losing his soul in the process.

  From the big-screen television behind him, highlights from the NBA finals blared on ESPN, competing with the bluesy strains of John Coltrane pouring from an elaborate stereo system. Noah knew it was wrong to taint Trane’s masterpieces with sports news, but he found a certain amount of comfort in the cacophony of sounds. It drowned out the noise in his own head.

  As he racked the balls on the table to play another game, the doorbell rang.

  Removing the cigar from his mouth, Noah glanced at the clock on the wall. It was after ten o’clock. He wasn’t expecting any visitors, so who could be ringing his doorbell at this time of night?

  Beer in hand, he left the game room and went to answer the door. When he saw Riley standing on the other side, he wondered if she was a figment of his tortured imagination. Had he finally gone over the deep end?

  She didn’t speak for a prolonged moment, half-confirming his suspicion that she was an illusion, as beautiful as the real thing in a black tank top and a white skirt, one of those long, flouncy skirts that made her look like an exotic Gypsy. She wore a pair of ankle-wrap wedge sandals he wouldn’t have cared for on any other woman’s feet but Riley’s. Even her toes were beautiful, the nails painted a deep, sexy shade of red.

  He leaned on the doorjamb and deliberately allowed his eyes to slide down her body before easing back up to her face like a long, languid caress. When she shifted uncomfortably from one foot to another, he felt a twinge of wicked satisfaction.

  Let her suffer a little discomfort, he thought. It was nothing compared to the hell he’d been going through for the past five years.

  “To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?” he drawled sardonically.

  She moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue, and he forced himself not to follow the gesture with hungry eyes. “I need to talk to you.”

  “It’s after ten o’clock,” he said flatly.

  “I know. It couldn’t wait.” She paused. “May I come in?”

  He took a lazy swig of beer, looking at her from underneath his lashes. Without releasing her gaze, he slowly lowered the bottle and wiped moisture from his bottom lip. “It’s after ten o’clock.”

  Those fallen-angel eyes turned imploring. “Please, Noah?”

  He hesitated, then reluctantly stepped aside to let her enter, leaving just enough room that she had to squeeze past him. Big mistake. As her bare shoulder brushed against his chest, the warmth of her skin penetrated the thin cotton layer of his T-shirt to sear his flesh.

  He stifled a groan. He’d always been a glutton for punishment where she was concerned.

  Glancing back at him, she said, “I hope I didn’t catch you at a bad time?”

  “That’s never stopped you before,” he muttered under his breath, his back to her as he closed the door and threw the dead bolt.

  She didn’t hear him, or pretended not to. “Where’s Eskimo?” she asked, glancing around expectantly.

  “Spending the week at my mother’s while she keeps the twins. They always ask for Eskimo.”

  Her lips quirked in a smile. “And you’re kind enough to share him. What a wonderful uncle you are.”

  He shrugged. “I’m going to be out late doing surveillance most of this week, anyway. Would you like something to drink?”

  “Sure.” She nodded toward the half-empty bottle in his hand. “I’ll have what you’re having.”

  “Coming right up,” he said.

  She trailed him to the kitchen, murmuring her thanks as he opened a cold bottle of Heineken and passed it to her. “Can we sit in the living room and talk?”

  He didn’t want to talk. He had a fairly good idea what was on her mind, and he didn’t want to discuss it. “Actually,” he said, heading out of the kitchen and down the hall, “I was in the middle of playing pool.”

  She had no choice but to follow him to the game room, where he walked over to the pool table and picked up his cue stick, fully intending to resume his game.

  Stepping further into the large room, Riley swept a casual glance around, taking in the oversize black leather sofa, electronic dartboard on the wall, autographed posters and other sports memorabilia. Every woman who’d ever stepped foot in the game room declared that it was a bachelor’s domain through and through. Depending on who the female in question was, he either took the remark as a compliment or complaint.

  He watched Riley out of the corner of his eye, trying to gauge her reaction. The last time she’d been to his house—before the previous Saturday—was for Trevor’s surprise birthday party four yea
rs ago. Noah had been in the process of transitioning from an apartment and hadn’t furnished the game room yet.

  After lingering over an autographed San Antonio Spurs basketball in a glass cabinet, Riley wandered over to the pool table, idly running her hand along the rails as she approached.

  “I always wanted to learn how to play,” she murmured, watching as he skillfully sank the two-ball into the corner pocket.

  “Why didn’t you?” he asked, rounding the table to take the next shot.

  She shrugged, sipping her beer. “Trevor was going to teach me, but…he never got around to it.”

  Hearing the melancholy in her voice, Noah glanced up. Before he could respond, she walked over to the television, picked up the remote control and punched it off.

  He scowled at her. “I was watching that.”

  “No you weren’t,” she said matter-of-factly. “Besides, I couldn’t hear Coltrane.”

  “You like Coltrane?”

  She shot him a do-you-even-have-to-ask look. “Of course. Who doesn’t?”

  “Plenty of people. Trevor didn’t.”

  “Yeah, well, his taste in music was…different.” She paused, considering for a moment. “He had excellent taste in movies though.”

  Noah met her gaze, his mouth twitching. “Which one?”

  “Um…well…”

  Noah pretended to look thoughtful. “Never heard of that one before. What was it about?”

  Riley laughed, then clapped a hand to her mouth, like a child who’d been caught giggling while the teacher’s back was turned.

  Noah chuckled softly. “It’s all right. Trevor and I didn’t share the same taste in music or movies, either.” Too bad the same didn’t apply to our taste in women.