River Road

by Jayne Ann Krentz

  “Doesn’t mean it didn’t happen and that it didn’t leave some major wounds. You heal from wounds, if you’re lucky, but there are always scars.”

  He looked as if the simple observation had caught him off guard. She got the feeling he was unsure how to respond.

  “No,” he agreed finally. “Doesn’t mean there aren’t scars.”

  She tightened her grip on the straps of the black tote she had slung over her shoulder. “Were you here in town when my aunt and Mary . . . ?”

  “No, I arrived a couple of weeks ago. I’m taking some time off from work.” He eyed her with sudden, sharp curiosity. “Why?”

  “Nothing. Just wondered.” She felt a little deflated. If Mason had been in town at the time of the accident, he probably would have asked any questions that needed to be asked. He had been a cop, after all. But he had not been in Summer River when Sara and Mary died. He didn’t know any more than she did. “Sara told me that you and your brother run a security consulting firm back in D.C.”

  He looked first surprised and then amused. “Sara kept you informed of my whereabouts?”

  “I gather that from time to time your uncle told her what was going on with you and your brother.” Lucy smiled. “Sara said he is very proud of both of you.”

  “Deke and I always knew that Aaron would do something to change the world,” Mason said. “He wound up with degrees in math and computer science.”

  “Impressive. What, exactly, do you and Aaron do as consultants?”

  He gave her what was no doubt meant to be a charming consultant’s smile. “We consult.”

  “Yeah, I get that. And for the record, the I’m-a-consultant-and-I’m-here-to-help smile needs an upgrade.”

  Mason stopped smiling. “I’ll work on it.”

  “I’m serious,” she said. “Who do you consult for?”

  “We specialize in closing cold cases. Our clients are mostly small-town police departments that lack the expertise, the technology and the manpower to handle major crimes that have gone stone cold.”

  “Do you go out into the field to investigate?”

  “Sometimes. But our primary asset is a proprietary computer program we named Alice. Aaron created it to help identify patterns in an old case. If we can find a pattern, we’ve got a shot at helping the cops track down the perps.”

  “Sounds exciting.”

  “I’m not a cop anymore, I’m a consultant,” he said coolly. “I don’t see much action.”

  He probably wasn’t lying, she decided. But he wasn’t telling her the whole truth, either.

  “What can I do for you today?” Mason continued. “I assume you came in here to pick up some of the things you need to get your aunt’s house ready for the market?”

  Whoa. Talk about hitting a stone wall, Lucy thought. Mason definitely wanted to change the topic of conversation.

  “Actually, I stopped in to get some advice about local contractors from your uncle. I wasn’t sure who else to ask. I know Sara trusted Deke when it came to that sort of thing.”

  “I can ask him for some names when he gets back. What kind of work are you thinking of doing?”

  “The big-ticket item is the kitchen. It’s badly outdated. Dad says that bringing it up to date will add a few thousand to the value of the house.”

  “He’s right,” Mason said. “Is your dad still a professor?”

  “Yes. He’s head of the sociology department at the college where he teaches.”

  “And your mother?”

  “She’s still teaching psychology.”

  Mason put the wrench down on the counter. “Both your folks remarried, didn’t they?”

  “Yes,” she said, making the word very crisp. “About that contractor. I’ve got a limited budget.”

  “Right.” Mason reached for a pad of paper. He pulled it close and picked up a pen. “Okay, you want someone who can update the kitchen without spending a fortune. Anything else?

  “The outside needs painting.”

  “That’s another major job.” Mason wrote a note on the pad of paper and then looked up. “You’re starting to talk big bucks here. I’m not sure it’s worth it, to tell you the truth.”

  “But everyone says those are the sorts of upgrades that add value to the house.”

  “That’s true, but around here, it’s the land itself that has the real value. Still, those old Craftsman houses go for a nice chunk of change, and there are always people looking for weekend places. I’m just suggesting that you don’t pour a lot of cash into upgrades.”

  “There is one project I’d like to do inside that I think will make a big cosmetic difference in the living room.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I want to restore the fireplace to its original condition. It really was beautiful.”

  “I remember it,” Mason said. “There was a lot of nice stonework around it. You don’t see good craftsmanship like that anymore.”

  “Unfortunately, Aunt Sara covered the entire front of the fireplace with tile.”

  “Huh. Wonder why?”

  “I’m not sure. She never mentioned it, so when I walked into the house yesterday I was surprised to see what she had done. I do remember that she complained from time to time. She said the fireplace sucked up almost as much heat as it put out. But she loved to sit in front of the fire in the evenings and read.”

  “She probably just got tired of hauling firewood,” Mason said. “Can’t blame her.”

  “No, but I wish she hadn’t done such a poor job of putting in the tiles. The original fireplace would have been a huge selling point. Now it’s a giant negative. It’s the first thing you see when you walk into the house, and it’s ugly. She must have done the job herself.”

  “Typical DIY disaster, huh?”

  “Yes, and what’s more, it feels unstable. I could take it down with a hammer and chisel, but I’m afraid of damaging the original stonework behind the bricks.”

  “Let’s hope she didn’t ruin the original. Tell you what, why don’t I drop by after work and take a look at it? I’ll bring some tools with me. Maybe I can take care of those tiles for you this evening and save you a few bucks.”

  The offer left her openmouthed for a beat, and then, for some inexplicable reason, her pulse kicked up. It took her a few seconds to pull herself together.

  “That’s very nice of you,” she said, suddenly cautious.

  “No trouble. It’s not like I’ve got anything else to do this evening.”

  “I see.” She gave him a chilly smile. It was always good to know where one fit into a man’s list of priorities.

  Mason did not notice the ice in her smile. “Why don’t I drop by around five-thirty? Does that work for you?”

  Cocktail hour. Interesting. She tried and failed to suppress the whisper of anticipation that sparkled through her.

  “That will be fine,” she said smoothly. “It’s not like I’ve got anything else to do tonight, either.”

  “Ouch. Guess I didn’t phrase my offer in the most diplomatic way.”

  “As I recall, you always had a very direct style when it came to communicating,” she said.

  “Yeah, my ex-wife used to complain about that a lot.”

  Lucy felt the heat rise in her cheeks. “Sara mentioned that your marriage did not work out.”

  “No.”

  Another wound, she decided. Not a giant blow, but he had definitely taken a hit. He probably blamed himself for the failure of his marriage. Typical Mason. At least he had been brave enough to give it a whirl. She was still hanging back, afraid to make the leap.

  “I’m sorry,” she said again.

  “Heard you called off your engagement a while back.”

  “Yes.”

 
“Sorry about that.”

  She smiled. “We seem to be saying sorry a lot to each other.”

  “Look on the positive side—my screwed-up marriage and your screwed-up engagement give us something in common.”

  “Two screwed-up relationships is supposed to be a positive?”

  “You know me, I was always a glass-half-full kind of guy.”

  “Gee. That’s not how I remember you at all. I always saw you as a worst-case-scenario kind of guy.”

  An unreadable expression lit his eyes. “And I always thought of you as a dreamer.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “Don’t remind me. You were convinced that I needed someone to look after me and make sure I didn’t get into trouble.”

  He hesitated, evidently sensing a trap. “Not exactly.”

  “Yes, exactly.”

  “Well, damn, I knew we would get back to the night that I pulled you out of the party at the ranch. You really know how to hang on to a grudge, lady.”

  “Nonsense.” She sniffed. “I don’t hold grudges.”

  “Yeah, right. You’re never going to thank me for what I did that night, are you?”

  “Probably not.” She turned on her heel and started toward the door. “I’ll be going now. I’m staying at the house, so I’ve got some grocery shopping to do.”

  “See you at five-thirty,” he called after her.

  She stopped short at the door. “I almost forgot, I need lightbulbs. A lot of them. Half the lamps and wall fixtures at Sara’s place are burned out.”

  “We’ve got a fine selection of bulbs. You want the energy savers?”

  “What I want are really, really bright bulbs. I swear that old house is as dark as a cave.”

  “Sounds like you need halogen for at least some of the fixtures.” He came out from behind the counter and led the way to a display of lightbulbs. “I’ll bring takeout with me tonight.”

  He intended to arrive at the cocktail hour, and now he was telling her he would bring dinner with him. Somehow her little home-improvement project had just been transformed into a date with Mason Fletcher.

  A deer-in-the-headlights sensation made her go very still. They had been together for all of fifteen minutes and Mason was already taking charge.

  On the other hand, she had to admit that she liked the idea of having company for a few hours that evening. Last night—her first night back in Sara’s house—she had discovered that she did not like being alone in the place. Something about the atmosphere bothered her in ways she could not explain. Maybe it was because it held too many memories of Sara, or perhaps it was simply because the place was so dark, due to the lack of bulbs.

  Nevertheless, she could not let Mason take full control of the situation. He meant well, but he needed some pushback. For his own good, of course.

  “Forget the takeout,” she said. “I’ve already got plans for dinner.”

  “Yeah?” His eyes darkened a little.

  “Yeah.” She smiled. “I’m dining in, and since you are going to be kind enough to take out those tiles for me, I will buy enough salmon for two.”

  “That works,” he said instantly. “Thanks.”

  He looked pleased, she decided. Really pleased. Like he’d just won the lottery. She was feeling oddly energized herself. What had she just done?

  “Okay,” she said. “I’ll see you at five-thirty. Bring your tools.”

  “I never leave home without them.”

  She hesitated and then made herself do the right thing. He was doing her a favor. The least she could do was be gracious.

  “Thanks,” she said.

  He surprised her with a wicked smile. “For offering to deal with the fireplace or for rescuing you from that party out at the Harper Ranch thirteen years ago?”

  She gave him polite bewilderment. “For the offer to help with the fireplace, of course. I don’t recall being rescued from a party. What I remember is being humiliated beyond redemption. But, hey, that’s all water under the bridge now. I forgave you a long time ago because I knew even then you just couldn’t help yourself. In your own heavy-handed way, you were trying to protect me.”

  “Heavy-handed, huh? Is that by any chance your way of telling me that I’m a bad communicator?”

  “No, it’s my way of telling you that you obviously haven’t shaken the take-charge attitude. But it’s okay because I have been known to take charge once in a while myself. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to get my bulbs and leave. There is a lot of stuff to do at the house.”

  “What sizes do you need?”

  She took out the list she had made and went through it. When she was finished, Mason collected the various bulbs and headed back to the counter. She followed.

  Mason rang up the sale, swiped her credit card and gave her the sack full of bulbs.

  “Thanks,” she said. “I’ll see you later.”

  Once again she started toward the door.

  “Don’t change any bulbs that require getting on a ladder,” Mason said behind her. “Not until I get there. It’s too dangerous. People fall off ladders all the time. I’ll take care of the ceiling and wall fixtures tonight.”

  She smiled, shook her head and kept walking. Really, the man did not know when to quit.

  She paused with her hand on the doorknob and looked back. “I suppose you know that Sara’s house and land weren’t the only things I inherited.”

  “I heard. By some quirk in Sara’s and Mary’s wills, you got Mary’s shares in her brother’s company. It’s all over town.”

  “I thought that might be the case,” she said. “Hard not to notice the curious stares.”

  “I’m no financial guru, but even I can tell you that it would probably be in your best interests to sell those shares back to the Colfax family as soon as possible.”

  “That’s what my parents told me. Turns out it’s not going to be that easy. Two different lawyers representing various members of the Colfax family have been emailing me and leaving messages on my phone for the past month.”

  “Colfax Inc. is one of the few things that hasn’t changed in the past thirteen years,” Mason said. “It’s still a tightly held, family-owned company, and according to Uncle Deke, there is one hell of a squabble going on at the moment. Something to do with a merger proposal.”

  “Yes, I got that much from the lawyers’ messages.”

  “You don’t want to get in the middle of that situation, Lucy. You know what they say about family quarrels.”

  “Right,” Lucy said. “They are always the worst.”

  5

  He could tell from the coolness in her voice and the resolute set of her very nice shoulders that she was not going to take his financial advice. The question was, why not? Evidently, it was the same advice her parents had given her. She stood to make a fortune selling the shares back to the Colfax family.

  But she wasn’t going to do it—not immediately, at any rate.

  Mason waited until the door closed behind her before he went down an aisle to the big display window at the front of the shop. Joe padded after him and sat at his feet. Together they watched Lucy slip on a pair of dark glasses and walk briskly toward a small, silver-gray compact parked at the curb.

  Mason took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. Something deep inside him that had been in a coma for the past couple of months had slammed into wide-awake mode the moment Lucy opened the door of the shop.

  “Well, what do you know?” he said to Joe. “She’s all grown up now. She sure looks good, doesn’t she?”

  Joe slapped his tail against the floor a couple of times and focused his attention on two crows that were amusing themselves by dodging vehicles in the street.

  Lucy looked better than good, Mason decided. She looked like exactly what—until
now—he didn’t know he needed.

  The weird part was that he had not even realized that he had been sleepwalking since the Gilbert Porter case until Lucy showed up. He reminded himself that there was a term for this kind of intense jolt. It was called sexual attraction, and it was merely a force of nature like heat lightning or wildfire—and just as dangerous.

  Still, he could not remember the last time he had felt anything this powerful. What he knew for a fact was that there were only two options when it came to dealing with forces of nature. A man either ran for shelter or went straight into the storm and to hell with the risks.

  He was not about to run.

  Out in the street the crows abandoned the car-dodging game and flew off in search of another source of entertainment. Joe yawned, got to his feet and prowled back toward his favorite spot behind the counter.

  Mason did not take his eyes off Lucy. He did not want to take his eyes off her. Yesterday, when he’d heard that she was back in town, he’d discovered that he was suddenly curious to see how she had turned out. But he had not been expecting the kick-in-the-gut shock of excitement that had hit him when he got his first look at her.

  He had been surprised by her air of cool self-confidence and professional sophistication. So much for assuming she would follow in the footsteps of her aunt and become an adult flower child who ate organic, meditated and practiced yoga.

  Instead, everything about Lucy told him that she’d learned a few hard lessons since leaving Summer River. She was no longer the sweet, lonely, too-trusting girl who could be easily deceived by a budding young sociopath like Brinker. The all-grown-up Lucy had claws.

  Claws and some money to spend on clothes and a few discreet but expensive-looking accessories. The gray pullover, black trousers and sleek little flat-heeled shoes looked pricey. So did the big leather bag and the small gold studs in her ears. Her dark brown hair was precision-cut in a stylish, angled curve that ended at her jawline, framing her expressive face and knowing green eyes.

  He watched her open the door of the compact and slip behind the wheel. There was something sleek and sexy about the way she moved. Maybe she had kept up with the yoga.