Father And Child Reunion Part 2 (36 Hours Serieal Book 6.2)

by Christine Flynn

  Whether or not she was a woman of substance didn’t matter at the moment. She was a woman with a child who’d be home in three hours and fifty minutes. That meant she didn’t have time to worry about whether Rio, her brother or anyone else knew that she would give just about anything to lean on somebody else for a while.

  * * *

  Parking along Main Street had been at a premium ever since the storm. For the past two months, construction and repairs had turned something that had once been taken for granted into a true challenge. This particular morning the city had one stretch of curb blocked off for sewer work, and the flower shop was finally getting its new roof. The semi delivering the trusses took up most of the block.

  Rio was on his way into the newspaper office with a double espresso to kick-start his brain when he noticed Eve attempting to parallel park in front of the Irvine Building. She had the concept down to a science. She just wasn’t cranking the wheel hard enough. Each of the two tries she’d made had left half of her little red Altima hanging out in the street.

  When she pulled out for a third attempt, Rio figured he should put her out of her misery and go park it for her, but a car on the opposite side of the street backed out just then. Before he’d done much more than make the decision to help, she’d shot across both lanes and into the angled space. Seconds later, she was trotting across the street in a beige suit and high heels and smiling sweetly at the driver of an oncoming van who’d slammed on its brakes to avoid spreading her out on the pavement.

  He had to hand it to her. He’d bet that more than one person had made the mistake of assuming that Eve, petite and pretty as she was, was as fragile as a hothouse flower. He’d have thought so himself if he hadn’t come up close and personal with her tenacity lately. He knew people twice her age who would have crumbled under her circumstances. Yet she seemed to be handling it all. And handling it alone.

  Not wanting to consider why that kept bothering him, Rio turned on his heel and headed through the Herald’s front doors. She was going to see the attorney. He was sure of it. He’d noticed last night that the firm handling her mother’s probate was in the Irvine Building. And, just now, she’d had a large manila envelope in her hand—an envelope similar to the one he’d seen on her dining room table. It didn’t take much to piece the two together.

  By way of greeting, Rio lifted his paper cup toward Wendy, the bespectacled, brunette receptionist. A dozen steps later, he was behind the counter that separated the public from the peons and sucking in the perfume of newsprint and scorched coffee drifting up from the basement. He liked taking insignificant little bits of information and fitting them together. That’s what made him good at his job. He also liked to figure out what motivated people, how they felt, what they thought. If he hadn’t been a reporter, he might have been a detective. Stone had told him more than once that he ought to can the newspaper business and become a cop.

  If he hadn’t hated guns, he might have done just that. In the meantime, he relied on the adage of the pen being mightier than the sword. Not that he was out to fight any battles. He just had a talent for presenting situations and people as they were. And he’d always been intrigued by puzzles. Even as a kid, he was happiest trying to figure out how or why something did or didn’t work. But as much as he liked fitting pieces of a puzzle together, loose bits that didn’t seem to fit anywhere drove him crazy. There was a stray bit nagging at him now.

  Setting his cup by his computer, he flipped through his phone for the number of the Bank of Grand Springs. No reporter worth his byline was without contacts, and he had one at the bank that he was about to hit up for anything he could learn about Eve’s brother. Rio could buy what she had said about Hal’s objections to the autopsy. And Hal’s own comment about pushing the investigation of the miners did seem to remove suspicion from him on that score. He could even appreciate that the guy’s stress levels were making him paranoid. But that new Mercedes had put Rio’s curiosity about the man’s finances right over the top.

  He had the information he was after by ten-thirty the following morning. But having to cover a hostage situation that developed minutes later prevented him from doing anything about it just then.

  * * *

  Detective Stone Richardson had been off duty Friday morning when he’d stopped at the main branch of the Bank of Grand Springs to cash a check—and walked into the nightmare Jessica Hanson had warned him about. Thirty-six hours later, having saved the lives of thirteen people at the peril of his own, he was resting somewhat uncomfortably in Jessica’s bed with a bandage over the bullet hole in his shoulder.

  Being the good friend he was, Rio had suggested Stone can quit cop work and become a journalist. The words Stone used in reply hadn’t been fit to print.

  That had been roughly twelve hours ago. Because the Sunday edition of the Herald was larger than the daily, it was put to bed early Saturday afternoon and on the stands by six. A later edition of the front page went to press at midnight, and that was what landed on subscribers’ doorsteps Sunday morning. The text Rio had phoned in from behind a squad car at the bank for the early edition had been sketchy, given the lack of information coming from inside the cordoned-off bank building. But the story his editor held the presses for at midnight contained details of a tense negotiating session that had broken down completely before the situation had ended in a struggle between police and suspects.

  After grabbing a few hours’ sleep, Rio was back at the police station for the official version of the incident and to scrape up what he could on the robbers. All four had served time before and were in holding cells waiting for their court-appointed attorney. It seemed their specialty was hitting small-town banks, and they’d considered Grand Springs an easy target. After a few more interviews, with the bank president and the two tellers he’d missed last night, Rio had Monday’s story ready to go.

  He was halfway out of the building when he remembered what his contact at the bank had faxed him two days ago. Since he’d already abandoned the idea of spending his day off working on his cabin because there was a little girl he needed to get to know, he took the copies of Hal Stuart’s bank statements to his apartment, thinking he’d look them over later.

  Curiosity got the better of him, however. When he got to his modest apartment, what started as nothing more than a cursory glance at the statements ended with his coffee table cluttered with calculator and charts.

  Though he’d told Eve he’d be there by one, it was three o’clock that afternoon before he pulled up in front of Olivia Stuart’s house.

  * * *

  Eve stood at the window in Molly’s bedroom, watching Rio’s powerful, long-legged strides carry him up the walk. He’d actually called before showing up this time. Twice. The last time he’d called, apologizing because he was late, he’d added that he had something he wanted to talk to her about. The first time, he’d said only that he wanted to spend a little time with Molly, if Eve didn’t mind.

  She figured that what he wanted to talk to her about was their daughter. She also figured she should have appreciated the calls. But all the warning had done was give her a head start on the apprehension knotting her stomach. Every time she saw him, he added a new element of worry to her ever-growing list.

  He’ll do anything for a headline. Including seducing you. Can’t you see he’s using you?

  She gave her head a shake, willing away the odd little ache that had come with her brother’s words. Hal honestly didn’t know what he was talking about where Rio was concerned. Rio was about as likely to seduce her as he was to dip himself in purple paint and run screaming through Vanderbilt Park. What he wanted from her had nothing to do with sex.

  Returning her attention to the canopied bed, she stripped off the bottom sheet and pad, then scooped the rest of the bedding from the floor. Molly knew she wasn’t supposed to bring juice upstairs.

  “Mommy’s in a bad mood.”

  Eve had just reached the top of the stairs when she heard her not-
so-angelic little girl make the pronouncement. Arms laden, she turned sideways so she could watch where she was going, and saw Molly unlock the screen for the big man on the other side.

  The screen groaned as Molly pushed it open. “Will you fix my bike? The training wheel came off and Mommy can’t put it back on.”

  The perplexed little girl moved back as Rio stepped inside, tipping her head so far back that the end of her long French braid reached the lace on the hem of her purple shorts set.

  Standing over her, Rio slipped his sunglasses into the pocket of his white polo shirt and hitched at the knees of his well-worn jeans. He crouched in front of the child, drawing the fabric tight over his thighs.

  “Tell me why your mom’s in a bad mood, then we’ll talk about the bike.”

  “I dunno why she is.” Molly gave an exaggerated shrug. “She’s just grumpy.”

  “Grumpy, huh?”

  “Yep.”

  “And you have no idea why?”

  She held her arms wide and shrugged again. “Maybe she has MPS.”

  Rio hesitated. “You mean PMS?”

  Since Molly’s back was to her, Eve couldn’t see her daughter’s face. She could see Rio’s, though, along with the glance he shot toward the stairs. Though he saw her, he did nothing to acknowledge her. He simply returned his attention to his chatty little daughter.

  Before Molly could share anything else, Eve headed down the steps.

  “I don’t have PMS,” she said defensively, exasperation diluting the claim. “Nor am I in a particularly bad mood. I’ll fix your bike when I find something to tighten the nuts with. Did you rinse off Ted and put him on the washer?”

  No longer looking quite as innocent as she had a moment ago, Molly turned contrite blue eyes to her mom. “Uh-huh. And the pillow.”

  “Good. You can take these into the laundry room, too.”

  Eve had reached the bottom of the stairs. Two more steps and she was on the richly patterned entry carpet. So was the armload of pastel pink bedding.

  Picking out the top and bottom twin sheets, she loaded Molly up with them and tucked the fabric under her chin so she could see. “Put them on the floor in the laundry room, then come back and get the blanket.”

  “Are you going to wash the bedspread, too?”

  “No. That goes to the cleaners.”

  “Oh.”

  Arms full, neck stretched and head high, Molly marched through the foyer, into the kitchen, then made a left toward the laundry room.

  Like a monolith rising from the earth, Rio stood to tower beside Eve. “What happened?”

  “She and Ted had a tea party. With juice.”

  A smile, quick and wholly unexpected, flashed in his dark eyes. Quashing the one that threatened at the corner of his mouth, he crossed his arms over his broad chest and muttered, “I see.”

  The look Eve shot him wasn’t nearly as disapproving as it could have been. She wasn’t all that upset. Not with Molly, anyway. Spilled juice was an inconvenience. Not a problem. By the way the smile lingered in his eyes, he seemed to know that.

  “I take it she can be a real handful sometimes.”

  “She can when she wants to be.”

  For one unguarded and too revealing moment, Eve found that shared realization about their daughter far more comfortable than threatening. Maybe it was because she knew he cared about the child. Or maybe parents just had an automatic connection where their children were concerned. On the other hand, she thought, liking the feeling a little too much, it could have simply been because she was tired and her defenses were down.

  “How’s Detective Richardson? Is he going to be all right?”

  Rio accepted the change of subject for the diversion it was. He knew Eve didn’t know Stone all that well, but he’d bet she’d held her breath right along with the rest of the town while the hostage situation at the bank had played out. What intrigued him, though, was that the concern etched in her delicate features was as genuine as it would have been for a friend.

  “He took a bullet in the shoulder. But he’s sure he’ll be fine.”

  “That’s what I read.” She nodded toward the coffee table. The newspaper was still spread out on one end, a coloring book on the other. “In your article, I mean. I just wondered if he was hurt worse than you said.”

  “He’s okay. Honest.”

  Eve lifted her chin, letting herself feel relieved as she hugged her arms to herself. She was glad the detective was okay. She really was, but her relief wasn’t as great as it could have been. The Herald was beginning to look just like the papers in Santa Barbara. Robberies. Domestic violence. Crimes related to a surge in drug traffic. Grand Springs never even had a drug problem until a few years ago. Then there was what had happened to her mother.

  Taking a deep breath, she cut off the thought. She spent enough time on this sort of thing at night.

  “How’s the sleep situation?”

  She couldn’t tell if he was speaking about hers or Molly’s. Not believing that the concern in his expression might actually be for her, she tipped her head toward the child emerging for another load of bedding. “I’m sure she’ll be glad to tell you, right after she takes the rest of this to the laundry room.”

  All Molly heard was that she had to make another trip. “Can he help?”

  “He wasn’t the one who took the juice upstairs,” Eve pointed out, overriding whatever it was Rio had been about to say. Doing with the blanket what she’d done with the sheets, she loaded Molly up again, turned her by the shoulders and gave her a gentle nudge toward the door. “Wait for me. I’ll be there in a minute and we’ll put the sheets in.”

  It looked to Eve as if Rio was suppressing another smile. He must have realized that having Molly do her own sheets was hardly punishment, especially with her mom doing ninety percent of the work. Molly loved to “help.”

  “I’ve got some tools in the car. Tell me where her bike is and I’ll fix it while we talk.” The light faded from his eyes, but the concern remained. “I’ve come across something interesting about your brother.”

  Chapter Six

  Eve thought she’d made her feelings about her brother clear to Rio. Apparently, she hadn’t. She didn’t want to talk about Hal. She especially didn’t want to hear anything bad about him, which could only be what “something interesting” meant. She wasn’t in a position, however, to explain that to Rio at the moment. Molly was tugging on her arm to come get the soap.

  One thing at a time, she reminded herself, repeating the phrase like a mantra while she helped Molly stuff sheets into the washing machine and listened to the animated child tell Rio that the catcher had made the monster disappear. Then, not wanting Molly to get grease on herself should she decide to help Rio, Eve left the washer chugging away when Rio produced the wrench he’d retrieved from his big bull-nosed SUV and he and Molly set to work in the driveway.

  The task wouldn’t have taken him but a minute, but Rio wanted to make sure both training wheels on the little purple bike were secure. As long as he was at it, he checked the chain and adjusted the seat, patiently explaining to Molly as he put a helmet on her head that the bike was safer to ride if she could reach the pedals. Molly, fascinated, watched and questioned every move he made.

  So did Eve. She watched, anyway.

  She stood a few feet behind them in the sun-dappled driveway, her arms crossed over her sleeveless blue tank top, while she made herself admit that it hadn’t been the thought of having to degrease flowered denim shorts that had prompted her to follow them out. It wasn’t even the threat he posed to the peace of her little family unit, though that particular feeling was never far away. As she watched Rio’s capable hands, she experienced an unexpected sort of reassurance. The kind that came with knowing someone else worried about her little girl’s safety, too.

  “Lookit, Mom. He fixed it!”

  Molly didn’t require a reply. With a damp Ted, rescued from the top of the washer and propped in the metal basket,
and lavender-and-purple streamers flying from the ends of the handlebars, she took off past Millicent’s redbrick two-story and headed for the corner of the aspen-lined street.

  From her spot near the lilac bushes at the edge of the drive, Eve saw Rio slip the wrench into the back pocket of his jeans. He stood for a moment, at an angle to her, his attention on the child now waving back at them. The white of his shirt accentuated the bronze skin of his sinewy arms, the soft cotton stretching across muscular shoulders and a lean, strong back. His dark hair, swept back from his striking, angular features, gleamed like a raven’s wing in the late afternoon sun.

  She knew she was staring. But something about his stance made it impossible for her to look away; the way his long legs were planted slightly apart, his head up, meeting the gentle breeze straight on. Watching him, aware of him now in ways she’d once been too naive to appreciate, she could see him as she’d never imagined him before—as the son of people persecuted and proud. Of indomitable spirit. Of nobility in the truest sense of the word. There was a sense of protectiveness about him, and of possession. Those, she’d noticed before. Yet she’d never considered how he had come by them.

  She’d once realized how little she’d known about him, but, by then, she’d been left with nothing to do but try to forget him. And she had tried. Desperately. Because of that she had never before considered how truly diverse his worlds must be—the one she knew, and the one from which he’d come. She knew nothing of his struggles.

  Those were what she wanted to understand, she realized, watching him give one last glance toward Molly before he turned around. But she didn’t have time to add “for Molly’s sake” before he had walked over to stand beside her.