She couldn’t take her gaze away from his. Good Lord, but his eyes were green. At the same time, his words kicked in. So did the almost bewildered way he said the latter ones.
The admission broke some of the tension. For the first time, she wondered if she was getting the first real glimpse at what was inside the well-dressed exterior.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I shouldn’t have questioned your …” She stopped, looking for the right word. Reporters always looked for the right word.
“Intentions?”
“Motives,” she corrected.
“Good,” he said simply. “Now eat.”
She slowly started to relax. She wasn’t ready to shed all her reservations and suspicions, but for the moment it didn’t matter. They were two people out to dinner. The candle flickered lazily between them. The wine was seductive. The room warm. The corner intimate. His face intriguing. His eyes deep and intense. Willing her to believe him.
God help her, she did.
21
Leigh paused in front of the full-length mirror in her bedroom. She rarely did that. She’d even thought about taking it down.
Her grandmother had the mirror put there fifty years ago. It was exquisite. And revealing.
Leigh usually avoided it. She still carried scars from the accident. She had some plastic surgery to cover the worst of them, but the scars on her left leg had been too extensive. She’d had a bone transplant and several other operations to repair it.
She’d trained herself to walk normally, although the left leg was a little shorter than the right, and she usually wore long-sleeved blouses to cover the remaining scars on her left arm.
When angry, her ex-husband had told her how ugly her body was. Why would any man want to touch you? He’d seen it before they were married, but within a few months of their marriage she realized he’d married her for her money. Or what he thought was her money.
She bit her lip as she turned away and dressed.
She wasn’t sure why she’d agreed to meet the detective. Max had told her not to talk to anyone about this. But curiosity had won out. She kept looking at photos of her mother and comparing them to herself, and to the reporter.
She touched one of the photos. Traced the figure with her fingers. Karen Westerfield Howard had been a tall woman. She was striking on one of the horses she loved. Leigh had always longed to be tall like her. Instead, she was small. Five foot two.
She should be more excited about the new horse that would arrive tomorrow. And she was. But she also realized that the horse wasn’t going to fill the huge empty space in her life. In a rare moment of introspection, she realized her obsession with the horse was only to cover the fact that she was lonely.
Max cared, but it was with an exasperated affection that precluded any real relationship. Her housekeeper had been in the Westerfield employ for nearly thirty years. She’d even tried to mother Leigh in her own austere way, but she’d always maintained a certain distance. Her grandfather had been mostly disapproving.
She was probably closest to her second cousins, but David was completely absorbed with his medical practice, and Seth with his political career. And they were family. They had to like her.
She stopped herself. She hated those spells, those introspective moments that made her look inside and see the bad stuff. Why did she pick losers as husband material? Why was she so afraid of succeeding at anything? She’d gone through months of therapy to find the reason, and the reason turned out to be the worst possible truth.
Kira Douglas had reopened old but still very raw wounds. Leigh ached as she recalled the love with which the other woman talked of her mother, the way she’d been not only willing but anxious to give a kidney.
It was self-destructive to want to know more. She didn’t think she could voluntarily go into a hospital again after the many pain-filled months she’d spent there. The horror of the accident …
Even if the kidney was compatible.
And if it was, her entire life had been a terrible joke …
She changed blouses. A long-sleeved green one. Fully clothed, she looked elegant. The blouse and slacks covered the ugly parts.
She looked at the clock. Ten till four.
Leigh put on just a touch of lipstick, a brush of powder.
The doorbell rang. Mrs. Baker would answer it, would know that she heard it, too.
She waited a moment, then went downstairs. She met Mrs. Baker going out. “You’ll be okay?” the housekeeper asked.
She nodded and went into the library. The man had his back toward the door and was looking at the titles.
“My grandfather collected books. He thought they made a good impression for guests. I doubt if he read any of them.”
He turned. “A waste.”
She knew from what Kira Douglas said that he was a former police detective. She hadn’t known what to expect, but it wasn’t the face of the man who turned toward her.
He smiled easily, and his eyes were a warm brown. He wasn’t handsome, not like Max, but it was a compelling face with interesting trails around his eyes.
“You like books?” she asked.
“Very much.”
“Anything in particular?”
“Histories. Mysteries. Some classics. There are always truths in them. Human nature hasn’t changed in a thousand years.”
“That’s cynical.”
“Not really. There’s been good guys and bad guys throughout history.”
“No one in between?”
“Probably most people fall in between. Shades of gray are the norm. Mother Teresa and Charles Manson are the exceptions.”
“Which are the most prominent?”
“Unfortunately the Mansons fascinate more than the saints.”
“I don’t know if I accept that.”
“I hope you don’t. It’s a cop’s perspective. We tend to be gloomy about human nature.”
“You’re not a cop anymore.”
“No, but there’s some residue left.”
She studied him for a moment. He was a big man. Not fat. She didn’t think there was an ounce of fat on him. Tall. Big boned. And relaxed. Much more relaxed than she felt. She thought he would look relaxed anywhere. He had an air of self-confidence about him. Of authority.
She liked his eyes. Unlike Max’s always-wary ones, this man’s were open. Friendly. Not like a cop’s eyes at all. Or what she thought a cop’s eyes would look like. She’d had very little experience with them on a social basis.
“Would you like a drink?”
“Yes, but I have something to ask you first.”
“What?”
“I just picked up my dog from the vet. I didn’t have time to take him home. He’s next to my car with a water bowl. Is that okay?”
“He won’t wander away?”
“No. He’s decided he found a good thing in me. He’s not going to do anything to risk it.”
“He can come inside out of the heat.”
He looked around the elegant room. “He’s housebroken, but are you sure?”
“Now that Mrs. Baker is probably gone, yes.”
Now why did she say that? It sounded pitiful. She owned the house now, but she’d never been permitted to have a dog while her grandfather was alive. He always said they were messy, dirty animals. Useless with no real purpose.
But the detective’s smile was worth breaking the protocol.
She followed him outside. The dog, his tail wagging madly, stood when they approached. A most peculiar-looking dog of many colors and only one ear.
“Found him alongside the road,” the detective said. “Someone had cut off an ear and left him to bleed to death.”
She stooped down to pet him and he fell to the ground, turned over, and exposed his stomach to her.
Leigh leaned down and scratched it, and was rewarded by groans of utter pleasure. “What’s his name?”
“Archie. And you’ve just made a friend for life,” the detective said.
Feeling awkward, she stood. “Let’s go inside.”
The dog trotted beside her as they reentered the house and went to the study. Archie sat down next to her feet.
“You’re a natural with dogs,” he said. “Archie’s pretty easy with people now, but he usually doesn’t adopt them like this.”
“I like animals,” she said.
“I read about it in Kira’s story. You have horses and a donkey.”
She reached down and touched Archie, and he tried to lick her hand. “I thought about getting a dog, but … I’m gone a lot during the day.” Excuses. Excuses not to break out of a habit.
She loved her horse and Maude, but the real responsibility belonged to Rick.
“You said you would like a drink?”
“A beer?”
She flushed. “I think that’s the one thing we don’t have. Bourbon, Scotch, wine?”
“Bourbon and water, thanks.”
She went to a bar in the corner and returned shortly with a glass of bourbon for him and a small glass of wine for herself. “Now what can I do for you, Mr. Burke?”
“Chris. Everyone calls me Chris.”
“You wanted to talk to me,” she said abruptly.
“Yes.”
“Go ahead.”
If he was surprised by the sudden change in the conversation, he didn’t show it. She’d wanted to surprise him, wanted to shock him out of the pleasantly amiable presence.
“I wanted to tell you something about Katy Douglas.”
“Maybe I don’t want to hear anything about her.”
“Not even a tiny spark of curiosity?”
“Why should I? My mother died twenty-six years ago.”
“The mother that nourished you, loved you, did. What if you had a second chance?”
“I don’t want a second chance.”
“Because you don’t want the pain associated with loss?”
“What do you know about loss?”
“Too much. My wife died eighteen months ago after a long illness.”
She glanced down at his hand. He wore a wedding ring. “Have you remarried?”
“No.”
“Can’t find a good replacement?”
He looked surprised, then gave her a crooked grin. “Touché.”
“I don’t want to replace my mother. Or my father,” she said.
“A disclaimer,” he said quietly. “I’m not just an investigator for the family. I’m doing this pro bono because I’ve been a friend of the family for years. Mrs. Douglas—Katy Douglas—often looked after my wife when she was dying of cancer. Her company—a small housekeeping firm—took care of the house for the last four years. There’s no one I admire or respect more. She was eighteen when she had a child. A very sick child who nearly died, and would have, if she’d not found a surgeon who performed a very risky procedure.”
He paused, then continued, “Her husband couldn’t face the pressure and left. She kept the baby, worked as a housekeeper sometimes fourteen hours a day. When Kira was old enough, Katy went to night school, earned a two-year degree in business, and started a maid service, something she could do at home and still spend time with Kira. She’s a remarkable woman.”
Leigh found herself soaking up the information. She didn’t want to. She wanted this to go away. She couldn’t give credence to the story because that would invalidate everything she knew. Everything she was.
“I told Max I would give you a DNA sample,” she finally said. “It won’t be what you want.”
“Thank you,” he replied. “But time is of the essence. The doctor feels Katy’s other organs will start shutting down soon.”
She was oddly drawn to him, to the quiet conviction and persuasion in his voice. She looked up and saw his gaze on her. She hadn’t imagined the sympathy. Or warmth.
She was beginning to have second thoughts about the invitation, but then she’d had them from the moment she’d uttered it. Yet she had a curiosity about the Douglas family she hadn’t been able to admit to Max. She knew from experience that he told her what he wanted her to know. He felt she couldn’t handle some stuff. And that had been right in the past. She was trying to change that.
“Have you found out anything about the attacks on Ms. Douglas?” she asked.
“No. Except it wasn’t a simple burglary. The thief really tore up her home and destroyed what he didn’t take. Paintings. Clothes. Furniture. He was obviously angry.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I am, too. She didn’t need this now.”
“And the assailant at the MARTA station. Have you discovered who did it?”
“Someone got a brief look but not long enough for an accurate description. The witness swears, though, that he’ll recognize him when he sees him.”
“What next?”
“The police took fingerprints. They’re checking out the area to see whether anyone saw anything. We’re also checking all the stories Kira has written. Maybe she just made someone angry with one of her reports.”
“But you don’t believe that?” She couldn’t stop asking questions, although she knew how risky it was. Still, she had to know what the police knew.
“No.”
She tried again. “Why not?”
He smiled. “Now you sound just like her. You question like a pro. I went through all her stories for the past three months to see if anyone might be angry enough to do harm. Nothing there. I don’t think someone waited months and then in one day tried to kill her and burglarized her house.”
She returned to the original topic. It hurt, but she was becoming obsessed with the question. “Did Katy Douglas have any other children?”
“No. Kira’s the only one. Now I have a question,” he said. “Why did you agree to see me?”
She hesitated before answering, then thought a half-truth would do. “Because I wanted to know what happened yesterday. I wanted to say that I agreed to the DNA test because I know it will come back negative.”
“Then we’ll all fade away and be but a bad memory,” he said.
“What about Mrs. Douglas?”
“She’ll die,” he said flatly. “She won’t be viable for a new kidney much longer.”
“I’m sorry.” And she was. Katy Douglas was no longer an unknown threat. His words had made her real.
He finished his drink and put it on the table. “I should go.”
She could only nod. She led the way to the door, Archie trailing behind.
“Thank you,” he said.
“That’s it?” she asked.
“I told you I wouldn’t pressure you.”
“I’m not used to people saying what they mean.”
“I’m sorry about that,” he said.
Sorry again. An easy word to say that often didn’t mean anything. But she thought he really meant it.
She opened the door, and Chris Burke and Archie stepped outside. She couldn’t afford to let him linger. He made her want to confide in him. She’d done enough of that today.
“Good night,” she said.
He hesitated for a moment, then said, “G’night, Ms. Howard.”
She closed the door behind him and leaned against it. “Dammit,” she muttered. “Dammit, dammit, dammit.”
She wanted him to come back.
22
Chris couldn’t stop thinking about Leigh on the way home. It had been a long time since he’d felt an attraction for a woman. His heart had died with Risa.
Yet there was something about Leigh that touched him. He suspected there was a very complicated soul under that elegant facade.
She really was a beautiful woman, but nothing like Risa. Risa’s hair had been short, dark, and curly, and her eyes nearly black. She’d been a fiery Italian who bubbled with life and never met a stranger. He’d been surprised that she had chosen him. He was big and quiet and even a bit shy with women, which made his cop buddies roll over with laughter.
Risa’s exuberant personality brought out the
best in him. The decline of her body, if not her will, broke his heart, and he thought—no, knew—he would never love like that again. Not with his entire being and soul.
He’d been drifting these past two years, earning enough as a PI to pay his bills and even save a bit over his police retirement. Archie was just enough company. But Kira’s quest had awakened him from the somnolent state he’d retreated into. At first, it was repaying a debt. Now it had become much more than that. It was a puzzle he had to solve. He wanted to save a life rather than clean up after a life that had been taken.
And now there was Leigh Howard.
Her eyes were a Caribbean Sea color, a mixture of blues and blue greens that was striking. He’d never quite seen anything like them before. Her face was flawless, and her blond hair had never seen a coloring agent. But what made her appealing was the wistfulness he saw in her face. And a sadness that ran deep.
She’d surprised him today with her frankness, her graciousness. She’d agreed to a DNA test but nothing more. Yet her curiosity about the Douglases was a good sign. She was thinking about them. She hadn’t just dismissed the possibility of a transplant.
Or, the cop side of him pondered, was this just a con job?
Someone had tried to murder Kira, and Leigh Howard had the best motive. Was that why she’d agreed to the visit? She wanted to know what he knew?
He didn’t think so, but then, he’d been fooled before. He’d known personable murderers and crooks. Most sociopaths were likeable and appealing.
And Leigh Howard—like Max Payton—had a great deal to lose.
Max drove Kira home. When they arrived, he went inside with her and checked out the rooms. Then he went to the door. They stood there awkwardly.
He wanted to stay. She wanted him to stay. But both of them knew it was a bad idea. He saw it in her defensive stance even as her eyes said something else.
His body certainly wanted to stay. The most excitable part was already rebelling against his briefs. It was remarkable the way she caused that reaction.
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