And...and...he'd ended up getting excited by that. Yes, he'd gotten fully turned on. In fact, he believed he'd been promised a wild sexual adventure.
Dash trudged into his house and shut the door after himself. Standing in the front hallway, he glared at the staircase going up to the bedrooms, a staircase very like the one in Shana's house, the one she'd wanted to march him up for that sexual adventure.
Dash narrowed his eyes. Just because he'd saved the lady from mauling by a wild dog shouldn't mean he had to forego the wild sex Shana had promised.
That wasn't fair. It wasn't right. Especially since Dash knew for a fact she'd been attracted to him. Very attracted to him. A weird fact, but true.
Dash breathed in and out deeply. A staunch determination began to build inside, pushing away the bleakness and discouragement.
Gideon was correct. There had to be some way Dash could get through to her. He just needed to get creative...and be persistent. Careful, subtle, but very persistent.
Dash felt a smile start to curve his lips. Along with patience, persistence had always been his strong suit.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Peter rolled a ribbon of white paint onto the house with care. It was Tuesday. He'd been working on the house for four days. Never had he expected to do this much actual painting. He'd assumed he'd get in tight with Brittany, find out what she might know, tip his hat and smile goodbye. It would be Brittany's problem — or perhaps Gideon's — to see that the painting got done.
But now Peter rolled the undercoat white up and down the exterior boards of the house diligently, wanting to give it a solid cover. It seemed important to do at least one job right around here. Clearly, he wasn't going to worm one iota of information from Brittany, no matter how much Gideon nagged him about it, claiming she must have a piece of Anja's puzzle.
Nope. Peter's infamous charm was dead in the water with this female.
He was just pushing the roller through the undercoat white again when Brittany came charging around the corner of the house. Her face was pale as a sheet and she looked straight at Peter, who didn't have any of her children about his feet at the moment. She looked at him as if he was actually there.
"Have you seen Sean?" she asked him.
Peter went absolutely still. "What?"
"Sean." She made a half circle, her eyes darting in every direction. "He's not in the house. Is he out here? Have you seen him?"
Slowly, Peter set his roller down. Privately, he cursed himself with every oath in the book. The dog. The Agency suspected there was somebody shady involved in this business — and they hadn't thought to protect the very witnesses they, themselves, believed held crucial information!
How stupid could a supposedly brilliant security agent get?
"No, I haven't seen him." Nor would Peter have been able to see Sean leave by the side or front door from his position at the back of the house. "You're absolutely sure he's not in the house?" Peter kept his voice low, projecting calm.
Not that it did much good. Brittany hissed from between her teeth. "I'm sure. The last time I saw him — " A groan came from her throat. "It was almost half an hour ago."
Shit, Peter thought. Aloud, he asked, "Where's the baby?"
"In his crib upstairs, asleep."
"Go get him."
She whirled toward Peter, blinking.
"We can't leave him here alone while we go look for Sean," Peter explained.
"Oh." She took a step back. "Right, right. I — I'll go get Cam."
"Good," Peter said, but she was already off. Yes, she was following his instructions and not questioning his authority, thank God.
Peter rubbed his hands dry on his overalls and jogged down the side yard toward the street. On the sidewalk, he cast a searching gaze in both directions.
There wasn't a soul on the street. Damn, damn, damn. His chest tightened. He should have considered the possible danger. He should have protected the kid!
Brittany came hustling out the front door. Cam, mumbling and eyes blinking, bobbed against her shoulder. "Now, what?" she asked Peter.
Deferring to him again. Trusting him. Peter might have groaned about her poor timing, but he had other things on his mind.
It was just possible Sean hadn't been snatched.
"Now, think," he instructed Brittany, and took a firm grip around her elbow as he led her down the sidewalk. "Where would Sean like to go? What would he want to do, if he could get out by himself?"
"Um." Brittany's brow furrowed as they hurried down the sidewalk. "The park, maybe? No. The park's too far away. We always drive. He wouldn't know how to get there."
But he might try. Peter didn't say that, though. Better to start with more likely possibilities. "Some friend's house?" he suggested. They had reached the corner. Peter took a long look in each direction, searching for a diminutive boy wandering about on his own. Searching for a car that didn't fit in. He didn't see either.
Damn, damn, and double damn. He was having trouble breathing. All he could see in front of him were Sean's too-soulful eyes.
They crossed the street.
"I can't think of any friend." Brittany shook her head. "Jesus, I can't think of anything."
Neither could Peter. Should he call Gideon? But what could Gideon do? They didn't know who'd owned the dog. They didn't even know if the dog was connected to Anja, for sure. It was just as likely Sean had walked off with the neighborhood pervert as been taken in some cloak-and-dagger scheme related to Anja's virus.
They came to another corner. Brittany frowned and blinked as they crossed the street. "Where are we going?"
"I just headed in the direction I saw you and the kids take this morning." Peter peered into an open garage. No kid.
"Yeah, it's the way to school," Brittany explained. Five tension-fraught steps later, she stopped dead. She looked Peter straight in the eye. It was a look that might have elated him with its personal directness if he weren't seriously panicking. Where the hell was Sean?
"School!" she exclaimed, and barked a laugh. "He told me he was going to school, but I thought he meant in a general way. Like, 'I'm a big boy now so I go to school.' But he meant he was actually going there."
Peter felt a leap of hope. It was possible. He took Brittany's elbow again. "Let's check it out. Are we still going in the right direction?"
"Yes, but turn left at the next corner."
It seemed too easy to be true. Sean had actually told his mother where he was headed. But as they came up to the elementary school five minutes later, Peter did see children, Sean-aged children, playing on the equipment that sat behind a chicken wire fence. "Do you see him?" He searched the pint-sized crowd but unprofessional emotion hampered his powers of recognition. Was Sean inside the fence?
"There!" Holding the baby with one arm, Brittany pointed with the other. Her smile was brilliant. "There he is, waiting for a turn on the monkey bars."
"Thank God," Peter muttered. Now he, too, could see Sean, a sturdy little boy waiting patiently for his turn. The relief almost made Peter's knees buckle.
He knew his reaction was strange. He didn't own Dash's iceberg cool, but he was no slouch puppy in the emotional control department. And here he was nearly collapsing with relief.
He supposed Brittany's kids had gotten under his skin.
A touch on Peter's arm sent him jumping.
"Sorry." Brittany chewed her lower lip. The baby was bobbing his head with his eyes closed, clearly trying to stay in dreamland. "Would you mind getting him for me?" She grimaced. "I'm just — I think I'm still too — You know. Hysterical mom syndrome."
She asked him to go get her kid...because she was feeling too emotional?
But Peter only nodded. "Sure." And if she ever smiled at him again the way she was smiling just then, all grateful and embarrassed, he'd go get her the moon.
With some serious effort, he calmed himself down enough to go fetch a five-year-old boy instead.
~~~
As she s
tood on the sidewalk and watched the house painter go into the kindergarten yard, Brittany straightened the baby. His head kept slipping from her shoulder to her breast.
"Never," she muttered to him as he gnawed sleepily on her shirt. "You are never going to freak me out like this."
Relief had her trembling like a leaf. So many terrible things could have happened to Sean, and she would have been helpless. A basket case. When she'd discovered she couldn't find him in the house she'd simply panicked. Brain gone.
Thank God the painter had been there. Thank God he'd been so helpful. Who'da thunk? Brittany watched him through the chicken wire fence. Mr. Adonis, who'd been oozing gobs of sleaze-ball charm, had ended up saving the day. Kept his head. Exuded confidence. No, more than that. Brittany frowned. It was like he'd all of a sudden taken on a new persona, one of utter...competence.
He'd pretty much taken charge and she'd...let him.
"Single mothers have to take help wherever they can get it," Brittany reminded herself in a murmur. But she knew that was only part of the equation. The other part was that over the past few days, even knowing the fellow was a definite non-contender, she'd been aware of him — aware of his male shape, aware of the male way he moved, and of the very male way that he smiled. She'd remained aware of him even while she'd done her best to pretend he wasn't there.
Brittany sighed. Now at the school, the painter — what was his name? Peter, Paul? It was one of the apostles, right? Meanwhile whatever-his-name-was came up to Sean as he was about to swing onto the monkey bars. He put his hand in a firm but gentle-looking grip on Sean's shoulder. Sean started and turned. When he saw who it was, he beamed.
That caused a pang, right beneath Brittany's breastbone. The pang didn't get any better when the painter smiled back at her son, but in a way that sobered gently.
Both of them moved out of the way of the line for the monkey bars and Brittany could see the painter talking, while wearing a calm, serious demeanor. Sean listened intently, his own expression going just as calm and serious. They were apparently discussing the issue of Sean leaving the house without telling anyone.
"Hell," Brittany muttered. This was man-to-man stuff, important stuff, and precisely the kind of stuff her boys weren't getting. Their father was so into himself he couldn't spend even half an hour with them.
Not that Brittany thought Blake would have anything of value to contribute to a man-to-man talk, assuming he'd have managed to find Sean at all. No, if he'd been here he'd probably have spent all his time shouting at Brittany for being so dim-witted to have lost their son. He wouldn't have spared a moment to actually solve the problem.
But the painter hadn't yelled at Brittany. He hadn't even given her a sarcastic glance. And now he appeared to be having a worthwhile talk with Sean.
Judging by the look on her son's face, Sean wasn't going to be letting himself out of the house alone any time soon — or ever.
Yet one more reason she had to thank the painter, whatever his name was. Brittany sighed and rubbed Cam's soft back. Yup, she had to thank him and feel, officially, rotten that she'd done her best to stamp her heel in his face ever since they'd first met.
"Eating crow is never easy," Brittany mused. Though when the painter and Sean turned just then and, holding hands, started for the gate, the squeeze in Brittany's chest warned her this might be about more than eating crow.
~~~
Okay, that had been an adventure Peter could have lived without. But if he thought it was all over, he was wrong. The whole thing went from weird to weirder.
Once the four of them got back to the house from the kindergarten playground, Brittany disappeared inside with the two boys, mumbling something about discipline and homework. Peter shrugged and continued to the backyard. She was obviously embarrassed.
Little did she know he was mortified. He'd lost track of one of his targets. Sheesh. His urge was to stick close now, not let any of them out of his sight, but he knew that wasn't necessary. Number one, the crisis had turned out to be a false alarm. Number two, Brittany was good and rattled now. She'd be keeping the boys close to her. For the rest of the day, she'd be keeping them inside.
That meant she'd be keeping herself away from him. So, other than the painting, there was nothing Peter would be able to accomplish this afternoon by sticking close. He could clean up and go home.
Feeling oddly dejected, Peter trudged up the side yard with his arms full of paint cans and brushes. That's when Brittany popped out the kitchen door.
He nearly dropped everything.
"Oh," she said, and blinked a few times. "You're leaving? Already?"
"Uh..." She had a point. It was only 4:30. But there was all this...stuff inside Peter. He wanted it to dissipate. And he wanted to call Gideon, beg him to add a few agents for security. The false alarm could have been something real. Hiding all of this from Brittany, Peter threw on a jaunty smile. "Yeah, it is a bit early. But I don't trust myself on a ladder right now. I'm still shaking."
She gave him a very odd look. "You aren't shaking. You didn't shake."
"Excuse me?"
"Never mind." She shook her head, apparently not caring to pursue the subject. "Listen. I wanted you to know — Anyway, I'm really — " She paused and her face underwent an impressive sequence of colors, from pink to pale and back to pink again. "Okay, do you wanta stay for supper?"
Once again, Peter nearly dropped all the things he was gripping. He knew his jaw had dropped. She was inviting him in? To her house? Her family circle? Had he heard that?
"Um...Uh." He swallowed. "Sure. That'd be...real nice."
For goodness' sake, why was he hesitating? He was supposed to be looking for just such an opening, a way to get into her house and into her confidence. He needed to search for Anja's research.
But, dammit, this was weird. She was doing that thing where she was looking straight at him again, and she was blushing.
Worse, he was blushing right back.
"The food'll be ready in about half an hour," she said.
~~~
Peter wasn't much of a hand at the family supper scene. He tried to avoid getting invited to other people's homes for dinner, though it was sometimes impossible at Thanksgiving and Christmas. He always felt like a fifth wheel, ungainly and extraneous.
But that evening proved to continue all the weirdness because Peter didn't feel like a fifth wheel.
He felt like a fourth one.
Strange, yes. Very, very strange. Admittedly, it wasn't difficult to prove himself useful at the big table in the dining room. He must have picked up Cam's sippy cup ten times. The kid took clear joy in tossing it overboard from the tray of his high chair. Then Sean needed his spaghetti cut for him, and to be told it was the height of good manners to wait until one had finished chewing before attempting speech.
Sean obediently finished chewing, with his eyes big on Peter, and then said, "Okay."
Okay. Okay? Sean spoke as if Peter held some kind of authority.
Peter glanced warily in Brittany's direction, but she was so busy trying to get a forkful of meatball into Cam's mouth she didn't appear to have noticed the interaction. Which was just as well, Peter supposed. Who knew how she'd react to her house painter disciplining her children?
Meanwhile, he couldn't help wondering how she managed to get through supper with these two kids every day all by herself.
The question became even more relevant when Cam decided he'd had enough of dinner, or any kind of cooperation, and commenced shrieking at the top of his lungs. How did the woman put up with this — by herself?
"Time to go down," Brittany commented, utterly calm in the face of this storm. She unhitched the tray and pulled Cam into her arms, despite the fact he was splashed from hair to toes with spaghetti sauce.
A braver person than Peter. And less squeamish. He wondered if Gideon had ever thought of recruiting mothers as agents. Peter rather thought he should.
"I'll clean up," Peter offered.
Sean heaved a deep sigh. "I've got to go take my bath."
"Ah," Peter said. "Always a good idea at the end of a day."
Sean gave him a suspicious look. "Do you take a bath at the end of a day?"
"Are you kidding? With all this paint covering me? You'd better believe it." And then, because he couldn't help himself — and because Brittany wasn't in the room to see it — he ruffled Sean's soft brown hair.
An embarrassed smile flashed across Sean's face. He quickly clambered down from his booster seat and then pointed at Peter. "You're supposed to wait."
"So I understand."
Grinning, Sean turned and ran from the room.
Peter was left alone, and feeling weirder than ever.
So, cheerfully ignoring Brittany's admonition not to, he got up and began stacking dirty plates. Hell, it didn't take a rocket scientist to see the woman could use a little help around here. Besides, he'd done his share of the eating, hadn't he?
Still, he braced himself twenty minutes later when he heard the swing of the kitchen door just as he was putting soap into the dishwasher. Deliberately, he finished filling the soap dispenser before straightening and turning to meet Brittany's accusing expression.
She looked lean and tough as she crossed her arms over her chest. "You cleaned up anyway."
"I did." Peter crossed his arms to match her stance. "Wanta make something of it?"
Her crossed arms dropped and she laughed. Peter smiled back blandly, but inside he felt a shocking exhilaration. What a high to have gotten her to laugh! She looked so different when she did; softer and...approachable.
Approachable? Was he crazy?
"Both kids are in bed." She put her hands together prayerfully. "We'll see how long that lasts."
Peter chuckled. "Do you usually have trouble getting them to bed?"
Indiscreet Ladies of Green Ivy Way Page 9