Lillian struggled to keep her composure. “Why don’t the two of you just take care each other?”
“Told you your mom was the smart one in the family.”
“Well, in that case, I’d like you to meet someone.” Lillian motioned for Sam to join her. When he frowned skeptically in response, she reached for his hand and pulled him close. “This is Sam.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Jorgé climbed the stairs to his apartment, tired and pissed. Nothing had gone right today. Not one damned thing. First, Angela and her supervisor at CPS had given him the runaround. Then it had taken him nearly an hour just to find the woman’s house. At first, he’d been afraid she lived in one of those gated communities, but though that wasn’t the case, her neighbors were having some kind of get-together at the park across from the entrance to Ryder Place. At least twenty pairs of eyes had watched his old, blue dented pickup turn onto her street, circle around the cul-de-sac at the end and drive slowly by the house with the number 168 printed on the curb. He had left pronto. No point waiting around for one of them to call the cops when he could go back again after dark.
But Jorgé’s second trip had turned out just as bad. Street lights lit up everything like the Fourth of July. He’d had to leave his truck on the other side of the park, then walk around the small lake in the middle. Luckily, he’d had sense enough to wear his version of a track suit. Even then he’d worried some nosey neighbor would confront him, discover he didn’t belong in such a classy area and set the dogs on him. By the time he’d reached her street, he’d worried himself into a state of near panic, cursing his wretched luck with every step he’d taken.
When car lights had hit him in the face, he’d nearly bolted, but after the taxi had turned down her street, then into the driveway at number 168, he’d slipped behind a hedge to watch. Two men, a little girl, and an older woman with a baby had exited the back seat, and like an idiot, he had taken off jogging along the opposite side of the street to get a closer look. Had nearly had a heart attack when they waved at him, then felt like a damn fool waving back.
But what else could he have done?
No way could he tackle two guys built like Captain America, even if the younger one did have the carrier in his hand. End of one crap-filled day.
Jorgé slid his key into the lock. He’d considered going to the bar, but drinking at home was a safer idea. He sure the hell wasn’t going back to her house tonight. As he opened the door and stepped inside, he figured he would just have to wait for CPS to return his kid on Monday.
“Good evening, Jorgé. You haven’t forgotten me, have you?”
Jorgé stood frozen in the doorway, his mouth open. Urine trickled down his leg to form an ever-widening puddle at his feet.
* * *
“How could my mother do such a thing to Daddy?”
Gregg stood in the doorway between the kitchen and the garage, a box of decorations in his hands. He’d been bracing himself for an explosion since they’d left the country club. Instead, Amanda had sat silent and seething in the passenger seat, her gaze glued to the darkness, her anger growing with each passing mile. She had quashed his suggestion that they go over to her mother’s house for a longer visit with her brother. Now inside the comfort of her own home, she detonated, and after eight years of living with the ticking bomb that was his wife’s unnatural love for her father, Gregg still didn’t know how to defuse it.
Or how much longer he wanted to go on living in its shadow. He feared tonight might be the tipping point. Thankfully, Jennifer had gone to her grandmother’s house with Uncle Gus and Michael. And, of course, baby Joey. Jen wanted a little brother. Frankly, he wanted to give her one, but with things as strained as they were between him and Amanda, that wasn’t likely to happen.
“Well, aren’t you going to say anything?”
Gregg thought carefully before speaking. Nothing he said short of agreeing with her would suffice, not where her father was concerned. “What do you want me to say, Mandy? Your father’s been dead four years, three months, and sixteen days. I know that because it’s how long you’ve been in mourning for him. Not the wear-black kind of mourning, just the never-let-go-and-move-on kind.”
“How dare you…”
Gregg turned his back to her and rummaged through the fridge for a beer. “But since you asked, I’m happy that your mother is… dating.”
“What?”
“You heard me, though I doubt it matters much to you what I think.” He popped the top on the bottle of beer and rested his butt against the counter. “Your mother looked happy tonight. I haven’t seen her smile like that in a very long time. I imagine that’s Sam’s doing.”
“Sam.” Amanda scowled, her mouth pinched tight as if the man’s name tasted of vinegar. “He’s much too young for her. Mother looked like a fool bringing him. Holding hands like some silly school girl.”
“I remember when we used to hold hands like that.” Gregg sighed and downed half the bottle. “Of course, that was before your father’s accident. Before you built a shrine to his memory and expected your mother to worship it forever in glorious widowhood.”
“How much have you had to drink?”
“Not enough. Not nearly enough.” He set the empty bottle on the counter and headed for the stairs. “I like Sam. You might like him, too, if you give him a chance. He’s a good man, and for what my humble opinion is worth, I think they’ll be very happy together.”
Amanda gasped. “Don’t be ridiculous. My mother loves my father. She couldn’t… She wouldn’t dare—”
“Love someone else? Why not? Why shouldn’t your mother love Sam?”
“Because… because he would ruin everything.”
Gregg waited on the first step. After spending several sessions with Dr. Stevens, Amanda’s therapist, he was no closer to understanding his wife’s twisted love/hate relationship regarding her father than he had been on the day the man had died. Prior to his death, Russ had treated Amanda shamefully, so much so that she still feared having a second child, believed her husband would act the same and refused to accept his protests to the contrary. Desperate for her father’s love in life, she had magnified him in death to the point of building a fantasy world around him. One in which he loved her more than Michael, more than anyone. Terrified of losing that love, Amanda callously demanded that her mother remain loyal to her father into the grave.
“Russ was a miserable excuse for a husband. Your mother may have loved your father once, but when love isn’t cherished, it dies. I know how that feels. Personally.” Gregg watched Amanda’s gaze turn from anger to confusion to guilt. “Mandy, your father is dead. Your mother is still very much alive. Try for once in your life to be happy for her.” He continued up the stairs. “At the very least, you owe her an apology for being rude to her guests.”
* * *
Sam poured batter into the waffle iron, started the microwave oven heating the syrup, and called up the stairs. “Ben, breakfast in five minutes.”
He heard footsteps race across the floor above him before a soccer ball bounced down the stairs and rolled across the entry way floor to stop beside the front door. Ben’s subtle way of saying he was ready to go home. Sam refused to take offence. The boy was twelve and finding it difficult to accept another woman in his father’s life. Ben acted the same way when Rachel was seeing a man seriously. Except this time, Sam sensed a difference. An undertone of rigid acceptance, as if his son had finally recognized that nothing he said or did would change the situation between his parents.
Ben set his canvas travel bag beside the soccer ball. “I’m all packed.”
“It’s early yet. Your mom isn’t expecting you home until this evening. I thought maybe we’d go to the beach this afternoon.”
“Mom called. She wants to talk to you.”
Sam didn’t say anything further while he served the plates and poured Ben a glass of orange juice and himself a cup of coffee. He had lain awake for a long time after a
rriving home from the party in Lillian’s car, thinking. As much as her brother and son had been welcoming throughout dinner, he could feel the heat of Amanda’s harsh gaze sear straight through his skin and hit bone. Even though Gregg had tried to calm the situation with patient stories, Sam knew his presence at the family dinner table had made the evening awkward.
However, his plan to leave immediately after dinner had changed the instant Lillian asked him to dance. The thought of holding her in his arms was too much temptation, and he had succumbed without so much as a whimper. One dance had turned into several until Ben’s frown had reminded him it was time for them to leave. The same frown he currently faced across the breakfast table.
“What about?”
When Ben merely shrugged, Sam knew he was going to be in for an interrogation from Rachel. No use chastising Ben. The boy lived with his mother and knew where his loyalties had to lie. They finished the meal in silence, and while Sam washed the dishes, Ben put his things in the car and waited in the passenger seat.
“Are you going to marry her?” Ben asked the instant Sam put his key in the ignition.
Sam had thought about that during the night, too. “How would you feel if I did?” Ben’s silence caused his heart to sink like a rock into his stomach. He waited, then finally turned to face the one person who had always mattered most in his life.
Ben nibbled on his lower lip. “I don’t know. I mean…” Head bowed, he picked at a loose thread in the hem of his shirt. “I’m not sure.” He looked up, eyes fearful. “I guess I still hope you and Mom will get back together again.” Before Sam could respond to that, Ben held up his hand. “I know you aren’t. I could see the way you were with her. Mrs. Moore. I’ve never seen you like that with Mom. You know, relaxed. Joking around like you’re happy together. With Mom, you always seem so tense. You know, on guard, like you can’t wait to leave. Make your escape.”
Sam let out the breath he was holding and leaned close enough to put his hand on Ben’s shoulder. “You’re pretty observant.”
“So, are you going to ask her?”
“I’m thinking very seriously about it.” In fact, Sam planned to head for a jewelry store right after he dropped Ben at his mother’s house. “I love her, Ben. She makes me feel good about myself. About what I do and who I am. I know it’s crazy. She’s a little older than I am, but I like to think that means she’s wiser than me, too.”
Ben shrugged, his smile weak. “Then I guess you’d better ask her. Make sure she loves you before you do that, though. I don’t want you to feel like a jerk if she turns you down.”
Sam chuckled, then relaxed and started the car. “I suppose that’s a possibility.” A real one, he thought, considering her concern about their age difference.
“You know, Dad, Kiesha is thirteen.”
“Really?” When Ben nodded solemnly, Sam punched him gently on the arm. “Guess you must take after your old man. You like a mature woman, too.”
“Are you going to tell Mom?”
“Think I should?”
“Yeah.” Ben sat back in the seat. “I sort of told her you had a girlfriend.”
Sam cringed. “Thanks, buddy.” He backed out of the driveway. “You’re going to owe me big time for that one.”
Ben stared out through the windshield, quiet for several minutes before he spoke again. “Dad, do you think I could ever come and live with you?”
Dumbfounded, Sam’s heart danced in his chest. Had he heard Ben right? Ben turned wary eyes toward him, waiting. Sam couldn’t stop grinning. “I’d like that, Ben. I’d like that a lot.”
Rachel waited in the open doorway while they approached the house, then stepped back and ushered them inside. Sam thought she was overdressed for the occasion. Tight black leather pants, an off-the-shoulder cherry red top that showed more cleavage than a Sunday afternoon warranted, and spike platform heels that put them eye to eye. When he looked at her, his senses went on the same kind of full alert as when Sylvia Peters stayed after class to ask him a question.
“Ben said you wanted to talk to me.” Sam waved to Ben, watched him disappear upstairs and turned to face his ex-wife. “What have I done wrong this time?”
“Must you always think the worst of me, Sam?” she asked, a soft, calculating smile on her face. She indicated the couch and the coffee table where two crystal glasses waited beside a decanter of red wine. “Don’t worry, darling. It’s merely a peace offering. We haven’t really talked in some time. You’re always in such a hurry when you come to pick up our son.”
For a very good reason. “Rachel…”
She reached for his hand, drew him into the living room and pulled him down onto the couch beside her. “Ben is doing so much better in school. Two A’s and a B on his latest report card. Of course, that is much more your doing than mine.” She filled the glasses and offered him one. “You always were such a good teacher.”
Sam’s heartbeat jumped into the nineties. He knew the direction this little seduction routine was heading, and he wasn’t interested in making the trip. Instead of drinking, he held the glass between his fingers as a shield. “I still am, but in this case, I believe his friend, Kiesha, deserves the credit. She seems to have the most influence on him right now.”
“He’s only twelve.”
“Twelve going on twenty. From this point on, I imagine girls will be much more influential than either of his parents.”
Rachel set her nearly empty glass of wine on the table and reached for his. Placed it next to hers and scooted closer to him. “Then perhaps it’s time you and I provided a more united front for Ben.”
He frowned. “What exactly do you have in mind?” The pressure of her knee against his leg sent a cold sensation of dread trickling down his spine. He caught her hand before her fingers reached beneath his jacket. “We’re divorced, Rachel. Let’s keep it friendly.”
“I’m trying. After all, we were very good together not so long ago.” She leaned closer, wet her lips with her tongue and drew her hand from his. Started to unbutton his shirt. “We could be again.”
“Don’t, Rachel.” Sex was a game to her, and he had lost too many times in the past to want to play again. Especially now that there was Lillian. “I’m the same man I was ten years ago when we called it quits. Nothing about me has changed.” Just everything. “You didn’t want me then, and I don’t believe you want me now.”
“Oh, but I do. Our divorce was a mistake. I realize that now, especially in view of the fact that Ben is getting older. He needs us both to be his family. He has me. He needs his father. Can’t we try again for his sake?”
This was a new tactic for her. Playing on his love for Ben. She sounded sincere, and if Lillian hadn’t entered his life, he might actually have fallen for it. Rachel must have sensed his hesitation. Before he could find a gentle way to tell her no, she twisted around and straddled his lap, a satisfied smile on her face. She ran her fingers along his chest, then into his hair.
“Rachel—”
“You did love me once,” she whispered, her voice husky with desire. She yanked his head back, then trailed a string of kisses along his throat before her lips captured his mouth. With her free hand, she reached between his legs to massage his crotch. “Love me again.”
“Stop it, Rachel.” Sam jerked himself from her trance and pushed her away. “This is not going to happen.”
“Why not? I’m better than that old woman you’ve been seeing.”
Sam stared at her. “Is that what this is? Ben told you about Lillian, so you’re trying to prove something?”
“I think I just did, darling.”
“No, Rachel, you didn’t. At least not what you think.” All she had done was show him how much he didn’t want her. He shoved her off his lap and stood, then started for the front door. When she hurried after him, he turned around to face her. “If you want that united front for Ben’s sake, don’t ever do that again. You’re his mother, and much as I wish I could, I can’t change t
hat. This may come as a surprise to you, but I’m head over heels in love for the first time in my life, and your foolish little seduction act just now made my decision for me.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
It was 4:30 when Sam turned onto Ryder Place, then pulled into Lillian’s driveway and parked next to a taxi with its motor running. He reached the front door in time to brace it open so the cab driver could wheel out two medium size suitcases.
“Looks like you’re heading out,” he said, extending his hand to Gus.
“I used to fly through some of the ugliest weather in the Gulf getting to and from an oil rig. Frankly, getting from San Diego to Miami on a commercial airliner is a hundred times worse.”
“Quit complaining, Uncle Gus. You know you like the scenery better.” Michael set a small case on the table and turned to smile at Sam. “Mom’s upstairs showing Jennifer how to change a diaper. Joey sure goes through them.”
Sam chuckled. “You probably did too at that age.”
“Can’t say I remember.”
“I’m sure your mom does.”
Michael merely nodded. Small talk aside, Sam wasn’t sure what to say next. Gus clapped him on the shoulder, breaking the sudden cone of silence.
“I’m glad to have met you, Sam. You take good care of my big sister, or I’ll be back.”
Sam smiled and relaxed for the first time since arriving. “I’ll do my best. She’s special to me, I want you to know that.”
“We grilled her about you all evening. You passed.”
Lillian appeared at the top of the stairs, Joey in her arms. “Stop interrogating him, please.”
Sam knew the goofy smile on his face showed every ounce of love that filled his heart. “I can take it. In fact, I expect it. I’m glad your men care enough about you to put me on the hot seat.” He turned to face Michael. “You’re her son, so if there’s anything about me you want to know, I want you to ask straight out.”
An Equation For Murder Page 20