by Susan Crosby
“If I’d wanted to lose you, I would have,” he said blandly.
Of course. She should’ve known that. “You were playing a game with me?”
“I was seeing if you were following me. You were.” He leaned an arm against the top of her car. “The invitation holds, Mysterious.”
She glanced at the bar as another bike pulled up. A beefy man helped a woman climb off it. Both of them had tattoos down their arms and around their necks.
“Not here,” he said with a quick, contagious grin.
“I’ll bet that smile works, most of the time,” she said, relaxing. He hadn’t done anything to intimidate her, even if she’d felt intimidated at times. But that was her problem, not his.
“You intrigue me,” he said.
She did? She was so straightforward, usually, and so…unintriguing. Was it because she was keeping herself mysterious, and therefore, hard to get? Instead of telling him he was ridiculous, that she was the least intriguing person on earth, she smiled. “Then I should keep doing what I’m doing,” she said leisurely.
“Ah. It’s the chase that excites you.”
She started to flirt back, then realized she had no right to. What was she thinking? She gathered up her long-denied, flattered libido and adjusted her body language and tone of voice. “How do I get back to Market?”
He barely skipped a beat before giving her directions, then he took a step back. His smile disappeared.
“I’ll see you in a couple of days,” she said.
He nodded.
She felt awful as she pulled away, like a big tease, like a teenager without any life skills. She’d responded to him without thinking it through. She was sinking deeper into a situation she should be avoiding at all costs.
And she was afraid she wasn’t going to be able to stop.
Four
James’s usual way of doing business was to put together a binder containing copies of his research and phone log to give to the client as the investigation progressed. For purely selfish reasons, he did none of it for Kevin, deciding that the boy might just take the materials and run. Instead he would have to come in and stay awhile to hear the results of James’s initial inquiry. If nothing else, it would give them some time together. Maybe it wouldn’t only be about business.
It was Tuesday afternoon, three days since Kevin had appeared in his life. James had lived in a kind of fog, focusing enough to work, but easily distracted, not only because of Kevin but also Mysterious.
He wasn’t sure what to think of her. She’d followed him, flirted with him, then shut him down. Not a woman who knew her own mind at all. Unpredictable…
Which is what Kevin had called his mother, too. Apparently it was the watchword for the modern woman. But he preferred unpredictable to the expected, anyway.
James had called Kevin’s cell phone a while ago, had caught him leaving his last class of the day. He was on his way.
Deciding that the way to a teenage boy’s heart was through his stomach, James set bowls of salsa and chips on the kitchen counter, deciding the kitchen would be a less intimidating place to talk than in the living room.
He wandered to the front window to watch for Kevin’s arrival. Anxiety ate away at him. Nothing in his experience had prepared him for this. No matter what he did or said, Kevin could perceive him as trying too hard or not hard enough, or whatever else was within the realm of possibility in a teenager’s mind.
He wondered why Kevin didn’t want his mother to know they’d met, but he was grateful she’d considered Paul’s promise sacred. Realistically, however, how long did Kevin think he could keep it from his mother?
Kevin came into sight, hands shoved in his pockets, sunglasses in place, a Dodgers cap on his head. Where had he parked? There were empty spots in front of the house, but he was on foot. The bigger question, though—should James open the door before Kevin reached it or wait for him to knock? He hated that he didn’t know how to behave with Kevin. Would Kevin want to know how anxious James was to see him—or would he think James’s expectations were too high?
He decided to let the boy ring the bell, then opened the door almost instantly. “How’s it going?” James asked, heading toward the kitchen, letting Kevin follow.
“Okay.”
“I figured you might be hungry.” He pointed toward the snacks. “What do you drink?”
“Orange juice.”
Hiding a smile, James opened the refrigerator and grabbed the juice, shutting the door on six different brands of soda he’d bought, hoping that one was Kevin’s favorite. He poured a tall glass, was pleased that Kevin was already eating the chips and salsa, which seemed an odd combination with orange juice.
“You going to college full-time?” James asked.
“Eighteen units.”
“What’s your major?”
“Criminal justice.” His gaze strayed to the folder James had left on the counter. “You find out anything?”
Criminal justice. Same as Paul and me. James didn’t sit in the chair next to Kevin, but left an empty seat between them. “I found out a lot, but I doubt it’s anything you don’t already know.”
The doorbell rang. James excused himself. “I’m expecting a package,” he said. “I’ll be right back.”
It was a package, all right, but not the one he expected. This one was about five feet seven, reed slender and dressed in her waitress garb of white blouse and black skirt. “Mysterious,” he said as coolly as he could. She’d irritated him the other night with her flirtation game, or whatever it was, but he couldn’t seem to convince his tap-dancing hormones that he should stay detached.
“Hi. I happened to be in the neighborhood.” She smiled nervously.
“I’ve got company. Could you come back in a while?”
Impatience flickered in her eyes. “How much time do you need to give me an answer? Yes, I owe you more money, and how much—or, no, I don’t.”
He could give her an answer. He didn’t want to. Not yet. Obviously there was something between them. He needed to know why she was resisting exploring their attraction. “I—”
“You followed me?”
Kevin stormed up beside James, but the shouted words were directed to the Harley wrecker.
“Kevin!” Her eyes went from Kevin to James and back again. “I didn’t. I didn’t know you were—”
“I told you, Mom! I told you. I have to find my father’s killer.”
Mom? Well, everything made sense to James now. Or maybe not everything, but a lot. One thing was crystal clear, however. Kevin’s accusation of his mother following him was way off base. James could see her genuine shock that Kevin was there.
“I’m eighteen,” Kevin said. “You can’t tell me what to do anymore.”
“I did not follow you.” Her voice was steady, her posture stiff, her color high, almost matching her red lipstick.
He turned on James, glaring. “So you were part of this? You called her, too? Thanks for nothing.”
James grabbed his arm as he started to leave. “Not so fast. I don’t know for sure what’s going on, but I can guess. Both of you come in and we’ll talk this out.”
Kevin tried to jerk his arm free. “Let go of me.”
“Son—”
“I’m not your son.”
It was only a slip of the tongue, brought about perhaps by a little wishful thinking. “I apologize, Kevin. But listen for a second. Your mother and I met the other day, but I had no idea who she was. She’s here because she backed into my bike, and she’s paying for the damages, not because we were conspiring together over you.” He fired a look at Caryn. “Or maybe she’ll contact her insurance company instead, now.”
Caryn couldn’t have cared less about the bike repairs. Seeing the hurt and anger in Kevin’s eyes brought back the other times in the past year when she’d had to stop him from going off on his own to investigate Paul’s death. She’d thought he’d finally accepted the police findings that his father died in an a
ccident, not by sabotage, not with intent to kill him.
Obviously Kevin hadn’t. She needed to stop him, needed for him to believe the police before something happened to him, too.
“I’m outta here,” he said, rushing off, leaving a red haze of anger in the air behind him.
“Kevin—”
“I’m going home. That’s all.”
“Come in,” James said to Caryn, unsmiling, his voice steady.
His house was like something out of Architectural Digest. Large and airy rooms decorated in a classic style, with hardwood floors, large area rugs, and comfortable but stylish furnishings. Rich fabrics invited touch; gleaming wood drew the eye. The interior suited the architecture of the house, if not the man, at least what little she knew of him.
She sat on a suede-covered sofa. He took a seat in a chair nearby and leaned forward, his arms resting on his thighs.
“So,” he said.
She waited for the punch line.
“A few things you forgot to mention, Mysterious?”
“If I hadn’t hit your fender, you wouldn’t have known I existed,” she said. Hardly a winning argument.
“But you did hit my fender. Why didn’t you just tell me who you were?”
Fight fire with fire, she decided. She needed to work through her shock and anger first that Kevin had been there. “Why did you give Paul a wrong address?”
He frowned. “Excuse me?”
“In the letter you sent to Paul with your new address, you gave him the number of a house across the street. Why?”
“I rented there while my house was being renovated. I moved in here a couple of months ago. I…forgot to send another note. I would’ve remembered soon, though, I promise you that. And my phone number was the same as I wrote. Now, again, why didn’t you just tell me who you were?”
“I wanted to, but the decision to have contact with you was Kevin’s to make. I went home and reported to him everything I knew, because it was the right thing to do. He told me he didn’t want to meet you.”
He sat back. Was that disappointment in his eyes? “But he did come to meet me.”
“He didn’t tell me he had. Probably because he knew I wouldn’t have approved—not for the reason I figure he decided to see you, anyway.”
“To get my help in finding Paul’s killer.”
She nodded. She wasn’t sure how much to tell him about her own suspicions.
“Do you think he was murdered, Caryn?”
“It has been ruled an accident.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
She gave him as much truth as she thought necessary. “Paul was a gambler.”
“And that ties in to his death how?”
“I don’t know.” It was speculation on her part, which she didn’t want to share with him. He would probably come up with the same answers as the police about Paul’s death. If so, it should end Kevin’s interest forever, and he would be safe.
“I think you do know.” James leaned forward again. His eyes searched hers. “Was Paul in debt?”
“Yes. But that debt is paid now.”
“How?”
“I paid it.”
He studied her in silence. She didn’t break eye contact.
“Did you have anything left?” he asked.
“Enough.”
“Enough for what?”
She pushed herself off the couch then didn’t know what to do, so she walked to the fireplace and took a closer look at the painting hanging there, a scene out of Greece, she thought, with red-tile roofs, white buildings and cypress trees. She wished she were there. “Enough to get Kevin through college. Enough to buy a duplex here.”
“But nothing for your future.”
“Both of those items qualify as future to me.”
“I mean something toward your own retirement.” He stood then, too, and came up beside her.
She tried to look nonchalant, but his proximity tempted her in ways she shouldn’t be tempted. Not with him, of all people. “I’ve got a long ways until retirement.”
“You work as a waitress?”
“Yeah, so? It’s a decent profession. I waited tables a lot when I was young.”
“I was not insulting you, Caryn. I’m curious about your life, especially life with Paul.”
“We boarded horses. It was something we both—all three of us—did. It was a lot of work.”
“Why did you move to San Francisco?”
“It’s home for me.” And she needed to get away from the Valley and all its memories—and future worries.
“You have family here?”
She was getting impatient with his questions, even as she understood why he had them. “Not anymore, but Kevin decided to go to college here and I decided to come home. It’s worked out fine.” She crossed her arms.
“You don’t like that he got in touch with me,” James said.
“No.”
“Why not?”
Because you will intrigue him. You take risks, like his father did. He will be enthralled. And I will be relegated to the background.
“Never mind,” James said. He laid a hand on her shoulder. “I think I know. I’m not going to take him away from you. I couldn’t if I tried.”
His touch was electric. She tried to ignore the feeling and the unbidden thought that she hadn’t been touched by a man in nearly a year, 361 days to be precise. Every neuron snapped to attention and saluted. Every hormone wanted to break ranks and mutiny.
She shoved that thought to the back of her mind. “Look,” she said as calmly as possible. “I’ll hire you to do a full investigation. Just keep Kevin out of it.”
“I can’t do that.”
She turned away from him, hurt and angry. How could she protect her son? How much would she have to reveal to James to get him to back off or at least investigate on his own?
“Kevin needs to be involved,” he said. “He loved his father. It’s a point of honor for him. If he doesn’t get an answer that satisfies him, he’ll never rest. I know this because I would feel the same in his position. He needs to be part of the process. I’ll protect him. He’ll be safe.”
How can you guarantee that? she wanted to scream, feeling handcuffed. If she didn’t give in, she stood to alienate her son, and she was afraid of that. She’d already lost too much in the past year, including whatever innocence about the world she’d had. And her relationship with Kevin had become stormy, as well, worse since he’d turned eighteen last month.
“I want to be involved, too,” she said, turning to face James, keeping her expression neutral.
He was silent for several long seconds. “All right. But let’s tell Kevin it was my idea. I think he’ll take it better if I make it part of the deal.”
“I can live with that.”
One side of his mouth lifted in an appealing half smile.
How was she going to work with him with this attraction clawing at her? He had a way of focusing on her, eye to eye, his attention fully engaged, that she liked. She hadn’t been listened to so well in…a very long time. Then again, she’d learned why Paul had stopped looking her in the eye—guilt.
“I’ll give him a call right now,” James said, then punched in a number on his cell phone.
The doorbell rang. His phone to his ear, he opened the door then signed for a package. He tossed it on a chair then returned to the living room. “Kevin,” he said into the phone, “this is James. I want to continue the investigation. When you get this message, call me. Better yet, come on back and talk.”
He snapped the phone shut. “Voice mail.”
“So, now what?” Caryn asked.
“We wait. Are you hungry?”
She was surprised that she was. Her stomach had been tied in knots until a minute ago. “I could eat something.”
“I’ve got stuff to make sandwiches. Let’s eat while we wait for your son.”
She followed him to the back of the house into a beautiful kitchen with whit
e cabinets, stainless steel appliances and granite countertops. The mix of old and new worked, for the house and the man, this time, now that she knew he wasn’t part of a biker gang.
He pulled a deli tray from the refrigerator, grabbed a bag of sourdough sandwich rolls and set them on the counter. She had questions for him, questions she’d prefer to ask without Kevin there.
She was also enjoying sitting at his kitchen counter and watching him move around the kitchen. The distraction prevented her from firing the first salvo.
“What can you tell me about Paul’s death that isn’t in the police report?” he asked.
“What makes you think there’s more?”
He met her gaze and held it, his eyes boring into hers, his expression serious, probably a skill from his bounty hunter days.
“Okay,” she said. “There’s more.”
She should’ve known he wouldn’t leave things alone.
Five
James had no doubt there was “more.” His suspicions weren’t aroused by anything in the police report but by Caryn’s body language. He knew when someone wasn’t telling the truth, and her face was more open than most. He wanted to keep his distance, now that he knew who she was. But the attraction wasn’t fading, and in fact was only being added to as he learned more about her—which was not a good sign.
“Tell me about the gambling,” he said, the food going untouched.
“There are things I don’t want Kevin to know.”
“You call the shots.”
She studied him for several long seconds before saying okay. “I can only tell you what I’ve learned since he died. I wasn’t aware of it before, except that I often wondered why we weren’t doing better financially than we were.”
Her hands were folded in her lap. Her expression seemed neutral, but hurt dulled her eyes. Too many burdens, he decided. Too much to handle alone, as she undoubtedly had. Shame like that wasn’t something people confided in others, especially a woman like Caryn, who wore her independence openly.