Ren stopped mid-stride. “How long have you been here?”
His tone must have made an impression, because Bo, who was dressed like a cat burglar complete with black stocking cap, paused and looked at his watch. “Four minutes, thirty-eight seconds.”
“I meant, how much of our conversation did you hear?”
Bo looked him square in the eyes. “None. I was walking up when the taxi arrived. I parked half a block away when I saw Sara’s car in the drive.”
Ren relaxed. He proceeded into the house, pausing to drape his jacket over the banister. “Why are you here?” he asked, when Bo followed him into the kitchen.
“Thought I’d see if Eve left any skin on your hide.” He opened the refrigerator and withdrew a can of flavored tea. After a couple of healthy guzzles, he burped.
No wonder Eve found his manners so appalling, Ren thought, putting away the box of instant cocoa.
“So, is Eve bootin’ your ass or what?”
Ren walked to the far end of the counter and selected a bottle of brandy from his liquor cabinet. He poured a small amount into a snifter. “Let’s go to the den. I’m weary, my friend. Very weary.”
Before Ren settled into the chair behind his desk, he punched the message retrieval button on his answering machine, out of habit. The first message was a cheery reminder from his dentist of an upcoming appointment. The second was his mother’s voice. He erased both.
“Babe sounds healthy,” Bo said, dropping to sprawl on the couch.
Ren took a long sip of his brandy, savoring the smoky, robust bite as it went down, then he rocked back, kicking his feet on top of the desk. He was tempted to call Sara to make sure she got home okay.
“Do we have Sara’s home number?”
“Why do you want to know? Did I mention I’m changing sides in this battle? I’m gonna work for Sara from now on.”
Ren ignored the threat. “I just want to make sure she got home safely.”
“You seem kind of interested in her—beyond just the custody thing. I thought she wasn’t pretty enough for you.”
Ren pictured the moment before he had kissed her. Sara’s lips had trembled—whether from fear or anticipation he didn’t know. Her eyes had been luminous, her cheeks flushed. Pretty? Not even close. More like phenomenal. “I would appreciate it if you forgot I ever said that.”
Bo regarded him shrewdly. “It’ll cost you.”
“Are you blackmailing me?”
“Wouldn’t that be against the law?” Bo asked innocently.
“Yes.”
“Then no, Your Honor, I’m not. I’m just suggesting that a pie might, on occasion—shall we say, once a week—find its way from your unworthy and unappreciative kitchen to my very worthy, very appreciative kitchen.”
Ren wasn’t in the mood to laugh, but he chuckled, anyway. “I would have thought a cookbook man like yourself could bake his own pies.”
It was Bo’s turn to frown. “Don’t call me that. Sara’s a soft touch compared to Claudie and Keneesha.”
Ren shook his head. He ran his fingernails along the faint bristle of new growth on his chin. “I think it’s safe to say that as far as the females of our acquaintance are concerned, neither one of us could get elected dog catcher.”
Bo nodded. “Not even dog-poop catcher.”
Ren laughed and Bo joined him. When his friend rose to leave, Ren told him, “Your first payment of hush money is in the fridge. Take it with you.”
Bo grinned and said, “Thanks. By the way, Sara’s number’s in the book. See ya’ around, pal. Don’t hang anybody I wouldn’t hang.” With that he disappeared.
Ren listened carefully. He heard the suction of the refrigerator door, but after that only silence. He started to snap off the light, then reached into the lower cabinet and withdrew the phone book. He found the number and wrote it on a Post-it note. With the little yellow flag attached to his finger, he reset the exterior alarm, turned off the lights and walked upstairs.
I won’t call, he decided. She’s fine. They’re fine.
He prepared for bed, doing the yoga and meditation that gave him an edge over hypertension. The biofeedback techniques he’d learned told him his blood pressure was within the acceptable range.
When he walked to his bed, Ren spotted the slight indentation in the covers where Brady had slept. He ran his fingers over the spot, then pulled back the spread and crawled into bed. When he reached over to turn off his lamp, his gaze landed on the little yellow note. He snapped off the light. I’m not calling. She’s probably already asleep.
He rolled onto his stomach. As he scrunched his pillow into a ball, his hand encountered something hard. Raising up on his elbows he clicked the light back on. His phone.
SARA SPIT AND RINSED, zombie-like. The forty-minute snooze she’d had in the taxi had helped take the edge off her fatigue, but she still felt shell-shocked. The driver had been helpful and had insisted on carrying Brady to her door. He had even waited until she was inside with the lights on before backing out of the drive.
Brady, bless his heart, went right back to sleep after she changed his diaper and put on his pajamas. She’d rocked him for a few minutes—more for her peace of mind than his—although even that simple gesture almost brought her to tears. How often would she be able to rock her little boy if Ren Bishop turned out to be Brady’s father?
After wiping her mouth with a towel, she looked in the mirror. The eye makeup Claudie had insisted she wear for the camera had left dark smudges under her eyes. In the glow of the overhead lights, Sara thought she looked half dead. Surely that’s what she’d be if she lost Brady.
The jingle of the telephone made her jump. Probably Daniel, she thought, dashing across the cold tile to the plush carpet. She vaulted into bed and drew up the covers. “Hello?”
“Sara, it’s Ren. Did I wake you?”
A lump formed in her throat. “N-no.”
“I just wanted to make you sure you got home safely.”
His voice did weird things to her equilibrium. She felt small and vulnerable around him, and that wasn’t a very smart way to feel if he were about to become her enemy. “I’m fine. Just exhausted. You were right, though.”
“I was?” He sounded surprised to hear her say anything positive. “About what?”
“The cab. I was in no condition to drive. I slept the whole way home,” she admitted.
He was silent a moment. She could picture him smiling. He had such a warm smile…for a judge. “Good,” he said. “I’m glad I could help since I was at fault for causing you…” His voice trailed off as if he didn’t want to bring up a sore subject. “Will you be able to go back to sleep now?”
Sara smiled. One good thing she’d retained from her military experience was the ability to sleep on command. “Yes.”
“Good.”
“What about you?”
Sara wondered if his pause meant he was surprised by her question. “I doubt it. Fortunately, my golf partner loves it when I’m not at my best.”
Sara smiled. He was teasing. She could tell by the softening of his tone.
The pause between them lengthened. “Would it be all right if I stopped by the bookstore tomorrow, Sara? Maybe if you got to know me, you might—”
Sara interrupted. “No. I mean, no, don’t bother stopping by. I won’t be there. I’m opening up, but Claudie and Keneesha are taking over in the afternoon so I can meet with a contractor. My eaves need painting.”
“Why do you live so far out?” he asked. “That commute must get old.”
Sara looked at the cathedral ceiling above her bed. Spiders were spinning condo-webs.
“I wasn’t thinking too clearly right after the funerals. It seemed logical that Brady should stay in an environment he knew, so I gave up my apartment and moved in. But you’re right, the commute can be pretty awful. Fortunately, I go in a little later than the white-collar commuters.”
She snuggled down, for some reason reluctant to break off th
e conversation. “How’d you manage to find such a convenient location?”
His low chuckle made her shiver. “I was born.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“I grew up in this house. My parents lived here until Dad passed away. Then Mother moved into a condo on the golf course and offered me this place.”
“Must be nice,” Sara said.
His sigh caught her by surprise. “Actually, it was a tough choice. I was in the process of restoring a 1906 Victorian in Folsom—a true money pit, but I loved it.”
“So why did you move?”
“Mother pointed out that this place fit all three real estate criteria—location, location, location.” There was a pause. “If you met my mother, you’d understand. She should have been a lobbyist.”
Sara’s grin faded when Ren continued, “I’ve been thinking about what you asked me—about how I became involved with your sister. Would you like me to tell you what happened? I guarantee you’ll be under no obligation to believe me.”
Sara’s heart moved into her throat. “I’ll listen.”
“Okay—”
She heard him draw a breath. She closed her eyes and focused on his voice.
“I truly can’t explain why it happened. Believe me, nothing like this had ever happened before. All I know is I was running away from my life at the time. I figured fresh air and fast skiing would help me find some perspective. Then on the very first trip up the hill, I found myself sitting next to the most beautiful woman I’d ever met.”
Julia was good at catching men’s attention, Sara thought, smiling.
“We flirted. I was flattered.”
Sara made a snorting sound.
“No, I mean it. I’m no Don Juan. I’ve dated very few women in my life, actually. I attended an all-male high school. The girl I dated in college broke my heart when she chose medicine over me. Law school was all-consuming, then I went to work for a government agency that frowned on fraternization among colleagues.”
“You’re engaged to a very beautiful woman,” Sara felt obliged to point out.
“I wasn’t when I met your sister. I’d met Eve that January, but we hadn’t been out on a date.” He sighed. “Anyway, Julia and I skied together all day. She was great—bold, a little crazy. I was utterly infatuated. I invited her to dinner. She said, ‘Let’s order room service.’ When I woke up in the morning she was gone. Not a note, not a clue. All I knew was her first name—Jewel.”
Sara frowned. “Our mother sometimes called her that. ‘My little Jewel.’ I thought Julia hated that name.”
Ren blew out a breath. “Maybe that’s why she used it. If she went there intending to have a fling, she might not have liked herself very much at that moment. I really can’t say. To me, she seemed very up, spontaneous, poised. Totally in control. It was always her call.”
“Nobody made Julia do anything she didn’t want to do.”
“Why do you think she did it—went to Tahoe that weekend alone?”
His subtle phrasing disarmed her; she forgot her fear of saying something that might be used against her in court. “I don’t remember that exact weekend, but I know she was restless. She pretended to be happy living the life of a wealthy doctor’s wife, but she really missed her job, her friends, the sense of accomplishment she got from nursing.”
“Maybe she got tired of pretending,” he suggested.
“Maybe,” she agreed. “Too bad we’ll never know.”
Ren ended the conversation a few minutes later, telling her she needed to rest.
Sara hung up feeling oddly torn. She could have liked this man under normal circumstances. She could certainly understand how her sister might have been attracted to him.
Tears filled her eyes as she rolled on her side and pulled her pillow to her belly. “Did I fail you, Julia?” she softly cried. “Were you so lonely, so sad, you turned to a stranger for consolation? Or did you sleep with him for another reason—to get pregnant?”
CHAPTER SEVEN
“AHOY, MATES, come aboard,” Bo hailed, employing a hearty pirate voice that made Brady dig his fingernails into Sara’s bare thigh. She took his hand to reassure him and also to lead him safely across the metal dock to the end berth where Bo’s houseboat was moored. “Happy Memorial Day,” he called, waving a Brady-size flag.
“Hi, Bo, thanks for inviting us,” Sara called back, hoping to ease her son’s trepidation. On the drive to the Delta, Brady had jabbered nonstop about boats, but now seemed frozen in either terror or wonder—Sara wasn’t sure which.
“Glad you could make it. How’s my little fishin’ buddy?”
Brady ducked his head behind Sara’s leg, almost knocking her off balance. Bo gallantly cleared the short distance between them and relieved her of her overstuffed backpack. “So, tell me again why the Cowardly Hooker, I mean Claudie, isn’t with you,” Bo asked, ushering them aboard the boxy-looking vessel.
Sara had never seen a houseboat up close—with horizontal vinyl siding and metal awnings, it resembled a mobile home on pontoons. She looked around, taking in the small harbor outlined by banks of dense, bushy trees, and counted a dozen vessels, from rowboat size to canopy-topped residences like Bo’s.
“Claudie said to tell you she had to wash her hair,” Sara said, her nostrils crinkling at the fishy scent in the warm, humid air. “I told her she could do better than that, so she said to say it was cramps. Take your pick.”
As Bo led the way to an exterior patio at the rear of the houseboat, Sara’s free hand clamped tight to the waist-high metal railing that encircled the vessel. The decorative upright columns seemed too far apart to keep Brady from the water. This might have been a mistake.
After plunking her bag down atop a round picnic table covered in a cheerful geranium-print tablecloth, Bo scratched his head. His wrinkled Hawaiian-print shirt topped baggy cargo shorts. His feet were bare except for dime-store thongs. “Humph. I’ll tell you whose butt I’m gonna kick on Wednesday night.”
“She charges extra for that, you know,” Sara quipped, smiling when his mouth dropped open.
“Never underestimate the quiet, demure type,” he muttered, as if filing away an important fact.
She herded Brady away from the exterior corridor. “Actually, Claudie’s trying hard to turn her life around, Bo. She’s taking an online study course to help her pass the GED, and Sundays and holidays are the best days to study.”
Bo looked unconvinced. “Why lie about that?”
“She doesn’t want anyone to know, in case she fails. This is pretty shaky ground for her. Someone went to a lot of trouble convincing Claudie she was dumb, and when you’re taught that as a child, it’s hard to make yourself believe otherwise.”
Bo nodded sagely. “I’m glad she’s climbing out of the pit. Maybe I’ll go a little easier on her.” He frowned. “Naw, that would just make her mad. Anyway, Brady’s here and you’re here—that’s what counts, right?”
He squatted low and held up a high five for Brady, who studied the hand as if it were an interesting piece of art. Bo sighed. “We’ll work on your good ol’ boy camaraderie, but first we gotta get you a life jacket, bud. Only way I’ll have a moment’s peace.”
She still felt a little uncomfortable socializing with the person who has investigated her, but Bo had stopped by the bookstore several times in the past week to convince her of his sincerity. He’d even volunteered to help her scrape paint next weekend.
And when Sara needed a favor from Ren—to hold off trying to get a court order for the DNA test until Hulger’s estate lawyer returned from his two-week vacation—she’d used Bo as an intermediary. He’d returned her call saying Ren would wait, if she’d promise to reconsider doing the test without a court order.
Sara vacillated between standing her ground at any cost and giving in to the inevitable, but Daniel and Keneesha adamantly opposed any concession. “Only a fool would believe a political player like Ren Bishop,” Daniel had told her. “His fiancée is going
to be the next Jane Pauley. Do you think she’s going to stick around Sacramento just so you can help raise that little boy?” He’d read in a gossip column about Eve Masterson’s reputed talks with the networks.
Bo’s offer of a relaxing day on the water seemed like just the break she needed.
After giving a quick tour of his home, Bo showed Sara to the room where she and Brady could change clothes. “Don’t forget the sunscreen,” he warned, pulling the door closed behind him.
A short time later, Brady—bright and pudgy in his coast-guard-approved life vest—worshipfully held a small plastic fishing rod in his hand. “Let’s catch dinner, pal,” Bo said, leading the way to a fishing platform attached to the rear of the houseboat.
Sara—frosty mug of beer in hand—watched them from a lawn chair. Her heartstrings twanged. Brady not only responded to this kind of male camaraderie, he gravitated toward it like a moon. It was odd, Sara thought, how in a few short days she’d come to see something was missing in both their lives—when they had seemed pretty complete before.
Sara leaned her head back and closed her eyes.
“Where’s Ren today?” she asked, despite her best intentions to the contrary. Sara hadn’t seen him since that Friday night when he’d called her a cab, although she’d spoken to him several times on the phone.
“Some political fund-raising bash. Very posh,” Bo told her. When he named the host of the event, Sara choked on her beer. Only the wealthiest, most influential of Sacramento’s upper echelon. “He said he might stop by later. If that’s okay with you.”
Sara shrugged as if it didn’t matter one way or another. But, her stomach jumped.
“I wasn’t sure how you’d feel about him coming here,” Bo said, looking at her. “Claudie’s kinda backed off from hating him so much, but Keneesha’s still ready to hire a hit man.”
Sara nodded. “She’s like a mother bear protecting her cubs—me and Brady. I’ve warned Ren to take precautions—bodyguards, bulletproof vest, whatever,” she joked.
“I’m sure that went over big.”
“Actually, he burst out laughing. I guess he doesn’t consider an angry hooker a big threat.”
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