by Irene Hannon
“Thank you for that.” He picked up the police report. “I’m looking forward to the future, but for now I need to focus on this—and let you know there’s an unwritten rule at our agency about fraternizing with clients.”
“Not allowed?”
“No—though I obviously overstepped tonight. Going forward, I’ll have to keep things as businesslike as possible. But once we solve this case and get the answers you need, I won’t have to worry about that rule anymore.” Leaning forward, he picked up the other fortune cookie and lifted it. “Shall we?”
The condo fell silent as they unwrapped their cookies, broke them in half, and extracted the thin slips of paper.
“I like mine. ‘The project you are working on will be a great success.’” Connor set the paper on the table. “What does yours say?”
A soft flush crept over her cheeks. “Mine’s kind of off-the-wall. Aren’t these things supposed to be gender neutral?”
“Yes. They almost have to be. Why?”
In silence, she handed him her fortune.
Curiosity piqued by her enigmatic expression, he scanned it.
His heart was yours from the moment you met.
That was unusual. And uncanny.
Because even though they were just getting to know each other, he had a feeling it was true.
He folded the piece of paper in half and slipped it into his pocket.
She cocked her head. “Are you keeping that?”
“Yep.”
“Why?”
“Evidence.”
“Of what?”
“Your charm.”
A smile tickled her lips. “Very smooth.”
“Also very true.” He winked, then rose. “Show me out?”
She followed him to the door, but he didn’t linger. The temptation was too great to follow through on the impulse that had rocked him a few minutes ago and take her in his arms.
“I’ll call you with any questions I have once I look this over.” He lifted the police report.
“Okay.” She folded her arms. As if she, too, was fighting the urge to reach out. “Have a good weekend.”
“I’ll try.” But it would be better if I shared it with you.
He didn’t speak the words, but her faint flush suggested she’d read his mind—and felt the same way. Did she have any clue how appealing she was with those big green eyes and those soft lips that were made for kiss—
Get out of here, Sullivan.
Right.
“I’ll be in touch.”
Without waiting for a reply, he plunged into the muggy August night—wishing it was a cold shower instead.
And praying the police report in his hand and the information he dug up on Sanders and the little boy from the mall would provide some answers—pronto—to the puzzle Kate had handed him the day she’d walked into his office . . . and into his life.
13
Diane stopped her car in front of Greg’s house, turned off the engine, and squeezed the steering wheel.
This was dumb.
She should have dropped off Todd’s birthday present yesterday, when no one was home, instead of waiting until today. If Greg and Todd were following their usual Saturday morning ritual, they were probably inside eating pancakes right now.
But was it so wrong to want to see Todd’s reaction to the special gift she’d bought three weeks ago, before things between her and Greg had gone south? Maybe get a hug from the little boy who’d stolen her heart—just as his father had?
Besides, she wanted answers about the photograph she’d seen yesterday in Kate Marshall’s office, and Greg was the only one who could provide them.
Unless he didn’t know about the picture.
That would make the whole situation even more unnerving.
As the cool air in the car warmed, Diane picked up the colorfully wrapped box from the passenger seat and slid out. Might as well get this over with.
On the tiny front porch, she took a deep breath, pressed the bell, and waited.
Half a minute later, when Greg opened the door, shock rippled through her. Creases radiated from the corners of his eyes, and shadows hung underneath. The furrows embedded on his brow were new, as were the grooves beside his mouth.
He looked as if he hadn’t slept since she’d last seen him a week ago.
Trying to keep her features neutral, she lifted the box. “I brought Todd a birthday present.”
“Who is it, Dad?” The boy’s voice floated in from the kitchen, followed by the sound of bare feet slapping against wood. A moment later, he poked his head under Greg’s arm and gave her a gap-toothed grin, his face lighting up when he spotted the gift. “Wow! Is that for me?”
His unbridled enthusiasm and bubbly energy were a marked contrast to his father’s taut, weary demeanor. “You’re the birthday boy, aren’t you?”
“Yeah!”
“Let’s see . . .” She pretended to consider. “Are you eleven or twelve today?”
He giggled. “I’m only seven.”
“No! Are you sure? You look much older.”
He puffed out his chest. “I guess I’m big for my age.”
“I guess you are. And minus a tooth too.”
“Yeah.” He poked his tongue into the empty space. “It was loose, so I pulled it out last night.”
“All by yourself? That was very brave.”
“Well . . . Dad helped a little.” He gave the present another eager perusal. “I love birthdays.”
“Then this will help you get started with yours.” She handed over the package.
He held it against his chest and looked up at Greg. “Can I open it now?”
“Sure.”
As Todd began ripping off the paper, Diane swallowed back her disappointment.
Greg wasn’t going to ask her in.
So how was she going to ask about the photo she’d seen in Kate’s office?
“Whoa! An erector set, like the one you told me you had when you were a kid, Dad. This is awesome!” Todd extricated the carrying case from the shiny paper, his eyes glowing. “Thank you, Diane.”
He launched himself at her, and she bent down, holding on tight as she savored the little boy smell and the brief taste of the maternal role she’d never played.
Maybe would never play.
“I wish you could stay and have cake with us.” Todd’s voice was muffled against her shoulder.
She swallowed past her melancholy. “It’s kind of early for cake, honey.”
He released her and stepped back. “You could stay for pancakes, except we ate those already.”
Straightening up, she gripped her purse. “I had breakfast before I came.”
“Would you like some coffee?”
She shifted her attention to Greg. His tone was no more than cordial, but the longing in his eyes told her he wanted her to stay.
Why would a man who’d always been vocal about how much he enjoyed her company suddenly clam up? Or perhaps she’d been reading him wrong, seeing what she wanted to see. Given her courtship track record with Rich, that was a distinct possibility.
She toyed with the idea of declining—but this was her opportunity to ask about the photo in Kate’s office.
“Sure. I have a few minutes. But I’d prefer something cold.”
“No problem.” Greg moved aside and ushered her in.
“Can I open the box, Dad?” Todd glanced up from where he’d plopped on the throw rug in the living room.
“Yeah. Just keep everything together. Maybe later we’ll build an excavator.”
“Like the one on the construction site you took me to in the spring?”
“Close enough.”
“Cool!”
As Todd refocused on his present, Greg followed Diane into the kitchen. “Would you like a soda or orange juice?”
“Juice would be fine.”
He withdrew a glass from the cabinet and crossed to the refrigerator. “That was a very thoughtful gift. Too expen
sive, though.”
She gave a dismissive flip of her hand as she claimed the kitchen chair that had become “hers” over the past couple of months. “I don’t have the opportunity to buy birthday gifts for children very often. I enjoyed the giving as much as Todd enjoyed the getting.”
“Well, you have my thanks too. That would have been out of my price range.” He set the glass on the table in front of her but remained by the counter with his mug of coffee. Keeping his distance.
As his last comment registered, she frowned. Was that his problem? She’d always known money was tight for him, that his wife’s battle with cancer had drained a lot of his reserves, but he’d never suggested her tonier lifestyle was an impediment to their relationship or that it intimidated him in the least. Greg didn’t seem like the kind of guy who made class distinctions.
Could she have been wrong about that, though? Did he resent her ability to buy his son a gift that was beyond his means?
“Listen . . . I’m sorry if the cost of the gift is a problem.”
His blank look spoke volumes—she hoped. “What do you mean?”
Lifting one shoulder, she sipped her juice. “You know . . . that it’s more than you would have been able to afford.”
“Why would I resent a gesture of kindness that benefited my son?”
So her reading had been correct. The difference in their financial situations wasn’t the issue.
Then what was?
But figuring that out wasn’t her mission today. She needed to focus on the photo of Todd.
The rattle of parts from the erector set was audible as Todd sorted through them in the nearby living room, so unless she whispered, he’d be able to tune in to their conversation. Not the best place for a candid discussion.
Rising, she gestured toward the back door. “Mind if I drink this out there? I’d like to get some fresh air.”
Expression wary, he hesitated, then pushed off from the counter. “Sure. Let me tell Todd we’ll be outside and I’ll join you in a minute.”
He opened the back door for her, closing it again once she exited onto the deck. Already the day was getting muggy, and she moved toward the small patch of deck shaded by a large oak tree.
Sticky weather she could handle for a few minutes.
The sticky situation with Greg . . . not as well. But she had to make an attempt to crack the puzzle that had kept sleep at bay last night.
And if Greg was as clueless as she about why Kate Marshall had a photo of Todd, she’d back off and let him solve the strange mystery.
Why had Diane relocated their conversation outside, where Todd would be unable to hear? Was she going to revisit the nightmare she’d witnessed the day he’d been sick, ask questions? Or was she going to press him for an explanation about his withdrawal? And if she did, what could he say to convince her he was still interested—just not right now?
Greg jammed his fingers through his hair as he walked toward the living room.
Why did life always have to be so complicated?
“Diane and I will be out on the deck, champ. You need anything?”
“Nope.” Todd didn’t even look up as he rummaged through the parts in the box, and Greg’s heart warmed. It was the perfect gift for a little boy with an active mind who loved to make things—and a thoughtful gesture from Diane. No surprise there. She was a caring, thoughtful woman. One he didn’t want to lose.
But as he studied her through the kitchen window overlooking the deck, her stiff posture told him he could be heading into a showdown . . . and that losing her might be a very real possibility.
Leaving behind the coffee he didn’t want, he opened the door, stepped into the heat—and hoped the move wasn’t symbolic.
Diane had claimed the only sliver of shade, so he stayed in the sun, leaned back against the railing, and started to sweat. “What’s up?”
She took a sip of her orange juice. “I had an odd experience yesterday I wanted to share with you.”
Not what he’d expected.
“Tell me about it.”
“I decided to follow through on the idea of getting a job, so I went to the career counseling center one of my support-group friends recommended. Do you know a woman named Kate Marshall?”
The name was like a punch in the solar plexus.
Diane had run into Kate Marshall?!
His lungs deflated, and he grasped the railing behind him, struggling to keep his face impassive, to breathe, as he tried to formulate a response.
Play it cool. Stay calm. This might mean nothing.
“Kate Marshall.” He pretended to try and place the name, all the while willing his lungs to kick back in. “I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone with that name. Why do you ask?” At least his voice wasn’t quaking as much as his insides were.
“Because she has a picture of Todd.”
The bottom dropped out of his stomach, and he jerked upright from the railing. “What?!”
“You don’t know anything about this?”
“No.” Greg’s mind raced. Had the Marshall woman somehow identified him, found out where he lived, been stalking him? But that made no sense. If she’d found him, she wouldn’t skulk around. She’d go to the authorities. Not that a move like that would do her much good. He was a law-abiding citizen, and there was nothing to link him to her—or her son. They’d have no grounds to investigate. But where in the world had she gotten a picture of Todd? “What kind of picture was it?”
Diane shrugged. “One of those studio head-and-shoulder shots with a plain blue background.”
That couldn’t be. Such a thing didn’t exist. He’d taken very few photos of Todd through the years, and they’d never darkened the door of a photo studio.
What was going on?
He planted his fists on his hips. “You’re right. This is bizarre.”
“Since you don’t know anything about it, do you think it’s one of those look-alike things? They say everyone has a double.”
If only it was that simple.
“That seems like a stretch.” He shoved his fingers through his hair again and threw out a question to buy himself a few more moments to think. “Is this woman on the up-and-up?”
“As far as I know. She was very nice, and she’s in charge of this organization. I doubt they’d hire someone with a shady background for a job like that. Why? What are you thinking?”
“I don’t know.” That was the truth. His mind was still trying to grapple with Diane’s bombshell. He needed some time to process the news, plan his strategy. Not a task he could manage on the fly, nor while he was reeling. “But if that picture is really Todd, I’d sure like to know what’s behind it.”
“I thought you would. That’s one of the reasons I dropped off his gift instead of leaving it outside the door.”
“I appreciate that. Listen . . . can I call you later? I need to chew on this for a while.”
“Yeah. I have to run a few errands this morning, but I’ll be home later. Are you guys going for pizza tonight?”
“I’m letting the birthday boy pick a place for dinner. So far he hasn’t made a decision, but I’ll call you before we go.”
She lifted the glass and drained her orange juice, a glimmer of disappointment in her eyes. It wasn’t hard to figure out the cause. She’d hoped he’d ask her to join them.
And maybe he would. Since she already had an in with Kate Marshall, he might need her help.
But that wouldn’t be the only reason he’d ask her. He wasn’t a user. Never had been. He’d ask her because he owed her for this tip-off—and because he enjoyed her company and had missed her for the past week.
“Let me take that.” He walked over to her and claimed the glass. “You made the better choice. It’s too hot for coffee.” Although the heat wasn’t the main reason sweat was trickling down his back.
She searched his eyes, and he tried to infuse them with warmth and intimacy as he held her gaze. Willing her to understand he cared . . . even if
he couldn’t explain why he’d pulled back.
Yet in light of this new development, perhaps he should rethink his retreat. It might be safer to stay in closer touch and hope Todd wouldn’t remember anything else rather than keep her at arm’s length while she was dealing with the Marshall woman.
Another thing to ponder once she left.
Behind him, the door slid open. He turned as Todd stuck his head out.
“The guy who owns the house is on the phone for you, Dad.”
“Tell him I’ll be right there.” He shifted back toward Diane, grateful for the interruption. “I need to take this. The air conditioner’s been struggling, and I want to get our landlord to send out a heating and cooling technician.”
“I can see myself out.” She started across the deck.
He followed her in silence, but as they reentered the house, he touched her arm. “I’ll call you soon. Do you have any plans for tonight?”
A spark of hope ignited in her eyes. “No.”
“I don’t know what Todd’s going to want to do. We could end up at the go-kart place. But as soon as I know, I’ll be in touch. If you’re still free . . . we can talk about it.”
He expected her to jump at his vague offer, but to his surprise, her eyes cooled a few degrees.
“We’ll see.” With that, she called out a good-bye to Todd and strode toward the door.
She was miffed at all his hedging and ambiguity . . . and he didn’t blame her.
Expelling a breath, he walked toward the phone. He wished he could be more definitive about their relationship instead of dodging and weaving around the issue.
But until he got his head around her news and put together a plan, this was the best he could do.
Connor flipped over the final page of the report Kate had given him last night, set the papers in a neat stack on his kitchen table, and frowned.
After poring over the medical examiner’s findings, incident and collateral reports, and the crime lab’s controlled substance analysis, he could understand why the official ruling in John Marshall’s death had been accidental drowning. The external exam had revealed a sizable wound on the back of the man’s head, so it was reasonable to hypothesize he’d stood, lost his balance, fallen backward into the outboard motor, and overturned the small boat as he pitched into the water. The internal exam findings were also consistent with drowning. Hyperinflated lungs heavy with water. Foam in the airways. Water and sediment in the stomach. Blotchy and irregular lividity on head, neck, and anterior chest, in keeping with the head-down position of a body suspended in water. Plus, all the toxicology tests had been negative. No drugs or alcohol involved.