Father and Child Reunion

by Christine Flynn

  Willing herself to calm down, she turned back to Rio, her glance skimming his chin to settle on the middle button of his black rayon shirt. His chest looked so solid, his arms so strong. And she really hated that what she wanted right then was to feel those arms around her.

  She was saved having to wonder where that impossible thought had come from by Rio’s quiet observation.

  “I take it he didn’t know.”

  “No one did. Other than Mom,” she added, just as the telephone rang.

  Eve closed her eyes and rubbed her temple. Telling herself she could deal with all of this just fine if she’d take things one at a time, she set aside her frustration with her brother, put her concern over the police questioning him on hold and excused herself to the man who was in the process of slowly upending her life. Tomorrow, if she had time, she was going to have a nervous breakdown.

  Straightening her shoulders, she headed into the living room.

  Rio stayed back, watching her pick up the phone by the deeply tufted royal blue sofa. She seemed rattled and worried, and he was pretty sure from the paleness of her delicate skin that she hadn’t slept any better last night than she had the nights before. He was also dead certain she attributed her brother’s abrupt departure to what he’d just put together about the two of them.

  He didn’t think she was right, though. He had been watching Olivia’s son for a while now, and he’d bet his laptop that the man had been more concerned just then with how he had embarrassed himself than with the paternity of his niece. Rio had to admit a little ambivalence on that matter, however. Though it would have been his own hide the guy would have gone for, he’d have thought a lot more of Hal had the man shown a little protectiveness toward his sister. Or even a little interest. As it was, when it came to Hal’s treatment of Eve, he was truly beginning to dislike the man.

  It appeared that Eve’s conversation was going to take a minute. From what he could make of her end of it, the call had to do with a women’s shelter auction. With her attention occupied, Rio moved into the elegantly understated room, with its rich colors and gleaming mahogany. He’d never been inside this house until last week. The campus or his apartment had been his and Eve’s world. Even when he’d asked Olivia that last time where Eve had gone, he’d done the asking in her mother’s office downtown. But this had been Eve’s world, too, and it was light-years from the near poverty he’d grown up with.

  Had he been the sort of man who craved wealth or possessions, he might have felt resentful or bitter about the disparity. He certainly knew those who would have. Indian and white. But the lure for him had never been material things. He had no need now for anything he didn’t already own. So all he considered as he moved through the room, aware of the fresh flowers Eve had added and the potpourri scenting the air with roses and spice, was that Olivia had done very well for herself.

  According to what he’d dug up in the archives, Olivia was a self-made woman. Her husband had died twenty-one years earlier, and she’d managed to put herself through law school, work her way into private practice and then into politics, all while raising her family alone.

  His glance skimmed Eve’s slender frame, her crisp white slacks, the navy blouse, the sleekly fashionable haircut. As he moved into the dining room, he listened to her voice, the certainty and sincerity in it. The sweetness. No one would ever have described Olivia Stuart as “sweet.” Tenacious and passionate. Dedicated, definitely. And, in many of those same ways, Eve was definitely her mother’s daughter. The one thing she didn’t have, however, was her mother’s thick skin. When something bothered Eve, it showed.

  At least it did to him.

  The long mahogany dining table gleamed beneath an ornate brass chandelier. The papers spread over one end caught his attention.

  “I’m happy to help,” he heard Eve say, listening unashamedly to her conversation as he picked up a long yellow tablet.

  He held the tablet toward Eve, lifting it as he raised his eyebrows in silent question to see if she minded his taking a look at it.

  Her response was the slight pinch of her brow, but she didn’t shake her head no, so he turned his attention to the exhaustingly extensive list.

  Thinking that these had to be the papers Hal had referred to before he’d split, Rio cast a quick glance across the rest of the documents. Those nearest a vase filled with yellow roses were formal pleadings that Wendall Norton, a local attorney, had prepared for filing with the probate court. Beyond them was the calling card of a real estate agent and an unsigned agreement to list the house for sale. What Rio held appeared to be a list of every item of value in the place. Everything from the crystal sparkling in the china cabinet behind him to every teaspoon, book and trowel in the house, garage and garden shed.

  He pulled a breath and slowly released it. He didn’t have to try very hard to remember the day he’d come barging in here with all the finesse of a tank wanting his interview. Eve had been sorting through her mother’s clothes when he’d arrived, and the task had torn her apart. It seemed that she’d since had to go through the entire house.

  “If you’re sure that’s what she wanted to donate, I’ll pick one up and drop it by the center this week. No, that’s fine. I can do it myself. I’m sure the electronics store on Juniper has plenty of Blu-ray players. It’s no problem at all.”

  She watched him from across the room as she spoke. Hanging up a few moments later, she looked from him to the list he held. The consternation she’d masked during her call reasserted itself.

  “That’s private.”

  It wouldn’t be once it was filed with the court, but he didn’t mention that. He wasn’t looking for a story. Though he didn’t want to admit it, he just wanted to know what all she was dealing with.

  He also wanted to know why she was looking at him as if he’d just pulled the wings off a butterfly.

  He set the tablet back on the table. “I didn’t think you minded. I was just looking.”

  “Like you were just asking my brother about his car and his stock?”

  The accusation in her voice threw him. “What?”

  “You heard me.”

  “Eve, I was doing my job. He’s the one who assumed I’d come here looking for him. I wouldn’t have brought any of that up, if he hadn’t.”

  “It doesn’t matter who brought it up.” Crossing her arms, she moved toward him, stopping a cautious arm’s length away. “I just want to know what that was all about. Why would the police treat Hal like a suspect?”

  She was truly bewildered. That was easy enough to see. He could also tell, despite the way she’d deliberately lowered her voice, or maybe because of it, that she was more upset than she wanted to let on.

  “The police are looking into anything that appears even remotely out of line, Eve. No one is exempt.”

  “But he’s family!”

  She spoke as if the relationship provided automatic immunity. Hal was family, therefore he was incapable of harming any of its members. While Rio admired her loyalty and idealism, he couldn’t help wondering at her naiveté.

  “I take it you don’t catch much of the evening news or crime shows,” he muttered, not particularly proud of how jaded his own thinking had become.

  “I have a five-year-old. At our house it’s ‘Princess Jasmine and reruns of 'Dora the Explorer’ all the time. But I don’t see what that has to do with anything.”

  “It has to do with motive. That’s the key to any investigation. The members of the victim’s family are usually the first people the police check out in a murder case. Especially when one of those members isn’t being terribly cooperative. Your brother didn’t even want them to do the autopsy that revealed what had happened to your mother. Remember?”

  Of course she remembered. The fact that she hadn’t sided with Hal on that issue hadn’t helped his attitude toward her at all.

  “Did it occur to anyone to consider the stress he was under at the time? If he was less than cooperative, it was because i
t seemed so unnecessary to him to have that awful procedure done on her. If you think he’s not as cooperative as he should be now, maybe it’s because he’s as frustrated as I am with the lack of progress in the investigation. Instead of wasting time looking into his affairs, the police should be out looking for whoever killed our mother. It’s been nearly two months.”

  Molly was on the porch. For her daughter’s sake, Eve tried to calm herself. She didn’t want Molly to know she was upset. The little girl never slept well when she knew her mommy was troubled.

  “Losing Mom has been hard on him,” she continued, her tone lower even if her level of anger and frustration was not. “Aside from that, I don’t think he’s heard a word from his fiancée since she left. I don’t know if he’s hurt or worried or what he’s dealing with there, but being dumped two minutes before the ceremony would certainly impact a person’s mood. When you add all that to the fact that he’s trying to handle his city council work along with doing Mom’s job, it doesn’t take a degree in psychology to figure out that the stress might be getting to him.”

  Her thick bangs slipped down to brush the corner of her eye and the top of her cheek. She started to push them back, but when she lifted her hand it was trembling. Not wanting him to notice, she lowered her hand before it reached her chin and recrossed her arms.

  That small show of control got to him.

  Had it not been for that effort, he could have stepped back, considered himself chastised and let it go at that. But he knew the stress of all she was dealing with was getting to her, too. It was obvious to anyone who cared to look closely enough. But instead of thinking of her own needs the way her brother seemed to do, she reached beyond herself, graciously handling all that needed to be done and protecting the people she cared about. Her daughter. Her brother.

  He didn’t want another connection to her. Sharing a child and needing her as a source were about two too many strings as it was. But Rio understood all too well the need to keep feelings in check. And to protect. Like it or not, that was how he felt toward her. He must have. Otherwise, he’d have put the questions he had about her brother to her long before now.

  “I understand things aren’t easy for him,” he said, his objectivity firmly in place. The guy really had been dumped on lately, and, despite his thoughts about the way he was treating Eve, Rio kept his mind truly open where Hal was concerned. The chips could fall either way. “It’s just that he raises more questions than he answers, Eve. Take that car he’s driving.” He lifted his hand toward the door, then threaded his fingers through his own hair to keep from pushing her bangs back from her eyes. “How can he afford a new Mercedes on a public servant’s salary? That car’s worth seventy thousand bucks, easy. The Lexus hadn’t been cheap, either. Forty, at least. Is he spending his inheritance already?”

  She shot him a disgusted look.

  Taking that for a no, he tried again.

  “He mentioned investments. Is that how he makes his money?”

  She didn’t know. And when Eve admitted that, she also had to admit that yet another facet of her life was no longer what it had once been. She and her brother had never been close, but now it seemed she knew precious little about him. Except for one thing.

  “I love my brother, Rio. And he loved Mom as much as I did. He can’t possibly know anything about her murder.”

  She spoke with conviction, but what Rio heard was a plea. She wanted him to believe as she believed. Or maybe, he thought, lifting his hand toward her face, she was just trying to find a belief she could hold on to herself.

  With the tip of his finger, he drew her bangs away from her eyebrows. Her skin was warm to his touch, and so soft that it almost felt like air.

  His fingers lingered at her temple, his palm curving near the side of her face. “For your sake, I hope not,” he said. Feeling her head move almost imperceptibly toward his hand, he pulled away.

  From the way he stepped back, his jaw working as he shoved his hands in his pockets, it was apparent that his action had caught him off guard. But while Rio looked as if he wished he’d kept his hands to himself, Eve couldn’t deny the oddly calming effect the gesture seemed to have on her. Maybe it was because it had so abruptly shifted her focus. Or maybe it had been the gentleness of the contact itself. As big as he was, as strong as he was, he’d always been amazingly gentle with her.

  The bang of the screen door was followed by a bellowed “Mommy? There’s nobody else playing outside. Do I have to come in now?”

  Grateful for the distraction, Eve stepped back. “Yes, you do.” That was the rule. Molly could be on the porch only as long as other children were outside. “Bring in your dolls.”

  Molly walked into the living room, her arms already laden with two Barbies and a bear. From her right fist dangled the dream catcher.

  “I already got my dolls. Can he hang my catcher up for me now?”

  He. Twice now, Eve had heard her little girl refer to Rio that way.

  With anyone else, she would have pointed out that the man had a name and encouraged her to use it. But since this particular man’s name happened to be Daddy, and Eve was nowhere near ready to bring that particular subject up tonight, she let it go.

  “Can he?” Molly repeated when her mother hadn’t answered.

  Eve slid a hesitant glance toward Rio. He was waiting for an answer, too.

  Chapter Five

  Hanging the dream catcher didn’t require any special skill. It didn’t even require a hammer. Molly could have done it herself. But Rio had brought the child the gift, and since he’d offered to hang it earlier, Eve knew it was something he wanted to do. What made her feel like the Grinch was the fact that Molly wanted him to do it.

  Jealousy was new to her. Hating it, but afraid to focus on the other feelings churning inside her, Eve stood in the doorway of the room that had once been her own and watched her inquisitive five-year-old direct the placement of the talisman. All the way up the stairs Molly had chattered away, wanting to know if the catcher Rio’d had when he was little was just like hers and if he had brothers and sisters.

  The non sequitur was typical Molly. Her facile mind often took enormous, logic-defying leaps. But Rio took the jump in stride, seeming to have no trouble at all tracking her thoughts. No, the dream catcher wasn’t exactly the same, he’d told her, but it was close enough to do the job. And yes, he had a brother and a sister. He also had a mom and more nieces, nephews, aunts and uncles than he could count, he told her, then asked if she wanted him to hang her catcher high or low.

  That’s what they were trying to decide now.

  Molly sat on the edge of the bed, hugging Ted and contemplating the underside of the white eyelet canopy. Rio was stretched at an angle as he reached across the bed to secure his gift in the corner of the canopy frame, looking totally out of place in the overtly feminine room. Corded muscle shifted beneath his black shirt when he pulled back, his dark head reappearing from under the filmy white fabric.

  “How’s that?” he asked the child.

  Molly looked to her mom.

  “How about there, Mommy?”

  “It’s up to you, honey. If you like it there, it’s fine.”

  “But I want you to see.”

  Eve couldn’t see where “there” was from the doorway. Forcing back her reluctance, she stepped into the room, picked up a coloring book from the floor on her way and dropped it on the French provincial dresser by the old rocking chair.

  “You know, Molly,” Rio said when Eve stopped next to the child. “Even without the dream catcher, you don’t need to be afraid when you sleep. I don’t imagine your mom is very far away.”

  “She sleeps in there.” A small index finger pointed to a door kitty-corner across the hall. “It’s where she used to study. This is where she slept when she was little.”

  The room, like its former occupant, had grown up over the years. But other than the bright art prints on the wall, there was nothing to reveal much about the woman
herself. The storybooks and dolls all belonged to her daughter.

  Rio seemed to sense that there was little here of the girl he’d once known. And all that was visible in the room across the hall was the corner of the rose-print coverlet on the daybed. So he didn’t bother to look around as he might have, searching for clues as to who Eve had become. He simply held her glance, watching her as if her eyes told him all he needed to know—that his presence here wasn’t as welcome as she let it seem.

  He didn’t know quite what to make of her. For reasons he didn’t care to explore, it made him feel better to know she felt that way about him, too.

  “She keeps the door open,” Molly added, ever so helpfully. “’Cept sometimes when I wake up at night, she’s not there. That’s when I get scared.”

  Eve saw Rio’s wide brow lower just before she smoothed her hand over the little girl’s shoulder. “I always leave the light on for you,” she reminded Molly, more concerned with what the child had just revealed than with what Rio might think of it. “And you know I’m never far away. I’m usually right downstairs.”

  Molly’s little mouth screwed up in one corner. “I know. But how come you always get up after you go to bed?”

  She didn’t always get up. She distinctly remembered several nights where she’d simply lain awake staring at the shadows in the room instead of getting up to pace it. That had been before Rio had shown up, though. Since he’d reappeared in her life, she’d found herself too restless and worried to lie in the dark waiting for the oblivion of sleep. It was easier to numb her mind with late-night TV and fall asleep on the sofa. She couldn’t even concentrate to sketch or draw anymore. That had always been her escape before.