But it did. Damn it all, there must be something terribly wrong with him, because it did.
He drained half the bottle, then slumped back on the bench. After eleven years, Meghan was back in New Orleans, but she hadn’t come back for him. She probably hadn’t even given him a thought until she’d come up with her brilliant plan to involve him in her troubles.
He had thought about her—had wondered whether she’d been done in by the life-style she had preferred over him. He had imagined her still living that life, still drinking heavily and partying hard, still trying on every guy who came along for Mr. Right. He’d even imagined her finding Mr. Right and living the good life in a pretty little house in some pretty little town.
He hadn’t imagined her taking a job as a prostitute. Oh, there had been times when she’d traded sex for money, but it hadn’t been business, merely desperation, and the men had been acquaintances, not customers. But, according to Sinclair, that was how she’d supported herself for at least eight years—first working for Jimmy in Houston, then running the business for him in Dallas. Now she was still with him. Living with him. Right here in New Orleans.
Ex-prostitute. Madam. Gangster’s mistress. Mom. He smiled bitterly. He had felt a great many things for Meghan over the years. Today he was ashamed. Today, somewhere deep inside, some small part of him hated her. Some part wished she would disappear from the face of the earth. Some part wished she had never existed.
And some part... Scowling, he raised the bottle to his lips and finished it in one deep swallow. The sour taste didn’t make the admission he was about to make go down any easier, but at least it took the edge off the self-disgust that accompanied it.
Some stupid, damn-fool, idiotic, abandoned-child part of him was going to help her. Wanted to help her. Needed to help her.
Whatever the cost.
As Cassie cut across the yard after school, Karen called to her through an open window. “Come inside for a minute, will you? I have a message for you.”
Changing direction, she climbed the steps to the veranda, then stepped into the broad hall where the receptionist sat at her desk typing. Three toddlers were at play in what had once been the gentlemen’s parlor, while their mothers sat across the hall where the formal parlor had been turned into a waiting room. With a smile for everyone, Cassie made her way to the small, cramped room that served as Karen’s private office, taking a seat in front of a battered gray metal desk.
Two tall windows looked out on the front lawn and provided ventilation that did little to dispel the afternoon heat. At least the fan on top of one file cabinet provided a slightly cooling breeze. In another few weeks, Cassie was going to need one of those for her classroom and another for her bedroom. She made a mental note to put out the word and see what the family could round up.
“How was class?”
“Fine. We’re making progress in the reading and math departments.” Except for J.T., the others in her class who had attended school before this month hadn’t learned much and had, she suspected, been labeled slow by teachers with too many students, too many obligations and not enough help. Most of the kids, it seemed, had spent their time in school doing busywork. They had colored a lot of pictures and played a lot of games. But things were different at the Serenity Street Alternative School. They were learning to read, write and count, as well as lessons in social and survival skills. Most importantly, Cassie sometimes thought, they were also learning to dream.
In the past twenty-four hours, she’d become quite a dreamer herself. At odd moments through the day, she had caught herself indulging in dreams of Reid—erotic ones, tender ones, happily-ever-after ones. She had been impatient for the end of the school day to arrive, to get home, to see him, kiss him and do whatever she wanted with him. She was still impatient, but she hid it well as she waited in front of Karen’s desk. “You look as if you’ve had good news.”
Karen grinned. With her T-shirt celebrating New Orleans and her electrified red hair that curled wildly in every direction, she looked younger than Cassie had ever felt. “I do. Remember the grant from the Griswald Foundation that we applied for?”
Cassie nodded, even though she couldn’t recall any specifics. A place like Kathy’s House required a lot of funding, and much of it came in dribs and drabs. Karen was always applying for grants or corporate handouts.
“It looks like it might come through. Serenity Street will have its first business that doesn’t involve liquor in more than ten years.”
Now Cassie remembered. The actual recipient of the grant would be Mrs. Williams, Shawntae’s mother, whose goal was to open a small corner grocery in the neighborhood. The Griswald Foundation helped small businesses get off the ground with grants, loans and advice. Once the store was up and running, Karen hoped to get other businesses to follow. She wanted to make Serenity a real neighborhood again, to make life easier for the people who lived there and more appealing to anyone who might be persuaded to invest there. She wanted to revitalize the place, and the Griswald grant would be a big step forward. “When will the final decision be made?”
“A few weeks, probably. Keep your fingers crossed.” Her boss slid two yellow slips of paper across the desk. “Your messages.”
The first was an invitation to dinner at Jolie’s. Ordinarily Cassie would be eager to spend an evening with her favorite sister and family, but ordinarily she wasn’t still settling into a job they thought she never should have taken or deceiving the entire family about her new living arrangements. Ordinarily she wasn’t in the still-new-and-giddy phase of an intimate relationship that she was ardently hoping would develop into something committed and long-term with a man about whom they were sure to have second thoughts.
The second message was from her mother and pretty much the same—an invitation to a cookout on Saturday with all the family. She viewed it with far more enthusiasm, though, because of something her mother had added: “And bring that nice young man of yours.” Of course, Jolie and Smith would be there, too, but in the crowd, they would have little opportunity to form more than the most superficial opinion of Reid. Her mother liked him, so they would have little choice but to also like him.
“And who is this nice young man of yours?”
A blush warming her cheeks, she smiled as she tucked the messages in her purse. “Reid helped me move some stuff from my mother’s house. She was impressed.”
“Good. How’s it going over there? You two getting along?”
She considered giving a blunt, no-room-for-doubts sort of answer, something along the lines of How would you like to be my mother-in-law? Instead, she simply smiled and shrugged. “We’re fine.” She studied her boss’s Cheshire-cat grin that hadn’t diminished one bit since she’d come into the room and suddenly remembered Alicia. “Reid told me about Alicia’s plans. What did you and Jamey decide?”
At last the grin faltered, and Karen’s eyes grew bright and damp. “We’re in the market for a crib,” she replied, her voice quavering.
A warm rush of pure pleasure swept through Cassie. “Wonderful. Sean couldn’t ask for better parents.”
“That’s what Alicia said. Jamey’s not so sure. Frankly neither am I. I’m full of talk and advice, but I don’t have any real experience with babies. I hold them from time to time here in the office, and I change an occasional diaper or hold a bottle, but I don’t know anything about being a mother.”
“You’ll learn,” Cassie assured her, then gently teased, “I know this place that offers parenting classes that’ll teach you everything. By the way, for what it’s worth, Reid thinks Jamey will make a good father.”
A tender look appeared in Karen’s eyes. “It’s worth a lot. Thanks.”
“Where is Sean?”
Karen gestured to the floor, and Cassie stood up to look. In the corner behind the desk, room had been made for an old-fashioned cradle, one that usually sat in the waiting room, and Sean, stripped down to his disposable diaper, was sleeping soundly on his stomach.
His face was turned to the side, his long lashes brushing chubby cheeks. He looked adorable, and he made her feel all soft and mushy inside.
“Has Alicia left?”
Sadness shadowed Karen’s face. “We spent this morning in an attorney’s office, and she caught a bus this afternoon. She was heartbroken to leave him, but at the same time...” Sighing, she shook her head. “Adults have a tendency to discount young love, to suggest that because a couple is young, what they feel can’t possibly be as intense as what we feel, but that’s not always true. Ryan’s death broke Alicia’s heart. She thinks living without him will be easier in a different place, a place that doesn’t remind her every day of him.”
“Will it be?” If anyone around here understood what Alicia was going through, it must be Karen. Her first husband, Evan Montez, had been a cop killed by some lunatic who’d kidnapped a young girl. For a time after his death, Karen had remained in New Orleans, in the house she had shared with him, seeing the friends they had known as a couple, before moving back to her family’s home a few hours away. Of course, since Evan had been from the same town, it must have held its own memories of him, but at least they hadn’t been recent.
“It depends. Some people need to distance themselves from the memories. Some people find tremendous comfort in them. Some people find no comfort either way. Alicia will have to find out what works for her.”
“I hope she does.” Cassie stood up again. When her boss also got to her feet, Cassie hugged her. “I’m happy for you, Karen.”
“I’m happy for you, too.” When Cassie drew back to look at her, the older woman shrugged. “Reid deserves someone special.”
They certainly agreed on that.
With a series of goodbyes on her way out, Cassie left the office and the house and hurried across the street to O’Shea’s. She stopped behind the bar to give Jamey a hug and congratulations before asking, “Is Reid upstairs?”
He shook his head. “He hasn’t come in yet.”
“Is that unusual?” Reid had gotten off work over three hours ago. She had assumed he would come straight home, had assumed that he would want to be there when she got in.
“Sometimes he runs errands or gets something to eat. He’ll be here soon. It’s been almost seven months since he started working here, and he’s never been late even once.”
Of course he hadn’t. He took his responsibilities seriously.
He was grateful for the jobs he’d gotten at a time when few people were willing to hire him, and he was conscientious in performing them. He would come home soon.
She chatted with Jamey just to pass a few minutes, then went upstairs to her hot and stuffy apartment. She left the door open and raised all the windows, then changed into shorts and a tank top. After pulling her hair back in a ponytail to get it off her neck, she settled with the papers she’d brought home to grade on the sofa—because it was comfortable, not because she could see the top of the stairs from there. She was having trouble concentrating because it was hot and her mind was numbed from a full day of schoolwork, not because the stairs remained silent and unused. She was distracted because of the messages from her family, Karen’s news regarding the grant and the unexpectedly strong maternal longings Sean had stirred in her, not because Reid was late coming home.
When, after an unbearable wait, she heard the first creak of the stairs, she had to stifle the urge to throw the papers aside, jump to her feet and rush to the door to greet him. Instead, she pretended to be calm and serene. She continued to make corrections on the math papers in her lap and watch the door from the corner of her eye.
Reid came to the top of the stairs, noticed her open door, stopped and for a moment looked at her. He was dressed the same as usual, in jeans and a T-shirt, and he carried a small paper bag in one hand. He didn’t smile, speak or greet her in any way. He simply looked, then turned and walked away.
Her welcoming smile frozen on her face, Cassie laid the papers aside and went into the hall. “Reid?” Had he had trouble while he was out? Maybe Marino and Morgan had harassed him or some cop who’d known him from his reckless days had rousted him. Maybe there had been a problem at the garage or he’d gotten some bad news.
He was almost to the bathroom when he stopped. He didn’t turn around, though.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
When she slipped past him, then turned to look at him, his face gave nothing away. He looked tough, cold, but he often had—though not lately. Maybe he was feeling shy about what had happened between them yesterday afternoon and again last night. But he hadn’t been shy when he’d awakened naked in bed beside her this morning. He hadn’t been at all shy when he’d gotten up, gathered his clothes and headed for a shower.
Feeling uneasy and anxious inside, she tried to smile. It wasn’t a great success. “Weren’t you even going to say hello to me?”
For a moment, he avoided looking at her, and she thought he was going to brush her off without a word, as if what had happened had meant nothing to him, as if she meant nothing to him. Then, unexpectedly, a sweet, faint smile touched his mouth, and he raised one hand to her cheek. Bending his head, he kissed her. “Hello,” he said with that same smile when he raised his head. “I’m running late, and I really do need to take a shower.” He moved past her, went into the bathroom and closed the door.
Something was definitely wrong. Was it her? Did he regret making love to her? After all, even though they’d met last fall, they hadn’t really known each other long. Had their relationship progressed too quickly from getting acquainted to getting involved to getting naked for his comfort? Or maybe the fact that she’d been a virgin bothered him. Maybe he was afraid that she would make demands now, that she would expect some sort of commitment.
If so, he was right. While she certainly didn’t expect a proposal of marriage or an engagement ring, she did expect a monogamous relationship. But that wasn’t so much to ask. He’d been uninvolved for months. It wasn’t as if he were being forced to choose between her and someone else.
She was still standing in the hall, still brooding, when the door opened again sometime later and he came out. He hesitated when he saw her—wearing nothing but a towel around his hips, he probably felt modest—then he came out into the hall.
Forcing a smile and a cheery tone into her voice, she said, “I was kind of hoping you would be here when I got home.”
“I had a few things to take care of after work.”
He passed her and went to his door. She followed. “We have some time before you have to go back to work. Want to share an early dinner?”
The look he gave her was long and measuring. What had he expected her to suggest instead of dinner? A quick romp in the sack? She was up for it if he was—but, sadly, he wasn’t.
He unlocked the door with the keys he held in one hand, then ran his fingers through his hair. “Listen, Cassie...”
The muscles in her stomach knotted. She’d heard a few Listen, Cassies in her life, usually followed by something she didn’t want to hear. I’ve met someone else. There’s this girl back at school. I don’t want to see you again. Let’s be friends.
“I just want some time alone. I’ve got to go to work Soon, and I thought I’d read the paper and do some cleaning.” He shrugged awkwardly, as if he were lying and knew she knew it. “I’ll see you later, okay?”
Forcing her smile to stay in place through sheer will, she nodded. “Sure. Of course. Later.” She didn’t point out that he didn’t have a newspaper—the towel certainly left no place to hide it—or that his apartment was rarely in need of cleaning. Instead, still nodding, she backed away to her own apartment, went inside, closed the door and leaned against it.
If she were a poorer judge of character, she might think she’d just gotten the brush-off. She might think that now Reid had gotten what he wanted—what young women were taught that young men always wanted—he was dumping her. In fact, in spite of her good judgment, deep inside she wonde
red if maybe, just maybe, that wasn’t the case. Reid had been alone all his life. The past few months had been particularly lonely for him, and there she was, offering whatever was necessary to ease that loneliness. He would have to be crazy to turn it down, even if it hadn’t meant much to him. Even if it had only been...
Tears seeped into her eyes as one of his comments over the weekend slipped into her mind. Sometimes you find yourself needing to be touched, even if it means having sex with someone to get it.
Maybe, for Reid, yesterday had been one of those times.
Maybe she had mistaken loneliness for affection, basic human need for desire. Maybe he had thought that relieving her of her virginity was a fair trade for fulfilling that need for physical contact. Maybe the entire act had meant nothing to him.
Maybe she meant nothing to him.
Chapter 8
The sky was overcast as Reid finished dressing Wednesday morning, but the cloud layer blocking the sun did nothing to lessen the intensity of its heat. It was a muggy, miserable morning, feeling more like July than March. It was a good day for stretching out somewhere in the shade—or better, considering his foul mood, for taking refuge in a dim, smoky bar and enough booze to bring on blessed oblivion.
Falcone would send someone to pick him up around ten, Sinclair had said when Reid had called him last night and told him he would take their lousy job. The job Meghan had secured for him as her driver wouldn’t be difficult. He would take her wherever she wanted to go—mostly shopping, according to Sinclair, which didn’t surprise Reid. If she hadn’t developed a taste for the finer things Jimmy’s money could provide, she wouldn’t be the Meghan that Reid remembered, sometimes loved and lately hated.
The job would allow him to spend a great deal of time with her and would give him reason to be taking packages in and out of Falcone’s house. No one would suspect that a few of those boxes might contain papers, tape recordings or film. No one would suspect anything at all, she had assured Sinclair. Her loyalty to Jimmy was unquestioned, just as Reid’s loyalty to her should be.
The Taming Of Reid Donovan Page 18