by Lisa Childs
“There’s nothing between him and Mom, you know.”
God, he was getting old when a kid could read him so well.
“He’s married,” the kid added.
Marriage meant very little to some people, such as, apparently, Evan’s missing wife. “Yeah, well…”
“He’s just a friend, Mr. Graham.”
Royce jerked the rope again. “What did I tell you?” he threatened with a grin he found surprisingly easy despite the circumstances.
The peal of his cell phone had interrupted the last of the reading of the will. Dylan had found some plate information he’d thought would interest Royce. A car had been rented with a Graham-McCarthy corporate business card.
Royce had done some company research with Jeremy and Sarah in tow. But his father had already obliterated that account, changing the name of the company to just Graham. Even one of the gates to the office compound that had born the McCarthy name had been removed.
Royce’s grin fled. “Mr. Graham makes me feel like my old man.”
“Your dad? Or is he your step-dad?”
Royce swallowed hard. “Real dad.”
Years ago, Royce had checked, finding the paternity tests the old man had ordered before marrying Royce’s mother. Donald Graham wouldn’t have raised another man’s child. Hell, he hadn’t even raised his own.
“Oh. Why does he act that way to you then?”
Royce’s heart clenched, so he rubbed a fist over his chest. The kid cared about him. Did Sarah? And why did he care what these two strangers thought of him? But they weren’t strangers, not anymore. In a short while they had become very important to him.
Royce shrugged. “Probably because I didn’t follow through.”
“What?”
“When I was a little kid, I said I’d go into business with him.”
“What kind of business is Graham Company, Royce?” The kid used care now when saying his first name.
“Import. Export. Stuff from foreign countries. Knickknacks. Art.” And there’d been breakins before Bart’s shooting. Royce remembered his father mentioning it, and he’d noticed the increased security earlier that day during the reading of the will. Was there a link between those breakins and Bart’s and the threat against the boy?
Jeremy snorted. “Sounds boring.”
“Yeah, I thought so, too.”
“The FBI had to be a lot more fun.”
The FBI had been a lot of things, but Royce had never considered it fun. A calling maybe. Years ago, when he’d made a difference. Before he’d been swayed by a woman’s lies…
Royce managed a chuckle. “You know, I think the old man’s more happy buying and selling knickknacks than I ever was in the FBI. It’s not a fun job, Jeremy. You have to be committed to it.”
Or you’d wind up committed to an asylum before it was all over. Or you were all over when someone you trusted pulled a gun on you.
“Royce!” Sarah called out from the open doorway. “He’s reached the top.”
“Let go, Jeremy!” Trusting him, the kid did as he said, swinging free from the wall, totally depending on Royce to bring him safely down.
Royce turned to Sarah, understanding the mother’s fear on her lovely face. Her son had begun to trust someone she couldn’t, someone she didn’t dare trust. Disappointment twisted in his stomach, but he couldn’t blame her for not wanting her son to become too attached to a stranger. But he didn’t feel like a stranger anymore. She just didn’t want Jeremy to get hurt. And she didn’t want to get hurt.
Royce wished she could believe what he’d promised her. He’d protect Jeremy and her, or he’d die trying. He hadn’t spoken the words lightly but had taken a vow.
When Jeremy’s feet touched the floor, she stepped away from the doorjamb. “That looks like fun,” she said, tipping back her head as she stared at the rock-climbing wall built into the gable end of the attic.
“We need this in our new house, Mom.” Jeremy’s face flushed with excitement, and he turned bright, pleading eyes on his mother. “You’ve gotta try it. You’d love it, too!”
She laughed. “I have to get you to bed. You had a long day today with Mr. Graham.”
“Royce. I have to call him Royce.”
She pursed her full lips but didn’t protest the familiarity. “Thank Royce for keeping you so entertained today.”
Royce winced at the faint disapproval in her tone.
Jeremy ignored it. “This was the best day. I learned to pick a lock, Mom. How cool is that? And I climbed a rock wall.”
She laughed. “You’ve done that at the mall.”
“But I’ve never picked a lock.”
She sighed, and Royce knew he was going to regret that one.
“And he taught me some self-defense moves Evan never showed me.”
Royce’s chest swelled with pride. He’d taught the kid some stuff no one else had. He rubbed a fist over his heart, remembering when his knuckles brushed bare skin that he’d ditched his shirt earlier.
All the heat from the rest of his father’s mansion rose to the attic, raising the temperature to summer mugginess despite it being early spring. He should have kicked on the fan.
He glanced toward the peak of the gable where the fan was mounted above a half-moon window. The sunlight had slipped away, so with night falling, the temperature would drop soon.
Sarah’s gray eyes clouded with concern. “I never thought self-defense was necessary…”
For a kid. Royce bet she had changed her mind now.
“Mom, I can take care of myself now. You don’t have to worry about me.”
“Jeremy…”
His thin arms wrapped around his mother in a quick hug. “I know—you’ll still worry until we find out who’s been threatening me.”
Royce cleared his throat. “Until I find out, Jeremy. And I will find out.”
“But you’ve been training me, Royce…”
He’d been distracting the kid from his mother’s fear. And from Royce’s. If money wasn’t an issue, what did someone want with Sarah’s son? Revenge. Revenge for what?
“I can help you with your business before I join the FBI. I can go with you to those countries and find those kidnapped people. It’ll be great training for the Bureau.”
Royce’s old pipe dreams drifted through his mind. He’d gotten what he’d wished for, but the dream had become a nightmare. “Jeremy…”
“I’m going to take a shower and hop into bed. We’ll figure this all out tomorrow.” He buzzed a kiss on his mother’s pale cheek. “Love you, Mom.”
He’d slipped toward the door before Sarah could catch him. Her hand hung in the air between them.
“It’s okay,” Royce tried to reassure her. He waited until the golden head disappeared down the steep flight of steps from the attic. “He’s just talking big.”
“Trying to impress you,” she agreed, her tone accusing.
“Sarah…”
She sighed. “I’m sorry. I know you meant well. I’d rather have him like this…full of himself, than how I feel.”
“How do you feel, Sarah?”
Her breath shuddered out. “Confused. Scared. Frustrated.”
He knew what she meant. Frustrated at the lack of concrete proof. They knew that someone associated with Graham Company had threatened Jeremy. One of her relatives. One of the people he’d known all his life. But who? And why?
“Sarah…”
She tipped up her chin, pride shining in her gray eyes. “This is what they want. To scare me. Right?”
“I wish I knew, Sarah.”
She tossed back her glorious hair, determined. “They’re not going to win.”
His breath caught at her beauty, but he had to force her back to reality. “Sarah, we can’t trust that that’s all they want.”
Her bottom lip trembled once, then she steadied it. “I can’t trust at all.” She blinked back a sheen of tears. “You think they want Jeremy?”
“I don’t k
now. But I’m not taking any chances.”
“You had police officers trail us all day, and now they’re surrounding this estate. No, you’re not taking any chances.”
He wanted to reach for her, drag her into his arms and offer her the promises burning the back of his throat. He wanted her to give him her trust. “No, I’m not taking any chances, Sarah.”
Chapter Ten
Perhaps Royce wasn’t willing to take a chance, but Sarah was. She had to. Tomorrow, after the service for her grandfather, she’d return to Winter Falls. Perhaps Royce would accompany her and Jeremy on the ferry. But he wouldn’t stay. He didn’t stay anywhere. He traveled from place to place, tracking down missing people in godforsaken lands. Never getting attached.
Despite the tension in her body, she leaned against the doorjamb to the attic, as she had earlier. Her hungry gaze devoured Royce, skimming over the hard muscles bunched in his arms and across his broad back, as he grappled for hand-and footholds on the sheer wall that rose to the rafters.
Sweat glistened on his naked skin, which glowed under the overhead track lights. “Do you want to try?” he asked, his deep voice drifting down to her and jangling her overwrought nerves.
She’d been caught staring like some moonstruck teenager watching the track star practice. Well, she should remember what happened to moonstruck teenagers.
She glanced down at her long, manicured nails. “I don’t think so.”
He clicked his tongue, producing a clucking noise.
She ignored the surge of pride that wanted to rise to his challenge. “That’s not going to work.”
“So the kid’s asleep.”
She laughed softly. “Sort of. He’s still keyed up about all you taught him today.”
“I’m sorry if I overstepped, Sarah. I should have run some of that by you first.”
She waved a slightly trembling hand, dismissing his concerns. “It’s all right. You didn’t teach him what he most wanted to learn.”
He leaned back, gazing down at her. “What’s that?”
Despite the attic heat, she shivered. “How to fire a gun.”
His right hand slipped, and since no ropes supported him, Royce grappled for purchase. She flinched, silently praying he wouldn’t plummet to the wood floor. “Are you all right?”
He nodded. “Yeah. I told the kid. I won’t teach anyone to shoot. Not again.”
“But you did once?” Intuition told her it had been a woman, a woman who had hurt him. And unfounded jealousy churned in her stomach. He’d once cared about a woman enough to teach her to defend herself.
His jaw clenched, he replied, “A long time ago, before I went private.”
“Went private? I bet you always were.”
He chuckled. “Not as private as you.”
Her life had never been private enough. Everybody had always known too much. “You’ve shut everyone out, Royce. Like your father. He wants in—that’s his problem with you.”
His next chuckle was a bitter expulsion of sound. “He’s never forgiven me for wanting out, Sarah, for wanting more than clay pots and wooden statues.”
She’d talked to Donald Graham today and had found underneath his resentment a deep love for his son. But he didn’t understand him. Neither did she, but she wanted to.
“Law enforcement called to you.” She shivered again. “Like it calls to Jeremy.”
He didn’t respond, perhaps so far up the wall that he’d gone out of hearing range. Then slowly he began the descent, catching footholds with the toes of his climbing shoes, grappling with his hands. Muscles straining…
Sarah swallowed hard, drying out her mouth so much that she had to lick her lips. When he dropped to the ground next to her, she jumped.
“I tried not to encourage…”
His words trailed off as he turned to her. “Sarah.”
He’d said her name on a groan. “Are you all right, Royce? You didn’t hurt yourself?” She reached for his hands, running her fingertips over his rough palms. “Your hands are so hard, so rough…you must climb outside, too, on real rocks…cliffs…mountains…”
His head jerked as he nodded, and the dark-gold hair brushed his bare shoulders. “For work, when I have to. For pleasure, when I get the time.”
“Time.” They didn’t have much more time. She’d be gone tomorrow, after the service. “Your father’s not the only one who wants in, Royce.”
“What?”
“Why’d you leave the FBI, Royce, when you were doing so much good?”
He flinched as if she’d struck him, closing his eyes, but not before she glimpsed the pain swirling in the sandy depths. “Was I, or was that just good publicity? I don’t believe my own legend. I know the truth.”
She linked their fingers together. “And what is the truth, Royce?”
For a second he clasped her hands in return, his grip so tight her fingers turned numb. Then he released her and walked away. His shirt and jean jacket lay across an old brass bed, but he didn’t reach for them. He merely stood there, his head bowed as he stared down.
“The truth is that I wasn’t the hero the press made me out to be. I wasn’t invincible.” His mouth twisted into a bitter grimace. “I’m not psychic. I didn’t know every time.”
“How could you, Royce? No one could. There had to be children you didn’t get to in time.”
He shuddered. “Bobby…poor little Bobby. But I didn’t fight time with Samantha…”
He sighed and brushed a hand through his hair. “The truth is that you’re not the only one to believe a lover’s lies and wind up paying the price.”
Something clenched her heart, and a bitter taste rose to her mouth. Jealousy. “Really?”
“Actually, I didn’t pay the price. Samantha did…with her life. And Samantha’s mother paid the same price…when I shot her.”
HE’D EXPECTED a gasp, at least. At most, he’d expected her to turn around and run. Maybe lock herself into the room with her son. Instead she stood behind him, waiting.
For the rest of the story.
His head pounded, whether from the knock it had taken the day before or from reliving the past, he didn’t know. He reached into the pocket of his jean jacket and pulled out a bottle of aspirin. His hand shook as he struggled with the childproof top before shaking three pills into his palm and swallowing them dry-mouthed. The chalky flavor coated his tongue, leaving bitterness.
“Head still hurts?” Despite what he’d revealed, sympathy deepened her sweet voice. “You should have left the bandage on another day.” And disapproval.
“I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not. You’ve not been fine for a long time, Royce, long before anyone shot Bart McCarthy. Tell me the rest of it. I know there’s a reason why you…did what you did.” She couldn’t say it.
But he could. “Killed her?”
“Tell me, Royce.”
He shrugged. “What’s to tell? I believed her lies. Believed the old abusive-ex story. Believed he’d stolen her missing child. I even taught her to shoot, so she could defend herself. Then I found her little girl…”
Buried in her own backyard. His stomach churned as the image flashed behind his closed eyes. He could feel her cold dead skin as he’d brushed the dirt from her delicate little face.
In a rush of words he finished it, “She’d killed her. Jealousy, craziness, whatever. When I confronted her, she pulled a gun on me. I killed her. End of story. End of my career. I quit everything that day.”
Sarah’s fingertips skimmed over his clenched jaw. “No, you didn’t.”
He jerked away from her touch and stalked back to the rock wall. “No, I quit.”
“That’s not what you’re talking about.” Her soft breath stirred the hair on his neck. She had crossed the room without her customary clicking heels. He glanced down to her feet, bare but for silk stockings.
“What?” The aspirin had dulled his pain, but still it gnawed at him, just as she gnawed at his restraint. “Wh
at do you think I’m talking about?”
“Feelings, Royce. You think you quit feeling, but you haven’t. You still care.” Fingers brushed through his hair and skimmed the tops of his shoulders. “Probably too much.”
“The Feds said that, too. How can you care too much about your job?” He sighed, a ragged breath. “I don’t want to talk about this, Sarah. It’s the past.”
“And it belongs there. You’ve gotta stop using it as an excuse.”
Every time he closed his eyes, he could see that little girl and Bobby… He could remember the hopelessness, the parents’ pain… “An excuse?”
“To shut everyone out. You have no roots. No life.” She squeezed his shoulder, but he shrugged her fingers off and edged around her. Her soft voice pursued it, “I knew who you were when I saw you on the ball field in Winter Falls.”
“You did?”
She nodded, a faint flush stealing over her high cheekbones. “I didn’t want to admit it and stroke what I figured was an oversize ego. But you have no ego, Royce. You forget all the children you’ve saved. I saw those press conferences. Jeremy has clippings in his law-enforcement scrapbook.”
“I can’t—”
“Because you think you failed Samantha, you’ve shut yourself down where children are concerned. Or so you think. But when you go to Central America and Asia and you rescue these businessmen and missionaries and such, you’re affecting a child’s life then. You’re bringing home a mother or father. You are a hero, Royce.”
“Don’t believe my press, Sarah.” Weariness dragged him down, so he collapsed onto the end of the bed. No dust rose in a cloud around him. The linens were fresh. Did his father have his room cleaned? Why? Could Sarah be right about him?
He rolled his head, his neck cracking. How did he deserve a life when those kids he’d failed had been denied theirs? Saving adults didn’t make up for those lives that had had no chance to be lived. “I hope Jeremy was just talking big tonight. That he doesn’t really have any hopes of helping me.”
“Why?” Lines furrowed her porcelain brow, and she padded across the floor to stand before him.
He wanted to smooth the lines away, wanted to calm all her fears. But he couldn’t. He’d already made more promises than he’d be able to keep. “You know, Sarah, that it’s not a good idea for him to get attached to me.”