He opened the desk drawer where he kept the pattern, worn around the edges now. He had taken a photo of it, too, so he also had a digital copy. He held onto it not because he believed his mom was going to break free of bars and become a world-renowned dog-clothing maker, but because it was a rare unblemished moment in the memories of her.
It was a moment about hopes and dreams, and about wishes, even though they’d gone unfulfilled.
He closed the drawer, and returned to the present day. To the email banter that he couldn’t seem to stay away from.
from: [email protected]
to: [email protected]
date: July 15, 9:27 AM
subject: You probably look immeasurably hot blushing
More like a pin-up girl coder. How on earth did the computer science guys get any work done with you around?
from: [email protected]
to: [email protected]
date: July 15, 9:31 AM
subject: You are full of compliments. I like it.
I assure you, I was quite geeky in college. I never wore skirts and dresses or high-heel shoes.
from: [email protected]
to: [email protected]
date: July 15, 9:33 AM
subject: I could go on all day about you…
I refuse to believe you were geeky. Prove it with a photo.
from: [email protected]
to: [email protected]
date: July 15, 9:44 AM
subject: Please do
See? Case closed.
He groaned as he stared at the photos she’d sent. They must have been taken ten years ago, and yeah, she had the whole casual Converse sneakers-sweatshirt-knit-cap look going on, the complete opposite of the woman he knew now. Still, she was hot then, and she was hot now, and no matter what, she turned him on. Fucking hell. He was hard already just from a picture.
from: [email protected]
to: [email protected]
date: July 15, 9:47 AM
subject: Hot as hell. Gorgeous as heaven. Sexy as Sin.
Just. As. Fucking. Hot.
You are just as fucking hot in jeans and a hoodie as you are in a tight dress.
Everything looks good on you because you look good in anything.
And everything.
And especially in nothing.
from: [email protected]
to: [email protected]
date: July 15, 9:52 AM
subject: Same to you.
Nothing… I believe I have that outfit planned for you.
* * *
After a lunch meeting with a new client later that day, Ryan’s phone rang. His spine straightened as he headed to the parking lot of the restaurant and answered John Winston’s call.
“Hey,” he said.
The detective said a quick hello then slid into business. “Mr. Sloan,” he began, and Ryan found it vaguely amusing that Winston was so formal in how he talked. “I hope you don’t mind, but I had another question for you.”
“Sure,” Ryan said, as he unlocked his truck and turned on the radio. It was an old habit to have a little background noise during a private conversation.
“Luke Carlton. The piano teacher your mom had an affair with,” the man began, and Ryan clenched his jaw, a visceral reaction to that name and that description. There was so very little anyone could say of his mother that was good. She’d had an affair, she was in prison for murder, she’d been a—
But he couldn’t even say those words in his head.
“Was he ever at your home” John asked. “Did you mom spend time with him at the house?”
Ryan took a deep breath, letting the air work its way through his frustration at having to discuss the cheating she’d done. As if that was the worst thing. “Not really. She kept it pretty secret.”
“Sure. Of course. I get that,” the detective said, and Ryan forced himself to keep blinders on, to see John solely as the detective and not as the brother of the woman he’d taken on a limo ride up and down the Strip last night. “Did they ever meet on James Street?”
Ryan furrowed his brow. “James Street? Not that I know of. But that’s a pretty long street. Cuts through a lot of town.”
John laughed lightly. “Yeah. I know. That’s the problem.”
“Why are you asking?”
“Just trying to put some things together.”
“Man, I wish I could help, but I sure as hell wasn’t privy to the details of her affair,” he said, though that wasn’t entirely true. His mom had told him how much Luke had helped her to come out on the other side of the trouble she was in. But all that data fell under the don’t breathe a word category. She’d warned him before she left for prison to guard those secrets, and he did—to keep her out of more trouble and to protect her honor, even from behind bars. He hadn’t breathed a goddamn word. He’d buried that secret far inside him, like an artifact in a sandstorm.
“Listen, I would really appreciate it if you could give me a call if you remember anything about their relationship.”
He shoved a hand through his hair and nodded. “Of course.”
The call ended and he banged his head on the steering wheel.
What the fuck was he supposed to say to Sophie? Your brother called me today to ask about my mom’s lover from eighteen years ago?
The last thing he wanted her to know about was his shit storm of a past. He’d never met a woman he’d wanted to tell. He had no clue how he’d even begin that conversation. He wished, he really fucking wished, that he could just be the man he was now. Not the guy whose family story had been dragged through the headlines in all its salaciousness years ago.
He only wanted the woman, not for the past to spill over into his present with her.
Chapter Twelve
The puck screamed across the ice, streaking right through the goalie’s skates and smacking into the back of the net.
Ryan raised his arms and cheered. His teammates echoed his excitement, skating over and clapping him on the back for putting them ahead with five minutes to go in the game. The line skated off the ice and headed to the bench as another set of his teammates jumped onto the rink for the face-off.
Breathing hard, his muscles working overtime from the intensity of the game, Ryan grabbed his water bottle and gulped down some liquid for his parched throat. He momentarily parked himself on the bench with the line change, his buddy Marshall joining him.
“Good job,” Marshall grunted with a pat on the knee.
“Gotta keep up with you,” Ryan said, since Marshall had scored the first goal for the recreational league team they played on. They’d been playing together for years—since all the way back in varsity, when they went to the same high school together here in Vegas. Marshall was as close to the inner circle as anyone could be.
“Hey, need to ask you a question,” Ryan said, lowering his voice as he tugged off his bulky gloves. Their other teammates were fixated on the game, cheering on their guys. Marshall motioned for Ryan to continue. “You told me a few weeks ago about Stefano being questioned by some of your attorneys for other crimes.” Marshall had tipped him off before the investigation had reopened, but had been away on a family vacation for two weeks so this was the first time Ryan had been able to catch up on the details.
“Right,” his friend said as he tightened his skates. “Some of my colleagues are working on that.”
“Do know anything more about it? Because a detective brought me in for questioning a week ago. He talked to Shan, Colin, and Michael as well.” Ryan used his sister’s given name, since that was how Marshall had always known her. “My grandmother, too. He asked a lot of the same questions that the guy who investigated the first time around did, but some different ones as well. He really seemed to want to know who my mom was friends with and if there was anyone new in her life at the time,” he said, speaking as casually as if they were catching
up on the latest sports scores. It was damn nice, in a strange way, not to have to dig in and serve up his messy family story to someone. Hell, Ryan couldn’t even remember ever having had to tell Marshall at all—he simply knew because they’d grown up together.
Marshall gestured with his clunky gloved fingers for him come closer. Ryan scooted over as the other man lowered his voice to a thread. “Listen, you didn’t hear this from me,” he said, beginning with his usual caveat when he shared something he wasn’t supposed to share. Ryan never violated that trust. “Stefano’s girlfriend came to us a few months ago. She told us she had some information.”
Ryan’s eyes widened. The cops had tried to talk to the shooter’s girlfriend at the time of the murder, since she’d lived with Stefano, but she’d skipped town then. No one had found her, and Colin had told Ryan at the time that there were rumors that Stefano had had her killed.
Ryan never believed those rumors. Didn’t seem plausible. Skipping town when you found out the guy you loved was going to prison? That was much more believable. Still, her absence had been one of those unsolved mysteries.
“She left town then. But no one could find her,” Ryan said. “Where’d she go?”
“Woman’s shelter in Idaho, of all places. Turned out she was pregnant. Stayed there ’til the kid was born. Wanted to lie low and keep away from the cops. She has a seventeen-year-old son now. Stefano’s kid.”
“Holy shit.” His jaw dropped. “So that’s why she left?”
“Yeah, and that’s why he took the job from your mom. Needed money for the kid. She said she didn’t know at the time that he was doing those kinds of jobs,” Marshall said, with narrowed eyes, suggesting he didn’t believe that line. “Anyway, once he was behind bars and the investigation was obviously over, she went back to her family in Reno with the baby. But it turns out some of his friends have been keeping an eye on her and the kid. It was a promise these guys made to always look out for each other. So with Stefano in the big house, his buddies looked after the girlfriend, helped out her and the kid, all as a favor to Jerry. But here’s the thing. Those friends were in the Sinners.”
“Are they still?”
Marshall shrugged. “My guys don’t know yet. All we know is Stefano asked them to keep his kid out of the way of the Sinners. He wanted his son to have a shot at a new kind of life, different from his. So his friends protected the kid for a long time, but apparently they haven’t done such a good job lately, and he’s been getting into trouble. The girlfriend’s not too happy about them breaking their promise to keep her son safe from the gang.”
Something about Marshall’s info aligned with John Winston’s questions. If the girlfriend was talking after all these years, maybe mentioning names that had been off the radar during the first investigation, it would make sense that Winston had been asking about any other people in his mother’s life. “Wait. Were these buddies involved in my dad’s murder?”
“That’s the part we don’t know. That’s the part no one knows. It’s not even my case. It’s not even at the level of a case yet, to be honest. Just an investigation. All I know is the detectives are looking into it. And you did not get this from me.”
The coach slapped the white wood of the bench, and pointed to the ice.
Ryan, Marshall and the rest of the line hopped over and went out on the rink, returning to the game. As Ryan skated, he mapped out a plan. No reason he couldn’t try to work the case, too. John Winston might be the lead detective, but Ryan could play that role on his own. It was his family, his life, and his story. He knew how to figure things out, and how to put two and two together. And he had a damn good notion of some of the people that he’d need to go see.
Later that night, he scheduled a piano lesson with a local teacher.
* * *
“Wish me luck,” Sophie said as she pushed back from the table after a fantastic sushi lunch with Holden and her good friend Jenna.
Holden stood first and cupped her shoulders. “I know you can do this. Everything is going to go great with Clyde. Just tell him to keep his grandson’s paws off my ex-wife,” Holden said with a wink.
“If only you’d kept your hands on me I wouldn’t be worrying about my biggest donor to the community center trying to pawn me off on his grandson,” she said and squeezed his arm. Holden swatted her rear with a light touch.
“Like that? Is that what you want?”
“No. Put some gusto into it,” Jenna said in her husky, sexy, Australian-accented voice.
Sophie waved them both off. She wasn’t sore, per se, from her spanking two nights ago, but she was keeping this patch of bodily real estate for Ryan’s possessive hands only. Actually, all of her body. True, they’d made no such promises. But after the time they’d spent together, the things they’d done, the messages they’d exchanged… Well, there was no way in hell she wanted to even dabble with anyone else.
“No gusto please,” she joked then glanced at her watch. “I’m off. Enjoy your green tea ice cream.”
“We will,” Jenna said eyeing the dessert dishes the waiter had just brought to the two of them. “Just remind Clyde how important the community center is in and of itself. And that building the new additions is not dependent on you dating or not dating his grandson.”
“Absolutely.” She gave a big thumbs-up. She knew what to do. She certainly knew how to handle herself in front of old, rich men, in front of young, rich men, and in front of nerdy, rich men. She’d handled herself just fine when she ran InCode. She’d made pitches. She’d stood up in front of groups of people. She’d asked for funding. And she’d presented on the strength of her vision.
That was what she would do with Clyde. Besides, she didn’t feel her romantic life, one way or the other, needed to be a part of her conversations with him. If she were a man, surely no one would expect her to date someone’s daughter.
She hopped into her Aston Martin and headed to Clyde’s office. He greeted her with a handshake that lasted too long, then a kiss on the cheek that left too much whiskery scratch on her skin. She wished he wasn’t so touchy, but she reminded herself the man hadn’t crossed any lines. He was simply more affectionate than she would have liked. No crime in that. Just a wee bit of discomfort.
In his office, she reviewed the final plans for the Beethoven concert benefit as well as the community center. When she was through, Clyde smacked his palm in approval on his grand oak desk. “I am delighted to be able to help fund this. It is so great to have a place for young people to be able to go and stay off of the streets and out of trouble,” he said, and she couldn’t deny that she loved his giving heart and his spirit. He reminded her in some ways of John, and his mission to help make the city safer and better. They each had their own style of going about it, but the goal was the same.
A better Las Vegas.
Clyde stroked his chin. “Say, do you know who’s here today?” There was a glint in his gray eyes.
Sophie cringed inside, then she plastered on her best smile. “I can’t even begin to guess.”
Soon he was escorting her to an office where a young, blond man was bent over his laptop.
“Taylor, my boy. I have someone I want you to meet,” Clyde said, and the young man looked up. He was handsome, sported a nice smile, and boasted straight white teeth that could only be courtesy of the best orthodontia money could buy. “This is Sophie, our city’s leading philanthropist, who is spearheading plans for the community center fundraiser.”
“That’s so great. I’m one hundred percent behind that.” He pushed back from the desk in his rolling chair, walked over to her, and extended a hand.
He had a strong grip, and Sophie catalogued that as a good thing. “Pleasure to meet you, Taylor. Clyde raves about his favorite grandson, and I promise I won’t tell the others he likes you best.”
Taylor laughed. “Excellent. I won’t tell the other fundraisers that you’re his favorite then, too,” he said with a we’ve got a secret wink.
“We’re in cahoots then,” she said, with a cheery smile for the fresh-faced law school graduate. “How are you finding the transition from law school to the corporate world?”
“My grandfather works me hard. The other day, for instance, he only let me take a one-hour lunch to play the cards at the MGM instead of the two hours he gives the senior partners.”
“I’m so cruel,” Clyde said with a hearty laugh.
After another minute of casual chatter, she said goodbye, and Clyde saw her to the lobby.
“That went quite well didn’t it?” he said, a huge grin on his face.
“He is lovely indeed,” Sophie said. Also six years younger than me, and I’m not a cradler-robber.
“Perhaps the two of you could attend the concert together,” he said, then snapped his fingers. “Wait. I have a better idea. Why don’t you go out before? Have a nice dinner. On me.”
She wanted to put her foot down, but she also didn’t want to offend this man who she needed in her court by turning down his grandson. Nor did she want to lie to him. She wanted to live a life free of lies, and free of trickery. She also wanted to operate on her own terms, not conform to the expectations of the men she worked with, whether they were back in the tech world or the titans of industry with fat wallets now.
“Oh, Clyde you are such a darling,” she said, stalling for time.
“What do you think about that?” he said, undeterred.
“Why are you so eager to set him up? He’s a handsome, smart, sweet man. Seems he could easily find a date on his own.”
Clyde lowered his voice. “I want to leave him the firm. And I want to know he’s with a woman who’s not going to try to take all my money,” he said in a you-get-my-drift voice.
Oh, she got it. She definitely got it. Because she had money, she wouldn’t need his. Clyde assumed she was the type of woman who’d sign a pre-nup. Well, maybe she was that type of woman. But still…the notion of why she was his top choice made her feel greasy.
“Also, you’re the most delightful young woman I know,” he added, as if that reason suddenly would hold water. “The two of you could be a wonderful match.”
Sinful Desire Page 10