Private Eye Protector

by Shirlee McCoy

  “Sorry to disappoint you, but I’m here, and I’m staying for the duration.” His voice was smooth as melted chocolate, his eyes light, silvery blue.

  Something she wouldn’t have noticed if she weren’t staring straight into them.

  Darn the man.

  “I need to heat up Emma’s bottle. She’s hungry.”

  “Changing the subject?”

  “It seemed like the easiest thing to do. We’re both tired, and I’m not in the mood for verbal combat.”

  “Does that mean you’re calling a truce?”

  “For tonight? Yes.”

  “Good, because I’d rather fight your enemy than fight you.” He studied her face, his gaze skimming along her cheeks, her jaw, her lips, staying there for a heartbeat too long.

  “As I said, I need to heat up Emma’s bottle.” She also needed to clear her head, focus on what was important. Chance, his eyes, his velvety voice, his solid, dependable presence, didn’t matter nearly as much as finding out who’d thrown a bomb at his mother’s house.

  Darren Leon was the obvious suspect, and the most likely person to want her dead. The only person to want her dead, as far as she could recall.

  But something niggled at the back of her mind, a partial memory that wouldn’t quite surface.

  Emma.

  Danger.

  That’s all she could grasp, and she looked down at her daughter, cold, sick dread filling her stomach, the way it had so many times since she’d woken after the accident.

  “What is it?” Chance asked, and she knew she must look as shaken as she felt.

  “Something… A feeling. A memory. I don’t know, I can’t hold on to it long enough to figure it out. I just have this sense that Emma is in danger.”

  “You think that is what all this is about? The bomb? The phone call? All of it? You think someone is trying to harm Emma?”

  “I don’t know. I just wish I could remember. Were you able to get my laptop from the apartment? Maybe there’s something on it that will spark a memory.”

  “Yes. Kane is going to bring it to the office tomorrow. If Sam can’t access the deleted emails, no one can.”

  “If he can, maybe I’ll finally have some answers.”

  “In the meantime, we’ll be vigilant when it comes to Emma’s protection. Though, from where I’m standing, it looks like you’re the one in danger. Come on. I’ll take you to the kitchen. Maybe Sydney has a bottle warmer.” Chance took Emma from her arms.

  “How was I acting in the days before the accident?”

  “Quiet. Mom thought you were working too hard.”

  “She said that?”

  “Yes. Right before she told me I should take you out to dinner.”

  “Oh.”

  “I’m afraid my mother is a matchmaker at heart.”

  “Do you think that’s why she said I didn’t seem like myself? Because she wanted an excuse to try to get you to ask me out? Or do you think something more was going on?”

  “At the time, I didn’t think much about it either way, but my mother is opportunistic. She’s not a liar. I’d say she noticed something and tried to take advantage of it to throw us together. Why are you asking about how you were acting? More memories and feelings?”

  “Unfortunately, no. I just wonder what was going on the week before the accident. Actually, I wonder what was going on for the seven weeks before the accident.”

  “You worked. You went to church. You seemed like you’d settled in pretty easily.”

  “And did we…?” Don’t ask. Do not ask.

  “Go out to dinner? Neither of us were in the market for a relationship, remember?”

  “Of course.”

  “Disappointed?” He opened a door to the left of the foyer and led her through a large dining room.

  “Not at all.”

  “That’s what I keep telling myself, too.”

  He opened another door, ushered her into the kitchen.

  Thank goodness.

  No way could they finish the conversation in front of Sydney. No way could Rayne open her mouth and make more of a fool of herself than she already had.

  “Ready for that stew?” Sydney crossed the room, her bare feet padding on the wood floor, her red hair swinging with every step.

  “Actually, I was hoping I could heat up Emma’s bottle.”

  “No problem.” She snagged the bottle, popped it into a stainless-steel microwave.

  “Your home is lovely.” Keep her talking. Keep her in the room. Anything to avoid being alone with Chance.

  “It is, but it’s not really mine.”

  “No?”

  “It belongs to my mother-in-law. She’s spending the winter in Florida, and she asked me to house-sit.”

  “I hope she and your husband don’t mind us hanging out here for a few days,” Rayne replied as Chance took the bottle from the microwave, checked the temperature of the formula, offered it to Emma as if he’d done it a hundred times before.

  “My mother-in-law will be fine with it. My husband was killed in Iraq five years ago.”

  “I’m so sorry.” Rayne’s heart went out to Sydney. She couldn’t imagine being widowed at such a young age.

  “That’s what everyone says,” said Sydney, as she pulled two bowls from a cupboard, ladled stew into both and set them down on a small kitchen table. Stiff-shouldered, blank-faced, definitely not in the mood to keep talking about her husband.

  “Anyone here?” Kane called from the living room, cutting through the sudden tension in the room.

  “In the kitchen. You want stew?” Sydney responded, grabbing another bowl as Kane opened the kitchen door.

  “No. I need to get going.” Snow flecked his brown hair, and he brushed it off. “Your bag is out in the living room, Rayne. I’ll let Chance take it to your room. If you need anything, give me a call.”

  “You’ve already done more than enough. I don’t know how I’ll ever thank you.”

  “You’ll thank me by staying here until it’s safe to leave.”

  “Where would I go? We’re in the middle of nowhere and I don’t have a car.”

  “I don’t know, but if you’re anything like Skylar, you’ll find some way to get into trouble.”

  “I wish I were like her, but I’m not, so I’ll stay.”

  “Glad to hear it. Chance, this case is officially on your docket. Let me know if you need someone to take over any of your other cases.”

  “I should be fine. I’ve just closed three of the five you assigned me.”

  “Wait a minute. I’m not a case, and I don’t need to be assigned to anybody.”

  “I’ll check in tomorrow morning.” Kane ignored Rayne’s protest, offered a quick wave and let the door swing shut again.

  “He knows how to stage a fast retreat,” Sydney noted wryly as she handed Rayne a spoon.

  “Kane is nothing if not quick,” said Chance, who settled into a chair, as Emma ate greedily, her eyes drooping as she stared up into his face. She looked comfortable, content, safe. All the things Rayne wanted for her. Her throat tightened at the thought, the dreams she’d once had wrapped up in that picture. A cozy kitchen, a caring man, a baby or two or three.

  Three.

  Remember rule three.

  Never, ever, ever, ever fall in love again.

  Ever.

  Even if the person you’re falling for is someone like Chance.

  She needed to tack the last thought onto the end, or she might start to think there were exceptions to the rule.

  One exception.

  An exception who met her gaze, smiled into her eyes.

  She scooped up a mouthful of stew, made a show of fishing out just the right piece of potato. “This is wonderful, Sydney. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome to seconds, thirds, fourths. Whatever you can eat.”

  “This will be plenty.”

  “The kitchen is open if you change your mind later. I don’t want to be a poor hostess, but I have a
tight work schedule, and I’m behind. So if you’ll excuse me, I’ll leave the two of you to your meal. Rayne, your room is at the top of the stairs, first door on the left. There’s an en suite bathroom. No television, but there’s a radio if you want to use it. Chance, you’re going to have to bunk on the pullout sofa down here. My mother-in-law would die a thousand deaths if she thought she had an unmarried couple sleeping next door to each other. There’s a shower upstairs. Second door to the right. Linen closet is next to it. Help yourself to whatever you need. Good night.” She disappeared into the room off the kitchen, closed the door. The soft click of the lock echoed in the silence.

  TEN

  Obviously, Sydney really didn’t care about being a poor hostess, and obviously, she was happy to say goodnight.

  Maybe it was time for Rayne and Emma to go to bed, too, because eating stew across the table from Chance did not seem like something a woman who didn’t want to fall for a guy would do.

  “I think I’m about done,” Rayne said, carrying her half-eaten stew to the trash can and dumping it in.

  “You don’t have to be scared, Rayne. I’m not going to ask for something you don’t want to give.” Chance finished feeding Emma, lifted her to his shoulder and patted her back.

  “I’m not scared.”

  “Then why are you running away from me?”

  “I’m not. It’s been a long day. Em and I are exhausted, and it’s past time for us to be in bed.”

  “If that’s the way you want to play it, I guess I’ll go along with it.”

  “The only thing you’re going along with is the truth.” She was tired. It was past time for Emma to be in bed.

  And she was running.

  From him.

  From herself.

  She took Emma, inhaled formula and baby lotion. She and Emma were okay on their own. Had been okay for eight months. She had to keep that in mind or she might start thinking they needed something more. Might start dreaming about something more.

  Someone more.

  “I’ll get your overnight case and bring it upstairs.”

  “I can—”

  “I thought you’d called a truce for tonight.”

  “I did.”

  “So let’s not waste time arguing about this. You carry Emma. I’ll get the bag.”

  “Fine.” Anything to keep things moving along, get up to the bedroom and lock herself away from Chance.

  “I’ve been thinking. Earlier today, you told me your trouble started when Chandra died,” he said as he led the way into the living room.

  “It seemed that way.”

  “How did she die?”

  “A drug overdose.”

  “She was an addict?”

  “She had been. She got caught with cocaine during a drug raid a few years back and went to rehab. After that, I thought she was clean, but she must have fallen off the wagon.”

  “How long had you known her?”

  “We met in kindergarten and were best friends from that day on. I loved her like a sister, Chance. I wanted to believe she’d gotten past her addiction. When she got pregnant with Emma, she was so excited. She committed to living healthy. No drugs. No alcohol. Only organic foods. Nothing that might hurt the baby.”

  “So what happened?”

  “I still don’t know. I’d never seen her as happy as she was that month after Emma was born, and I still can’t believe she OD’d.”

  “What did she take?”

  “Prescription painkillers. Something she got after Emma was born. The empty bottle was on the table by her bed. I…saw it when I found her.” She’d never forget it. The bottle lying on its side. Chandra sprawled facedown on the bed, her gorgeous hair matted and tangled. Rayne hadn’t wanted to believe Chandra was dead, had called an ambulance, tried CPR, done everything she could to bring her back.

  None of it had been enough.

  “That must have been hard.”

  “It was. She had a job interview, and she asked me to take care of Emma so she could go. I’d taken off from work, spent the day enjoying playing mommy. I didn’t even think about Chandra until she was an hour late picking Emma up.”

  “That doesn’t make her death your fault. You know that, right?”

  “Head knowledge and heart knowledge are two different things.”

  “They need to be reconciled, Rayne, if you’re ever going to heal.”

  “That’s what Michael kept telling me. He said I was taking Emma out of guilt. That I needed to reconcile my guilt with the reality of the situation and accept that I had no business being a mother and only wanted Chandra’s baby because I wanted to keep a part of her alive in my life.”

  “I’m not sure I like being compared to Michael.” He grabbed the overnight case but didn’t head for the stairs. Just stood near the fireplace, light dancing across his face.

  “Trust me. You’re nothing like Michael.”

  “Should I be insulted or flattered?”

  “Neither. I’m just stating a fact. Michael was a psychiatrist. Every other word out of his mouth was a question, and he picked apart every emotion he felt.” Every emotion she felt, too, but that wasn’t something she wanted to share.

  “A psychiatrist, huh?”

  “There’s no need to say it like that.”

  “Like what?” he asked, but his smirk said he knew exactly what she meant.

  “Like psychiatrists are boring, elitist snobs.”

  “I have a couple good friends who are in the field. That hadn’t even occurred to me.”

  “Then what are you thinking?”

  “That I can’t imagine you with a guy who wanted to talk about his feelings all the time.”

  “Well, I was with a guy who wanted to talk about his feelings, so you can readjust your imaginings.”

  “So you were engaged to a psychiatrist who insisted you only wanted Emma because you felt guilty about her mother’s death? Sounds like he was trying to manipulate you into doing what he wanted.”

  “Michael was a master manipulator.”

  “What did you see in the guy?”

  Good question. One she wasn’t sure she had an answer to. Though, if he’d asked her a year ago, she probably would have waxed poetic about Michael’s myriad charms.

  “We met when I picked Chandra up from a group therapy session. He volunteered as a counselor, and he seemed so…caring. A few weeks later, we ran into each other again at the women’s shelter where I was doing my practical study for my social work degree. We started talking and I found out we attended the same church but went to different services. It seemed as if we had a lot in common.”

  “Or as if he worked it out so you would think you had a lot in common.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “How do you know he didn’t do a little fishing, maybe ask Chandra where you worked, how you spent your time?”

  “Why would he? I’m not such a great catch that a guy like Michael would work overtime to get my attention.”

  “I don’t know. You seem like a pretty great catch to me. It isn’t that big of a stretch to think that a guy you described as a master manipulator would go out of his way to manipulate you into his life.” He frowned, and she had a flash of memory, a moment of clarity. Emma shrieking as Rayne stepped into a conference room, looked into gray-blue eyes, felt something spring to life.

  “We met at an office, didn’t we?”

  “That’s right. Kane wanted to introduce you to the team since you’d be working with a lot of our clients.”

  “The babysitter he’d set up for me canceled, and I was running late. Emma was screaming her head off, and I walked into the room and…” Saw you standing near the window and didn’t notice anyone else.

  “What?”

  “You were standing near the window, and you didn’t look happy.”

  “I’m not good at waiting.”

  “I remember that and then, nothing.”

  “Remembering something is a start. Be
happy with it.”

  “I’m trying, but I’m not good at waiting, either.” Especially when waiting for her memories might mean more time in Sydney’s house with Chance. “I really need to get Emma to bed.”

  “Do you know who her father is? You’ve mentioned Chandra a lot, but what about Emma’s birth father? She didn’t just come into existence without one.”

  “Chandra wouldn’t say. She implied that there was more than one possibility, and she left the father’s name off the birth certificate.”

  “She implied?”

  “Chandra was…Chandra. I loved her, but she lived by her own rules. They weren’t rules I understood.”

  “Then how did you stay friends for so long?”

  “When she cared, Chandra cared deeply. She supported my goals and dreams. She wanted the best for me. Despite her faults, she was a generous and loving person.”

  “I wish I could have met her.”

  “I wish you could have, too.” She blinked back tears and walked up the stairs, her heart thudding with grief for what Chandra could have been, the life she could have lived with Emma.

  “What did she think of Michael?” Chance followed her up and carried the overnight case into a cozy guest room.

  “They weren’t best friends, but they got along.”

  “But what did she think of him? You were best friends, right? Surely, she had something to say about him.”

  “Not really. I think it was a little awkward, me dating the guy who ran her group counseling sessions. She didn’t like to talk about him. She went with it, though, because she knew it made me happy.”

  “So she tolerated him?”

  “I didn’t say that, and you’re asking an awful lot of questions. If I didn’t know better I’d think you were…” She met his eyes. “You are interrogating me!”

  “Interviewing. That’s a lot more friendly.” He didn’t even have the decency to look sorry.

  “Well, your interview is going to have to end. Emma is sleeping, and I plan to join her the minute you leave the room.”

  “You sound angry.”

  “And you sound like Michael.”

  “That was a low blow, Goldilocks.” He scowled.

  He was right.

  Low.

  Uncalled for.

  Unnecessary.

  “I’m sorry. You’re trying to help. I know that. I just don’t like being manipulated. After three years of it, I’m done.”