Chapter 6
Late afternoon the next day, Thad met Darcy at a coffee shop downtown. Seeing his friend yawn for the third time, Thad asked, “Late night?”
Darcy told him about the situation he and his partner had interrupted and the call he’d received last night.
“And you went?” Thad watched his friend self-consciously avert his eyes and then his toughness returned.
“Did you stay the night?” Thad asked.
“She was scared.”
“You stayed.” Thad could see Darcy was interested in the woman. So soon after his divorce, he wondered if it was for real.
“I slept in my clothes.”
“What about her?” Thad teased.
“She slept in hers, too.”
“You like her.”
“That isn’t why we’re meeting today.”
Thad was the same way with him when he’d talked about Lucy. Both of them had met women that had them on the defensive.
“Sorry,” Darcy quickly amended. “Meeting her caught me off guard. It’s not that I’m falling for her or anything. We just have a lot in common. Talking to her is so easy.”
If that wasn’t a contradicting statement, Thad didn’t know what was.
“She’s a nurse,” Darcy said, more of an announcement.
Thad stared at him, not liking the insinuation. What was he quietly suggesting? That they both were drawn to similar women?
“What have you got on the shooter?” he asked more abruptly than he intended.
Darcy didn’t press the issue. He slid over an envelope. “A reporter I keep as a friend for times like these hooked me up with an agent working the investigation. Said he was someone who might talk. The agent isn’t talking to the press, but he might to another law enforcement officer. I think the reporter is hoping I pass along anything I might find.”
Thad opened the envelope and took out a ballistics report as he listened to Darcy.
“I met with the man a couple of times, and he agreed to give me copies of this report. It confirms the gunman was in the building across the street.”
Nothing he and Darcy hadn’t already deduced from the evidence. Thad read on as Darcy narrated.
“The angle of the strike to the wall pins it to a thirteenth-floor office space. There are several empty spaces in the building. It’s old and in need of remodeling. The landlord is having trouble attracting renters. The shooter broke into the office. The agents searched it and found no evidence other than some footprints in the dust on the floor.”
“Are there any surveillance cameras that may have captured the shooter entering the building?” Thad looked at the photos of the room; it was completely empty. He also studied the photos of the shoe print. The report said it was about a size ten. Common.
“That I don’t know.”
“And what about the type of shoe? What is it?”
“Don’t know that, either.”
“Your friend gave you this to shut you up.” Thad put the report back into the envelope and dropped it onto the table. It was just enough information to possibly satisfy them but not enough to lead them in any particular direction. Thad suspected that if he or Darcy asked for more, they’d get a big fat “no” for an answer.
“Why?” Darcy asked. “Why bother giving me anything?”
“That’s what I’d like to know.”
Darcy stared across the table at him as he thought. “The chief hauled me into his office before I left to come here. He warned me to stop asking for data on the investigation.”
“He knew?”
“Yes.”
Wade Thomas was always one step ahead of them. Every time he or Darcy obtained any information, Wade found out. How was he doing that?
“Something doesn’t feel right about this,” Thad said. “It’s almost as if the feds already know who the shooter is.”
“Then why not arrest him?”
“Evidence?” Maybe they were waiting for the right time.
Thad could see how that was possible. But still, this whole thing had a stench to it, and he wished he could sniff it out.
“We need to keep what we learn quiet. Don’t discuss this with anyone other than me.” Darcy leaned forward a little and spoke in a low tone. “I wouldn’t even tell your mother that you’re working on this.”
He didn’t think she’d expose anything they uncovered. She may even be told he was looking into it. And if she wasn’t, Thad was more concerned for her recovery. Worrying her with his and Darcy’s speculation was unnecessary at this juncture.
“I’ll be careful.” He turned his attention to another matter that had bothered him ever since the literacy program. “Have you looked into what I asked you about?”
Darcy leaned back, easily shifting into the new topic. “This morning.”
He’d found something.
“Rosanna Bridger...” Darcy began.
* * *
After meeting with Darcy, Thad went to find Lucy at the Winston estate. He was at odds with how he felt and his instinct to protect the little girl Sophie. Maybe it was her trouble with learning to read, something brought on by the tragic loss of her mother. Her situation touched him. It would touch anyone. He was also doing this for Lucy. In fact, he was pretty sure that was the main driver.
He’d had to work a whole day and now it was around dinnertime. He’d called his mother to check on her and she’d told him he could talk to Lucy over dinner. While he was leery of her motive, he’d been eager to tell Lucy about his conversation with Darcy. And it wasn’t a conversation that should be conducted over the phone.
As he stepped into the dining room, he spotted Lucy already there, sitting in skinny jeans and a silky green-and-blue blouse. This was her third day at the estate, and she was sleeping in the room right next to his. His mother again. He was going to have to have a talk with her.
“Mother told me you’d be here.” He looked around the formal dining room. Four floor-to-ceiling windows brightened the room during the day. The table was long, with two floral displays on the polished wood surface. Lucy sat beside him rather than at the other end where four chairs on each side would have separated her from him. “Did she arrange for us to sit in here?”
“Yes.”
She looked as uncomfortable as he felt, and his mother’s meddling annoyed him. “Sorry.”
He didn’t sit down. One of the waiters appeared.
“We’ll eat in the media room,” he told the man, who nodded once and turned to tell the other servants.
“They’re serving fish Pontchartrain and some other fancy dishes,” Lucy said.
“There’s a buffet table down there. And a television. A big one.” He extended his hand, looking down at the scoop of her blouse, which was casual enough but could pass for tonight’s occasion. Had she dressed up for him or the formal dinner?
Keeping her hand and ignoring her questioning eyes, he took her through the house.
“Why did Kate arrange this dinner?” she asked when they reached the basement and walked down a wide hall lined with paintings.
“I told her I needed to talk to you, and she...used the opportunity.”
Passing a large wine cellar visible through glass, he entered the media room. Leather chairs faced the television. There were two pool tables, a shuffleboard and dartboards. His favorite room.
The only drawback was that the staff was setting up a table down here. They must have moved it from storage. His mother kept things like that on hand for parties.
While the servants set the table, much more casually than upstairs, Thad turned on the TV and found a college basketball game.
Lucy eyed him strangely. “Background music?”
He chuckled. “Just trying to tone it down a little.”
She smiled, a white-toothed, radiant smile. “What do you need to talk to me about?” She went over to the table that the servants had finished setting.
He went to sit across from her. A servant showed him a bottle of wine and Thad indicated it was fine.
“I did some checking into Sophie’s foster mother, Rosanna Bridger,” he said.
He had to wait out her reaction, first surprise, then curiosity before she asked, “Why did you do that?”
Taken aback over why she’d asked him that question, expecting her to be eager to learn about Rosanna, Thad realized her intention. She wasn’t being confrontational. She was trying to get him to admit he might be making a mistake deciding to forego a life with kids and the marriage that came with that.
“She’s an innocent child,” he said neutrally.
“So you’d do it for any child?”
“Yes.”
Lucy looked skeptical.
Thad couldn’t tell her he’d done it for her, too. Because he’d seen how much she cared about those kids and how that reflected in the way she gave everything she had to teaching them to read.
“I thought you were antifamily,” she said, again without confrontation. Was she teasing him?
She sipped some of the red wine.
“Other families, no. Just my own.” He didn’t want kids and he didn’t want to get married. He’d seen a few couples get lucky and find that rare love that lasted a lifetime. So many thought they had it, only to end up in a failed marriage that ended in painful, court-complicated divorce. He didn’t believe in forever love. He didn’t believe he’d find the kind of love that would last a lifetime, either. And he wasn’t a gambler.
“I might understand why you won’t marry, but why no kids?” Lucy asked.
After he marveled how closely her thoughts mirrored his, he said, “Bringing kids into a relationship that in all likelihood won’t last doesn’t seem right to me. There’s enough dysfunction in the world—why add to it?”
“Why follow everyone else into doom and gloom?”
As in marriage and love. Doom and gloom. He ignored her teasing. “Yes.”
“What if you love the woman you’re with?”
“Then I’ll stay with her and be faithful to her. I just won’t do it legally.”
“Because you’re that sure it won’t last?”
“I don’t know how long it will last. I don’t want to risk it not lasting. I’d be glad if it lasted. But I won’t risk having kids in case it doesn’t.”
“People know when they’re in love,” she said.
“My parents were in love. Every married couple I know who divorced were in love when they married.”
“They thought they were,” she contradicted him. “They didn’t really know.”
She felt strongly about the matter. Well, so did he, and they didn’t agree. “I don’t believe I will ever find someone I feel that sure about.”
“People who don’t look for it are the most likely to find it,” she said.
“Then why are you looking?” he asked.
That sparked a little fire in her eyes. “What did you find out about Rosanna?”
At least they could stop talking about love now. “She’s going through a divorce. The husband was recently arrested for drinking and driving and he cleaned out their bank accounts.”
“She’s having financial problems,” Lucy said sympathetically. “Do you think she’s going to have to give up Sophie?”
“I don’t know if I’d go that far.”
With her contemplative frown, Lucy didn’t seem convinced.
“We’ll keep an eye on her.”
She blinked slowly, and he felt her warm appreciation. “How do you propose we do that?”
“We’ll think of something.”
His use of we filtered between them.
“There might be hope for you after all, Thad Winston,” Lucy murmured.
Her meaning struck him squarely in the same instant he saw her realize she’d spoken the thought aloud. He had a tender spot for a child and endeavored to see to her well-being. While having a tender spot for a child may not be unexpected, what it did to his heart was.
* * *
Late that night, Lucy gave up trying to sleep. Everything Thad had said kept going through her head. He obviously cared about kids or he wouldn’t have made the effort to check on Sophie’s welfare. What troubled her and kept her from sleep was his certainty over not ever wanting a family. It was so opposite to what she was looking for, she didn’t understand how she could be so moved by his protectiveness. It was probably the cop in him, nothing related to the potential to be good husband material.
She should take his word for it when he said he wouldn’t have a family of his own. Why, then, did she feel there was a chance he was wrong?
Slipping into her robe, she left her room, passing a glance at Thad’s room next to hers. The door was open but it was dark inside. She made her way downstairs. The Winston estate was a nearly ten-thousand-square-foot palace. When she’d first arrived to the white brick exterior trimmed with black shutters, she’d chastised herself for not realizing Kate would live somewhere like this. Security used the guesthouse during their work shifts. There was a grand front entry and a side entry that they all used.
Lucy passed that on her way into the kitchen. Through a wide archway, she stopped short on the cool, white marble floor.
Thad stood on the other side of a big, nearly square island, his bare chest visible above the dark granite countertop. One of the double doors of the refrigerator was open behind him. He made her breath falter before she noticed him preparing a root beer float.
She tightened her thin, silky robe, making sure the curvier parts of her flesh were covered. Pendant lights hung from brown decorative tiles trimmed into the high ceiling above the island. Plants topped an expanse of white cabinets and a white-trimmed double door led to a patio, the glass dark now. She was glad it wasn’t bright in here.
“You’re a late-night grazer, too?” he asked, lightening the mood.
“Only when I can’t sleep.” She walked around the island.
“What do you eat when you can’t sleep?”
“Root beer floats,” she said.
He chuckled, a breathy sound, deep and masculine.
“I’m serious.” Root beer floats were her favorite. They were cool and refreshing and sweet but not too sweet. While he sobered with a stunned look, she said, “There’s something about chunky vanilla ice cream and the burst of carbonated root beer.” She kissed the tip of her fingers and tossed the gesture of delight toward him.
He still stared at her. “What else do you like?”
She put her hands on the granite countertop beside him and to the right of the sink. “Leftovers. Cold pizza. As long as it isn’t a frozen dinner, I’m happy.”
Leaving her briefly to retrieve another frosty mug from the open freezer drawer, he scooped her some ice cream and poured the root beer. It didn’t fizz too much.
“You’re good at this.” Leaning her hip on the counter, she lifted the mug and sipped.
He leaned his hip on the counter, too, so that they faced each other. “I had lots of practice when I was a kid. We didn’t go out to ice cream shops much.” He joined her for a taste.
Making root beer floats wasn’t a science experiment. It was something to talk about. She felt silly, flirting like this. It spawned a thought.
“I rode my bike to an ice cream shop every week when I was ten,” she said, and then decided to torture him some more. If one could call it torture. She was starting to think his antifamily claims were more of a product of phobia. “One time I was sitting at an outdoor table with a friend when a boy from school came over and knocked the ice cream off my cone. He was a year or two older than me. I asked him why he did it and he said it was because I was a girl. I waited for him to leave and followed him on my bike. He went to a convenience store and got a slushy. I got one, too, and came up behind him in line. When it was his turn to pay, I put my slushy down on the counter. That’s when he saw me. I told him he owed me for knocking my ice cream cone. ‘I’m not paying for that,’ he said, and then the cashier asked if it was true, had he knocked my ice cream cone off? And the boy muttered something and paid for my slushy.”
“Is this another one of your stories? I can’t tell. It sounds real,” he teased.
Lucy laughed a little. “You can’t ride a bike with a drink in your hand so we stood outside. He kept eyeing me and I kept glaring at him. Then a car drove up. A woman got out and took her baby to a pile of wood outside the store. She didn’t see us. We were on the side of the store where our bikes were. She left the baby there and ran back to her car and then drove off. The boy and I were sort of stunned for a few seconds. But then the boy went to pick up the baby. I went inside to tell the clerk. The boy held the baby until the cops came. A couple of days later, I ran into the boy in school. He told me his parents were going to adopt the baby and he was going to have a baby sister. He seemed happy about it. I thanked him for the slushy and he said, ‘You’re not so bad for a girl.’ And I said, ‘You’re not so bad for a boy.’ Just like a Leave It to Beaver episode.”
Thad stared at her for a while when she finished. Then a sly grin inched up his mouth. “You made that up.”
The sight of what that grin did to his handsome face captivated her. After she got ahold of herself, she asked, “How’d you know?”
“The ending gave you away. Leave It to Beaver?”
“Most people believe me.”
“Why do you tell stories like that?”
She enjoyed entertaining. She’d joined the theater in school and had almost pursued an acting career. The uncertainty of at least moderate success had stopped her. That and talks with her parents, who’d educated her on the downfalls of trying to become an actress. They hadn’t discouraged her. They’d supported whatever she decided. They just armed her with all the knowledge she needed to make up her mind.
“Even boys who claim they don’t like girls end up liking them,” she finally said. “The truth always comes out. There’s always some kind of truth to my stories.”
Some of the slyness melted away as he looked into her eyes, knowing exactly what she meant. He took a step forward. “Why couldn’t you sleep?”
His low, raspy voice tingled nerve endings that craved him. She couldn’t stop her gaze from dropping to his bare chest, lightly haired, hard with muscle. Try as she might to shut off her attraction, she couldn’t.
“Why do you ask?” she hedged. Answering that question would brew more trouble.
“Because I’m afraid it’s the same reason I couldn’t.” The next step he took toward her put him within inches of her. She felt the heat of his smooth, hard chest and yearned to touch him, to feel the contours of his biceps, his abdomen. Rippling sinew dipped below his shorts. Lifting her eyes, she saw that his had grown darker with desire and was sure it was a response to her own.
“Sophie?” she asked hopefully.
He shook his head. Taking the mug from her, he set it down on the counter. Then he slid his hand along her neck and cupped her head. “I wish that was the reason.”
Oh, no.
He pressed his mouth to hers. She brushed her hand over his chest, satisfying a burning urge to do so, sucking in air through her nose. Nothing else mattered but this. She put her other hand on him and felt all of his muscled torso.
He slid his arm around her, his hand holding her rear and pulling her against him. He changed the angle of his mouth and kissed her much deeper. Hot, sizzling passion coursed through her.
Moving her along the kitchen counter, he positioned her so that his hips pinned her there. Now his hand was free to roam up her body to capture a silk-draped breast. The lapels parted with his seeking hands. The robe slipped down her shoulders. He stopped kissing her to look down.
Lucy was mesmerized watching him.
He picked the delicate strings lacing the bodice until they loosened and he had room to slip inside. He cupped her breast, his thumb rubbing the nipple.
Lucy dipped her head back with the erotic sensation of his hand on her. He took the invitation and kissed her neck. She felt him push the thin strap off her shoulder. Cool air touched her breast. The silky, knee-length nightgown was loose enough to push the other side down, too. Now her chest was nearly as bare as his.
Kissing her mouth briefly, he bent his head to her breasts. Lucy lowered her head to watch, her hands gliding down his biceps to his forearms. She could feel his muscles move as he caressed one breast while he took the other with his mouth. His tongue flicked her nipple.
She moaned. A modicum of coherency remained in her.
Thad stopped what he was doing and looked up at her. Standing straighter, he was so close and his burning hazel eyes kept the fire in her stoked.
Thank God, he was stopping. She wouldn’t have been able to herself.
“Are you going to tell another one of your stories?” he asked.
“Do I need to?” Her breasts touched his chest and her hands were still on his forearms, his hands now on her waist.
As he looked down between them and then back up at her face, he seemed to realized the significance of what had just occurred.
“No.” He stepped back as she laughed and adjusted her silk nightgown and pulled up the sides of her robe.
Humor worked to diffuse the situation, but Lucy began to feel dread for the coming days. He would not be her choice in a man. She enjoyed teasing him at his expense on his misguided views on family. They may heat up the sheets, but she was serious about finding someone who could share her plans for the future. She refused to roll the dice on Thad. What if he never changed? Wasn’t it impossible to change a man? She wouldn’t even try.
“I’ll take this up to bed.” She lifted the mug and turned.
“Lucy.”
He sounded serious. She looked back.
Thad stared at her, whatever he had intended to say remaining inside him. “Good night.”
She left without replying. Tonight was a mistake. He knew it. She knew it. What they’d each do about it was another matter. And that’s what frightened her the most.
On her way up to her room, Lucy caught sight of someone in the shadows of the formal living room. A man. A big, tall man, who was just standing there.