Книга - My Secret Valentine

My Secret Valentine
Marilyn Pappano


For six years Fiona Lake had been haunted by Justin Reed, the man who loved her–and left her secretly carrying his child. Now the brawny special agent was back and had discovered the truth.Would knowing his daughter turn him into father material, or would he walk away from her, too? Yet when an explosion ripped through their lives, the help he offered their little girl revealed a side of Justin that Fiona had thought was gone. She could believe he cared–as long as she protected her heart. But when fate intervened again, love was put to the ultimate test….







Your valentine: Justin



WON'T YOU

BE MINE?



Will you be my Daddy?

Mommy wishes you were….

Katy




My Secret Valentine

Marilyn Pappano





www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)




MARILYN PAPPANO


brings impeccable credentials to her career—a lifelong habit of gazing out windows, not paying attention in class, daydreaming and spinning tales for her own entertainment. The sale of her first book brought great relief to her family, proving that she wasn’t crazy but was, instead, creative. Since then, she’s sold more than forty others, and she loves almost everything about writing, except that she would like a more reasonable boss to work for, which is pretty sad, since she works for herself.

She writes in an office nestled among the oaks that surround her home. In winter she stays inside with her husband and their four dogs, and in summer she mows the yard that never stops growing and daydreams about grass that never gets taller than two inches. You can write to her at P.O. Box 643, Sapulpa, OK 74067-0643.










Contents


Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12




Chapter 1


It was ten minutes after two when Justin Reed slipped into his seat at the weekly squad meeting and opened the file in front of him. Though his supervisor didn’t look up or miss a beat in his conversation, there was no doubt he knew that Justin had been late—again—and no doubt he would have something to say about it—again. He’d intended to be on time this afternoon—in fact, had started to leave his office five minutes early—but as he was walking out the door, the phone had rung. He could have left anyway, but he’d been playing phone tag with people all week and he wasn’t about to miss the chance to actually connect with someone.

And so he was late. Again.

At least he wouldn’t be put on the hot seat. His current caseload was nothing special, and everything was progressing steadily. Of course, there would be the perpetual question—Anything new on the Watkins case?—and the usual answer. No, nothing. One of these days, he’d promised himself, he was going to have an entirely different answer. Yes, sir, we apprehended Patrick Watkins this week.

Hey, a man could dream, couldn’t he?

His boss worked his way around the table, reviewing cases, asking for reports. He’d made it halfway when the door opened and his secretary stepped inside. “Excuse me, sir. Special Agent Reed has an emergency call.”

All eyes turned his way as his boss nodded toward the door. The muscles in his stomach tightening, Justin left the conference room and followed the secretary to her desk down the hall. The Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms wasn’t quite like the police. They didn’t get many emergency calls. Maybe Patrick Watkins had struck again, or something had happened to his mother in London or his father in Paris. That was about the extent of what he would consider an emergency in his life.

Picking up the phone, he tersely said, “This is Special Agent Reed.”

“Mr. Reed—Special Agent Reed, this is Roger Markham. I’m an attorney in Grand Springs, Colorado.”

Justin’s stomach knotted, and his fingers clutched the receiver so tightly his knuckles turned white. He had only two connections to Grand Springs, Colorado, and he didn’t want to hear bad news about either of them. He wished he could hang up, walk away and forget the call had ever been made, but of course he couldn’t. All he could do was take an unsteady breath and ask, “What can I do for you, Mr. Markham?”

“I’m calling about your aunt, Golda Reed. She— I’m sorry, Mr. Reed, but she died a short while ago. As far as the doctors can tell, her heart gave out on her. She fell asleep and just didn’t wake up. I’m sorry.”

So was Justin, sorry and filled with regret. He hadn’t been the best nephew Golda could have had, though he had been her favorite. He’d visited her a few times and called her when he thought about it, but…well, after his last visit nearly six years ago, there had been complications that made maintaining the relationship difficult.

His smile was thin and bitter. Complications. Yes, that was a good word to describe Fiona Lake and the way she’d made him feel. Trouble, decked out with red hair, hazel eyes, a sprinkling of freckles across her perfect little nose and a passion that could make a man weak.

Although he sometimes had trouble remembering. Had he been at his weakest with Fiona? Or when he’d dumped her?

“Mr. Reed?”

Giving a shake of his head, he focused his attention on the conversation. “I’m here. I just… Had she been sick?”

“The usual aches and pains you’d expect in a woman her age. But she was prepared for it. She had her funeral planned right down to the songs and the singers, and she reviewed her will regularly. The service is scheduled for Friday afternoon. Will you or anyone else from the family be able to attend?”

Justin gave a moment’s thought to his caseload, though it wouldn’t have changed his answer. “I’ll be there, and I’ll notify the rest of the family.”

“Good. If you’d like, we can go over her will on Saturday. Golda always impressed upon me what a busy young man you are.”

Yeah, sure, too busy to spend time with her. Too busy—and too afraid of running into Fiona. And if he’d gone to Grand Springs, he would have undoubtedly run into Fiona. After all, she lived right next door to Golda. They chatted on their porches in the evenings and shared flowers from their gardens.

At least, they used to.

“Of course, you’re welcome to stay in Golda’s house while you’re here, or, if you’d prefer, we could make reservations for you at one of the local hotels.”

“I’ll—I’ll figure that out before I get there.” Stay in Golda’s house without Golda? With Fiona next door? With powerful memories and more powerful guilt for company? An anonymous hotel would suit him just fine.

“I’m looking forward to meeting you, Mr. Reed, though I’m sorry it’s under these circumstances. If you need anything between now and Friday, feel free to call me.” The lawyer gave his number, then hung up.

After a long, still moment, Justin hung up, too, and found the secretary watching him sympathetically. “I’m sorry about your aunt,” she murmured, then explained. “When I told Mr. Markham you were in a meeting, he told me why he was calling.”

“Thanks.”

“Can I do anything for you?”

His first impulse was to refuse. On second thought, he asked, “Could you get me round-trip reservations to Grand Springs, Colorado? I need to get in by noon Friday and leave late Saturday night.”

“I’ll take care of it.”

He didn’t return to the meeting but went to his office instead. He’d been sitting there, numbly staring out at the city, for some time when his supervisor knocked at the door, then came in.

George Wallace had been with the ATF since Justin was a kid. He’d sought a job in law enforcement because he figured carrying a gun and a badge might stop the endless teasing his name subjected him to, or so he claimed. He knew more about explosives and the people who tended to use them than all the other agents on their squad combined, and he wasn’t at all shy about sharing his knowledge.

He sat down in front of Justin’s desk. “The secretary told me about your aunt. I’m sorry.”

Justin acknowledged him with a nod.

“You need some time off?”

“Just a day. The funeral’s Friday afternoon, the reading of the will Saturday. I’ll come back that night.”

“You can take a couple extra days.”

“There’s no need to.” Golda had told him many times that she was leaving the bulk of her estate to him, but he couldn’t do anything with it until the will had been probated. That would give him at least a few weeks to consider it.

“Were you close to her?”

“She was my dad’s sister, older by about eighteen years. She helped raise him. After my folks split up, she helped raise me, too. I didn’t see her as often as I should have, but I liked her. I liked her a lot.”

“Why don’t you go on home? You must have people to notify.”

There was his mother in London, who would be too busy playing hostess to her latest husband the earl to feel much more than a twinge of regret. His father, living in Paris with his latest spouse—a twenty-something poster girl for eating disorders—probably wouldn’t even feel a twinge. He might have better luck with his father’s two older brothers, their wives and children, though he wouldn’t swear to it. With little chance of being included in Golda’s will, there was little chance they would care she was dead.

The Reeds were nothing if not greedy, he thought with a cynical smile.

Fiona would care. Whether she profited or not, she would be sorry that Golda was gone. She would miss her, and know life was poorer without the old lady in it.

“Justin?”

He gave George a weak smile. “Yeah, I need to call the family. It’s already evening in London and Paris. If I don’t get my mother and father before they go out, I may not get them.”

“Go on home. Take tomorrow off if you need it. And if you want a few extra days when you get there…”

“Thanks.” As his boss left, Justin packed the papers he wanted to take home in his briefcase, then signed out. By the time he got to the apartment he called home, the news had sunk in, and he was feeling less dazed and more regretful. He should have been a better nephew, should have made more of an effort to keep in touch with Golda. He never should have let fear compromise the one healthy lifelong relationship he had.

But it was too late for regrets now.

When he reached his mother in London, she was dressing for a party. She said all the right words, but, as usual, they lacked sincerity. And she wondered why her marriages never lasted.

It was 10:00 p.m. in Paris and his father, surprisingly, was in. He said the right words, too, but when Justin asked if he would return for the funeral, he sounded genuinely perplexed. “It’s a hell of a long flight to Colorado, and what would be the point?”

“I don’t know, Dad. What would be the point of showing up for your only sister’s funeral? Maybe showing that you cared about her? That you respected her? That at least you were grateful for everything she’d done for you?”

“What did she do for me?”

Justin bit back an obscenity. “Forget I even asked. I’ve got to go—”

“Don’t you want to say hello to Monique? Talk about respect… Calling halfway across the world, then hanging up without even saying hello to your stepmother is a fine way to show your respect for her.”

“Give her my best. I’ll talk to you soon.” Justin hung up before his father could say anything else, before he could blurt out what he really wanted to say—that Monique wasn’t even old enough for him to lust after, so she for damn sure wasn’t old enough to be his stepmother. That he felt little respect for her and none for his father. That with Golda gone, so was the Reed family’s last chance at decency, generosity and humanity.

Without Golda, the entire rest of the family was nothing but a bunch of coldhearted, self-absorbed bastards.

Himself included.

Next he talked to his uncles and five of his six cousins, leaving a message for the last one. There might have been one or two genuine I’m sorrys in their responses, but he couldn’t say for sure.

After the last call, he took a beer from the refrigerator and went to stand at the balcony door. As the sky darkened and lights came on across the city, he lifted the bottle in a salute to the west. “The family’s gonna let you down again, Aunt Golda. But that doesn’t surprise you, does it? We always disappointed you while you were alive. Why should it be any different now that you’re dead?”

Unexpectedly his throat tightened with more emotion than he’d felt in years. “I’m sorry, Aunt Golda,” he murmured as his eyes grew damp. “I loved you…and I’m so damned sorry.”



“He’s coming back.”

Fiona Lake looked up from the table she was polishing to meet her mother’s gaze. Delores looked both regretful and triumphant. The triumph came from her success in finding the answer to the question that had haunted them both since learning of Golda’s death two days ago. Her regret came from the answer itself.

So Justin was coming to Golda’s funeral.

He had every right to be there. He was her nephew, and she’d loved him like a son. It was only fitting that he honor her one last time by being present for her funeral. If he hadn’t come, Fiona would have hated him for it.

Oh, but she didn’t want to see him!

“How did you find out?” Fiona asked as if it wasn’t important.

“I asked Roger Markham. He was Golda’s attorney, you know. He called Justin at work Wednesday to tell him that she’d passed, and Justin said he would be here.”

How many times had Fiona tried to call Justin at his Washington office six years ago? Eight? Ten? And yet he’d always been conveniently out. Now she knew she should have asked Roger to call for her—or anybody else in the world whose name wasn’t Lake.

“What are you going to do?”

“Nothing. I’m going to Golda’s funeral, and I’m going to pretend that Justin and I have never met.”

Delores snorted. “Oh, yes, I can see you pulling that off. And what about after the funeral? When you go home and he’s right there next door?”

“I’ll be home. He’ll be next door.”

“What about Katy?”

Fiona’s hand trembled at the mention of her daughter. Almost five years old, Katy was the light of her life. She loved her daughter more than she’d known she was capable of loving—more than she’d ever loved Justin, more than she’d ever hated him. She’d needed all that love to make up for the father who’d never given a damn that Katy existed, to atone for her sin of falling in love with a man who could be so coldhearted and selfish.

“What about Katy, Mom? He didn’t care about her before. He’s not going to care now.”

“Are you going to let him see her?”

“I’m not going to hide her away like something to be ashamed of. But no, I’m not going to make a point of bringing her to his attention.” She wasn’t going to do anything to bring herself to his attention, either. Golda had had hundreds of friends. The church would be packed to overflowing this afternoon, and virtually all of them would want to express their regrets to Golda’s only relative in attendance.

All of them except her.

“Nice table,” Delores said as Fiona stepped back to study its shine. “What is it?”

“Rosewood. Mrs. Owens picked it up on her last trip to Europe, paid a fortune to have it shipped here, then decided it really didn’t go. She traded it to me for that armoire that had been collecting dust in the corner for two years.” Fiona looked around for something else in need of cleaning, but she’d been dusting and polishing practically nonstop since hearing about Golda’s death. Everything in the shop looked fine.

Laying the cloth aside, she walked behind the counter and sat down in a circa-1920 oak desk chair. Nearly an hour remained before they had to leave for the church, and she had nothing left to do but think. Remember.

And she didn’t want to remember.

Her mother came to stand behind her and gave her a shoulder rub. “You’ll get through this, darlin’. I know it’s tough, losing Golda and having to see Justin again at the same time, but you’re strong. You’ll survive.”

“I know I will, Mom. It’s just…” Hard. Hard saying goodbye to her good friend and neighbor, and even harder having to do it with him there. Hardest of all was having to face him, remembering his sweet words of love, his solemn promises to come back to her, his long years of silence. Sometimes she’d thought it would have been easier if he’d simply told her it was over. But how much clearer could a message be than no message at all?

Lord, she wished things were different! This wasn’t at all where she’d thought she would be at the age of thirty. Not that she didn’t have a lot to be grateful for. She owned her own house. Past Times, her antique shop, was well established and provided her with a comfortable living. She had family and friends, and best of all, she had Katy. In fact, the only thing she’d thought would be different was her lack of a husband. She’d assumed she would become a wife before becoming a mother. She’d thought her life would be more traditional, like her parents’ and sisters’ lives.

Of course, when she’d made those assumptions, she hadn’t counted on falling in love with a man like Justin Reed. She hadn’t known she could misjudge someone so badly.

He’d come to spend two days with Golda before continuing his vacation out west. Instead he’d stayed ten days, and she’d known before the first one was over that she’d met the man she was going to marry. They’d gone from strangers to lovers in the space of a few hours, had fallen head over heels in love soon after.

At least, she had. He’d told her he loved her, told her she was the most special woman in his life and talked of their future together—of the places they would go, the things they would see, the babies they would have. When his job cut his vacation short and called him back to the East Coast, he’d sworn he would come back as soon as he could. He’d asked her to visit him in Washington, had promised he would love her forever and told her he already missed her.

She had believed everything he said, and it had all been lies. Wonderfully romantic, just-what-she’d-wanted-to-hear lies. Carefully-calculated-to-seduce lies.

Seeing him would be hard, all right, but she would manage. As her mother said, she was strong. She would survive. But, please, God, she hoped there was a limit to how many times she was expected to survive Justin’s intrusion into, then disappearance from, her life.

“We’d probably better go,” Delores said, bending to give her a hug. “I told your sisters we’d pick them up on the way to the church. You don’t mind, do you?”

“Of course not.” Fiona switched on the answering machine, got her coat and purse from the back, then flipped the Open sign on the door to Closed. After locking up, she followed her mother to her car and settled in the passenger seat.

Though the day was cold—after all, it was January in Colorado—the sun was shining brightly. She was glad for that. Golda hadn’t minded dreary, gray days, but she’d absolutely reveled in sunny ones, no matter what the temperature. It was only right that she be laid to rest on a bright sunshiny day.

Her mother chatted idly, requiring no response from Fiona, on the way to first Kerry’s house, then Colleen’s. Her sisters lived three blocks in opposite directions from their parents’ home, while Fiona’s house was two blocks north. Unlike Justin’s family, the Lakes stayed close to home and liked it—though five years ago, she would have moved away with him if he’d asked, and been happy to do so. She would never consider such a move now. Family, she could count on to always be there for her. Justin had taught her that she couldn’t count on a man for anything besides heartache.

And the most beautiful little girl in the entire world.



When they reached the church, space was at a premium, both in the parking lot outside and in the pews inside, seating them much closer to the front than Fiona wanted. Given the opportunity, she would have escaped to the standing-room-only crowd at back, but with her mother on one side and Kerry and Colleen on the other, she didn’t get the opportunity.

Kerry squeezed her hand and gave her a smile. “It’s all right. We’ll stick close.”

“It’s silly to be so nervous.”

“I’d worry if you weren’t nervous. If you could see him for the first time since he—”

Betrayed her, Fiona filled in when her sister hesitated. Abandoned her. Broke her heart.

Kerry settled for a shrug. “—and not be nervous, then you’d be colder-hearted and more unfeeling than he could possibly be.”

Fiona would bet Justin wasn’t nervous about the prospect of seeing her again. For all she knew, he might not even remember her. And to be able to turn his back on his baby, he was definitely colder-hearted and more unfeeling than she could ever be.

The time for the funeral drew nearer, and the front row, reserved for family, remained empty. Just when Fiona was beginning to wonder if he hadn’t betrayed Golda, too, Delores bent close and whispered, “Take a deep breath, darlin’. There he is.”

Fiona didn’t have to turn her head more than a few degrees to see the man she’d loved and hated and prayed to never see again, walking down the aisle alongside the minister. He wore a steel-gray suit with a shirt and tie in softer dove-gray, and his black hair was trimmed short enough to control its wavy tendencies. His gaze was directed to the floor as he ignored the hundreds of people around him, and his jaw was set so tightly that she could see the tension from where she sat.

Colleen gave a sigh as the two men passed their pew. “He’s still handsome.”

Of course he was—possibly the handsomest man Fiona had ever met. Years ago she’d figured she thought that because she was so much in love with him, but no, she admitted regretfully. It was the truth. She certainly didn’t love him now, but he was still gorgeous.

And that was all right. Finding him handsome didn’t mean she was still a sucker for his lies. It didn’t mean he had any effect at all on her. She could admire the package without caring what was inside, because she knew what was inside—nothing worth having.

The service started promptly at two. Fiona listened to the eulogy, the prayers, the songs, and said a silent, final goodbye to her friend. With some bitterness, she hoped to soon do the same to Justin, who sat stiffly on the front row. He didn’t bow his head for the prayers, showed no emotion during the songs. He reminded her of nothing so much as a statue.

For the first time in five years, she felt truly relieved that he wasn’t a part of Katy’s life. Her daughter might need a father, but she didn’t need her own father. She was better off without him. So was Fiona. And so was Golda.

After the final prayer, Delores leaned across. “I’m going to pay my respects.”

Kerry and Colleen looked at Fiona, who shrugged. “Go ahead. I’ll wait here.”

She followed their progress part of the way up the aisle, then went to study the nearest of a dozen stained-glass windows that stretched the length of the church. She was restless, impatient to leave, to collect Katy from the baby-sitter, take her home and shut themselves off from the rest of the world until Sunday. Maybe they could go somewhere for the weekend—pack their bags, get in the car and head off on an adventure. Or maybe they could go to Denver—

“Fiona.”

Tension streaked through her body, clenching her muscles and bringing a sick feeling to her stomach. She said a quick prayer that she would turn and find her friend Rebecca’s husband Steve, or maybe Juliette’s husband Colton, but she knew Steve’s and Colton’s voices. More importantly, she knew his voice. It had seduced her, haunted her, taunted her…and then gone silent on her. No, It’s over. No, Goodbye. No, I don’t want you anymore. Just silence.

Forcing all emotion from her expression, she slowly turned to face him. Watching him walk past at a distance was nothing compared to seeing him up close. Handsome? Try incredible. This close she could see the deep blue of his eyes, the straight line of his nose, the perpetually stubborn set of his jaw.

She could see the resemblances to Katy that she’d conveniently persuaded herself weren’t there.

She thought of all the things she’d promised herself she would say to him if she ever saw him again. Every sentiment, every accusation, could be condensed into two harsh words—Damn you—but she didn’t say them. She didn’t say anything at all.

He shifted in a manner that should have screamed He’s nervous! Of course, it didn’t. It just seemed natural. Calm. “I wondered if you were going to speak to me.”

“Actually, no. Speaking to you makes it harder to keep up the illusion that I’d never met you.”

“And you like pretending you never met me.”

She smiled coolly. “I’d like it better if I really had never met you, but this is the next best thing.”

A faint hint of bitterness came into his eyes, and his mouth formed a thin line. After a moment, he flatly said, “I’m sorry about Golda.”

“Everyone here is sorry about Golda.” But in some tender place inside, she was touched by his acknowledgment that losing Golda was a bigger loss to her than him. After all, she’d seen the old lady every day. He’d stayed away for six years.

Because of her? Or because he hadn’t cared any more about his aunt than he had about Fiona?

He shifted again, and this time he did look… Not nervous. Uncomfortable. As if he wasn’t at all accustomed to the position he found himself in—the grieving nephew, the polite ex-lover. “I understand your being here has nothing to do with me, but…thank you anyway.”

“You’re right. Nothing in my life has anything to do with you.” Hoping her hand wouldn’t tremble, she gestured toward the center of the church. “You should probably get back over there. There are people waiting who actually want to talk to you.”

With a solemn nod, he turned and walked away, leaving her feeling… Edgy. Guilty. Ashamed. She wasn’t a rude person, and had never been cruel a day in her life. She could blame it on Justin. She hadn’t been a lot of things until she’d met him—easy, foolish, careless, dreamy, gullible, broken-hearted, pregnant. She hadn’t been so strong until she’d loved him and lost him. She needed that strength now to get through the next thirty hours.

She needed it desperately.



Justin turned onto the three hundred block of Aspen Street and slowed to well below the speed limit. The houses on the block were moderately sized, reasonably priced and in good shape considering they were nearly double his age. Golda’s was in the middle of the block on the left side of the street. Fiona’s was one closer.

It looked the same as it had six years ago. It wore a fresh coat of white paint on the siding, dark green on the shutters and door. The same car she’d driven then was parked in the driveway in front of the two-car garage, and what appeared to be the same lace curtains hung at her bedroom windows on the second floor.

But there were a few differences. A bike with training wheels was parked at the bottom of the steps. A kid-size basketball goal stood in the driveway next to the car. A red wagon on the porch held a soccer ball and a basketball among other toys. A remote-control Jeep lay upside down near the curb.

Maybe the toys belonged to her nieces and nephews, he reasoned, or maybe she’d been baby-sitting a friend’s children. But the cold, hard place that formed deep in his gut said otherwise. Fiona had a child.

Which meant she also had a husband.

He wondered how long she had waited for him before moving on. A few months? Six, maybe eight? And then she’d replaced him, gotten married and started the family she’d promised him. She was another man’s wife, raising another man’s child. Damn her.

And damn him. He’d promised he would come back, but he never had. He hadn’t written, hadn’t called, had ignored her calls. Plain and simple, he’d been afraid. All the intense emotions she roused in him had seemed perfectly normal when he was with her, but with distance had come doubt.

His parents had seen to it that he’d grown up with little belief in love and no faith at all in marriage. Their own marriage had been a mistake, and so had the ten or so they’d made since their divorce from each other. They’d acted on impulse every damn time, completing the meeting, lust, so-called love and marriage in record time, only to wake up with strangers they neither knew nor liked. Within a year, often less, the divorce was in the works and they were looking for the next person willing to make a fool of them.

He’d watched it happen time and again, often from the same household, usually from a distance, and he’d sworn it would never happen to him. If he ever married, it would be to someone he’d known a long time, someone he considered a friend, someone who didn’t believe in fairy tales of love and romance any more than he did. And if the marriage ended, he wouldn’t be so emotionally vested in it that it disrupted his life. He would deal with it like a mature adult and move on. He’d been so confident, so determined.

And yet the first time he’d mentioned marriage to Fiona, he’d known her all of seventy-two hours. After only three days, he’d been willing to tie the knot with a woman he hardly knew merely because she made him feel things he’d never felt before. He’d been not only willing but eager to follow in his parents’ footsteps, and that had scared the hell out of him.

So he’d cut her out of his life. Refused her calls at work. Let the machine pick them up at home. Ignored her quiet pleas. With eighteen hundred miles separating them, he’d convinced himself that Fiona had just been a fling, that the affair had been about sex and not love, that nothing so hot and intense could last. It hadn’t been difficult. He came from a long line of emotionally-stunted bastards. He’d had excellent role models.

Just past Fiona’s house, he pulled into Golda’s driveway and shut off the engine. He’d intended to spend the night at a motel, but his timing wasn’t the greatest. There was no room at the inns, and so the wayward nephew was left with no choice but to stay at Golda’s. Next to Fiona.

The lawyer had given him the key at the funeral—just in case. Taking his bag from the trunk as well as his briefcase, he let himself into the quiet, old house.

The parlor opened off the foyer and was filled with mementos of Golda’s life. He walked around the perimeter of the room, touching nothing, gazing at countless photographs of himself, from first grade through graduation, both prep school and college. His mother had missed one, and his father had missed both, but Golda had been there both days.

There were other photographs, mostly of people he didn’t know, as well as some childish drawings that had been framed and hung as if they deserved it. He assumed they were the work of the pretty little dark-haired girl whose photos on display numbered second only to his own, and wondered who she was.

A framed portrait on the piano answered that question. It was the same girl snuggled on her mother’s lap while they read a children’s book. She looked sleepy, contented, and her mother… Fiona looked happier, more beautiful and more in love than he’d ever had the fortune to see her.

Angrily he turned away from the picture. He didn’t care. Their affair never could have been more than it was, and it had ended six years ago. She felt nothing but contempt for him, and he…he felt nothing. He was just tired from the flight, worn-out by the guilt, depressed by the funeral and the graveside service. He needed sleep, then food, then more sleep, and he needed to get the hell out of Grand Springs, which he would do tomorrow immediately following the meeting with Golda’s lawyer. Once he was back in D.C. and at work, he would be all right.

He carried his garment bag upstairs, chose the guest room where he hadn’t once made love to Fiona, stripped off his clothes and crawled into bed. Sleep came easily, but it wasn’t restful. Too many memories, too many dreams.

When he gave up and got up, it was nearly eight o’clock, the sky was dark, and his stomach was rumbling. He dressed in jeans and a sweater, grabbed his coat and headed for the car. He got so far as unlocking the door before some impulse he didn’t understand and couldn’t resist drew him away, across the yard next door and up the steps. It was incredibly stupid, he told himself as he crossed the six feet to the door. She’d made it clear at the church this afternoon that she wanted nothing further to do with him. He had nothing to say to her. Her husband certainly wouldn’t appreciate him stopping by.

But none of that stopped him from ringing the doorbell or waiting impatiently in the thin glow of the porch light.

Through the curtained side lights that flanked the door, he saw a shadow approach the door. The long moment’s hesitation that followed told him it was Fiona, debating whether to answer the door or leave him standing there like the idiot he was. If asked to guess, he would have put his money on the latter, but he would have been wrong.

She opened the door only halfway and blocked it with her socked foot. Hugging her arms to her chest, she fixed a slightly hostile, mostly blank look on him and waited for him to speak.

“Hi.” Brilliant opening. Worthy of a door slammed in his face. “I was wondering…” About a lot of things, but the growl deep in his stomach gave him a topic to discuss with her. “Where can I get a decent burger around here?”

She looked suspicious of his question, but answered as if it were legitimate. “We have the usual fast food places. The diner downtown might still be open. Randolph’s definitely is, though I don’t know if they have hamburgers on the menu. The Squaw Creek Lodge restaurant, but it’s a bit of a drive.”

“Which one’s your favorite?”

“We like McDonald’s Happy Meals,” she replied with a hint of sarcasm, then grudgingly went on. “The Saloon. It’s a bar downtown that serves greasy burgers with fried onions and a side of heartburn. They’re the best around.”

“Any chance I could persuade you to keep me company while I eat?”

Her eyes darkened, and her mouth thinned into a prissy straight line. “No. None.”

Of course not. What man would want to stay home and baby-sit while his wife went out to the local watering hole with her ex-lover? “I…I just thought maybe we could talk.”

“What could we possibly have to talk about?”

He shrugged awkwardly. “Golda.”

For a moment, she stood motionless. Then she pushed the door up, not quite closing it. Justin wasn’t sure whether she’d changed her mind or was dismissing him, until she returned, wearing shoes and carrying a thick blanket. She slipped outside, closed the door, wrapped the blanket around her, then sat down on the top step.

He stayed where he was a moment. It was twenty degrees, and neither of them was dressed to spend any amount of time outside. Her warm house was a few steps away, and Golda’s was thirty feet away. There was no reason for them to freeze outside.

Except that she obviously didn’t want him inside her house, and he wasn’t even sure he wanted to be alone with her.

He sat at the opposite end of the same step and rubbed his hands together before sliding them into his coat pockets. As the silence between them extended, he reminded himself that he was supposed to talk about Golda, but he couldn’t think of anything he wanted to say—not now, not with Fiona still obviously hostile.

Gazing at the house across the street, brightly lit in the night, he finally asked, “How have you been?”

Fiona slowly turned her head to look at him. He felt it. “You’re a little late asking, aren’t you?” The voice he remembered in his dreams as sweet, warm, tender, was as cold as the frigid air that surrounded them. “You said you wanted to talk about Golda. Do it or leave.”

Now it was her turn to stare across the street while he looked at her. The past six years had left him looking six years older and ten years wearier, but they’d simply left Fiona more beautiful. She’d always been pretty, with her red hair, hazel eyes, freckled nose, fair skin and exceedingly kissable mouth, but now she was lovelier, softer, more desirable, in a womanly sort of way. Was it motherhood that had brought about the change?

Or the man she’d married?

He couldn’t ask. He had no right. She had the dubious honor of being part of the single most important relationship in his entire life. He’d seduced her, and been seduced by her. He’d wanted to marry her, to spend the next fifty years at her side. He’d even imagined himself in love with her—him, a Reed, when everyone knew that Reeds were capable of many emotions, but love was not one of them.

And he had no right to ask her anything. What was wrong with this picture?

Golda, his conscience reminded him when Fiona shifted impatiently on the step. Turning so the railing was at his back, he went straight to the heart of what troubled him most about his aunt. “Did she ever forgive me?”




Chapter 2


Underneath the heavy comforter, Fiona was trembling, but it had nothing to do with the cold. Ask me if I’ll ever forgive you, she wanted to demand. Not in this lifetime. But she wasn’t Golda. She’d loved him in an entirely different way, and while he’d betrayed her, he’d merely neglected Golda. He’d broken Fiona’s heart and cheated his daughter of a father, but he’d deprived Golda of nothing more than a few visits.

Not that he cared if Fiona and Katy ever forgave him. He hadn’t even asked about her, hadn’t shown any interest at all in her existence. For all practical purposes, for him, she didn’t exist.

Someday, if there was any justice in life, he would come to regret the way he’d treated Katy. Someday it would be her turn to walk away from him, to abandon him and make him feel unwanted and unloved.

Fiona hoped she was around to see it.

“What is it you’d wanted her to forgive you for?” she asked. For failing to come and see the woman who’d put her life on hold from time to time to make his a little easier? For putting his own needs ahead of an old woman who loved him dearly and would forgive him anything?

Or for refusing to acknowledge his daughter? Not many people outside her family knew he was Katy’s father, but Golda had known from the instant she’d heard about Fiona’s pregnancy. She’d welcomed her grandniece, and Fiona, too, with all the love and acceptance Justin had refused to offer. She’d made them feel as if they’d mattered.

To him they never had. He’d had his fun—livened up a dull vacation with a steamy affair—and he’d never given a damn how much pain he’d caused. But Golda had.

“I—I didn’t see her as often as I should have. I didn’t write, didn’t call…”

“Oh, gee, so it’s a habit,” she said sarcastically. “And here I thought I’d been singled out for shabby treatment. But you weren’t being cruel. You were just being you.”

It was difficult to tell with so little light, but she thought he might have winced. “Fiona—”

Holding onto the comforter, she stood up and gazed down at him. “She kept pictures of you all over the house. She told everybody how proud she was of her nephew, the ATF agent. She said you were the only Reed besides her that had ever amounted to anything.” She drew a deep breath and unwillingly softened her voice. “She loved the cards you sent, and the flowers on her birthday, and the roses on Mother’s Day. She loved the phone calls, and the postcards, and the little gifts, and every minute of every visit. She loved you.”

After a moment, she went to the door. She turned back to say… What could she say? Clenching her jaw tightly, she went inside, locked the door, then leaned against it for a few deep breaths.

There. Two encounters down. There would be only one more—the reading of the will in Mr. Markham’s office the next day—and Justin would return to Washington. She would never see him again.

The thought should make her happy. It did make her happy. So damned happy she had tears in her eyes.

After a while, she risked a peek out the window just as Justin got into his rental car. He was off to the Saloon, no doubt, where he’d get his burger and probably find a pretty little thing to keep him company while he ate. He might even take her back to Golda’s house, the way he’d once taken Fiona there.

And she didn’t care if he did. He was no longer a part of her life.

He was just a part of her daughter, who was her life.

Draping the comforter over the banister, she climbed the stairs to Katy’s room. Her daughter’s crib had been an antique, handed down through generations of the first family to settle in the Grand Springs area, and her cradle at the shop had come to America from Britain nearly two centuries ago, but her bed these days was a tree house. It filled half her room with one platform in the branches for a bed, another for a reading spot and a third one for a play area. The fat fake trunk had shelves inside to hold toys and books, stuffed squirrels and birds sat on the branches, and the felt leaves formed a canopy that reached up to the blue-sky-studded-with-fluffy-white-clouds ceiling.

It was an extravagance, built by Fiona’s father and decorated by her mother, and it had made Katy the envy of the kindergarten class at Jack and Jill’s Day Care. Fiona had thought it was much too indulgent, but she’d given in. After all, the kids at Jack and Jill’s had teased Katy one time too many about not having a father. Fathers were a dime a dozen—all the teasing kids had them—but there was only one fabulous tree-house bed in all of Colorado, and Katy had it.

Fiona reached through the railing to smooth her daughter’s dark hair from her face. The night-light—a string of white Christmas lights woven through the branches—cast a soft glow on her chubby cheeks, her long lashes, her full mouth. Asleep in an old T-shirt of Fiona’s that slipped off one shoulder and twisted around her sturdy little body, she looked sweet, angelic, so utterly perfect that Fiona’s heart ached.

Whatever sins Justin had committed, whatever lies he’d told, he’d given her the most precious gift she ever could have wished for. She might hate him. She might pray to never see him again. But she owed him her life. She should remember that the next time she talked to him.

In her bed, Katy rolled onto her side and her eyes fluttered open. “Is it time to get up?” Her voice was sleepy, baby soft, and never failed to brighten Fiona’s heart.

“No, babe, not yet. Go back to sleep.”

“Okay.” In an instant, her eyes closed and she was snoring softly.

Fiona gave her hand a kiss, then wrapped her arm around her favorite teddy bear. Then, with a weary sigh, she returned downstairs, wishing it wasn’t too early for her to go to bed, too. The sooner morning came, the sooner the appointment with Mr. Markham would come, and Justin would leave.

She really wanted Justin to leave.

After picking up the few toys Katy had left on the living room floor and rinsing their supper dishes to stack in the dishwasher, she couldn’t find anything else to do. The nervous energy that had kept her busy at the shop had done the same here at home. Everything was cleaned, polished, vacuumed and laundered within an inch of its life. She fixed a cup of hot cocoa, grabbed the comforter from the stair railing and settled in the living room with all the lights off and the television on, and with a nice view of Golda’s house. Not that she was keeping tabs on Justin, of course.

Though she did notice when he pulled into the driveway about the time she finished her cocoa.

And that he was alone in the car.

And that he hadn’t been gone long enough for anything besides a burger at the Saloon.

He got out of the car, stretched as if he were stiff, then, for a time, simply stood there, gazing first at Golda’s house, then at hers. With his hands in his pockets and his shoulders hunched against the cold, he looked…forlorn.

Sympathy she hadn’t let herself feel for him earlier welled inside her. Maybe Golda hadn’t been a regular part of his life, but she’d been the only person in his entire family to care about him. He’d never had brothers or sisters and apparently hadn’t mattered much to either parent. It was Golda who’d loved him, encouraged him, advised him and was there for him, and now she was gone. He was alone.

Except for Katy, the daughter he’d wanted no part of, just as his own parents had wanted no part of him. It was bad enough that he could ignore her so thoroughly, doubly bad that he could do so when he knew from experience how much it hurt.

Fiona’s sympathy died a quick death, and she resolutely turned away from the window and back to the television. He was alone, but that was his choice.

Let him live with it.



Still on East Coast time, Justin was up early Saturday morning. He finished his usual run before the sun came up, and was showered, dressed and eating breakfast by seven. His appointment with the lawyer wasn’t until eleven, and then he was heading for Denver. Much better to hang around the airport with nothing to do than to stay in Fiona’s territory.

He couldn’t help but notice when he left on his run that her car was still the only one in the driveway. Maybe her husband parked in the garage—not very gentlemanly of him, Golda would have said with a sniff—or they were a one-car family. Maybe he was out of town on business.

Why hadn’t Golda told him she’d gotten married and had a child? he wondered, then immediately answered. Because the one time she’d brought Fiona into the conversation, he’d been defensive and rude. She’d offered her opinion—You owe her an explanation—and he’d responded that it was none of her business. He’d given her two choices—she could talk about Fiona or she could talk to him. She’d chosen him and never mentioned Fiona again.

But it wouldn’t have hurt her to mention something as significant as getting married.

Scowling because he felt like a petulant child, he carried his cereal bowl and spoon to the sink and washed them, then stood there with his coffee, staring out the window. Golda’s yard, always her pride and joy, looked as good as was possible in the middle of winter. The grass was cut short, the flower beds mulched, the rosebushes protected from the cold. Fiona’s backyard had once been as neat, but now there was a swing set firmly planted in the grass, along with toys scattered around.

And a kid.

She was so bundled against the cold that her arms stood out from her sides and her walk was nothing so much as a lumber. Halfway across the yard, she looked back at the house, then yanked off the knitted cap that covered her dark hair. It landed on the grass at her feet. A moment later, the bright yellow mittens followed, and soon the blue parka was on the ground, too. A pair of sweatpants hit next. Wearing jeans, a shirt and a heavy sweater, she skipped to the back third of the yard, where a fleet of toys, a dump truck and bulldozer among them, waited.

From this distance it was impossible to tell whether she resembled her mother at all, though the hair color had definitely come from her father. It would be a shame to have a daughter with Fiona who looked nothing like her. Beauty like that should be passed down through the generations.

Absently rubbing an ache in his chest that had come from nowhere, he watched the girl fill the bulldozer scoop with dirt, empty it into the dump truck, then return for more. After the third load, he was about to turn away when a sharp report broke the quiet and the girl crumpled to the ground.

Apprehension tightening his chest, Justin set his coffee cup down, paying no attention when it slid into the sink, and started for the back door. When he opened the door to the sound of childish screams, he leaped over the steps to the ground and vaulted the chain-link fence into Fiona’s yard.

The girl was curled in a tight ball, wailing for all she was worth. Justin glanced at the hole she’d been digging, caught a glimpse of a green box inside and drops of bright red on the yellowed grass. As he crouched beside her, from the house behind them came a panicked cry.

“Katy? Oh, my God, Katy!”

His heart pounding, he gently touched the girl with a shaking hand and spoke her name. “Katy? Are you okay? Are you hurt anywhere?”

At his touch, she launched herself into his arms with enough force to push him off balance. She clung to him, her thin arms wrapped around his neck in a choke hold, her trembling body pressed so tightly to his that he couldn’t have peeled her away without help. Quickly getting to his feet, he headed for Fiona’s back door and met her halfway, coatless, shoeless and damn near hysterical.

“Katy? My God, is she all right? Is she hurt?” she demanded, keeping pace when he didn’t slow down.

“I don’t know. Call 911. Get an ambulance and the police.”

She ran ahead into the kitchen and was stammering on the phone when he got there. He set the girl on the counter, or tried to, but she refused to let go. She held onto him as if he could keep her safe, but it was too late for that.

“They’re on their way.” Shaking as badly as her daughter, Fiona joined them. “Katy, baby, come to Mama. Let me look at you. Let me see… Oh, God, Justin, she’s bleeding.”

He’d seen the blood before she plastered herself to him, but not where it was coming from. Her hands, most likely, since her digging had apparently triggered the blast, and her face. God, he hoped she hadn’t lost any fingers! He’d seen it before with blasting caps, and experience suggested that was what she’d unearthed.

With Fiona’s help, he gently forced Katy’s hands from around his neck. Though her hands were, in fact, the source of at least some of the blood, he counted all ten fingers and gave a quick prayer of thanks. In the seconds before the still-wailing girl grabbed hold of her mother, he saw cuts on her hands and face, none that looked serious.

“It’s okay, baby,” Fiona crooned, holding her daughter tightly and rocking her side to side. “Everything’s going to be all right. Don’t cry, baby doll.” Sparing a steely glance for him, she asked, “What the hell was that?”

“I don’t know—a blasting cap, I think. I’ll find out.” But instead of heading outside, he went down the hall to the front door, reaching it just as an ambulance screeched to a stop at the curb. Two police cars were only seconds behind. He unlocked the door and left it standing open, then returned to the backyard. He was kneeling beside the hole in the ground when the two cops joined him.

“What happened here?” the taller of the two asked.

Justin automatically reached for his credentials, then realized they were locked in his bag in Golda’s guest room, along with his weapon. Getting to his feet, he offered his hand. “Justin Reed, ATF.”

“Colton Stuart, chief of police. You’re Golda’s nephew. I’m sorry about her death. We’ll miss her a lot.”

Justin nodded in acknowledgment.

“What happened?”

“The little girl was digging in the yard when she hit something.” He gestured to the hole. “It’s an old ammo can. I’d guess it had at least two blasting caps inside, maybe more. They must have been pretty unstable. When she hit the can with her shovel, they went off.” He glanced back at the house. “Is she okay?”

“She seems to be, except for getting the scare of her life.” Stuart combed his fingers through his hair. “Couldn’t ask for better luck than to have an ATF agent next door when something like this happens. Do you happen to work on the explosives side of the house?”

Justin nodded.

“You have any suggestions on how to proceed?”

“You have a camera I can use? And an evidence form?”

Stuart gestured to the officer with him, who immediately left.

Once more Justin knelt a few feet away from the hole. There were bits of shrapnel on the ground—probably the cause of Katy’s cuts—as well as pieces of twisted metal. The blast had been powerful enough to raise the lid on the steel can a few inches, until its hinge caught, but fortunately the can had contained much of it. If not… As close as she’d been, Katy could have suffered some damned serious injuries.

“Any ideas how the can got here?” Stuart asked, crouching on the opposite side.

Justin gave the area a critical look. “This used to slope down, and there was an alley separating these houses from those.” He nodded toward the houses on the back side of the block. Come to think of it, Golda’s yard had had the same slope. She’d complained that run-off from rain and snow created problems with erosion and kept her yard from being perfect. “You have any idea when it was filled in, by who and why?” The box could have been buried elsewhere, dug up and hauled in here. If it had been a few years, the caps wouldn’t have been so unstable then. It was possible they could have survived the move, possible the can could have gone unnoticed with a ton or two of topsoil.

“Three years ago,” Stuart replied. “The area had some major mudslides, and this was one of them. The city hauled out what it could and spread the rest around.”

Justin looked up at the mountains that rose around the city. The ammo can could have been buried anywhere from the next block to the tops of any of a half-dozen peaks miles away. Finding its original resting place and the person who’d put it there would be tougher than identifying a single grain of sand at the bottom of the ocean.

The young cop returned with the equipment Justin had requested. “Chief, the paramedics want to know if they can go ahead and take Katy and her mom to the hospital.”

“Sure. We’ll talk to her later, after she’s been checked out by the doctors and calmed down. Poor kid. She’ll never enjoy the Fourth of July after this.”

As Justin set up the thirty-five-millimeter camera, he casually asked, “You know Katy and her mother?”

“Sure. We just live a couple blocks away. We go to the same church, and our kids go to the same day care. Fiona watches our son, Martin, from time to time, and we keep Katy sometimes. Martin thinks of Katy as the big sister he never had. She thinks of him as a baby doll that won’t stay put when she’s tired of him.”

Smiling faintly, Justin snapped a few shots of the area, followed by several of the can still in the hole. Laying the camera aside, he lifted it out, then opened the lid. “Holy…”

“What is it?” Stuart looked over his shoulder but didn’t seem impressed. And why should he be? He’d never seen the carved wooden boxes before. He’d probably never heard of John Blandings, who’d celebrated his fifth wedding anniversary by giving his wife Anita an exquisite, one-of-a-kind, damn near priceless necklace and bracelet, each in its own hand-carved, ivory-inlaid wooden box. He’d probably never heard of Patrick Watkins, either, who’d relieved Mrs. Blandings of her jewels and, on his way out, left the garage in shambles with two well-placed explosives.

Quickly, Justin took several more pictures, then laid the camera aside and reached for one of the boxes. The lid was damaged, with flash burns and shrapnel embedded in its surface, but the gems inside…

All the Reed women—except Golda—loved flashy jewelry. They’d never seen a necklace too gaudy, a ring too ostentatious or a stone too big. Even so, not one of them had a piece that could compare to this. The emeralds were top quality, rich, deep, dark, damn near glowing inside, and the diamonds were as good or better. He’d estimate the smallest stone at three or four carats, the largest probably three times that.

Stuart gave a long, low whistle. “That must be worth—”

“One point two million. The matching bracelet—” Justin pointed to the other box “—is another half mil. It was stolen from a couple in the D.C. area four years ago. The thief slipped right through their elaborate security system, pocketed these and left another couple million dollars worth of jewels in the safe. Presumably they didn’t meet his standards.”

“And you know this because…?”

“To ensure that his cleverness didn’t go unnoticed, as he was leaving, he blew up their garage. Did close to a million dollars damage there, including the Rolls, the Ferrari and the limo that went up with it.” Justin shook his head wonderingly. “I’ve been after this guy for eight years. These were his fourteenth robbery and bombing. We’re up to twenty-four now. I cannot believe he’s been in Grand Springs.”

Quickly he checked the other wooden box, then the velvet boxes underneath. He recognized every piece—knew who it had been stolen from, how much it was worth and what kind of blast had accompanied the theft. For years, he—and the owners, the insurance companies and other law enforcement agencies involved in the cases—had wondered what Watkins had done with the gems. Very few had been recovered, apparently fenced when he needed money, but the really exquisite pieces had never shown up on any market. Everyone had had their theories, but no one had ever suspected they were buried in an ammo can somewhere in the Colorado Rockies.

An ammo can containing blasting caps that had been guaranteed to become unstable and go off at the slightest disturbance—or, hell, no disturbance at all. Static electricity in the air could have caused them to detonate, and the damage could have been much worse than a petrified kid.

Though that was bad enough, he thought grimly, hearing in his mind Katy’s hysterical tears and the panic in Fiona’s voice. It was past time to put a stop to Patrick Watkins’s games.

And he had a pretty good idea how to do it.



Fiona stood beside Katy’s hospital bed, watching her daughter sleep, thanks to the sedative they’d given her. Her injuries had been relatively minor—cuts on both hands and her face from flying shrapnel, a few bruises from both shrapnel and small rocks blasted loose by the explosion. She’d been incredibly fortunate, the ER doctor had stressed, and Fiona had given thanks for it repeatedly.

Now that she knew Katy was safe, she was feeling the aftereffects of the day’s emotional overload. The temptation to lower the side rail, crawl into bed with Katy and fall asleep holding her tight was strong, but she remained where she was, watching her, savoring the mere sight of her.

When the door opened, she didn’t look up. Her parents had spent several hours at the hospital, as well as her sisters and several of her friends, and the hospital staff had been in and out. Whoever it was could take care of business, then leave them alone. She didn’t want to talk, didn’t want food, didn’t want anything but to watch her daughter and make sure she remained safe.

The visitor stopped just inside the door. Fiona had pulled the shades to block the afternoon sun and turned off all but one dim light over the bed, so he stood in shadow, but she knew who it was. “She’s asleep,” she said quietly. “You won’t wake her.”

Justin came forward until he stood opposite her. “How is she?”

“Just bumped and bruised.” That was Katy’s favorite description for all the little injuries she suffered in her tomboy play. Smiling at the memory of the phrase in her little girl’s voice, Fiona rubbed her arm, found it cool to the touch and gently tucked it under the sheet. “They had to put a few stitches in the worst cuts on her face, but she’ll be fine. They’ll hardly even leave a scar.”

“How long are they keeping her?”

“Just until tomorrow. Her injuries are minor, but she was so upset…”

“She’s lucky.”

“I know.” Fiona rested her arms on the rail and finally looked at him. He still wore jeans, but he’d changed from the shirt that had been splattered with their daughter’s blood. Now he wore a leather jacket open over a dark blue dress shirt that brought out the color of his eyes—of Katy’s eyes. He looked handsome, tired, serious—and just a bit excited. Because his uncomfortable duty trip to Colorado had turned into the work that meant so much to him?

Her resentment skyrocketed. Their daughter was lying sedated in a hospital bed, and he was happy to have a case to occupy his few remaining hours in town. But when she spoke, she kept the anger and shock out of her voice. “What happened? What exploded and how did it get in my yard?”

“It was an ammo can, a small steel case the military uses to store ammunition. Chief Stuart’s theory on how it got there is the mudslides a few years ago that leveled off your yard.”

Fiona was puzzled. “You mean, the military’s responsible for this?”

“No. Ammo cans are sold at surplus stores all over the country. This one held some stolen property, along with a couple of blasting caps. Katy must have uncovered the can while digging, and they detonated.” Withdrawing a notebook and pen from his jacket pocket, he gave her an uncomfortable look. “I need some information for my report—just basic stuff. Is that okay?”

She shrugged.

“What is your full name?”

“Fiona Frances Lake.”

His gaze lingered on her face a moment before he wrote it down. “And Katy’s?”

“Kathleen Hope.”

“Hope’s her last name?”

“Middle name,” she said impatiently. “Her last name is Lake.”

“But— Why doesn’t she have your husband’s name?”

His question sent a stab of pain through Fiona. He was the only man she’d ever wanted to marry, the only one she’d wanted to spend the rest of her life with, and he’d claimed to feel the same about her. It had taken her years to stop wanting him, and she hadn’t yet found a way to want anyone else. It had taken him only a few days, maybe even hours, to forget her.

“I don’t have a husband,” she said stiffly, “so it would be difficult for her to take his name.”

Justin stared at her across the bed, obviously surprised. “You’re not married?”

“No.”

“Have you been?”

“No. I had plans once, but it turned out, the offer was just part of the joke.”

He had no reaction to the jibe. He simply continued to look surprised, with some confusion thrown in for good measure. “But—Katy— Who is her father? Where is he? Why didn’t you marry him?”

Fiona went cold inside. This wasn’t funny. Pretending ignorance when she’d delivered the news of her pregnancy herself was not the best path to choose. He’d known he was going to be a father, and he hadn’t cared enough to even acknowledge it. He’d ignored her message and ignored their daughter for her entire life, and now he was pretending he didn’t know? Was he such a self-centered bastard that he possibly could have forgotten? Or merely a coward who couldn’t own up to his failings?

Or…was it possible he truly didn’t know? He sounded sincere—but he’d sounded sincere when he’d told her he loved her and wanted to marry her, and he’d been lying then. He could well be lying now.

She hadn’t actually delivered the news to him herself, a sly voice reminded her. She’d left the message on his answering machine—the only way she could make contact, since he’d refused to take or return her calls. When he’d never responded, she had assumed that he’d gotten the message and just didn’t give a damn about the baby. It had been so easy to think when he’d made it abundantly clear that he didn’t give a damn about her.

But what if he hadn’t gotten it? An accidental erasure, a tape malfunction, hitting the wrong button by mistake… Oh, God, what if he’d never known?

Her palms damp, her stomach queasy, Fiona turned away from the bed and walked to the window, where she lifted one corner of the shade. The sun was setting, turning the western horizon shades of pink and purple, and darkness was quickly settling in. Already the streetlights were on, and as she watched, lights flickered on in nearby houses. She raised the shade, then folded her arms across her chest as she stared out. “I thought you were leaving this afternoon.”

“That was my plan, before this happened.”

“There’s an ATF office in Denver.” Six years ago he had talked about trying to get a transfer there. Obviously that plan had changed, too. “Surely they can handle this.”

“They could, but it’s my case.” His voice was closer, though she hadn’t heard him move. She felt, then saw his approach from the corner of her eye as he passed, then turned to lean against the windowsill. With his hands in his pockets and his ankles crossed, he looked more relaxed than he had a right to be. It was an illusion, though. There was tension in his jaw, in his eyes.

So much about him was an illusion.

“You can do that?” she asked as if she cared. “Claim a case as your own just because you have the dumb luck to be around when it happens?”

“No. Denver has jurisdiction, but they agreed to let me work it.”

Wonderful. So he’d be in town longer than she’d planned. How much longer? she wanted to ask. How long would she have to cope with the fact that he was living right next door? To know that every time she left her house, she risked running into him? How long would she have to tell him the truth…or do her damnedest to hide it?

“So…about those questions… Who is Katy’s father, and why didn’t you marry him?”

“I don’t see how either of them matters.”

“This is a federal crime, Fiona, and unfortunately, Katy is the victim. I need identifying information on her.”

“She’s the only Kathleen Hope Lake in all of Grand Springs, and I’m the only Fiona Lake. You have our address. I’ll give you our phone number and her social security number. I’ll even show you the scar on her leg where she slid into home plate last summer. That’s more than enough to identify her. As for why I didn’t marry her father—” How could that possibly have any bearing? But what was the alternative? That he was asking out of personal interest? Equally impossible. His personal interest in her hadn’t even survived the trip back to Washington. It certainly hadn’t survived the six years since. “He didn’t want to be married—didn’t want to be a father.” Maybe. Unless he truly hadn’t known.

Forcing a chilly note into her voice, she asked, “Any other questions?”

He looked as if he didn’t want to back down, but after a long, still moment, he shook his head. “Not at this time.” He pushed away from the window, then stopped right beside her. “I’ll be in touch,” he said quietly.

“I hope not.”

His smile was thin and thoroughly unamused. “I’m sure you do.”

She watched him leave, then returned to Katy’s bedside. Emotion tightened her chest and dampened her eyes as she gazed at her. Her daughter was the best, most wonderful thing to ever happen to her. She couldn’t imagine life without her—couldn’t imagine having a child somewhere and not knowing it, not being given the chance to love him or her.

So did Justin deserve to know about Katy? Would it make any difference? Would it turn him into father material, or would he walk away from her, the way he’d walked away from her mother? Would he want to spend time with her, be a part of her life, or would he reject her the way his parents had rejected him?

What if, God help her, he decided he wanted custody? Katy had never been away from Fiona for more than a night, and even then she hadn’t gone farther than her grandparents’ or a friend’s house. Could Fiona bear to send her halfway across the country? To not be able to kiss her and tuck her into bed, to not be there in case she woke up in the night or got sick or scared? Could she trust the most important treasure in her life to the care of a man who’d already shown his lack of trustworthiness?

She couldn’t. Wouldn’t. Katy was her daughter. Simply providing the sperm didn’t make a man a father, and that was all Justin had done. It wasn’t an act that should be rewarded now with the privilege of having Katy in his life.

But what if that was all he’d done because he hadn’t known? What if he would have been as thrilled with the prospect of parenthood as she’d been—if he would have loved Katy dearly from the moment he’d learned of her existence?

Hiding her face in her hands, she groaned aloud. She wanted to be fair to Katy, to herself—even, reluctantly, to Justin. All her life she’d made a point of doing the right thing…but she’d never faced a decision in which the right choice could cost her dearly. Not only might she bring this man, who’d broken her heart, back into her life, but she could conceivably lose her daughter. If he was angry or felt cheated, he could make her life—and Katy’s—miserable.

She groaned again, then gave a start when a voice came from the shadows near the door. “Is that shorthand for I’m tired, This day has been too much, Idiots shouldn’t be allowed blasting caps, or a prelude to tears?” Steve Wilson, surgeon and husband to one of her best friends, came into the light, carrying Katy’s chart. He laid it on the bedside table, then enveloped Fiona in a hug. “How’re you doing?”

It had been the worst thirty-six hours of her life, but she kept that answer to herself. “I’m tired. This day has been too much. Idiots with blasting caps should be locked away forever.” She smiled wanly. “No tears.” Not yet, at least.

“How’s Katy?”

“Sleeping peacefully.”

“Rest is the best thing for her. It’s best for you, too. It’s not the most comfortable bed in the world, but that chair in the corner reclines, and you can get a blanket and a pillow from the nurses’ station. Have you had anything to eat?”

“I’m not hungry.”

He gave her a critical look, then said, “I’ll have them bring you a tray when they serve dinner. You’ve got to keep your strength up. Katy’s going to be pretty clingy the next few days. You’ll need all your energy and then some.”

Remembering the way she’d hung on to Justin that morning, and then the strength with which she’d grabbed hold of her, Fiona nodded. “Other than that, she’ll be all right, won’t she?” she asked, hearing the pleading in her voice and not the least bit ashamed of it.

“As far as we can tell. She might overreact to loud noises, have a few bad dreams, be afraid to leave your side, or she might bounce right back. You never know with kids. However she reacts, you’ll have plenty of help dealing with it. You won’t even have to ask.”

With a grateful nod, she rested her head on his shoulder as her gaze was drawn back to Katy. She’d practically forgotten what it was like to have a shoulder to lean on, to feel a man’s arm around her, to feel safe and secure in the way only a man could make a woman feel. The feminist in her rebelled at the thought—she’d been perfectly happy, safe and secure the last six years without a man—but the realist admitted it was true.

And the woman wondered how much truer it would be if the man wasn’t married to her friend and the closest thing she’d ever had to a brother.

If it was someone like Justin.

Speak of the devil… Once more the door swung open, and Justin made it halfway to the bed before abruptly stopping. He looked from her to Steve, and a curiously frosty look came into his eyes. “Sorry to interrupt,” he said, though clearly he wasn’t. He offered her purse to her across the bed. “I locked up your house when we finished there this afternoon. I forgot to bring this in earlier. Your keys are inside.”

“Thank you.” Feeling something oddly like guilt, she moved out of Steve’s embrace to take her bag. “Steve Wilson, this is Special Agent Reed with the ATF.”

The chill in his eyes dropped a few more degrees as he extended his hand. “Justin.”

“Golda’s nephew. I’m very sorry about your aunt. I was one of her doctors and one of her admirers.” Steve nodded toward Katy. “I hope you catch the man who did this.”

“I intend to.”

He’d always been so damned confident, and he’d always had reason before. Fiona hoped he did this time, too. She hoped he was the best damn special agent the ATF had ever seen and that he buried the man responsible for hurting Katy under the tallest mountain in the state.

After a moment, Steve broke the strained silence that had settled. “I’m heading home, Fiona. Rebecca’s waiting for me. If anything comes up, don’t hesitate to call. And eat the meal they bring you. You can’t live on nerves alone. Justin, nice to meet you.”

“Thanks, Steve.” Fiona watched him go, then turned to put her purse on the nightstand.

The silence settled again, heavy, tense. It crawled along her skin and made the hair on the back of her neck stand on end. She was on the verge of snapping at Justin to say something or get out when he spoke. “A married man. I’m surprised. I never figured you for that type.”

“We both know what ‘type’ you figured me for, don’t we?” The easy type. The love-her-and-leave-her type. The gullible believe-all-the-sweet-lies type.

He ignored her comment. He was so damned good at ignoring anything he didn’t want to notice. “Is that why you wouldn’t tell me Katy’s father’s name? Because he’s married?”

Too angry to face him, she went to the corner to move the recliner closer to the bed. Unfortunately, even angry, she didn’t budge it more than a few inches.

Justin came across the room and easily slid the chair exactly where she wanted it, where she could lean back and still touch her daughter. “No answer prepared, Fiona?”

Her fingers gripped the back edges of the chair tightly. Her voice was equally tight when she spoke. “Not that it’s any of your business, but no, Steve isn’t Katy’s father. He’s a very good friend. I’m sure that’s a concept you don’t understand, but it’s true all the same. I don’t tell anyone Katy’s father’s name because I’d rather forget he exists, just as he forgot we existed.”

Forgot her, her annoying little voice whispered. Never knew about Katy.

She took a few deep breaths to ease the panic rising in her chest, to control the emotion in her voice. “I appreciate your bringing my purse and keys. Now I’d appreciate it if you would leave.” And not come back. She bit back the words, but he looked as if he heard them anyway.

Lines bracketed his mouth, and tension gave his face a hard, shuttered look. “I’ll be around.”

Was that a promise? she wanted to call out as the door closed behind him.

Or a threat?




Chapter 3


Justin felt like hell when he left the house Sunday morning. His night had been restless—dreams of Fiona interrupted by nightmares of explosions and a crying, bloodied, dark-haired child. He’d seen kids injured far worse than Katy before, had helped dig tiny broken bodies out of the rubble after a bombing. It was the toughest aspect of his job. He hated it and hoped each time would be the last time.

But those kids had been strangers. He hadn’t made love to their mothers, hadn’t planned a future or kids with them, or imagined himself in love with them. Maybe Katy’s injuries weren’t serious, but the fact that she was Fiona’s daughter—that, if he’d been a braver man, she might have been his daughter—made them seem deadly serious.

And he wanted Patrick Watkins to pay for them.

After a fast-food breakfast and a stop at the hospital gift shop, he took the elevator to Katy’s floor and went down the hall to her room. The door was open a few inches. He tapped on it before pushing it wider and stepping inside.

The room was brightly lit, and flowers, balloon bouquets and gifts covered most of the flat surfaces. Counting a half-dozen stuffed animals, he looked wryly at the polar bear he’d bought. Looked like he could have saved his money and the gesture.

Katy was sitting up in bed, pillows behind her back, and Fiona sat facing her, coaxing her to eat her breakfast. He knew from the photos in Golda’s house that she was fair-skinned, but she looked even paler today with the bruises and the lines of stitches across her cheek and jaw. With her dark gaze locked on him, she opened her mouth automatically for a bite of eggs, chewed, then opened it again for more. She showed no interest in him, no recognition, no curiosity at all.

After taking one last bite, she refused to open her mouth again, no matter how Fiona prodded. With a sigh, Fiona pushed the tray away and brushed Katy’s hair back, then turned to see what had caught her attention.

Her clothes were rumpled, her hair mussed, her face free of makeup. There were shadows under her eyes and a tight set to her mouth, along with an overall tension that gave her a brittle air. She looked tired, worried, worn down…and beautiful. No matter what had changed between them, that hadn’t. He’d always thought she was one of the most beautiful women he’d seen, and he still did.

Beautiful, and not happy to see him. Surprise, surprise.

Justin moved closer to the bed. “Hi, Katy. How do you feel this morning?”

After a moment in which the girl continued to treat him to that steady stare, Fiona replied with some strain in her voice, “She doesn’t feel like talking yet.”

“Is that—” Not normal. That would raise her hackles. Though, hell, his merely being there raised her hackles. “—expected?”

“The doctor said to give her a few days. She was traumatized by the blast. She just needs a little time. You don’t have to question her, do you?”

He shook his head. If he hadn’t been watching from the kitchen window, he might need to hear whatever Katy could tell him, but he had been watching, and it was doubtful she could add anything to what he already knew.

“Then…not to sound rude, but…why are you here?”

“I brought her this—” he held up the bear “—and I thought you might need a ride home. They said last night she would be released around ten, barring any complications. Is not talking a complication?”

“Not enough of one to keep her here.” She didn’t say anything about the ride home—didn’t point out that she had family and friends in town willing to provide more rides than she could possibly accept. No doubt, someone was already on his way over, someone she’d be happy to see. “Have you found out anything?”

“An agent came in from Denver to pick up the evidence we’d collected. It’ll be sent to our lab in Maryland for examination. The stolen property that was in the can is locked up at the local police station. It will eventually be returned to its owners.”

“And you don’t have a clue who’s responsible?”

Justin’s fingers tightened in the bear’s fur. “Actually I do. I told you last night, it’s my case. I’ve been after this guy for years.”

She stared at him as if she was having trouble understanding. “Someone you were already investigating before you came here buried that can with blasting caps and it wound up in my yard?”

“Quite a coincidence, huh?” His smile felt sickly, and it faded quickly. “His name is Patrick Watkins, and he has a fondness for exquisite jewels, adrenaline highs and explosives, though not necessarily in that order. To date, he’s responsible for twenty-four jewel thefts, along with twenty-four bombings. He’s a thrill-seeker. He steals the gems to prove he can, and he sets off the bombs afterward as…” He shrugged. “A signature. And a celebratory thing. Like spiking a football in the end zone after a touchdown.”

“A celebratory thing? He sets off bombs for fun? My daughter could have been—” Realizing that Katy was listening, she clamped her jaw shut, but that didn’t stop a shudder of revulsion from rippling through her.

“We’re going to stop him.” It sounded lame, small comfort to any mother who’d been through what she had in the last twenty-four hours, but it was all he had to offer. Beyond that, he didn’t know what else to say, whether he should repeat the offer of a ride or just leave. Before he could decide, he became aware of tentative touches brushing his fingers where they burrowed into the bear’s fur. Looking down, he saw Katy stroking the fur. “It’s soft, isn’t it?”

Her only response was a wide-eyed look.

“Do you like polar bears?”

Nothing but the same look.

“I see you’ve got a lot of stuffed animals here, but maybe you can find room for him, too. Do you think so?”

For a long time she remained motionless, but when he offered her the bear, she took it, wrapping her arm around its neck and holding it close. She was a pretty little girl, with her mother’s delicate bone structure, with the same fragile air that belied the strength underneath. He would guess she was about four, though he would find out for sure before he filed his report.

He would also find out who her father was, if for no other reason than to satisfy his own curiosity.

He was about to make an excuse and leave when a nurse came in, followed by an aide pushing a wheelchair. “Are you ready to get out of here, Katy-bug?” she asked cheerfully, pretending not to notice that the girl didn’t answer. “Fiona, do you have some clothes for her?”

“No. I—I didn’t think…”

“That’s okay. She can go home in her gown and take a blanket. We’ll trust you to return them,” the nurse said with a wink. “You’ve signed all the paperwork, haven’t you?”

Fiona nodded.

“So all you need is your ride. Do you have your car here?”

“No. I…” She looked at Justin, silently asking if the offer still stood.

He didn’t renege. “I’m taking them home.”

“You’re Golda’s nephew, aren’t you? I’m sorry about her death.” The nurse gave him an appraising look that turned into an appreciative smile. “We all thought she exaggerated about her nephew the ATF agent. Now I see she didn’t tell the half of it.”

Justin made a weak gesture that he hoped resembled a smile, then turned to Fiona. “I’ll get the car and meet you at the front entrance.”

He left the room and, too impatient to wait for the elevator, took the stairs to the lobby. It was cold outside, the air fresher, sweeter, than it ever smelled in D.C. He filled his lungs, replacing the hospital smells, as he crossed the lot to his rental.

By the time Fiona approached the entrance with Katy in her arms, he was parked out front and leaning against the car. The nurse had ditched the aide and the wheelchair and instead pushed a cart filled with flowers, balloons and gifts. “I offered them both a ride in the wheelchair,” she said as Justin opened the car door, “but they turned me down. Maybe I could interest you instead.”

Justin caught the mocking look that stole across Fiona’s face as she bent to slide Katy into the middle of the back seat, and tried to ignore the heat that crept into his own face. “Not right now, I’m afraid. Sorry.”

With a good-natured laugh, the woman picked up an armful of the cart’s contents. “Want these in back with you, Katy-bug?”

Fiona tried to straighten, but with a wail, Katy grabbed hold tightly. “I’m going to sit beside you, babe,” she assured her, “but I can’t get in if you don’t let go.”

Hiding a vague disappointment, Justin circled to the driver’s side. Over the roof of the car, the nurse grinned and gave him a sly wink. “Guess all the cuddly creatures get to ride up front with you. That would certainly be my first choice.”

Smiling weakly, he slid inside and helped her arrange flowers, plants and stuffed animals in the seat and floor-board. In back, Fiona fastened her seat belt, then wrapped her arms around Katy. Immediately the wails quieted, and the girl settled contentedly against her.

And no wonder. He knew from past experience that in Fiona’s arms was a damned sweet place to be.

Not that he was likely to ever be there again.

“Do you need to stop anywhere? Grocery store? Pharmacy?” he asked as he pulled away.

“No. We just want to go home.” In a voice not intended for his ears, he suspected, she added, “We should have gone to Denver.”

“You had plans to be in Denver this weekend?”

“No. But I thought about it at the church Friday—about picking up Katy from the baby-sitter and going off to the city until—”

Until he was gone, he silently finished for her. Then Katy wouldn’t have been digging in the yard and he never would have known that Watkins had been in the area. It would have been too bad if he’d never known, but it certainly wasn’t worth Katy getting hurt.

She didn’t say anything else, and neither did he. Within minutes he was pulling into Golda’s driveway. Fiona got out with Katy and started for her door. He filled his arms with flowers and animals and followed. By the time she’d juggled daughter and purse to find her keys, he’d joined them on the porch. He waited until she’d opened the door, then set everything on the hall table before returning to the car for more.

When he brought the last load in, they were standing in the living-room doorway, watching. Katy reached out as he passed, snatching the polar bear and making her mother’s jaw tighten. Did she hate him so much that she couldn’t bear to see her daughter with the toy he’d bought?

Not that she didn’t have good reason to hate him.

He set down the last of the vases, then shoved his hands into his pockets. “About…what happened before…” Bitterness flared in her eyes, and he felt a corresponding surge of guilt. “I—I’m sorry. I never meant…”

“A word you said.” Her smile was cold, a world apart from the sweet, sexy smiles she’d once given him, and it was edged with hurt. “I figured that out.”

That wasn’t true. When he’d talked about marrying her, he’d really wanted to. When he’d told her he loved her, he’d meant it with all his heart. Unfortunately, back at work, in the real world and too far from her, it hadn’t seemed such a sure thing. Reality had set in. Doubt. Fear.

“I handled things badly—”

“No kidding.”

“—and I’m sorry. You deserved better than that.”

“And I still do.” She moved past him to open the door, then pointedly waited for him to leave.

He had no choice but to go. But he felt empty as he walked out the door. As if he might have lost more all those years ago than he could afford to lose.



Fiona awakened Monday morning with the weight of the world on her chest. Breathing was difficult, and there was a distinct pain in her ribs. But when she opened her eyes, her first response was a smile. It wasn’t the weight of the world. It was merely Katy, stretched out on top of her, head tucked under her chin, knee pressing against her ribs. She freed one arm from the covers, then stroked her daughter’s silky hair. She had crawled up in the tree-house bed with her last night, had told her stories, sung her songs and held her until she was sound asleep. She’d hoped Katy would stay there, sleeping through the night, but obviously not.

As she eased out from under her daughter, the doorbell rang. A glance at the clock showed that it was barely daytime—only seven thirty-five—and far too early for visitors, which meant it was probably her mother. Delores had a key and would ring only once before letting herself in. If it was anyone else, they could wait until a decent hour, and if it was Justin… When hell froze over sounded reasonable.

The front door creaked, then footsteps sounded on the stairs. A moment later, Delores came through the door. “Hey, sleepyhead. How’s my baby?”

“She’s okay.” Fiona scooted up to lean against the head-board, then dragged her fingers through her hair. “What are you doing out and about so early?”

“Roger Markham called. He didn’t want to call here in case you and Katy were resting. He’s rescheduled the reading of Golda’s will for ten o’clock this morning, and he’d like you to be there.”

Fiona had been more than willing to go Saturday, but today it just didn’t seem important. She’d rather spend the day in her pajamas and in bed with Katy, watching TV, eating junk food and sleeping whenever the urge hit. She didn’t want to take a shower, comb her hair or put on clothes, especially since she hadn’t yet managed to take three steps without Katy right behind her.

And the biggest reason—she didn’t want to be in the same state as Justin, much less the same room.

I’m sorry, he’d said yesterday, as if that would make everything all right. He’d deceived her, betrayed her, abandoned her. He’d broken her heart and left her with little trust and no faith. He had emotionally devastated her, and that was nothing compared to what his abandonment of Katy had done to her. And he thought I’m sorry could make a difference?

“Come on, darlin’, you have less than two and a half hours to pull yourself together.” Delores gave her an assessing look and bluntly added, “And you’re going to need every minute. You jump in the shower, and I’ll wait here in case Katy-bug wakes up.”

“I don’t want to go, Mom. I’m really tired, and it’s not as if my presence is necessary, and I’d just rather stay here—”

“Now you listen to me, darlin’. You are not going to start shirking your responsibilities just because Justin Reed is in town. You’ve never been a coward before. You didn’t crawl into bed and pull the covers over your head when he left, and you’re not going to do it now just because he’s come back.”

“Actually,” Fiona pointed out, “that’s exactly what I did once I realized that he hadn’t left only Grand Springs—he’d left me. I stayed in bed for two days.” And when she’d found out she was pregnant, she’d spent another two days there, and when she’d finally accepted that it was over, she’d thought she just might curl up there and die.

“Well, if I’d known, I would have hauled you out by your hair. No daughter of mine is going to take to her bed and get all weepy over a man, of all things.”

“I’m not weepy,” Fiona said crossly. “And this isn’t about Justin. I’ve just had the worst weekend of my life. I’m recuperating.”

“You’re hiding. You’re letting him make your decisions for you, and no daughter of mine does that, either.” Delores leaned across to pull back the covers. “Go on. Get in the shower.”

She went only because she did happen to need a shower, and she didn’t want to tackle shampooing her hair and shaving her legs with Katy hanging on for dear life. But she wasn’t going to Roger Markham’s office, wasn’t dealing with a single problem outside her bedroom for the rest of the day.

So how was it that, a few minutes before ten, she carried a silent Katy into Markham’s conference room while her mother left to open the shop?

The lawyer sat at the head of the long oval table. The pastor from Golda’s church sat at the opposite end, and Golda’s weekly card group sat two on his left, two on his right. The college boy who’d helped her around the house was present, as well as the director of the homeless shelter and the president of the local animal aid group.

And, of course, Justin. He sat on the lawyer’s right. The only empty chairs were beside him and across from him. She opted for distance and sat across from him.

Once everyone expressed their concern for Katy, Mr. Markham got down to business. He explained that his father, also a lawyer, had prepared Golda’s will and that the elder Markham had reviewed it with her only a week before her death. His father, unfortunately, was out of town and Roger was handling it in his place.

Somewhere along there, Fiona stopped listening and let her attention wander—and despite her best efforts, where it wandered was Justin. He sat with his hands folded at the edge of the tabletop, his gaze directed at a point somewhere between them. His suit was the same gray one he’d worn to the funeral, this time with a white shirt and burgundy tie, and he wore the same impassive expression. He was incredibly handsome in an unfeeling-statue sort of way.

What had happened? When she’d met him, he’d been full of passion. Had he really become so cold and emotionless, or was this a mask to hide his true feelings from the world?

She preferred to think it was a mask. If he’d ever loved anyone, surely it was Golda. Maybe he hadn’t been as attentive as he could have been, but Golda had understood. He’d done his best, she’d said, and considering that he was a Reed, it had been pretty darn good. Neither she nor Justin had held the rest of their family in high esteem. Not being close to family was, for Fiona, unimaginable. She talked to her mother virtually every day, saw her sisters multiple times each week and joined them all at their parents’ house for dinner practically every Sunday. Golda had once told her that she hadn’t seen Justin’s father in over ten years. Amazing.

Unexpectedly Justin looked up, and in the moment it took Fiona to gather her wits, her gaze locked with his. Was there a slight softening in his dark blue eyes? A hint of regret? The memory of better times and more tender feelings? Or was she merely seeing what she wanted to see?

She didn’t have time to decide as Mr. Markham discreetly coughed. “Just a few minutes more, folks,” he said. “We’re down to the last three bequests. ‘To my dear friend Fiona Lake, I leave the mission style chairs in my attic and the Gustav Stickley table, chairs and sideboard in my dining room. And to her daughter, Kathleen Hope, my grand—’”

Fiona’s gaze jerked to the lawyer’s face. His eyes were wide with surprise, leaving no doubt in her mind what Golda had written. My grandniece. Everyone knew Katy had called her Aunt Golda, but they’d assumed it was merely a title of respect. No one had known that Golda called Katy grandniece—as in great, wonderful, positively grand, she’d always added.

Markham gave Fiona a disbelieving look, and she tried her best to warn him, plead with him, with nothing more than her own look. She wasn’t sure he’d gotten the message until he cleared his throat and went on.

“‘And to her daughter, Kathleen Hope, my grand…little friend, I leave all the jewelry I’ve accumulated over the years. I hope she’ll think of me when she wears it.’”

Fiona darted a look around the table. Golda’s fondness for jewels had led to quite a valuable collection, and everyone seemed to think giving such a gift to a five-year-old tomboy who was nothing more than a neighbor’s child was the reason for the lawyer’s surprise. Please, she silently prayed, let them continue to think it.

“‘The remainder of my estate, I leave to my nephew Justin, the only other Reed to ever amount to anything. I also leave my dearest wish for him—that he learn these lessons well—mistakes can be set right, forgiveness is vital, and love is possible. Forget our disreputable family and trust yourself. Trust your heart. I know you have one.’”

Fiona smiled faintly. Golda had had an endless supply of faith. That last line proved it.

Mr. Markham looked up from the pages and shrugged. “That’s it. Any questions?” When no one spoke, he gestured to Justin. “Mr. Reed will be in town indefinitely, staying at Golda’s house. Those of you whose bequests are property—teapots, jewelry and so forth—can make arrangements with him to pick them up. And that takes care of it. Thank you for coming.”

Fiona tried to lower Katy to the floor, but the child refused to go. With a deep sigh, she settled her on her hip as she stood and left the office before anyone could delay them. When they reached the top of the stairs, she shifted Katy to her other hip. “How about a deal, sweet pea? I’ll carry you down the stairs, and then you can carry me to the door. Sound fair?”

Katy’s only response was to lay her head on Fiona’s shoulder. The only verbal response came from behind them.

“Maybe she’ll let me carry her,” Justin said. “Hi, Katy. Remember me? I’m Justin.”

She hid her face, then peeked at him.

“You’re the shy type, huh? Cat got your tongue?”

After another quick look, she stuck her tongue out at him.

“Kathleen Hope,” Fiona admonished. “Get that tongue back inside your mouth.”

“She’s just showing me that she’s still got it,” he said, his manner easier than she would have thought possible. “Aren’t you?” He lifted Katy’s chin with one finger—a surprise—and she let him—another surprise.

As they started down the stairs, he asked, “How is she?”

“Still clinging. Still not talking.”

“Any problems sleeping?”

“I put her to bed in her room last night and woke up this morning with her snuggled on top of me. If she had a bad dream, it didn’t wake me, but obviously something woke her.”

“I wish this hadn’t happened.”

Fiona looked sidelong at him. His expression was grim, the set of his features hard. For six years, she’d believed he was coldhearted, but not even she could think he would wish harm to a child, even if it did give him another chance to catch the man he’d been investigating for years.

In the lobby, she stopped at the bench that flanked the door to help Katy into her coat. It wasn’t easy when she refused to stand on her own feet and clutched Fiona’s hands tightly in her own.

“How did you manage to drive over here with her?”

“I didn’t. My mother brought us. She’s at the shop. We’re meeting her there.”

“Want a ride?”

She glanced out the glass door. It was bright, chilly, sunshiny—a good day to be out. “No, thanks. We’ll walk.”

“Mind if I walk with you?”

Yes, she minded. She minded tremendously. But she didn’t say so, maybe because he’d given her that regretful look in Mr. Markham’s office. Maybe because Golda had loved him, and she’d loved Golda. Maybe because he was a part of the daughter she also loved.

With a shrug for an answer, she picked up Katy again and waited for him to open the door.

“Whenever you’re ready to take Golda’s jewelry, let me know.” He spoke casually, as if they weren’t discussing a small fortune in gems, some that were family heirlooms, others that he’d given Golda himself. She knew people who would fight over a loved one’s prize ring, and yet he didn’t seem to care about these family diamonds at all.

“You don’t mind her leaving it to Katy?”

“It was her jewelry. She was free to leave it to anyone she chose.”

“Will the rest of your family see it that way?”

“The rest of my family will think you exerted undue influence on Golda in her doddering old age, but she never cared what the rest of them thought. As far as she was concerned, they could go to he—” With a glance at Katy, he bit off the word and substituted a shrug instead. “I have no doubt she made certain her will was airtight, just for their benefit.”

“I was sorry she couldn’t be closer to her family.”

He gave her a wry look as they waited for a car to pass before crossing the street. “You don’t get close to that bunch. Trust me, she was better off without us.”

“You…” Fiona drew a quick breath that smelled of Katy’s baby shampoo and warned herself that getting personal wasn’t a good idea. With Golda dead and her decision whether to tell him about Katy still unmade, the only connection between them was his investigation. It was purely professional, and she’d be a fool to change that in any way.

But she’d been a fool before. “You never talked about your family much.” He’d mentioned that his father lived in New York at the time, his mother in Monaco, that he rarely saw either of them and was an only child. He’d never actually admitted they were wealthy, but she knew from other things he’d talked about—prep schools, summer homes, winter homes, drivers and servants. She’d learned from Golda that his parents were self-centered and not fit to be parents, that the only fights they’d had over Justin weren’t to decide who got to have him but rather who had to take him. Other than a few disparaging comments about the family, as if neither of them were a part, they’d ignored them.

“They’re not exactly people you point to with pride and say, ‘That’s my mom and dad.’ Between them, my parents have been married eleven times and had plans to marry another dozen or so times. All my life one of them has been leaving someone or looking for someone else to eventually leave. My mother is currently married to an earl in London, though that could change any day. He’s about twice her age, rich as God and with any luck, she can force herself to stick around until he dies, leaving her with enough money to attract husband number seven. My father is living in Paris with his latest wife, Monique. She’s twenty-two, she eats nothing but lettuce, and when he brought her to the States on their honeymoon last fall, I went home from work one night and found her naked in my bed. She wanted to be ‘close’ to her stepson.”

Fiona couldn’t resist a smile at his very dry tone of voice, but it faded quickly. With the example his parents had set for him, the wonder wasn’t that he’d gotten cold feet about his relationship with her as soon as he’d left town, but that he’d been able to have a relationship with her at all. She tried to imagine stepparents coming and going with great regularity, or parents who took marriage vows so lightly, or fell in and out of love so easily. Her own parents had been married nearly forty years, and they were still deeply, passionately in love. They were committed to each other, their marriage and their family, and they’d passed on that same sense of commitment to their daughters.





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