My Secret Valentine. Marilyn Pappano
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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?”
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