Secrets of Paternity. Susan Crosby
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“Heath is in Seattle. I got lonely.”
He shut the door and followed her to the kitchen. “You’ve been engaged for three weeks and you’ve forgotten how to eat alone?”
“Amazing, isn’t it?”
James knew why Cassie was there, and it had nothing to do with her fiancé being out of town. In the almost-year that James and Cassie had worked as investigators at ARC Security & Investigations, they, along with their boss, Quinn Gerard, had forged a friendship rare for such independent souls. They were the only people he’d told about what was happening in his life, what he was waiting for.
“Any word?” she asked as she pulled plates from his cupboard.
“Nothing.”
“Give them time.” Her long, golden-brown braid swung along her lower back as she reached for a couple of wineglasses.
He grabbed a bottle of Merlot. “Maybe Paul decided to ignore our agreement.”
“From everything you’ve told me about Paul Brenley, I don’t think you need to worry about him going back on his word.” Cassie stopped dishing up the food and set her hands on the counter, leaning toward him. “Let’s focus on your biggest worry—what if the kid doesn’t want to meet you?”
He plunked down a tub of grated parmesan cheese next to the plates. “Yeah, so? That’s normal.”
“My point exactly, Jamey. And if you don’t hear from them, you only have to track down the Brenley family and get the answers yourself. An easy thing for you, unless they’re in witness protection or something.” She flashed him a teasing smile then went back to serving generous portions of ravioli. “In fact, I can’t believe you haven’t tried.”
“I agreed to no contact, and I’ve stuck by it. I don’t want to take advantage of my resources unless I have to. We’re jaded enough from this business, Cass. Maybe my agreement with Paul was only slightly more than a handshake, but I want to believe he would honor it.” Like the Harley wrecker this afternoon, he thought. He wasn’t going to track her down, but let her prove him right—that most people were trustworthy.
“Speaking of being jaded,” she said, “how was your date last night?”
He’d put the woman out of his mind already. Not very complimentary, he supposed, but he didn’t date for fun anymore. Every woman was a potential wife and mother, now that he was looking to settle down. “It was okay,” he said.
“How old was this one?”
He gave her a cool look.
“That young, huh?” she asked innocently.
“Need I remind you that your fiancé is eleven years older than you.”
“Yeah. Eleven. Not twenty.”
“My date wasn’t that young.”
“How old?”
“Twenty-five.”
“Oh, okay. Only seventeen years’ difference. Jamey, Jamey, Jamey. I know dating a P.I. can make a woman starry-eyed for some odd reason, but, really, what do you want with someone that young?”
Babies, he thought. A home. “Energy,” he said instead with a grin, to which Cassie heaved a huge sigh.
James made it through the evening without telling Cassie about his incident that afternoon with the Harley wrecker, knowing he wasn’t ready to deal with Cass’s potential interrogation, even though she would like the fact the woman was closer to his own age. Is she attractive? Cass would ask. Yes, and although she looked as if a strong wind could blow her away, her personality wasn’t subtle. He thought about the empty place on her ring finger. Divorced? Widowed? While there was a certain vulnerability to her, he hadn’t seen weakness.
Is she smart? Oh, yeah. He’d especially liked how she’d told him to take a cab and add the cost to her bill.
But the question he was likely avoiding most from Cassie: What is she hiding? That he didn’t know, but it seemed tied more to her not giving him her name than insurance issues.
The encounter had jarred his life—in a good way—at a time he needed jarring.
After Cassie left around ten o’clock, James sat down at his computer, found he couldn’t concentrate, and so he wandered into his backyard. The size of his house and the denseness of foliage blocked most of the street noise and city sounds. The birds slept. A year ago he couldn’t have pictured himself living in a place like this, a four-bedroom, stately manor house with room for a family. While he’d been born and raised in San Francisco, and the city had continued to be home base during his twenty years as a bounty hunter, he’d lived in a small, cheap apartment when he wasn’t out of town—since his divorce, anyway.
When his father died last year and James decided he’d had enough of life on the road, he’d looked at high-rise condos and lofts, but this house had lured him with unspoken promise, even the yard. This summer he’d planted a small vegetable garden. Next year he would do more. The yard was a work in progress.
As was his life. Gone were the days of tracking down fugitives, at least on a daily basis. He’d signed on with ARC because investigation was what he knew, and even though he still worked more than forty-hour weeks, the clientele had gone way upscale.
He wanted a personal life-change, as well. Home and hearth, although maybe not in the traditional sense. He wouldn’t mind if the woman came with children already, except that he would like to have one of his own, too, if it wasn’t too late.
One of his own. He had one of his own. He just hadn’t had a hand in raising that one. But maybe they could have a relationship, anyway. A friendship. Extended family. Would Paul encourage that? And his wife, Caryn, whom James had never met—would she feel threatened by James’s intrusion into their lives? Had they found a way to provide a sibling or two for the first child?
There were plenty of times he’d questioned whether meeting the child was a good idea, given the potential complications to everyone involved, but James would never break his word, never go back on a promise.
It was the lack of control that was hardest for him. He had no control whatsoever.
All he could do was wait.
Three
In a family-friendly neighborhood like his, James expected a lot of trick-or-treaters, but the sheer numbers amazed him. Time after time he answered the door, dropped candy into a paper bag or plastic pumpkin or pillowcase, shut the door and started to walk away, only to hear the bell ring again.
He gave up trying to do anything but give out candy, deciding to sit on his front steps, about four up from the bottom. It was already dark but still early in the evening, a magical time when the littlest kids were brought around by parents who either coaxed them to approach or dragged them away because they were too talkative and curious.
James enjoyed them all. It was his first Halloween in his home, in a real neighborhood, for more years than he could remember. The costumes ranged from store-bought to homemade to thrown together. Pirates swaggered, princesses pirouetted. Some things never changed.
The trick-or-treaters got older as the hour grew later, kids traveling in groups but without adult supervision. They more or less grunted, shoved their bags into range, grunted again then kept going. When the crowds thinned to one or two kids every five minutes or so, he decided to go inside. He stood just as a young man approached and stopped at the bottom of the stairs.
“No costume, no candy,” James said lightly. The kid hadn’t bothered to don a hat or even carry a prop, unless he considered his black leather jacket and sunglasses, two hours after sunset, a costume.
“I’m Kevin,” the boy said, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “Kevin Brenley. Are you James Paladin?”
It