Читать книгу Behind The Mask - Metsy Hingle - Страница 10

“Lily, your order’s up.”

“Thanks, May,” Lily told the short-order cook who’d slapped down the BLT with extra mayo and fries for table six. Grabbing the order, Lily juggled it, along with the two salads and a sandwich plate, and began weaving her way through the crowded diner.

She dropped off the salads and made her way to table five, where she served a roast beef po’boy, then turned to table six and delivered the BLT order. “Would you like another root beer?” she asked the guy who’d been in every day that week for lunch. He’d told her two days earlier that his name was Joe and that he was working with the construction crew down the block. Lily figured him to be in his mid-twenties. With his blond hair, sun-bronzed skin and a body that sported muscles from hard, physical labor, he’d caught the eye of her co-workers.

“That would be great,” he told her in that odd drawl that sounded like a combination of Old South and Brooklyn, New York. But the smile—the smile was pure southern charm—something she’d discovered these New Orleans boys had in abundance. Since arriving in the city two months ago she had witnessed it again and again.

“Be right back,” she promised, then stopped to take another order before making her way back to the counter. After turning in her new orders, she headed for the fountain where she joined Amber and Gina, the other waitresses at the diner, to load up her drinks.

“I see Brad Pitt’s twin is back,” Amber commented as she lined up her tray with glasses and began filling them with Coke, tea and ice water. “And why am I not surprised that he sat at one of your tables again?”

“I guess mine was the only one open,” Lily suggested.

Amber rolled her eyes. “Lily girl, wake up. Anyone with eyes in their head could see the guy’s got a thing for you.”

“Don’t be silly,” Lily said, taken aback by Amber’s comment. “He’s just a boy.”

“Right. And I suppose you’re old enough to be his mother.”

Gina chuckled. “She’s right, you know. That fellow’s got to be at least twenty-five. And if you’re older than that, it’s not by much.”

She wasn’t. She’d turned twenty-five on her last birthday. Yet, she felt a lifetime older. “I guess I just feel older because I’m a widow and I have a child.”

“Aw shoot, honey, I forgot,” Gina said. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s all right,” Lily told her, uncomfortable that her fib had generated sympathy from the other woman.

“Listen, I know how hard it is to lose a man you love. I’ve buried three husbands myself. But, trust me. It gets easier with time. You’ll see.”

“I’m sure you’re right,” Lily murmured, eager to end the conversation.

Gina gave her shoulder a pat. “In the meantime, don’t go ruling out Construction Joe over there. At least the guy’s got a job, which is more than I can say for my last husband. Besides, you’re still young. You have your whole life ahead of you.”

But she didn’t feel young, Lily thought as she finished loading her drink orders. Probably because her life had been filled with so many changes in the ten years since her grandmother had died, and she’d gone to live with her mother. Those first two years in Florida had been frightening, living with the stranger who’d given birth to her, trying to fit in at a new school, in a new city. The one bright spot had been Adam. She’d been an awkward, shy girl, but he had treated her like a real person. He’d been sweet and kind to her, listened to the things she had to say. He’d made her feel special. And when her mother had accidentally overdosed on her insulin and died so suddenly, Adam had rescued her. He’d sent her to a Catholic boarding school, and when she’d graduated, he’d made her his wife. A shiver raced down her spine as she thought back on all the little things that had pointed to a sick, dangerous man. How could she have been so blind for so long? And what would have happened to Timmy if she hadn’t gotten him away from Adam when she had?

“Hey, Lily.” Amber nudged her. “Your order’s up.”

Shoving away thoughts of the past, Lily went back to work. She dropped off two more orders, four glasses of tea and brought Joe his root beer. “There you go. How about dessert? We’ve got apple pie, bread pudding and, since it’s Mardi Gras time, king cake.”

“I’ll pass on the dessert but, speaking of Mardi Gras, I was wondering if you might like to catch a parade with me this weekend.”

Oh darn, Lily thought. Amber and Gina had been right. “I’m afraid I can’t. But thanks for asking.”

“Already have plans, huh?”

“Yes,” Lily said, thinking of Timmy.

“Maybe another time when you’re not busy?”

Lily hesitated, not wanting to lead him on, but not wanting to bruise his ego, either. “Actually, another time wouldn’t work, either. I have other commitments that demand most of my time. I’m sorry.”

Joe’s hazel eyes lost some of their spark. He shrugged. “Can’t blame a guy for trying, huh? I suppose it was dumb of me to think you wouldn’t already have a guy in your life.”

Regretting that she’d failed to read his interest properly, Lily tried to explain, “I do have a guy in my life. But not the kind you mean. He’s my son. And he takes up just about all of my spare time.”

“You’ve got a kid?” Joe asked, clearly surprised.

“Yes. He just turned three and he’s a bundle of energy.”

“What about his dad?”

Lily immediately wished she hadn’t opened the discussion. “I’m a widow,” she said and, because she couldn’t bring herself to look at him directly after the lie, she began clearing the remains of his lunch from the table. She’d never been very good at lying—something to do with her Catholic-school upbringing most likely—yet for the past six months she’d told more lies than she’d ever dreamed of telling in a lifetime.

“Geez, I’m sorry, Lily. I didn’t realize, I mean you’re so young.”

“It’s all right. You had no way of knowing.”

“Well, maybe you could get a sitter—”

“The truth is, I don’t date,” she told him as she picked up her tray. “But you might want to ask Amber. I think she’d really enjoy going to the parade with you, and the two of you would have a great time.”

Not waiting for a response she turned away, more eager than ever for three o’clock to come so she could end this day and head to Gertie’s to pick up Timmy.

After she’d finished scrubbing down the counters and refilling the napkin holders, Lily stripped off her apron. She retrieved her purse and jacket from the office out back and started toward the table where Amber, Gina, May and Nancy Lee, the owner of the River Bend Diner, were gathered around Ricardo. One of the diner’s regular patrons, Ricardo was known only by the singular name, and was reported to be a maven of fashion. Because he was always impeccably dressed and well groomed, Lily likened him to a young Ricardo Montalban. With his neatly styled black hair, laughing dark eyes and olive skin, he was a favorite among the ladies at the diner who didn’t seem to mind that Ricardo preferred men to women. Probably because Ricardo neither apologized nor flaunted his sexuality, she mused. It was part of who he was. Just as his talent for making a woman beautiful was part of who he was.

“Excuse me,” she said, interrupting the chatter. “Nancy Lee, if there’s nothing else, I’m going to head out.”

“But you haven’t heard what Ricardo’s got planned,” Amber exclaimed. And, with the enthusiasm of a twenty-year-old who lived for the next party, Amber began to explain. “You know that Ricardo here has this really rad store with all kinds of clothes and makeup and stuff, right?”

Lily nodded. She’d heard about the specialty shop that carried exorbitantly priced costumes, wigs and ladies’ apparel.

“Well, he says we can pick out any outfit we want for Mardi Gras Day from his store and he’ll let us have it at half-price. And get this, he’s going to help us do our hair and makeup. Isn’t that major cool?”

“That’s very kind of you,” Lily offered, even though she had no intention of taking the man up on his offer. The month of parades leading up to the big celebration was more than enough for her. She certainly had no intention of dressing up for the city’s big party day. Aside from Mardi Gras sounding a bit wild for her, she couldn’t imagine spending her hard-earned money on a costume that she’d wear once and never use again.

“Lily’s right. That’s real nice of Ricardo,” Nancy Lee said as she shifted the ever-present gum in her mouth. A well-preserved woman in her late-fifties, Nancy Lee eyed her employees. “Just make sure you girls don’t bankrupt me by plying Ricardo here with free food and drinks to show your appreciation.”

“You wound me, Señora Nancy,” Ricardo said in a voice that still held the thick accent of his native Spain. With a hand pressed dramatically to his heart, he continued, “This offer is merely to show my gratitude to you and these ladies for making this foreigner welcome.”

Nancy Lee let out a bawdy laugh. “Ricardo, you faker you. You’re no more a foreigner than I am. Why, you’ve been living here for twenty years that I know of.”

“Ah, but were it not for you and your lovely ladies, I would have returned to Madrid long ago. It is your friendship that keeps me here.”

“Along with all those rich ladies uptown who spend a fortune on the clothes and makeup you sell in that shop of yours,” Nancy Lee added.

“What can I say? I have been blessed with an eye for beauty, and it is a gift that I share with my friends. That I wish to share with you. You need only to tell Ricardo who you wish to be, and I will make it happen.”

Lily listened in amusement as Ricardo went about describing how he would transform each of them in outfits ranging from Britney Spears to dance-hall queens to European royalty. It was like being a little girl and playing dress up—only on a much grander scale than the dress-up games she’d played as a youngster.

“And what about you Señorita Lily? Whom do you wish to be?”

Lily blinked, caught off guard by the question and at becoming the center of attention. “I…I don’t know,” she said.

“You do not have a secret fantasy to be someone else for a day? Perhaps a movie star or a famous figure from the past?”

“No,” she said honestly, because since escaping from Adam six months ago, her total focus had been on erasing any trace of Elisabeth Webster.

“Then perhaps you would like to be Scheherazede, the sultan’s wife, or Princess Jasmine in the tale of Arabian Nights. Or maybe Shakespeare’s Juliet.”

Lily laughed. “No. I don’t think so.”

Ricardo made a frame of his hands and positioned it around her face, as though he saw her as a canvas and was trying to determine what shades of paint he wanted to use. “With your cheekbones, the green eyes and mouth, I could turn you into Faith Hill or perhaps a young Marilyn Monroe.”

“I don’t know about the Marilyn Monroe gig,” Amber chimed in. “But you might be right about the Faith Hill thing. Lily’s got that pale skin and delicate-looking thing going that Faith has.”

Ricardo tipped up her chin and examined her face from several angles. “The hairdresser who’s responsible for this mess should be shot. You should let it grow. But since Mardi Gras is only a few weeks away, we will lighten the color and work with some hairpieces.”

Lily took a step back, smoothed a hand over her hair. She wasn’t about to admit that she was the one responsible for chopping off the long blond hair and dying it the dark honey shade. It had been one of the many steps she’d taken in the past six months to disguise her appearance in order to distance herself from the woman she had been. “Thanks, I’ll think about it,” Lily said, but she had no intention of doing so.

“Very well. You come to Ricardo when you decide.”

“Well, I’ve already decided. I want the Britney Spears look,” Amber declared. “In fact, how about I follow you back to the shop now?”

“That sounds like a good idea,” Gina added. “You want to come with us, Lily? Maybe you’ll see something you like.”

“Thanks, but I can’t,” she said. “I need to pick up my son.”

Assuming a karate stance, Michael faced the two serious-looking Crenshaw boys. “All right, guys, prepare to go down,” he told them and swiped at the air dramatically, making the appropriate hi-ya sounds before he lunged at the two giggling towheads.

Seven-year-old Petey kicked out his leg. His six-year-old brother, Micky, did the same. When Petey kicked out again and his foot came within a few inches of him, Michael pretended to go down. He lay on the carpet unmoving, with his eyes closed, and waited until the two boys came to stand over him.

“Uncle Mike?” Petey nudged him with his toe.

Michael opened his eyes and grabbed them both around the middle. “Gotcha,” he cried out and fell back, pulling the two boys on top of him.

“Say uncle or die,” Petey demanded as they climbed on top of him.

“Uncle,” Michael said, much to their delight.

“All right, boys. It’s time for bed. Let your Uncle Mike up.”

“Aw, Mom,” the boys whined in unison.

“Don’t ‘aw, Mom’ me. Tomorrow’s a school day,” Janie Crenshaw told her sons. Dressed in green cords and a sweater, she stood with her hands on her hips and attempted to appear stern. Michael grinned to himself. With her petite frame and honey-colored hair pulled into a ponytail, Janie looked like a kid herself.

“But Uncle Mike needs us to show him the rest of the new moves we learned in karate so he’ll know how to defend himself against the bad guys. Don’t ’cha, Uncle Mike?” Petey asked hopefully, with the laughing hazel eyes that reminded Michael so much of the boy’s late father.

“Yeah, I do. But I think you guys have given me enough new stuff to work on for now. You can show me the rest the next time I come over.”

“Tomorrow?” Micky asked.

“Gee, partner, I wish I could. But I’m afraid I’ve got this really big case I’m working on and I’m going out of town tomorrow.”

“For how long?” Petey asked.

Michael rubbed at the back of his neck. He loved the kids, and didn’t want to disappoint them. “It could be a couple of weeks, maybe even a month.” The truth was, he didn’t know how long it would take him to pick up Elisabeth Webster’s trail. With a six-month head start, the woman could be just about anywhere by now. But wherever she was, he intended to find her within the thirty days specified so he could collect the rest of that fee from her husband.

“I bet it’s a robbery case like the ones you and my dad used to work on,” Petey offered. “And you’re going to catch the bad guys and lock them up in jail. Then you’ll be a hero just like my dad was.”

Michael felt that hitch in his chest again as he listened to Petey describe what he believed to be the way his father had died. As Pete Crenshaw’s partner and the man indirectly responsible for his death, Michael had felt an obligation to shield the boys from the ugly truth. Unfortunately, he had been too late to shield Janie. She’d already found out about Pete and Giselle.

As long as he lived, Michael would never be able to forgive himself for destroying the Crenshaws’ lives the way he had by introducing a viper like Giselle into their midst. And while Janie had argued with him, threatening to tell the department that it had been Pete who had been guilty of the pillow talk that had led to the botched drug bust and Pete’s death, she had gone along with him in the end. She had allowed him to protect her boys with an edited version of what had happened that night five years ago when their father had been killed. While the boys had been too young to understand at the time, Michael had known that as they grew older they would want to know how their father had died. He owed it to Pete to let his sons believe their father had died a hero. So he stuck to the story he’d given to the Houston Police Department, to Pete’s sons and to his own family. Doing so had cost him a great deal in terms of career, family and friendship. But the way he’d looked at it, he’d paid a much smaller price than Pete had. He was still alive and watching Pete’s boys grow up. Whereas Pete was dead and would never know his sons.

“Only you’re not going to get shot and have to go to heaven the way Daddy did, will you, Uncle Mike?” Micky asked.

“Are you kidding? With all these fancy karate moves you and your brother have been teaching me, nobody better mess with me,” Michael joked, hoping to lighten the mood.

“Okay, boys, kiss Uncle Mike good-night.”

“Kissing is for girls,” Petey informed his mother. “Us men don’t kiss.”

“Yeah, us men don’t kiss,” Micky parroted.

Michael bit back a grin. “Trust me, guys, someday you’re going to change your mind about that. What do you say we shake hands?”

“I guess that would be okay,” Petey said solemnly.

Michael held out his hand. And when Petey offered his smaller hand, Michael took it and hugged the boy close. Then he did the same thing with Micky.

“Well, I’m a girl, and I want a kiss,” Janie told her sons.

Both boys looked to him. “It’s all right for us guys to kiss a girl—especially if the girl happens to be a mom.”

Satisfied with the answer, both boys kissed and hugged their mother. “You going to kiss Mom good-night, too, Uncle Mike?” Micky asked him.

Janie flushed. “I’m not Uncle Mike’s mom,” she informed her son.

“But I saw Jason’s mom kissing that guy Eric she’s supposed to marry. Jason said Eric’s going to be his new dad,” Micky argued.

“But your Uncle Mike and I aren’t married, and he isn’t your dad,” Janie explained.

“But Petey and I want him to be our dad. It’s not fair. Jason’s going to have two dads and we don’t have any. So maybe if you kissed Uncle Mike, you and him could get married and then Uncle Mike could stay with us all the time and be our dad,” Micky offered.

“Oh, Micky,” Janie said. “It doesn’t work that way, sweetie.”

Oh man, Michael thought, feeling as though he were dancing in quicksand. From the stricken look on Janie’s face, she felt the same. “Your Mom’s right, partner. That’s not how it works.”

“Then how does it work?” Petey demanded.

“When two people get married it’s because they love each other and they want to spend the rest of their lives together,” Janie explained.

“Well, Uncle Mike loves us and we love him,” Petey reasoned. “Don’tcha, Uncle Mike?”

Michael felt as though someone had just reached inside his chest and closed a fist around his heart. He stooped down so that he was eye level with the two boys. “Yeah. I do love you guys. And I love your mom, too—but not the way a man loves a woman he marries.” Perhaps if he and Janie hadn’t both loved Pete, things between them might have been different. As it was, Pete would always stand between them. Pete—and his own guilt for the hand he’d played in destroying their marriage.

“What your Uncle Mike is trying to say is that he and I love each other like a brother and sister,” Janie clarified.

“But brothers and sisters can’t get married to each other,” Petey said in that what-a-yucky-idea tone that only a seven-year-old boy could pull off.

“And that’s why your Uncle Mike and I could never get married,” Janie said. “Do you understand?”

Petey shrugged. “I guess so. You’re saying you don’t love him the way you loved my dad, because he’s like your brother or something.”

“Or something,” Janie conceded.

“But it sure would have been cool to have Uncle Mike be our dad,” Petey said with disappointment.

Michael ruffled the two blond heads. “And it would have been cool to be your dad. But since I can’t, how about Uncle Mike the Karate King?” And to lighten the moment, Michael made the ridiculous hi-ya sound again and began chopping at the air—sending both boys into fits of giggles.

“All right,” Janie said, clapping her hands. “Let’s get those teeth brushed and hit the sack. I’ll be there in a few minutes to tuck you in.”

“’Night, Uncle Mike,” Petey said. Evidently forgetting about guys not kissing, he wrapped his arms around Michael’s neck and kissed his cheek.

“’Night, partner,” Michael said, and hugged both boys in turn.

Once the boys had left the room, Janie said, “I’m sorry they put you on the spot that way. I hadn’t realized they might misconstrue things.”

“They’re just kids, Janie.”

“I know. But maybe I haven’t been fair to them. I mean, after what happened with Pete, and that mess with you in the department…well, leaving Houston and starting over here in Florida seemed like the right thing to do. Maybe it wasn’t.”

“You did what you felt was best at the time.”

She looked up at him out of those big doe eyes. “We both know I left Texas because I needed to get away from the memories of what Pete had done to me, to our family.”

“Pete loved you, Janie.”

“Is that why he betrayed me? Is that why he broke his oath as a police officer and tried to double-cross those drug dealers so he could get money to run away with Giselle?”

Michael went to her, took her in his arms. “He was confused. The thing you have to remember is that Pete realized he’d made a mistake. That’s why he called me that night. He wanted out. He wanted to fix things, make them right with you.”

As long as he lived, he’d never forget that night, that phone call from Pete telling him that he’d planned to leave Janie and the boys for Giselle. He had told Giselle that the buy with the Russian was a sting. The two of them were supposed to take the money and run, only now he was having second thoughts, but he’d left things too late. Not even Michael could fix it for him this time.

Michael could still hear himself insisting Pete tell him when he’d set up the exchange. He should have known Pete had lied, but by the time he’d figured it out, and arrived on the scene, things were already out of control. Pete had gone down trying to save Giselle. It didn’t matter that he’d managed to take out the dealers, he hadn’t saved Pete. He’d let Giselle get away—on the condition that she kept her mouth shut about Pete’s involvement—and with the promise if she ever said a word he would kill her. “He wouldn’t have gone through with it, Janie.”

She looked up at him, pressed a sisterly kiss to his lips and stepped back. “You’re a good man, Michael Patrick Sullivan. But you and I both know that you’re lying.”

“Janie—”

“Stop making excuses for him!”

“I’m not,” he argued.

“Yes, you are. Michael, you’ve made a career of covering for Pete. Even back when the three of us were in college, you were covering for him. When Pete broke team curfew and almost got kicked off the football team. And when Pete partied too hard and missed his English final, you were the one who sweet-talked the professor into letting him take the makeup. And then you locked yourself up with him all weekend to cram.”

“He was my friend. Friends look out for each other.”

“Don’t you see?” Janie said. “From the time you two were kids, you’ve been bailing Pete out of trouble. Well, Pete’s dead. He doesn’t need you to cover for him anymore.”

“That’s not what I’m doing,” he insisted.

“Isn’t it?”

“No,” he told her. “That night…that night he wouldn’t have gone through with it. I knew Pete, Janie. He wouldn’t have gone through with it.”

Janie sighed. “I knew Pete, too. He was funny and sweet and lovable. And he was also weak, irresponsible and a little selfish.” She held up her hand, cutting off his protest. “It’s true. I may have loved Pete, but I wasn’t blind to what he was, Michael.”

“You think I am?”

“I think you don’t want to believe that the kid you took a blood brother’s oath with at ten grew up to be less honorable than you did.”

“I’m not a saint,” he fired back, annoyed by the implication.

“No, but you have a sense of honor that Pete never had. If things had been the other way around and you’d been the one who’d been killed that night and had left a wife and two babies behind, do you think Pete would still be hanging around, trying to take care of your family for you?”

The Pete he’d known wouldn’t have hung around. Not because he didn’t care, but because he’d always found it difficult to deal with other people’s problems. Feeling the need to defend his dead friend, he turned around and said, “Pete was a good man.”

“I’m not saying he wasn’t. But he’s dead, Michael. You need to quit blaming yourself for his mistakes.”

“I should have seen what was going on, that Giselle was using him,” he argued, and stalked over to the window to stare out at the dark street.

“He didn’t want you to see. Just like he didn’t want me to see. He knew what he was doing was wrong. The mistakes were Pete’s. Not yours. I never blamed you, and you need to stop blaming yourself.”

“I don’t know if I can,” he told her.

She came up behind him, touched his back. “You have to. It’s time you moved on with your life, Michael. It’s time we both did. I didn’t realize until tonight how selfish I’d been until I listened to the boys ask you to be their father.”

“They’re just kids. Besides, you couldn’t be selfish if you tried.”

“It was selfish of me to encourage you to leave your job and move here away from your family when things were so strained between you and your father.”

“My decision to leave the Houston P.D. had nothing to do with you. Neither did my problems with my father.”

“But you might have stayed in Texas and worked things out with him if it hadn’t been for me and the boys. We both know the real reason you moved to Florida was so you could look out for us—the same way you were always looking out for Pete. I shouldn’t have let you do that. It was selfish.”

“It wasn’t your choice. It was mine. I wanted to be near you and the boys. And the only selfish thing you’ve done is not offer me some more of those chocolate chip cookies you made.”

Janie hesitated a moment, then said, “All right. Go on into the kitchen and find yourself something to drink while I make sure my little monsters are in bed. Then I’ll see if I have any cookies left.”

As much at home in the Crenshaw house as he was in his own, Michael put the teakettle on for Janie and a pot of coffee on for himself. While he waited for the water to heat and his coffee to brew, he piled a half-dozen of the chocolate chip cookies onto a plate.

When Janie joined him a short time later, she smiled at the sight of the tea fixings. “It’s kind of late for coffee, isn’t it?” she asked as she selected her tea and poured the steaming water into the cup to steep.

“I could use the caffeine. I’ve got a lot of prep work to do tonight if I hope to leave in the morning.”

“More corporate espionage? Or another one of those millionaire investors who skipped town with his clients’ money?”

“A runaway wife.”

Janie arched her eyebrow as she added sugar to her tea. “I thought you’d sworn off those types of cases and were sticking with the corporate stuff.”

“I did, and I was. But the lady’s husband made me an offer I couldn’t refuse,” he said in his best Brando/godfather imitation.

Janie laughed and passed him the milk for his coffee. “That was terrible. I hope the guy didn’t actually sound that bad.”

“He didn’t. But he might as well have. I didn’t like him.”

“Then why’d you take the case?” she asked.

“The money primarily. He offered me a million bucks to find her.”

Janie nearly choked on her tea. “Who is this guy?”

“You know I can’t tell you that.” And the truth was, he suspected Janie would be better off not knowing. “Let’s just say, he’s someone with deep pockets who desperately wants his much younger wife back.”

“You said money was the primary reason. What’s the other one?”

“The woman swiped the guy’s kid. A little boy who’s three. I may not have liked the man, but he has a right to see his child. And the kid has a right to know his father.” He couldn’t help thinking once again how Petey and Micky hadn’t had a chance to know their own father.

Janie reached across the table, patted his hand. “See what I mean about that honorable streak of yours?”

“It’s a job, Janie,” he said.

“It’s more than a job. You’re doing it for the little boy.”

“And the money.”

“All right, for the money, too. But something tells me you could have said no to the money, but not to helping that little boy.”

It was true, which made him feel like a sap. He didn’t even know the kid, but the photo he’d gotten from Webster had shown a brown-haired little boy with serious dark eyes. “Maybe,” he finally conceded. “But the money was a big factor, too. Speaking of which, I want you to have this for the boys.” He slid a bank book across the table to Janie. He’d opened an account in her sons’ names into which he’d deposited the bulk of the retainer.

Janie’s eyes widened as she stared at the bank book. Then she shoved the book back at him. “I can’t accept this. I can’t believe you actually thought that I would. It’s bad enough that I allowed you to pay for their karate lessons. But this…this is going too far.”

“Come on, Janie. You’ve been worried for months about being laid off from your job. That money will take some of the pressure off and even allow you to plan for the boys’ futures.”

“They’re my sons, Michael, and my responsibility. Not yours.”

“I’m their godfather. What’s wrong with me wanting to help?”

“What’s wrong is that you’re working at a job you hate. You’ve cut off ties with a father you adored, out of some misplaced sense of guilt. You have no close friendships outside of me and the boys, and I can’t even remember the last time you had a woman in your life.”

“There are tons of women in my life,” he said defensively.

“I’m talking about a serious relationship—not one that consists of a casual dinner followed by casual sex.”

Because she was hitting some sore spots, he fired back without thinking, “And what about you, Janie? You’re pretty, smart and one of the best women I know, but I don’t see you letting any guy get close to you.”

“I’ll admit I have been gun-shy for a long time because of what Pete did. But there is someone I’m sort of seeing.”

“There is?” he countered, stunned by the news. Immediately protective, he asked, “Who is he?”

“No one you know. Besides, it’s nothing serious. Not yet anyway. But at least I’m willing to take a chance again. You need to, as well.” She let out a breath. “Look, I really appreciate this,” she said, indicating the bank book. “But I can’t accept it.”

“Listen, I know it seems like a lot of money, but it’s just the retainer I got for this case. When I find the woman and her son, I’m going to collect the rest of my fee.” He saw no point in telling her that if he didn’t find Mrs. Webster and her son, he would have to return the money.

“But it’s your money. You should use it to do something for you.”

He grinned at her. “When I collect the balance, I plan to. I’m going to buy that sailboat I’ve had my eye on, take some time off and spend it sailing.” He caught her hand, placed the bank book in it. “But right now, I want you to have this. For the boys.”

“But suppose you can’t find this woman?” Janie asked.

“Oh, I’ll find her all right.” Elisabeth Webster didn’t have a prayer at remaining hidden from him. “You can count on it.”