LITMIR.BIZ

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Owner’s Guide. The Complete History of Cartoons. And a bunch of sci-fi novels, their spines bent and cracked from use.

      He cast another eye around the room and a vague, warm feeling settled over his shoulders. This was a home. A lived-in, occupied home. If all his stuff went up in smoke tomorrow, it could all be replaced by day’s end.

      Disturbed, he let that uneasy feeling sit there for a second before shucking it off. It wouldn’t do any good to start getting off track. This was just a place to lay low until he met with the investigators next month. The situation would be resolved and he’d be back at work. Simple.

      He wandered from living room to kitchen. He never let emotion distort his decisions, yet he’d chosen to share his space with a woman who was full of emotion, who had let an abundance of it shape and change her life. Case in point—her can’t-get-away-from-you-quick-enough dash when they’d got out the car.

      He walked outside and sat on the porch swing. All around, the air was still and warm, no traffic, no urban noise to pierce the silent bubble of the perfect spring day.

      Peace. Quiet. Stillness.

      He breathed in deep and closed his eyes. Grass. Salty sea. The lemon tree at the end of the driveway.

      Beth.

      The moment stretched into a handful, until he finally opened his eyes and glanced at his phone.

      Thirty minutes had gone by. Thirty minutes in which he hadn’t been making a deal or negotiating with clients or worrying about what Gino would do next to screw up his life.

      Had Marco’s little psych evaluation at Gino’s funeral been right? “You care too much about what’s past and what you can’t change, Luke. You hold a grudge for way too long. Take it from someone who’s been there—you’re on the fast track for a spectacular crash if you don’t slow the hell down.”

      And as he delved into the waters of self-doubt, he didn’t like what he saw.

      With a soft sigh, he reached for his phone and started to make the first of a handful of calls.

      Beth didn’t run because she enjoyed it, although sometimes she actually did. She ran because exercise effectively cleared her head like nothing else. And today, she needed the clarity of movement, the pure and honest motion of running.

      Even though the afternoon heat embraced her like an exuberant relative’s hug, she picked up the pace. She ran all the way to the end of the street then turned east. Trees flashed by; she noted her progress by counting the cats’ eyes hammered onto the white guideposts flanking the road. When she got to the small park with the duck lake, she pounded over the footbridge. The sun sparkled off the water in blinding shafts, the air hummed with the noise of the distant highway. Eventually all she could hear was her heaving lungs.

      Nearly an hour later, when she finally turned back, her whole body ached from exertion. Sweat pooled in the small of her back, her scalp itched, her T-shirt clung and her legs sang. But the effort had been worth it. Her thoughts had been Luke free.

      She got to the top of her street and stopped long enough to stretch her hamstrings, then continued at a brisk walk before pausing at the end of the driveway.

      The lawn edges needed trimming. The orange trees were begging for a good prune, too. The porch also had to be swept and that second step was in sore need of a nail or two.

      She breathed in a deep sigh, reveling in the warm, perfect stillness of the day. After drifting from one impersonal crowded city to another, this was heaven on earth. Solitude and independence had brought that to her life.

      A breeze interrupted the air, tickling along her damp skin.

      She loved this place. Giving up and walking away would be like wrenching off a vital piece of herself. It would be like erasing every good memory she had made these last ten years.

      If Luke wanted to do that, he was in for a fight.

      Determination added steel to her step as she walked in the front door. She didn’t have much time on her side, but Luke was obviously not a patient man. After a week or two, he’d get sick of waiting and take her up on her offer. They’d agree on a price, sign on it, and she’d eventually work off her debt.

      She was extremely good at waiting.

      “Hey.”

      Beth jumped as Luke appeared from the kitchen. “Can’t you make some noise instead of sneaking around?” At his look, she sighed. “What?”

      He crossed his arms, leaning against the wall. “We need to talk.”

      Beth’s flushed face suddenly felt like a thousand burning knives. “I have to shower first. I’ll be down in fifteen.”

      “If you’re not, I’m coming up to get you.”

      Beth turned and practically ran up the stairs. He wouldn’t dare barge into her bathroom. Would he?

       Seven

      Ten minutes later Beth stood in the kitchen in a T-shirt and army-green cargo pants, her hair slicked back into a damp ponytail. Luke watched her refill her glass from the kitchen sink, glance across at him then gulp down the water.

      Still, he let the silence do all the talking, a technique that not only allowed him to observe her under pressure but also showed she was extremely uncomfortable with his singular scrutiny.

      “Is the room okay?” she finally asked.

      “Yes. Thanks.” Then he added, “Nice house. Lots of space.”

      She nodded with a small smile. “That’s why I chose it. It’s the first place I’ve actually felt at home.”

      A small pang of guilt twisted in his gut. Not a good sign, considering the snooping he’d done minutes before.

      He’d rummaged through her filing system, her desk and behind the books in her living room, before quickly going through her bedroom. With reluctance dogging every step, he’d been about to give up until he’d hit the back of her wardrobe.

      Just who was Taylor Stanton and why did Beth have her birth certificate buried in an old shoe box?

      Before he could change his mind, he’d called his P.I. Dylan and relayed the details. Now, with Beth sitting across the table, his conscience took that moment to flare.

      That’s stupid. It could mean nothing—in which case, she’d never have to know.

      His neck began to ache again, sharp darts of pain stabbing his muscles.

      First, he’d been suspended from his job then hounded from his apartment. He’d been rendered ineffective, like an illegal vehicle banned from the road. And now he’d resorted to spying. Unease sliced across his chest, but he clamped a lid on it, wrapping his fingers around the cup of coffee he’d prepared moments ago. The scalding heat was a welcome distraction.

      “You know you’ll have to make a formal statement to the bank eventually,” he said.

      She sighed. “I know.”

      “And I made a few calls,” he said. “Unless we get the police involved, the real estate agent isn’t legally obliged to pursue this any further. So I’m getting a copy of the deed from the titles office, which should take a few days. In the meantime, I need to talk to my aunt.”

      Beth made a noncommittal sound to cover up her nervousness. This would not do. As badly as she wanted him gone, he was equally determined to keep digging until everything was wrapped up to his satisfaction. But as she watched him brush back his hair with stiff fingers, a wave of reluctant sympathy swelled at the expression on his face. Something was going on here.

      “You’re not happy about that.”

      “Gino’s investigation

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