LITMIR.BIZ

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protested, setting a woven placemat on the kitchen table where she’d choked down a carton of yogurt half an hour ago. “J.D., I would’ve been happy to make you something.”

      “I know you would’ve,” he answered, putting the bag on the granite-topped counter and fixing her with a steady, steely gaze. “But that’s not your job, Kirsten. Your job is to help me find the kids…and that’s all.”

      He couldn’t have made it any clearer if he’d drawn a line across the table between them, she thought now, dropping some extra hairpins into her travel bag and zipping it shut as the last step toward departure. And it was silly of her to feel hurt by his deliberate distance, since she didn’t need an old friend searching for her children. She needed a professional.

      But it seemed the long-ago wound still hadn’t healed as well as she’d like. Not that she had ever noticed it before, not when she’d been so wrapped up in caring for her family. It was only seeing J.D. Ryder again, only the realization of how he hadn’t changed at all, that was making her wish things had ended differently.

      If they’d ended differently, though, you wouldn’t have the family you’ve got.

      She needed to remember that, Kirsten told herself, taking her travel bag down the hall toward the kitchen, where she’d laid out coffee and whole wheat bagels shortly after dawn. All she cared about was finding her children, and a detective who knew Brad’s way of thinking would be her best possible choice for such a mission. As long as they both stayed focused on the task, there would be no worry about old memories getting in the way.

      But when she found J.D. studying her refrigerator-door snapshots and cradling a stoneware mug in the palm of his left hand, exactly the way he’d done eight years ago with the Snack-n-Go cups, she felt a visceral flood of memory rising so swiftly that she had to tilt her head back against the tide of warmth in her chest.

      “Morning,” he greeted her, glancing away from the photos of Halloween costumes, the twins’ soccer party and Lindsay’s graduation from kindergarten…photos she should have removed yesterday, even though he evidently hadn’t noticed anything worth commenting on. Maybe because such scenes were completely foreign to him. He’d mentioned last night, while describing his new job in Chicago, that he’d never come close to—or even wanted—a family life of his own. “Thanks for the coffee.”

      “I’ve had mine,” she said hastily, trying not to notice the fit of his well-worn jeans and slate-blue polo shirt any more than she’d notice her tax accountant’s wardrobe. “We can leave anytime…unless you were waiting for raspberry jam on the bagels.”

      J.D. gave her a startled glance, as if wondering how she knew what he used to order at the Snack-n-Go. “You remembered that?”

      She remembered virtually everything about that summer, but she wasn’t about to tell him so. She wasn’t even going to think that way, not with all the risks involved. Instead she said lightly, in the tone of voice she’d perfected during her years with Brad, “It’s funny, the things that stick with you.”

      “Yeah…funny.” From the edge in his voice, it appeared he didn’t want to discuss old memories any more than she did. “Anything you need to take care of before we leave? Mail pickup, someone to water the plants, changing the phone message?”

      She’d recorded a new answering-machine message last night, hoping the phone company would fix her call-forwarding system before another week passed. It was a long shot, Kirsten knew, but if either Brad or the children phoned they would hear her plea for a swift return.

      If only she’d taught them the new number before they’d left….

      “Everything’s taken care of,” she told J.D., cutting off the self-reproach before she could start choking up again. Crying wouldn’t do the children any good, and she needed to stay in control of herself all the more with this man so close. “My friend Cheri’s coming around eight, and she offered to house-sit until we get back. So if Brad shows up with the kids, there’ll be somebody here.”

      “Okay, then.” Moving with his usual quick, controlled grace, he dumped the last of his coffee down the sink, deposited the mug in the empty dishwasher, then picked up her travel bag as well as his own from beside the kitchen door. “Shampoo all packed? Let’s get going.”

      He hadn’t lost the knack, she realized, of throwing out those little side comments that always made her smile. Usually after he’d turned away, because J.D. never waited to see whether anyone reacted to his remarks. But she found herself smiling, anyway, as she locked the door behind her and slid the key for Cheri under a terracotta pot.

      When she turned to watch him stowing their bags in the back seat, Kirsten noticed with a flicker of fascination that, at least on the surface, this man’s car was a lot like him. A dark exterior, windows that revealed nothing of the inside, any damage carefully hidden—and probably capable of meeting any demand that might arise.

      Yes, she had been right in calling J.D. Ryder.

      “I know you can’t say how long it’ll take us to find Lindsay and the boys,” she told him as they drove to the airport, “but I’m hoping it’s a good sign that you didn’t bring a week’s worth of clothes.”

      He gave her a slight smile, and in the early morning light she saw the faint relaxing of his hard shoulders. “With any luck,” he said, “we’ll have them back today.”

      Please, God…

      “I hope so.” While there was no excuse for having allowed this disaster to happen, she could forgive herself more easily if all it cost the children was one more day of junk food, indifferent supervision and unbrushed teeth. One more day for Lindsay to fall asleep without her bedtime story, for Adam and Eric to be called by each other’s names, for them to wake up in a strange place not knowing—

      You see what happens when you lose control?

      She should have known better, especially where her children were concerned. She had vowed two years ago, when Brad had shattered their marriage, that never again would she let someone else control her life. First her parents, then her husband, had shaped her into exactly what they wanted…and always with her silent cooperation. But as of age twenty-four, Kirsten had decided, she was finally going to take charge of her own and her children’s lives.

      And she’d done it for the past two years. She’d maintained her independence, shielded her daughter and sons from seeing their father’s breezy irresponsibility, and spent virtually every waking moment creating the kind of world they deserved. But for the past two weeks, hoping Brad’s recent interest in family would grow stronger without her interference, she’d forgone the phone calls that would have alerted her to his latest impulse…and now her children were paying the price.

      “I really, really hope,” she said, tucking her peach linen shirt more neatly into her khaki slacks, “we’ll find them right away.”

      “Yeah, so do I.” The gruff intensity in J.D.’s voice touched her—it was sweet of him to care so much about Lindsay and Adam and Eric—until she realized that he had his own reasons for wanting to finish the search quickly. After all, he had another life to get back to.

      She needed to remember that.

      “When do you leave for Chicago?” she asked him, adjusting her sun visor against the early-morning glare.

      “Soon as my assignment comes through.” He braked for a red light, his work-roughened hands at rest on the steering wheel. “Shouldn’t be much longer.”

      She couldn’t think of many people who would enjoy battling a whole new city full of drug dealers, but this man wasn’t like anyone else she knew. “And you’re excited about it,” Kirsten said.

      “Yeah.” With the edgy light of anticipation in his eyes, he looked suddenly younger. “It’s a brand-new task force, a whole different setup. Getting things done without a bunch of layers to work through… I like that kind of freedom.”

      “Freedom,”

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