LITMIR.BIZ

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me, but that was some reaction you had to the redhead who bought Lacey’s place.”

      A city crew was working on a burst water main at the bottom of the hill on Division Street, and traffic was being rerouted. Unbidden, Reed’s thoughts took a little detour, too, over long legs and creamy skin and amazing hair and green eyes that had locked with his.

      “Holy hell,” he muttered under his breath.

      He didn’t get any argument from Marsh.

      A horn honked at a delivery truck parked in the left-turn lane and three boys with shaggy hair and black T-shirts raced by on skateboards. A meter reader was marking tires and three old men were talking in front of the post office. It was just another ordinary summer day in Orchard Hill, and yet nothing had felt ordinary to Reed and Marsh in the past ten days. Joey’s arrival had changed their lives, and neither of them could shake the feeling that something monumental was coming.

      Their phones rang moments apart, startling them both.

      Reed fished his phone out of his pocket, and over the booming bass of a passing car’s radio, he said, “Yes, Sam, I’m here. Slow down.”

      When it came to investigative work, Sam Lafferty didn’t mince words. Reed listened carefully to the latest report while keeping his end of the conversation to simple yes-and-no answers.

      Marsh’s call ended first. After a few minutes, Reed slipped his phone back into his pocket, too. Waiting until two dog walkers were out of hearing range, he said, “Sam located another woman named Julia Monroe.”

      He had Marsh’s undivided attention.

      “According to Sam, she’s five feet tall, has curly blond hair, a doting husband and a six-month-old baby daughter who looks just like her.”

      Joey’s eyelashes fluttered as he slept. Reed wondered if he was dreaming of his mother. He didn’t know if that was possible, but lately a great deal had happened that he’d never imagined was possible.

      “The Julia I know is five-six and has dark hair.”

      Marsh’s voice sounded strained and his disappointment over yet another dead end was almost palpable. He wanted a resolution to this as much as Reed did.

      “Sam is following every lead he has on both Cookie and Julia,” Reed said. “He’ll locate Joey’s mother. Or she’ll return for him, as she said in her note. We need to be prepared either way, to do what’s best for Joey either way, and we’re working on that. We are. You know it and I know it. Who was your call from?”

      “It was Lacey,” Marsh answered. “She and Noah stopped in Vegas and decided to spend the rest of their honeymoon there. She wants one of us to pick up those old cameras her dad used to display on the shelves behind the bar at Bell’s.”

      “Why don’t you take Joey home,” Reed said. “I’ll get the cameras and be right behind you.”

      “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

      Obviously Marsh was thinking of Reed’s reaction to Bell’s new owner. But Reed was determined to stay levelheaded as he awaited the eventual outcome of the paternity test they’d performed that very morning. If the results of that test indicated that Joey was Reed’s son, Reed’s life would include Joey’s mother in one capacity or another. Until they knew for sure, he had no intention of getting involved with anyone.

      “Maybe I should collect those cameras,” Marsh said.

      “I’ll go,” Reed said. “Don’t worry, I have this under control.”

      * * *

      The last time Reed had been summoned to the alley behind Bell’s Tavern, he’d had every intention of calmly talking Noah out of a fight. He’d wound up with a sore fist and a bruised jaw. When it was over, he and Noah had brushed the alley dust off their shoes and walked away, leaving the three troublemakers sitting in the dirt.

      The alley was paved now, the steps leading to the second-story apartment freshly painted. Determined to maintain a far greater degree of restraint this afternoon, he parked beside Ruby O’Toole’s sky-blue Chevy. He would knock on her door, politely ask for Lacey’s cameras and then leave. If he felt so much as a stirring of red-hot anything, he would douse it before it spread.

      Cool, calm and collected, he started up the stairs. At the top, he knocked briskly. In a matter of seconds the lock scraped and the door was thrown open, and Ruby O’Toole was squinting against the bright sunlight, hard-rock music blasting behind her.

      “Isn’t that Metallica?” he asked.

      “Are you taking a survey?”

      Reed had the strongest inclination to laugh out loud, and it was the last thing he’d expected. Ruby wasn’t laughing, however, so he curbed his good humor, as well.

      She’d put her hair up since lunch. Several curls had already pulled free. The hem of her white tank had crept up at her waist and a strap had slipped off one shoulder, revealing a faint trail of freckles that drew his gaze. The ridges of her collarbones looked delicate, her skin golden. He couldn’t help noticing the little hollow at the base of her neck, where a vein was pulsing.

      “I’m in the middle of something here,” she said huffily as a curl fluttered freely to the side of her neck. “So, if you don’t mind—”

      Subtle she wasn’t.

      “You’re busy,” he said. “I’ll come back at a better time.”

      She was shaking her head before he’d uttered the last word. “Oh no you don’t. Uh-uh.” Gritting her teeth, she said, “That isn’t what I meant.”

      Two motorcycles chugged into the alley, the riders conversing over their revving engines. Stifling irritation that seemed to be directed toward him, she opened the door a little farther and said, “You might as well come in.”

      She didn’t add Enter at your own risk, but she might as well have. Again, he had the strongest inclination to smile. His curiosity piqued, he followed her inside.

      He closed the door but remained near it as he looked around. The living room had dark paneled walls and high ceilings and worn oak floors. A doorway on the left led to the kitchen. On the right was a shadowy hallway.

      Ruby veered around half of a large sectional sitting at an odd angle in the center of the room and didn’t stop until she reached a low table on the far wall. Her back to him, she quickly reached down for the volume button on an old stereo. No seeing man could have kept his eyes off the seat of those tight little shorts.

      She spun around and caught him looking. While she narrowed her eyes, he reminded himself he had a legitimate reason for being here.

      He’d come to—

      It had to do with—

      Discretion. Yes, that was it. And valor, and honor and responsibility and, huh, other important things, he was sure.

      Apparently experiencing a little technical difficulty with the neurons in his brain, he took a moment to reacclimatize. It wasn’t easy, but he forced his gaze away and once again looked around the room. An old trunk had been pushed against the wall, a carpet rolled up in front of it. There was an overstuffed chair and a floor lamp, too, and a few dozen boxes stacked two and three high. The fact that she’d been unpacking and arranging heavy furniture explained the sheen of perspiration on her face. He wasn’t sure what to make of her irritation.

      “Is something wrong, Ruby?” he asked.

      * * *

      Wrong? What could possibly be wrong?

      Ruby didn’t know whether to huff or, gosh darn it, swoon. She’d never really cared for her name, and yet Reed Sullivan made it sound like a treasure. He had one of those clear, deep voices perfectly suited for late-night radio shows and the dark. She almost wished he would keep talking.

      He couldn’t seem to keep

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