One Man's Family

Alicia ignored the tightness in her throat as she shoved the last of her clothes into her duffel bag. She’d been living at her brother’s house since his arrest, taking care of his children, and though she loved Joey and Lia more than anything, she really missed the eclectic group of tenants who had somehow become her extended family. And she missed her home—her private haven that was comfortable and familiar and entirely her own.

As she zipped up the bag, she pushed her petty regrets aside. She had no right to complain about giving up her home when her brother had lost everything.

Besides, if Scott Logan was as good as his reputation, she wouldn’t be gone for long.

He can’t find evidence that isn’t there, Jordan had warned her. But if there’s anything the cops missed, he’ll uncover it.

Alicia was counting on that. More importantly, Lia and Joey were counting on it.

Thinking of her niece and nephew, she hefted the stuffed bag onto her shoulder and headed back outside to her car. She waved to Myrtle Grossman across the street as she tried to recall if she’d taken anything out of the freezer for dinner that night. Steak, she remembered now. She’d planned to make a stir-fry—one of her nephew’s favorites and one of the few ways she knew to get him to eat vegetables.

She had her key in hand to unlock the trunk when she noticed something written in the dust on the back window. One of the neighborhood kids—probably Marissa’s eldest son, she guessed, although she’d never actually caught him in the act—seemed to think it was funny to write WASH ME on her vehicle when it was obvious that Alicia had neglected to do so.

But this time the message said: BACK OFF.

She felt a chill skate over her skin despite the late afternoon sun beating down on her.

It wasn’t just the words that were different, it was the style of lettering. Bigger and bolder.

Or was she wrong?

She’d been uneasy since Joe had gone to prison, jolting at noises in the night, jumping at shadows. She was overreacting, letting her imagination get away from her, envisioning dangers where there were none. No doubt this was another example of the same thing.

The message probably wasn’t even intended for her, but for the driver of whatever vehicle might find itself behind her on the road. And the logic of this reasoning soothed her skittish nerves.

Until she noticed the slashed tires.

Chapter Two

Scott arrived at Alicia’s apartment complex less than fifteen minutes after her call.

He recognized Detective Mel Rucynski from his years on the force and greeted his former colleague with a firm handshake.

“What are you doing here?” Rucynski asked.

“Alicia called me.”

“Alicia, huh?” Rucynski lifted his thick black eye-brows. “Well, your taste in women has definitely improved in the past couple of years.”

The cop’s suggestive tone made Scott realize he’d slipped in referring to Alicia by her first name, as he’d slipped throughout the day whenever thoughts of her came to mind. And although those thoughts had been anything but professional, focusing on her as a woman rather than a client—a woman with dark sparkling eyes, wide full lips, and temptingly round curves that he wanted to feel pressed against him—he didn’t want Rucynski to get the wrong idea about his relationship with Alicia.

“Actually, Miss Juarez is a client,” he said, reminding himself as well as Rucynski of that fact.

“A client, huh?” the cop asked doubtfully. “Well, if she has enough money to call you out to investigate a juvenile prank, she should have enough money to move out of this neighborhood.”

“What kind of prank?” Scott asked, ignoring the dig about his fees. A lot of his former colleagues assumed he’d made the jump to the private sector to fatten his wallet. And while he did take home a heftier paycheck now, it wasn’t money that had motivated the switch.

“Slashed tires.” Rucynski gestured to the parking lot behind him.

Scott looked over his former colleague’s shoulder and saw an ancient red Jetta in one of the few occupied slots. “Slashed tires” was something of an understatement, he thought, noting that the vehicle was actually resting on its rims because the tires had been so completely decimated.

“Looks like an unusually violent prank,” he noted.

Rucynski shrugged. “Some kids are carrying around a lot of anger.”

He nodded. It was an act of vandalism, possibly—probably—random, and yet there was something about it that bothered him.

“What did you tell Al—Miss Juarez?”

“The truth—that this neighborhood isn’t exactly upscale, and the fact that she’s lived here for three years without incident is only proof that she was due for some trouble.”

“What about the words on the back windshield?”

“By her own admission, the neighborhood kids sometimes leave messages in the dust on her car.”

Scott nodded, but he wasn’t convinced.

Not that he blamed Rucynski for looking for an easy answer. He’d responded to too many of these same types of incidents when he’d been in uniform, and usually the simplest explanation was the right one. But he’d also learned to trust his instincts, and his instincts were warning him that this might not be as straightforward as Rucynski wanted it to be.

“Is that going to be the conclusion of your report?”

“We’ll ask around, see if any of the neighbors saw anyone or anything suspicious. But at this point, yeah, I can’t see that it will play out any other way.

“I know that won’t satisfy your…” Rucynski paused deliberately “…uh, client, but the truth isn’t always what we want it to be.”

Which was exactly the same point Scott had tried to make when he’d talked to Alicia about investigating her brother’s case earlier, and he anticipated that she’d still be as resistant to it as she’d been then.

She responded immediately to his knock, and he saw that she’d changed out of the scrubs she’d been wearing earlier that day and into a pair of softly faded jeans and a simple scoop-neck T-shirt. Her hair was still in a braid, but her feet were now bare and her toenails, he noted with surprise, were painted blue and decorated with tiny white and yellow daisies.

Obviously there were layers to the woman he hadn’t suspected, layers that he was curious to explore.

“What did Rucynski tell you?” she asked without preamble.

“Probably the same thing he told you—that it looks like a juvenile prank.”

She folded her arms across her chest and paced across the threadbare carpet. There was an old—possibly even antique—couch against one wall, decorated with colorful pillows in various geometric shapes. Beside it was a newer-looking wing chair and ottoman. The coffee table looked sturdy, if scarred, and held a neat stack of magazines. Facing the couch was an ultra-modern entertainment unit of glass and aluminum that housed a small TV and modest stereo system, along with stacks of CDs and DVDs.

It was…eclectic, he decided. And yet somehow warm and appealing—like Alicia herself.

He turned his attention back to the woman who was still pacing.

The protective instincts that had sent him racing across town in response to her phone call rose up again and urged him to go to her, to wrap her in his arms and promise to take care of her. But he managed to resist the impulse, recognizing that holding her wouldn’t just be inappropriate but potentially disastrous for his peace of mind. After only one meeting with the woman, he’d already found himself daydreaming about her. God help him if he touched her and found she was as soft and warm as he imagined her to be.

No, there could be no personal contact. He needed to remember that she was a client, off-limits, and to keep his distance. But that was tougher than he wanted to admit when she had her arms wrapped around her middle to disguise the fact that she was trembling.

“I can understand why this has shaken you—”

She turned abruptly to face him. “I’m not afraid of whoever slashed my tires.”

He frowned. Whoever had done that number on her car had been wielding a dangerous instrument. Hell, he was scared just thinking about the possibility that Alicia might have interrupted the culprit in the middle of his task and had the weapon used against her.

“I’m just furious that the cops think they can brush me off with statistics about the incidence of crime in this neighborhood.” She resumed her pacing, taking less than a dozen steps to move from one end of the room to the other, then pivoting on her heel to change direction.

“Rucynski assumed it was a prank at first glance and decided there was no need to dig any further.” She turned again, her eyes fairly sparking with fury as her gaze met his. “If those are the kind of cops who investigated my brother’s case, no wonder he’s in prison.”

He stepped into her path, forcing her to either stop or run into him. “Did you call me to complain about the apparent ineptitude of the police, or was there another reason?”

She huffed out a frustrated breath. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I just hate being spoken down to, and Rucynski did everything but pat my head.”

“He isn’t the most diplomatic cop I’ve ever known, but his instincts are usually good.”

“Well, I don’t believe for a minute that this was a random act of vandalism.”

“What do you think it was?”

“A threat—to stop me from looking into the charges against Joe. Think about it,” she said. “My car getting trashed the same day I hired you is just too coincidental.”

“You really believe there’s a connection?”

“It’s the only explanation that makes any sense,” she insisted.

“Did you tell anyone about our meeting this morning?” he asked.

She shook her head. “After I left your office, I went straight to work, and I’ve never talked to anyone there about my brother’s situation.”

“Was there anyone who knew about your plan to meet with me?”

“Just Jordan. And your secretary.”

And it was unlikely that either Jordan or Caroline would have shared that information with someone who could be responsible for the damage done to Alicia’s vehicle. Which, if this wasn’t a random act, forced him to consider another possibility—that Alicia had been followed.

Before he could ask any more questions, she glanced down at her watch, then turned away from him. “I’m sorry to drag you out here then have to take off,” she said. “But I’m already late and the kids will be wondering where I am.”

“How are you going to take off without any tires on your car?”

“I’ll call my mechanic to have it towed and take a cab to my brother’s place.”

“Call for the tow,” he said. “I’ll give you a ride home.”

Alicia was surprised by his offer—and tempted to decline.

She was a woman who prided herself on not needing a man for anything, but the truth was, she couldn’t help her brother on her own. She did need Scott’s help. And he’d already come through for her twice today. The first time when she’d shown up at his office without an appointment, and the second when she’d tracked him down on his cell phone to tell him about the incident with her car.

So she set her pride aside again and responded, “That would be great. Thanks.”

He waited while she called her mechanic and didn’t say a word or express the slightest hint of impatience when what should have been a two-minute conversation turned into a much longer one while Ernie pried the details of the situation from her and expressed indignation for her car’s plight.

“Sorry about that,” she said when she’d finally hung up the phone.

“Not a problem,” Scott said easily. “Are you ready to go now?”

She nodded and reached for her duffel bag at the same time he did. Their fingers brushed and she jolted at the contact, instinctively pulling her hand away as he said, “I’ve got it.”

She felt as if she should protest, but didn’t bother when she saw how easily he slung the bag over his shoulder. The same bag she’d wrestled with to get it down the stairs to her car earlier, and then back up when it became obvious that she wasn’t going anywhere in her own vehicle.

She followed him out the door, her mind moving ahead to the various tasks waiting for her at her brother’s house.

Child care wasn’t just cooking dinners and packing lunches, she’d soon realized. It was getting the kids out of the house in time for the school bus in the morning, then chauffeuring Lia to her piano lessons and ballet classes and Joey to his track-and-field practices and soccer games after school. There was also homework to oversee, tests to study for and bedtimes to enforce, all the while trying to ensure that the children were adjusting—as if anyone could adjust—to their father’s absence.

Scott unlocked the passenger door of a sparkling powder-blue sportscar and tossed her bag into the back-seat before stepping back for her to slide in. She did so, almost sighing with pleasure as the butter-soft leather enfolded her in its embrace. He closed the door for her, then went around to take his seat behind the wheel.

As he turned the key in the ignition, the engine roared to life. His hand settled over the gearshift, his broad palm gently cupping the knob, his long fingers resting casually against the stick. He shifted gears and pulled away from the curb, the vehicle slipping smoothly into the stream of traffic.

Great hands, she thought, then tore her gaze away from the man and focused on the car.

“I would imagine it’s difficult for a private investigator to blend in driving something like this,” she said.

“I have another car for blending,” he told her. “This baby is for pure pleasure.”

“I can imagine,” she said, running a hand over the sleek contour of the dash. “Wow.”

“That’s exactly what I said the first time I saw her,” he admitted.

“Her?”

He shrugged. “The most beautiful things in the world are female.”

“And that includes a classic 1966 Corvette Stingray?”

“You know cars,” he said, sounding surprised.

Now it was her turn to shrug. “My brother has a knack for anything with an engine, and I picked up a few things here and there from hanging around the garage with him when we were kids.”

She fell silent, thinking about her brother and happier times. And she wished, more than anything, that he could be here with her now. He would love this car. More, he would love to be on his way home to be with his son and daughter instead of depending on her to take care of the children who meant the world to him.

“I’m guessing you picked up more than a few things,” Scott said. “And I have to wonder how a woman who can appreciate a spectacular machine like this could be satisfied driving a tin can on wheels.”

“My little car has been getting me where I need to go for the past eight years,” she told him.

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“The answer is economics. My paycheck goes to rent, food, tuition, books and—every two weeks—a tank of gas.”

“Tuition?”

She squirmed in her seat. She didn’t usually talk about her schooling. In fact, no one other than her family and her supervisor at work even knew about the courses she was taking. “Med school,” she admitted.

“Impressive.”

“Have you requested the transcript from Joe’s trial yet?” she asked, determined to move the focus of their conversation back to her brother’s case.

“I left a message for the court reporter today, but she hasn’t got back to me yet.”

“Oh.” Alicia wasn’t really surprised, but she was disappointed.

“And I talked to Jordan,” he continued. “He’s going to get your brother to sign a release so he can give me copies of everything in his file. Then, when I know what evidence the court had, the names of the witnesses who testified and what they said, as well as everything your brother told his attorney, I’ll be able to determine the best direction for my investigation.”

She had been one of those witnesses, and she cringed at the memory of her appearance in court. She’d blamed Joe for not taking the stand, but she’d realized—after the fact—that she’d made as big a mistake in choosing to testify. And when Scott read the transcript, he would know how badly she’d screwed up.

She was relieved when he turned onto Greenleaf Drive, as anxious to abandon the topic of the trial as conversation about med school. “It’s the fourth house on the right.”

She saw his eyebrows rise as he pulled into the driveway and noticed the plastic menagerie that lived in the front flower bed: the trio of faded pink flamingos, the banjo-strumming frog and flute-playing pig, and the cow wearing denim overalls and a straw hat.

“Interesting decorations,” he said.

“Thanks.” He hadn’t turned off the engine, and she guessed that it was his intention to make a quick getaway. While there was a part of her that urged her to let him go, acknowledging that she’d intruded on his time enough already, there was another part—indoctrinated by her mother—that insisted she offer him a meal in appreciation of his trouble. “You’ll stay for dinner, won’t you?”

Before he could respond, she was out of the car and halfway across the front yard toward the neighbor’s house.

“I just need to get Joey and Lia,” she called over her shoulder to him when she heard the engine finally shut off. “They’re next door with Mrs. Harbison. Then I’ll be right back to get dinner started.”

Scott had no intention of staying.

Although he appreciated the invitation—and he was more than tempted by the prospect of an actual home-cooked meal—he needed to remember that Alicia was a client. And sharing dinner with a client, when that client was a beautiful woman who stirred desires too long dormant, was dangerous—even with two children as chaperones.

Two children who were obviously surprised and none too pleased by his presence.

“Lia and Joey,” Alicia told him, indicating her niece and nephew in turn. Then, to the kids, “This is Mr. Logan.”

“So?” the boy asked.

Alicia’s gaze narrowed on him. “So say hello.”

“Hi,” he muttered with obvious reluctance after another moment’s pause.

“Hi,” Scott said back, still wondering how to extricate himself from this awkward situation as Alicia opened a side door and led the way into the kitchen.

The little girl followed her aunt but kept her eyes—as dark and beautiful as Alicia’s despite being redrimmed from crying—on him.

“You were late,” she finally said accusingly.

“I was late,” Alicia corrected her, laying her hand on the refrigerator door to keep it closed when she saw her nephew reaching for the handle.

“I’m going to start dinner now,” she told Joey. “And I know you had a snack at Mrs. H.’s, so you can wait twenty minutes to eat a proper meal.”

Then, without missing a beat, she returned to the conversation she was having with her niece. “And I would have been even later if Mr. Logan hadn’t given me a ride home.”

But Lia clearly wasn’t placated by this explanation. “You promised to be here when I got home from school.”

“I know I did, but I had a flat tire on my car. And you know that if you ever get home and no one’s here, you’re supposed to go to Mrs. H.’s—just like you did today.”

“But you promised.” The little girl’s eyes filled with tears again.

And Scott, who had almost no experience with kids and even less with female tears, felt for the child who had obviously dealt with too many broken promises of late.

“I’m sorry,” Alicia said, immediately followed by, “Joey, come back here,” to the boy who had snuck out of the room when he thought she wasn’t looking.

“Okay,” Lia responded, more than willing to forgive now that her feelings had been acknowledged.

Scott just stood back and watched Alicia handle the kids, impressed by the effortless way she anticipated their actions and responded to their needs. It occurred to him that this might be the perfect time to make his excuses and effect an escape. But he was afraid she’d call him to task the same way she’d done with her nephew’s attempted defection.

“Any homework tonight?” Alicia asked, stroking a hand over the girl’s hair.

“Math, but Mrs. H. helped me with it.”

“Good, then you can go upstairs to practice the piano.”

“Okay.” And the child skipped off and up the stairs, her earlier displeasure already forgotten.

“What about you?” Alicia asked, turning her attention to the older brother who stood with his arms crossed and a scowl on his face.

“What?” her nephew asked.

“Do you have homework?” she prompted patiently.

The kid shrugged. “Some.”

“Did you do any at Mrs. H.’s?”

“Nah. Me and Randy were playing Nintendo.”

“Then you’d better get to your homework now.”

“But Class of the Titans is on TV.”

“You should have thought of that when you were playing Nintendo with Mrs. Harbison’s grandson instead of doing your homework.”

“Homework’s stupid,” he said.

“No it’s not, but you will be if you don’t do it.”

Joey rolled his eyes as he picked up his backpack and headed into the living room.

“Not in front of the TV,” Alicia told him.

“I can’t believe how much my life sucks,” the kid muttered as he changed course and carried his backpack into the dining room.

“I can,” Alicia responded evenly. “But it could be a lot worse—and will be if you don’t start cooperating.”

Scott was momentarily taken aback by her cavalier response, then realized she knew exactly what she was doing with each of the kids. Lia was obviously feeling uncertain and insecure and Alicia was giving her the comfort and reassurance she needed. Joey needed a firmer hand to prevent him from acting out the anger and frustration he was holding inside, and his aunt was making it clear that she was in charge and wasn’t going to take any attitude from him.

Apparently the petite nurse had a lot more going for her than a pretty face and hot body—she understood these children, and was determined to help them adjust to the recent changes in their lives.

But who was helping her? he couldn’t help but wonder.

And why did he suddenly feel the urge to plant himself firmly in her corner, to let her know she could count on him?

“Sorry about that,” she said, turning back to him. “The kids are still having a difficult time adjusting to Joe’s absence.”

“I’d guess that’s normal,” he said.

She smiled wryly as she reached into the fridge, coming out with a package of steak and a bag of vegetables. “As if anything about the situation is normal.”

“You’re worried about them,” he guessed.

“Of course.” She found a glass cutting board and selected a long knife from the butcher block on the counter, then began slicing the meat into thin strips. “Probably Joey more so than Lia, because he isn’t as open about his feelings as she is. She’s sad and she’s hurting, but she expresses her emotions—sometimes quite passionately—and gets over it. Joey keeps everything bottled up inside and I’m not sure that anything I say or do can help because, bottom line, I’m not his father.”

“Does he see his father?”

“He did last week.” She set a deep frying pan on the stove, drizzled some olive oil into it and turned on the burner beneath it. “I didn’t realize the intake process would take so long—more than four weeks—and that was the first chance we had to visit since he was transferred to Columbia River Detention Center.”

“How did it go?”

“Not good. Lia cried through most of the hour, Joey barely said two words, and Joe and I just stared at one another feeling helpless.”

The oil sizzled when she dumped the meat into the pan. “I wish I could believe it would get better, but I’m not sure that it will, and those kids have done nothing to deserve this.”

She dumped the board and knife into the sink, then turned on the tap and scrubbed her hands with soap and water. “Then again, I don’t believe Joe did anything to deserve his fate, either.”