Luke's Daughters

His hands lingered on her shoulders. “Are you okay?”

Sarah nodded. “I’m fine, now. Let me change clothes and get the key for the car. I’ll be just a few minutes.”

He toasted her with his glass of juice. “Take your time.”

But she hurried through the process of dressing, avoiding her reflection as much as possible. She’d been assaulted twice before—in other countries, by people involved in activities they didn’t want recorded. She knew how to survive the pain, realized that the bruises would fade, the scrapes would heal.

Ignoring the ache in her ribs and shoulders, she found dark brown linen pants to cover the bandages on her legs and a light, long-sleeved tunic which did the same for her arms.

The problem came with her hair. She couldn’t lift her arms much above her waist, let alone hold a brush tight enough to pull out tangles and knots.

Did she dare…?

As she stepped back into the living room, Luke glanced up from a copy of Events. “You look much better.”

“I’m feeling much, much better.” She swallowed hard against her nerves. “I have only one more favor to ask.”

“What’s that?”

Sarah held out the brush. “Would you?”

“Be glad to.” He stretched to his feet. “Sit in one of those tall chairs at the counter.”

Standing behind her, he took the brush and picked up the weight of her hair. “You’ve got a handful of curls here, don’t you?” His gentle tug on the ends was more delicate than she could possibly have managed. Sarah barely felt the pull on her bandages.

“I usually keep it braided and out of the way. I don’t know what happened last night—how it came undone.” The tension in her shoulders began melting away as he stroked her hair back from her face. She closed her eyes.

“Do you want me to braid it for you?”

“Can you?”

“I braid Erin’s and Jen’s all the time. It’s a survival skill for fathers of little girls.”

“What are they like, your girls?”

He chuckled. “Erin’s the wild one—adventurous, independent, stubborn. She goes after what she wants, no matter the risk. She likes the ocean and bicycles and science books.”

“Does she take after her dad, maybe?”

He went completely still for a second, then resumed brushing. “Sure. Jen’s gentler, quieter, but just as stubborn when she wants to be. She plays dolls and has tea parties, wants to hear fairy tales and dress up like a princess.”

As she had been on her mother’s wedding day. “How old are they?”

“Erin will turn seven this summer. Jen’s four.” Luke put the brush on the counter. “Here goes.”

He touched the crown of her head softly, gathering hair, tugging a bit against the bandage, but Sarah hardly noticed. The play of his fingers on her scalp set up small waves of pleasure, like the lap of the sun-heated ocean in a tidal pool on the beach. She took a deep breath and released it slowly. Now she knew why women enjoyed having their hair styled. So relaxing, so soothing, so…so seductive.

“Finished.” He draped the end of the braid over her shoulder. “Do you have a band?”

She slipped it off her fingers, struggling to stay casual. “If you ever get tired of being a cop, you should consider braiding hair for a living. Thanks.”

When she faced him, he’d stepped back and hooked his thumbs in the front pockets of his jeans. “You’re welcome—it was my pleasure. Did you find your keys?”

He was ready to go. Much as she hated to end her time with him, she had no right to keep Luke in her life. “They’re right here in the drawer.” She grabbed the jangle of keys and a hat off the peg by the door. “Now, I’m all set!”

Or she could pretend she was, anyway.

CHAPTER THREE

LUKE PUT ON his sunglasses when they got into the truck, then frowned at the thought he was using them as a mask.

But the truth was, he’d enjoyed brushing Sarah’s hair. Too much. The gold-brown curls were softer than they looked, like water almost, sluicing over his hands. She’d relaxed as he brushed and braided, reminding him of a kitten being stroked…and all at once he realized his body had responded to that idea with more interest than he’d have believed possible.

Since Kristin…since Kristin and Matt…he hadn’t thought about sex. But the nape of Sarah’s neck was soft, vulnerable. Her skin was smooth and tan, the sound of her breath like a soft wind in the trees. For just a second, he wanted…something he had no right to. Again.

He took a deep breath. “Where’s your car?”

“Sawyer’s Photo Shop. Not too far from the police station.” She shivered as she spoke.

“He won’t be there now.” For just a second, Luke covered her hand with his own. “And if he is, I’ll make sure he doesn’t bother you or anybody else for a good long time. Okay?”

She had a sweet, sunny smile, underneath the bruises. “Okay.”

He drove to the bank first, waiting while Sarah arranged to put a stop on any checks. She’d found her birth certificate and insurance papers before they left the condo and she used them to get a new driver’s license, which would allow her to open another checking account when she was ready.

As they waited for a traffic light to change, Sarah shifted on the seat. “Your hair’s a little long for one of Myrtle Beach’s finest. Have they updated police regulations?”

Luke smiled. “I’ve been on special duty—hanging with the beach regulars for the past year or so, keeping an eye on their less…aquatic…activities.”

“A surfer dude?”

“Nope. The word dude is out with serious surfers. They’re proud of their life in opposition to the mainstream.”

Sarah nodded. “I’ll remember. Surfing for a living sounds like a good job, though. Low stress.”

“Oh, yeah. Especially in January, wearing a cold wet suit and freezing my…nose…off.”

“Not your idea of fun?”

“My idea of fun in January is a fireplace, a TV football game, and a bowl of popcorn.” He held the picture of that scene in his mind’s eye—Erin napping on the armchair, Kristin in the curve of his arm, almost dozing as she nursed Jen. Less than two years ago, he’d lived a perfect life.

“Luke? Luke!” Sarah’s voice brought him back.

The brakes squealed as he automatically stomped the pedal, bringing the truck to a stop with about two inches to spare behind the Mercedes ahead.

Sarah was staring at him, her eyes wide. “She pulled right in front of you, but I didn’t think you’d seen.”

Luke wiped a hand over his face. “You were right. I was…my mind had—”

She nodded. “I can guess. Good thing you have quick reflexes.”

A honk from behind jerked their attention to the green traffic light. Luke gritted his teeth and accelerated carefully.

They arrived at Sawyer’s Photo Shop without any more stupidity on his part. Sarah directed him around the back of the painted concrete block building, where an olive-green Jeep and a full-size Cadillac shimmered in the morning sun. Luke cut the engine. “I’m betting yours is the Jeep.”

She accepted his help to climb down from the truck’s high seat. “Brilliant deduction, Officer Brennan.”

“Corporal First Class.” He grinned as she stuck out her tongue at him, then followed her to the Jeep. “I checked with Hank Jordan, the investigating officer. They dusted for prints—no results yet. But if the guy has your keys, why didn’t he take the car? Jeeps are a high-return item in the stolen-car market.”

“Maybe he didn’t like the way it drove?”

He gave her question the chuckle it deserved. “Even if he didn’t want it, I expect he knows someone who would. So…”

Using the tips of her fingers, Sarah opened the Jeep door. A wall of heat broke over them. “I’d say this car hasn’t been anywhere since I parked it yesterday about three o’clock.”

“And the question would be, why not?” Luke couldn’t come up with an answer that made sense.

“If we don’t know, I guess there’s nothing we can do.” Sarah stared into the interior of the Jeep for a few seconds, then seemed to shake herself free. “So life goes on. You can get some sleep and I can make some more prints. Good thing I left the negatives in the files.”

“What I have to get first is a haircut. I go on regular patrol duty starting Wednesday night.”

“No more surfing?”

He shook his head. “Back to real life.”

She nodded. “I’ll bring the pictures by your house sometime this week, okay?”

With her hat brim shading the bruises, bandages and scrapes, her face looked almost normal—sweet and calm and, as he remembered noticing on the beach, sad. Luke was suddenly reluctant to say goodbye.

But his life was too much of a mess to mix with anybody else’s. “I’m home most afternoons.” He stepped back, and sunlight fell on the ground between them. “Are you sure you feel like driving? Those hands have to hurt.”

“I’m fine—thanks to a little white pill. Plus an automatic transmission and power steering. No problem.” Her hesitation in getting up into the Jeep belied her confident statement.

Luke gave her a lift at the elbow. The bones in her arm were as light as a bird’s. “I’ll…be in touch if anything turns up on the case.”

“Thanks.” She put the key in the ignition and the Jeep puttered to life. Luke stepped back as the vehicle started to move. At the edge of the parking lot, Sarah lifted her hand and glanced at him in the rearview mirror before driving away. He waved, but wasn’t sure she saw him.

Alone again, he studied the ground around him, wondering if Jordan had missed anything when he’d checked out the site of the mugging.

Fifteen minutes later, he doubted it. If the gravel had ever held any clues, they’d been scuffed away.

That left him with no theory about who’d attacked Sarah Randolph. And with the rest of a long, hot Monday to fill.

Not to mention the rest of the summer…and the rest of his life.

THE FLORIDA SUN beat against exposed skin with an almost physical force. Kristin Brennan shifted a little on her chaise longue and prepared to sink deeper into pure indolence.

“Strawberry daiquiri for the lady?”

She peered sleepily over the top edge of her sunglasses, then woke up fast. “Just what I’ve been dying for! How did you know?”

Her husband sat down near her feet. “It’s hot, we’re in Florida, you love strawberries. Simple deduction.”

“Mmm.” She sipped the frozen drink gratefully. “I might just stay right here for the rest of my life, reading romances and soaking up sun and drinking daiquiris.”

Matt stroked his palm along her ankle. “The hotel would probably pay you to hang around. You really improve the scenery.”

His cool hand against her heated skin tightened every nerve in her body. If they weren’t in public…

She gathered her wandering thoughts. “Did you get the girls settled?”

“They’re safely installed in the Wee Willie Winky Center, busily finger-painting to music from every Disney movie ever made.”

“I hope Erin doesn’t get bored.”

Matt’s thumb traced a path up her calf, then circled the bend of her knee, with devastating effect. “They’ve got three aquariums and a library of science books. She’s all set.”

“So we’ve got…some free…time. What should we do?”

“I was thinking about a nap.” He looked up suddenly, and grinned. “Or something.” His hand slipped sideways to rest between her knees. “What do you think?”

“Ah…” Her thoughts puddled like an ice cube on the pool deck. “Sounds…lovely. Why don’t you go on up to the room—I’ll be there in just a few minutes.”

His brows drew together. “Come with me.”

“I need to get a shower first. I’m all sticky with lotion.”

He moved his hand slightly and smiled at her ragged breath. “I don’t mind.”

“But I do. Let me clean up a bit and I’ll be right there.”

“Women.” Shaking his head, Matt drew his hand slowly away from her legs and stood up. “I’ll be waiting.”

Kristin winked at him. “Me, too.”

She watched him walk toward the hotel, straight-backed and square-shouldered, his dark hair cut in a short style that marked him right away as military. He held the door open for a woman and three children before going inside. That was just like Matt—manners were carved into his bones. Along with responsibility and a strong sense of honor.

Once he’d disappeared behind the tinted glass of the lobby windows, Kristin dropped back against her chair. She loved him so much…wanted him so desperately…her idea of paradise was a couple of hours spent in a quiet room with his arms around her. Yet she sat here, hesitating. Why?

The answer in one word—Luke.

No matter how much she loved Matt, Kristin couldn’t get free of the guilt her desertion of Luke had created. She didn’t know if she ever would.

Leaving the pool and the bright sunshine, she took a shower in the locker room, washed and dried her hair, and put on just enough makeup to hide the circles under her eyes. Sleep didn’t come easily anymore, even after a full day of walking through theme parks with the girls. Or after wonderful hours of loving with Matt, once her daughters were sound asleep in their adjoining room.

Luke’s face haunted her, waking and sleeping. To remember the sacrifice he’d made for this marriage, this family, all she had to do was close her eyes.

Eight years ago, she’d betrayed Matt by marrying his brother. Then she’d broken her vows to Luke—the “until death do us part” promise. Now…

Now, everything she’d ever wanted was within her reach—the man she’d loved since junior high, and two beautiful, precious daughters. Even the possibility of more children.

Yes, she had everything…but she’d left Luke with nothing. How could she enjoy her happiness at his expense? Yet how could she have denied Matt the dream of love and family that had kept him alive through five years of imprisonment and torture?

Just outside the door to their hotel room, Kristin paused, getting herself under control. She couldn’t burden Matt with her own regrets.

But the door opened before she was ready. “It’s about time.” Matt caught her hand and drew her inside, into his arms. “I wondered if you would make me wait forever.”

His hands roamed her shoulders, slipping the straps of her tank top out of the way. He pressed kisses on her eyelids, her throat, her ears, until she was half crazy with the need to kiss him back.

Catching his lean cheeks with her palms, she held him still. “You’ll never have to wait, Matt. Never again.” Then she brought him close enough that she could capture his mouth with her own.

But she kept her eyes open, for fear of what—who—she’d see if she let them close.

WHEN LUKE HADN’T heard from Sarah about the pictures by Wednesday night, he considered calling. He’d thought about her for two days, hoping she’d phone or come by, disappointed when she didn’t. But he didn’t want to pester her. She would get to the pictures when she had time.

After a solitary dinner and a solitary movie, he went to work on the late shift—cruising the beaches and the downtown streets, looking out for trouble. The boardwalk was still busy after midnight, and the bars on the ocean-front stayed open late.

He heard the fight before he pinpointed its location—a crash of glass and the eruption of swearing gave him his first clue. As he ran toward the noise, a struggling ball of humanity rolled out of the Blue Flamingo’s door. Luke radioed for backup, then joined the general chaos.

“Police! Get back—” He pulled a couple of bystanders away. “This is the police—fun’s over, boys.” Grabbing the tail of a T-shirt, he yanked hard. “Time to go home.”

Sirens announced the approach of the backup. Luke had all the wrestlers pretty much separated by the time reinforcements arrived. The guys were too drunk to protest as they were read their rights and loaded into cars.

“You don’t look like much of a cop.”

Luke turned toward the voice and saw a young man he was sure was drunk…and was equally sure wasn’t old enough to drink. “You don’t look like much of an adult, either. Do your parents know where you are?”

“Sure, man.” But the bleary gaze slid away.

“Want to show me some ID?”

The boy shrugged. “Lost it, man.”

“Sure. So give me your address.”

“Aww…”

“Or spend the night in jail. You choose.”

An hour later, Luke drove away from the boy’s home, having awakened a mother who explained at great length how the whole problem was her ex-husband’s responsibility. The rest of the night passed quietly enough, giving Luke too much time to think about how much influence a father could have on his child’s life. Whether he was there or not, whether he cared or didn’t…a little kid’s whole world might depend on his—or her—dad.

What kind of repercussions would Erin and Jenny face because of the choices he and Kristin had made?

FRIDAY AFTERNOON, Luke remembered Sarah saying she used the darkroom at the camera shop where she’d been mugged. Maybe he would find her there. It was worth a try.

A bell jingled as he stepped into the dimness of Sawyer’s Photo Shop. The walls and ceiling were painted black, the windows shuttered against sunlight. At one end of the narrow space, dusty shelves held picture frames and photo albums, equally dusty. A sales counter stretched across the other end, with cameras and film displayed in cubbyholes behind.

The long wall on either side of the door exhibited framed and signed photographs. Luke moved closer, wondering if the pictures were Sarah’s. They certainly looked professional, and he found himself absorbed in unique perspectives of everyday places and things.

Behind him, cloth rustled. Hoping for Sarah, he blew out a short breath when he turned to see a man step through the black-curtained doorway.

“Can I help you?” A fairly young guy stood behind the counter, his expression polite but not exactly friendly.

“These are great pictures.” Luke gestured toward the photographs.

A real smile brightened the round face. “Thank you. I take a lot of pleasure and pride in my work.”

“They’re yours?”

“Yes. I’m Charles Sawyer. Can I help you with something? Film? A camera?”

“No, thanks. Actually, I’m trying to track down someone who works here.”

“I run the shop alone.”

“But Sarah Randolph develops her photographs here, right?”

The smile on the man’s face faded. “Yes.”

“Is she around?”

“No. She had…an accident last week and is recuperating at home.” Charles’s tone didn’t drip with sympathy. “Do you need some photography done? I’d be glad to assist you.”

“No, thanks. I’m Luke Brennan, the cop who took her to the ER last weekend to get patched up. I just wondered how she’s doing.”

Sawyer’s eyes narrowed. “A cop?”

“Is that a problem?”

“No. No, not at all. But as I said, I haven’t seen her all week.”

“Have you talked to her?”

“No.”

“Aren’t you worried about her?”

“Not really.” Sawyer chuckled. “Sarah’s a photo-journalist, you know—one tough lady.” He paused, lips pursed. “Or she was, anyway. She worked for Events magazine until a few months ago, when she collapsed in the middle of a job and had to be shipped home. She hasn’t worked since coming back to the States. Or even taken any meaningful photographs.”

Oh, yes, she has. “Well, thanks. I guess I’ll track her down somewhere else.”

“If I do see her, I’ll be sure to tell her you were here.”

“I’d appreciate it.” The bell on the door clanked again as Luke pulled it open. “Have a good day.” A final glance at the chubby man behind the counter registered outright hostility.

For whatever reasons, Sawyer obviously had problems with Sarah. Big enough problems that he’d attack her? The guy seemed like a jerk, but was he a criminal, too?

A background check wouldn’t hurt, Luke decided. Most victims of assault knew the perpetrator. Why not Sarah Rose?

Meantime, he still hadn’t found her. If she didn’t call tonight, he would forget his reservations about pestering her. With friends like Charles Sawyer, Sarah definitely needed a cop on her side.

SARAH SPENT the week secluded in her condo.

If asked, she could have pointed out that she needed to be there when the locksmith came. That the doctor had suggested staying out of the sun while she was taking the antibiotic. Even that the bruises on her face had gone from bad to worse, from red and blue to a horrible mottled purple, and she didn’t want to scare children and animals.

Sarah recognized those reasons as excuses. Good ones, but still rationalizations. Going out would take too much effort. She simply didn’t have the energy.

And so she stayed in, wearing her pajamas. Several good movies showed up on television, several times a day. She slept when she wanted, many hours at a time. Food didn’t seem very important—she survived on ice cream, popcorn and buttered toast. She’d eaten much worse in Africa.

The manager sent up a locksmith to change the door locks, so she felt safer. She could check on the Jeep from her window, but those locks would have to be changed at the dealership. That would require going out.

As if cooperating with her agenda, the phone didn’t ring. Her agent didn’t check in—there were no deals to talk about. Her editor at Events only needed her if she could work. A photojournalist who refused to leave the house didn’t get many job offers.

And Luke Brennan didn’t call.

Not that she should expect him to. She was supposed to contact him, to bring the pictures to his house—pictures she hadn’t yet developed. But going to the darkroom at the photo shop meant seeing Chuck, taking his jibes, trying not to mind his mockery. Sarah couldn’t face that prospect, either, even though it meant she wouldn’t see Luke.

Eventually, though, the ice cream and popcorn and bread ran out. Sarah realized she could either stay in and starve to death…or get herself together and go shopping. Saturday morning, she dredged up the will to try.

She gasped as the brightness of the day sliced at her eyes, even behind dark lenses, even under a wide-brimmed hat. The humidity was high, especially after five days in constant air-conditioning. All the usual outdoor noises—traffic, lawn mowers, sirens, birds—beat on her ears like a rock concert. Maybe she should just go back in—

“Sarah?” She wondered if she’d imagined that deep voice, that Southern accent, until she heard it again. “Sarah?”

Opening her eyes, she discovered Luke Brennan sitting astride a big Harley-Davidson parked next to the Jeep.

“What are you doing here?” She winced—her social graces had definitely deteriorated over the week alone. “I see you’ve had a haircut,” she added lamely. “Nice.”

“Thanks. I hadn’t heard from you about those pictures, so I came by to see if…if you’d printed them yet.”

Her photographer’s eye appreciated the aesthetic potential of a gorgeous guy in a white T-shirt, worn jeans and boots on a big, black bike. Short hair only emphasized the beauty of his face, revealing his well-shaped head and the strong column of his throat. He’d make a great pinup. Or maybe without the shirt…

She halted that thought in its tracks. “No. No, I haven’t. I’ve stayed in this week.”

“You deserved a break. Your voice sounds better.”

“Thanks. I guess not talking much helped.”

“That’s what the doctor said.” He crossed his arms, and her knees went weak. “So when do you think you’ll have the pictures?”

“Well…”

He looked embarrassed. “I don’t mean to hassle you or anything. I’m kind of anxious to see them, that’s all.”

“No, it’s not a hassle.” She was glad of a good reason to stay out of the house. “I could go down and print them now, actually. If you wanted to come with me and wait.”

“I would, but Jen and Erin are getting back from Florida this afternoon.”

Disappointment weighed her down. “I’ll call you, then.”

“Or…” He snapped his fingers. “Or we could meet a little later. I’ll go see the girls, then ride over to the shop. We can get something to eat, afterward. How does that sound?”