In Hope's Shadow

“She is. Lucky for Seth.”

He chuckled. “Yes, it is. If he’s like me, when he’s on his own most of his meals come out of the freezer case at the grocery store.”

“Tut-tut. Haven’t you ever wanted to defy the sexual stereotype?” She smiled again at his daughter, softening her voice. “Would you like to ring the doorbell?”

Rachel would. She lifted a pink gloved hand and pushed the button, then jumped at the sound of a ding-dong within. A moment later Bailey let them all in.

“Eve!” Her pleasure appeared genuine.

Eve leaned in to hug her despite the touch-me-not air that usually only Seth violated. Eve had noticed that even their parents hesitated before embracing their daughter. Bailey had excellent reason to be repelled by most physical contact, but she returned this hug with enthusiasm. Maybe she was getting better at the family thing.

Then she turned her smile on Ben and his daughter. “You must be Rachel. Thank you for coming. Ben talks about you all the time, you know. We’ve all been dying to meet you.”

Sounded as if Ben was quite the buddy. Closer to Seth and Bailey than Eve was.

As she stepped inside, she made a face nobody else would see. There was her inner bitch. Her initial reaction to her adoptive sister’s return had pretty well guaranteed both Bailey and Seth were wary around her. And, really, she was still ambivalent about how good a friend she wanted to be of theirs. Her tie with Bailey was more fictional than anything, considering they were “sisters” who had never met until last summer, when Eve was twenty-eight and Bailey twenty-nine. Why bother even pursuing a relationship so illusory?

Maybe because, despite herself, she liked Bailey? And because they had more in common with each other than either did with their parents?

Eve unwrapped her scarf and unbuttoned her coat. When she started to shrug out of it, she was startled to realize someone was helping. Ben Kemper was apparently a gentleman. He was free because Bailey already had Rachel’s pink fleece gloves in one hand and was tugging on the sleeve of her pouffy purple parka. His fingers were cold, which had to be why a brief touch on her neck sent a shiver through her.

“Thank you. Your daughter’s coat is prettier than mine,” Eve teased.

He laughed, deepening creases in his lean face. Eve was embarrassed at how her body warmed and softened just looking at him. At maybe six feet, he was tall enough to tower over her five foot four—okay, five foot three and a half if she stretched. Classically handsome, Ben had been blessed with perfect bone structure, tousled blond hair that glinted gold in this light, and dark blue eyes.

“I don’t know about that,” he murmured. “I think red is your color.”

Red was undeniably her color. With her dusky skin and black hair, she’d look ridiculous in petal pink or lilac. Admitting as much hadn’t come easily. Like most little girls, she’d wanted everything pink. Which she’d been denied. Because Hope had loved pink, Eve had always believed. Her bedroom, the first she’d ever had all to herself, couldn’t be painted pink, because that’s what color Hope’s was. The room with the closed door, the one kept exactly as it had been the day she disappeared. A shrine.

To this day, Eve didn’t know whether her adoptive mother had steered her to buy clothes in other colors because only Hope was supposed to be able to wear pretty pink and purple, or because Eve really did look better in crimson and orange and yield-sign yellow. She’d seen distress on her mother’s face and quit asking for the forbidden colors.

Mostly, she’d gotten over the desire to be blonde and blue-eyed, too, so she fit in her new family instead of being so obviously adopted.

“Hey.” A couple of faint lines had appeared on Ben’s forehead and she wondered how much he’d seen on her face. Not much, she hoped, unsure why his comment—maybe a compliment?—had sent her back in time. He laid a hand on the small of her back and gave her a gentle nudge toward the living room. With a glance down, she saw that he’d once again taken his daughter’s hand with his free one.

She felt a small burst of pleasure at being part of the threesome, almost as if they were together, before her practical self squelched it. She’d just met these two, and was pretty obviously not Rachel’s mother. Who might simply be tied up tonight, although Eve’s surreptitious glance failed to find a wedding ring on Ben Kemper’s finger.

Seated, neither of her parents seemed to have touched their glasses of wine, set on coasters on the coffee table. Both beamed upon seeing her. Her mother bounced to her feet and hugged her.

“Oh, this is so wonderful! All of us together! And Ben, too.” She turned her happy smile on his daughter. “You must be Rachel. I’m so glad you could come. My, your hair looks pretty like that.”

“Mommy did it.” She cast a glance upward at her father. “Daddy can’t. He says his fingers are too big.”

Ben’s face went particularly blank. Apparently she wasn’t the only one to notice, though, because before Eve could think what to say to counteract what must feel like disparagement, Eve’s father smiled at the little girl.

“I have two daughters, and I never learned to do fancy hairdos, either. Your daddy is right. His fingers probably are too thick.” He waggled his own for her to see. Kirk Lawson’s hands were not only shaped like a block, but oil tended to be embedded deep in any cracks. He owned an auto body shop.

Rachel leaned trustingly against her father. “That’s okay. I like to wear my hair in a ponytail, too, and he can do that.”

Seth, solidly built and brown-haired, appeared from the kitchen. “Hey, glad you could all make it. Rachel, nice to see you. I hear you’re going sledding tomorrow.”

She bounced. “Uh-huh. Daddy says so.”

“That’ll be fun.”

Lucky girl, Eve couldn’t help thinking. She hadn’t had a daddy to do things like that with her until the Lawsons adopted her at nine years old. It had been a long time before she’d been comfortable with her new father, who seemed an alien creature to her. He was such a quiet man, he’d been hard for her to read. Patient, too, though. In a way, she had more faith now in his love than she did in her adoptive mother’s. Karen might not have mourned any more deeply than her husband did for their lost daughter, but unlike him she’d never even tried to hide the ever-present grief. Since Hope’s reappearance, the change in her had been stunning, making Eve doubt how adequately she’d filled the vacuum in that house—or her mother’s heart. In contrast, Kirk’s smiles for his real daughter didn’t seem so different from the ones he gave Eve.

“The daughter we chose,” he had told her last summer, after both their parents had overheard her saying things she shouldn’t have to Bailey.

Before she knew it, she was seated in a rocker and had a glass of red wine in her hand. Ben Kemper sat on a rolling ottoman only a few feet away. Eve’s mother had taken Rachel to the bathroom, and Seth and Bailey were both working on dinner, having turned down all offers to help.

Ben and her father discussed sports briefly, neither sounding all that interested. Then he looked at her. “Seth says you’re a social worker.”

“That’s right. I’m with the Department of Social and Health Services. I supervise kids who are wards of the court.”

He nodded; as a police officer, he’d interacted with social workers on a regular basis. It was probably a surprise they’d never met before. He asked some questions that demonstrated how knowledgeable he was. Eve admitted to occasionally feeling like a hamster trapped on her wheel.

“I run and run and run.” She made a face. “My greatest fear is letting a kid slip off my radar. I’ve heard enough horror stories of what can happen.”

Ben nodded. “I used to worry that I’d missed something when I was trying to decide whether to make an arrest on domestic violence calls. She says she’s fine, she whacked herself in the face when she slipped on the ice going out to her car, yes, she and her husband were arguing but of course he’d never hit her. I leave and think, what if she’s scared to death of him? What if he kills her next time, because I was credulous enough to buy this story she tells me with him standing a few feet away listening?” He shook his head. “But what can you do?”

“Never enough,” she said. “I tell myself I’m human and I will make mistakes, but—”

His crooked grin told her he understood. “But it’s an excuse, and it doesn’t cut it.”

“Yes.” She shrugged. “As it is, I get frustrated because of the limitations on what I can do at my best. Foster homes have to meet a minimum standard, but is that good enough? The people are feeding a girl, keeping her safe, but do they listen to her read? Pay attention to whether she’s doing her homework? Do they even know how to encourage her to excel academically? Often not. The rate of high school graduation for foster kids lags well behind that of kids living with their own parents. Never mind college attendance! And then there are the extras that are often beyond these kids—dance lessons, the rent on a musical instrument, the cost of a prom dress, clothes or things like iPods that let them fit in, the fee required for college applications. Do they ever get to museums? See art house films or documentaries versus the latest blow-’em-up multiplex hit? These kids deserve everything other children take for granted.” Almost hoarse with her passion by the time she finished, she grimaced an apology. “Sorry. I get carried away.”

His blue eyes were unexpectedly warm. She was also aware for the first time that those eyes were shadowed in a way she saw sometimes in her kids—and in her own mirror.

“Don’t apologize. You’re right. I see situations on the job where I wish I could do more, too, and can’t. But what’s the answer?”

She’d had ideas lately, but didn’t have an opportunity to share them. Her mother and Rachel returned, and then they were all called to the dinner table, where conversation was general. Her parents were excited about going to California to see Bailey graduate from USC. Bailey had been plagued again recently by a persistent journalist who wanted to write a follow-up article about her. Seth was clearly pissed about it; probably it didn’t sit well with him that he wouldn’t be there to protect her. To lighten the atmosphere, Eve told a few funny stories from her job, and Ben did the same. Rachel got brave enough to tell them about her kindergarten teacher and this boy in her class who was so wild, he liked to climb up on the table and dance and sometimes he’d start to take his clothes off. Ben cringed at hearing that one. He said something in passing that told her he was divorced. This was obviously his weekend with his daughter.

Eve kept having a feeling of unreality. Why hadn’t Bailey ever mentioned how absolutely gorgeous Seth’s partner was? Surely she wasn’t oblivious. And then there was the glint in his eyes that seemed to be only for her—Eve. As if he was attracted to her. The idea scared as much as tempted her. Men who looked like him were magnets for women. What were the odds he didn’t have a girlfriend—or a woman for every night of the week? Eve had never been loaded with confidence, and knew the last thing she needed was to get involved with a man unlikely to stay interested in her for long.

Oh, and she couldn’t forget he worked with Seth, her sister’s fiancé, which could make the whole thing awkward.

And, wow, was she overthinking this, or what? She’d have rolled her eyes if she could have done it unseen. What was she, twelve years old and signing her name “Eve Kemper” even though the boy hadn’t even asked her to dance yet?

Even so, she couldn’t take her gaze from the tall, sexy man currently smiling at his daughter as he tucked a napkin over her pretty pink shirt so she didn’t spill lemon meringue pie on it.

He won’t call.

But she wanted him to so much, the ache filled her chest. It didn’t help that tomorrow was Valentine’s Day. If he called tomorrow...that might be better than a bouquet.

Not until she was fastening her seat belt preparatory to leaving did it occur to her that she had scarcely noticed Seth tonight, and had felt not the slightest pang when she saw the way he looked at Bailey.

Heaven help her, she’d gotten over any remnants of her crush on Seth Chandler the moment she set eyes on his partner.

CHAPTER TWO

RACHEL HAD FUN sledding the next day—for all of about five minutes. No, that was an exaggeration, but not by much. She got cold and whined. She insisted on trying to go down a short hill on her own and fell off the sled, landing face-first in a snowbank. She cried so hard Ben was frantic, sure she’d broken a bone at least. God! Nicole would never let him hear the last of it.

Eventually, Rach settled down enough to admit she’d just been scared, and her mittens were soaked and she’d gotten snow in her boots so her toes were cold, and couldn’t they go home?

Disappointed, Ben said, “Sure,” then struggled with incredulity when not ten minutes down the highway, Rachel declared, “That was fun, Daddy! Can we go again?”

What was he supposed to say? You’ve got to be kidding? An hour’s round-trip drive for five minutes of fun and ten minutes of squalling? Maybe Nicole was right and he didn’t have what it took to be an adequate parent.

But he remembered being a lot more patient than Nicole was the first months of Rachel’s life, when she’d been colicky and content only when being carried against a shoulder. He’d walked miles those nights, gone into work feeling hollow with his eyes burning.

He was just...getting out of practice, that was all. It scared him sometimes, wondering whether his relationship with his daughter would grow increasingly distant with him such a small part of her life.

And what if Nicole remarried, giving Rach a resident daddy? Forcing him to see the woman he’d loved since they were in high school leaning against another man, her smile showing how happy he was making her.

Ben’s stomach clenched at the picture in his head. He knew she was dating; Rachel had said things, and it didn’t seem to occur to Nic that he’d mind. Or that he sometimes imagined—

He cut himself off. He was being stupid. He’d had her, and lost her. He had to get over thinking she’d ever give him another chance.

Since the divorce, he’d taken other women out, even slept with a couple of them. He’d half hoped Nic would hear through the grapevine. If she had, she didn’t care. The past few months, Ben had quit bothering with other women. If she knew that, Nicole didn’t react.

Maybe it was time he asked a woman out because he wanted to. Because he thought he might enjoy her. And, yeah, because his body stirred at the idea of getting naked with her.

By the time he dropped Rachel off on Sunday, he was cursing himself for not finding an opportunity to have asked Eve for her phone number. He called information from his cell phone and was told there was no listing for an Eve Lawson. Probably not a surprise, given her profession—and she likely didn’t even have a landline. He kept his number and address unlisted, too, as did most cops. Of course, he had better resources on the job—but getting a date wasn’t an acceptable reason to use them.

He could call her parents or ask Seth, but didn’t like the idea of setting himself up for humiliation if she turned him down. She’d have voice mail at the local DSHS office...but, man, that wasn’t any way to ask a woman out.

Ben usually carried his own cell phone all the time, but Seth had a tendency to lay his on his desk and leave it when he got coffee or used the john. Monday, Ben bided his time.

“Damn, too much coffee,” Seth grumbled at last, and ambled out.

Ben went to his partner’s desk and half sat on it, waiting until nobody in the bull pen was watching him, then casually reached for the phone, hoping it wasn’t password-protected. Quick, quick. Contacts...what if Seth hadn’t kept Eve’s listing? But why wouldn’t he, when she was Bailey’s sister?

Yes! There it was. Ben committed the number to memory and set the phone down as casually as he’d picked it up, then wandered over to refill his own coffee cup.

Should he call her in the middle of the day, or wait until evening? Evening, he decided. He didn’t want to catch her at a bad moment.

His apartment always felt especially empty and cheerless after he’d had Rachel. He kept thinking he should do something to make the spare bedroom more hers, but he occasionally considered buying a house and hated to waste a lot of effort on a cookie-cutter apartment. After walking in the door at almost seven that evening, he went straight to the kitchen and turned on the oven, then took a pizza from the freezer. He ought to add a vegetable, but decided “ought to” wasn’t enough motivation.

Finally, he took out his phone. Called up Eve’s number, waited as it rang. Once, twice, three times. His tension rose. Why hadn’t he thought to ask Seth if she had a boyfriend? Four.

On the fifth ring, she answered. Her “Hello?” sounded breathless.

“Eve? This is Ben Kemper. We met at Seth’s the other day.”

Silence was his immediate answer. “Ben,” she said finally, sounding cautious. “With the cute little girl. Did she have fun sledding?”

“She got cold really fast. She claimed to have fun, but I don’t know.”

“That’s too bad. I remember the first time I had a chance to go. It was the most fun I’d ever had.”

“Was it the Lawsons who took you?”

“Yes. I mean, before that I tried sliding on cardboard a few times—” She broke off. “I was older than your daughter, though. I mean, when Mom and Dad took me.”

She was adopted. He knew that much, but nothing about the years that came before. Years that might explain why she’d chosen the work she did.

“I’ll try again,” he said. “With Rachel, that is. Maybe buy her some better winter boots and mittens she can leave here.”

“Good idea, except she’ll outgrow them fast.”

Time for a segue into the reason for his call. “Eve, I’m hoping you’ll let me take you to dinner one of these nights.”

Waiting through the ensuing silence, Ben felt about sixteen, asking out the girl he’d had a crush on for the past year. No, longer than that—since middle school. He felt light-headed and realized he was holding his breath. Stupid. It wasn’t as if this mattered so much. It was maybe a little more awkward than usual, because of Eve’s relationship to Seth and Bailey, but—

“I’d like that,” she said simply.

Yes! “I’m free any night,” he admitted. That was him, man about town. “But we can wait until the weekend if that would be better for you.”

“No, as long as I don’t stay out late, a weeknight is fine.”

He wished it wasn’t too late for tonight. “Tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow is good.” Did she sound bemused?

Stimson didn’t have a lot of fine dining, but he didn’t want to suggest they drive any distance given that they both probably had to get up early the next morning. “Any chance you like Thai?” he asked.

She did. There might not be a decent Italian restaurant in town, but the Thai one was good. She gave him her address, and they agreed on six. “Just give me a call if you have to be late,” she said, surprising him with her understanding until he remembered she’d dated Seth.

Damn it, had she slept with Seth? Man, he hoped not. Not only for his sake, he realized, but also for Eve’s and Bailey’s.

He leaned back in his chair, suppressing a grin. He had a date.

* * *

“I ALMOST CALLED you today,” Eve confessed the next evening to Ben. The host, whose English was poor to nonexistent, had seated them in a booth, handed them menus and backed away. Eve didn’t reach for hers.

Neither did Ben. His mouth kicked up at one corner. “Because you couldn’t wait for this evening?”

She huffed, which had him smiling. “Seriously. Something happened today involving one of my kids.”

“Your kids?” He looked startled.

Despite her worry about Joel, Eve giggled at Ben’s expression. “Not literally! I’m sorry. I think of them that way. The kids I supervise.”

“I had this sudden picture of children packed into bunk beds behind closed doors in your apartment.” Amusement laced that slightly gritty voice. “You sternly telling them to hush until you and the nice man were gone.”

“Are you a nice man?” Lord, she was flirting. Where had her ambivalence gone?

“Of course I am.” Giving her a lazy, sexy grin, he nodded at her menu and picked up his own. “We should probably order before we delve into why you needed to call a detective about one of your kids.”

They both decided on jasmine tea and to share an order of spring rolls. He ordered a green curry with chicken, Eve a spicy eggplant in a chili paste.

“Trying to scare me off?” Ben asked drolly.

She blinked, and probably blushed. “Oh, dear. I didn’t think. It probably will, um, give me interesting breath.”

He only laughed, although his eyes were heavy-lidded. “Curry might not taste so good secondhand, either.”

Eve knew she was blushing now. He intended to kiss her. Thank heavens the lighting in here was dim and her skin didn’t show the warmth as obviously as someone much paler would.

“Your kid,” he prompted.

Kid? Then, embarrassed by what must be a blank expression, she said hurriedly, “His name is Joel Kekoa. His dad is Hawaiian and Joel looks it, too.”

“Wait. Does he play football?”

“Yes. You go to games?”

“Sometimes. He’s good.”

“So I’m told. I mean, I’ve seen him play, but I’m not a connoisseur. He’s a senior, and had the fun of being recruited by half a dozen major college programs.”

“Yeah? Which one did he pick?”

“The University of Oregon.”

Ben nodded, then waited for her to continue. He must know that grades weren’t the problem; she wouldn’t have been tempted to call him about anything like that.

So she explained about the grumpy old man next door to Joel’s foster home, and about the smashed rose canes. She surprised herself by also sharing her unease with the new foster mother and her son.

“Then I had a call in the middle of the night from a Deputy Pruitt.”

Ben nodded.

“Somebody threw a rock through the guy’s bedroom window. I guess it just missed him. It was big enough, it could have done some real damage. The deputy says it was thrown hard. It skipped off the bed and smashed into the closet door, scarring it. Mr. Rowe—that’s the neighbor—insists it had to be Joel who threw it. He’s big, athletic, has a good arm, and supposedly was mad because Mr. Rowe complained to the foster parents about the damage to his roses.”

“Was he?”

“No. He was more upset that the stepmom seemed to doubt him when he said he didn’t have anything to do with it.”

She felt—and sounded—troubled. She’d only talked to the deputy on the phone, not in person, but from his tone she’d suspected he was rolling his eyes at her defense of Joel, the obvious culprit.

Their spring rolls arrived, and she spooned dipping sauce to her small plate and took a roll, mumbling, “Ouch,” when she discovered how hot it still was.

Ignoring the food, Ben asked, “Did the kid get arrested?”

She gaped at him. “No! How could anybody prove he’d thrown the rock? There were no witnesses.”

Expression inscrutable, he didn’t say anything for a moment. Then, “Why me? This doesn’t sound like anything that would normally be referred to a detective.”

Was she imagining his restraint? Or was it that she’d imagined his sympathy the other night when she talked about the plight of foster children?

“Just...to get your take.” She shrugged. “I had the feeling the deputy instantly agreed Joel was guilty. Foster kid, minor feud going on between him and the neighbor.”

“Who do you think threw the rock?”

Annoyed now at his measured tone, she raised her eyebrows. “How would I know? From what Joel said about the neighbor, he’s been at war with every kid that ever walked past his place. Never mind the adults. The last time I was over there, Joel and I were talking at my car, and Mr. Rowe was watching us out the window the whole time. Just a slit between drapes. You know.” For some reason, she didn’t tell him that Gavin had been doing the same, and more openly. She’d begun to regret ever mentioning the incident to Ben.