Love In Plain Sight

She was right about the size. There was a living room, eat-in kitchen and two doors that most likely led to a bedroom and a bathroom. Under a thousand square feet by his estimation, but the open floor plan and floor-to-ceiling windows gave it a bigger feel. The living room was large enough to accommodate a furniture grouping around a television and an area with a corner desk that served as an office.

“Wi-Fi?” he asked.

“Mmm-hmm.” She struggled with a stubborn window.

He didn’t offer to help. Once he might have saved a damsel in distress. Now all he could do was observe, appreciating the sight she presented, her efforts to budge a stubborn window drawing the blouse tight across her back. And he did enjoy the sight she made with her arms outstretched, the curve of her waist visible beneath the cascade of dark hair.

The drug hangover must have finally worn off because to Marc’s utter amazement, he felt a familiar throb as if his body wanted to prove that the rest of him wasn’t as damaged as his leg.

This particular urge hadn’t made an appearance since before the accident. He’d be an idiot to put too much stock in anything right now, but the simple fact that his reactions were still there reassured him.

“Jeez,” Courtney said as the window shot open, throwing her off balance in the process. The sheers fluttered and she righted herself with a steadying hand on the frame. “Needs oil or something. I’ll add it to my to-do list.”

Then she vanished into the bedroom.

Marc didn’t follow, didn’t want to risk connecting the sight of Courtney with a bed, so he hobbled over to the desk instead.

Modem. Laser printer. Fax-copier-scanner combo.

None of the equipment appeared to have seen much wear, but that didn’t surprise him. Why wouldn’t she outfit the office in a place she didn’t even open up for air? There was no computer, but that wasn’t a problem. If he’d been thinking when he’d left his mother’s, he would have brought his laptop.

He hadn’t been thinking about anything but getting the hell out before he killed someone. Starting with his mother.

Courtney reappeared. “How will this place work for you? I mean, after it airs out, of course.”

She’d only brought him here because he had made such a pathetic sight getting out of her car. But Marc wasn’t going to dwell on that. Nor would he look a gift horse in the mouth. “This place is good. I work better without distractions.”

“No distractions here. The admiral works around the yard, but he doesn’t usually come back here. I think he got out of the habit after selling the cottage to Harley.”

Just then a few pieces of a puzzle clicked into place. “This was Harley’s old house?”

“I didn’t realize you didn’t know.”

“I knew about her house, just not that you’d bought it.”

Harley was the connection between his family and Courtney’s. His mother would have adopted Harley long ago if the State of Louisiana would have allowed it. They hadn’t, so Harley had contented herself with being an honorary family member, solidifying her place during years as Anthony’s girlfriend.

Until Mac Gerard had come on the scene with all his money. Now Harley brought her husband’s family home for Sunday dinner, too. Anthony didn’t seem to mind. Marc couldn’t begin to explain the situation, didn’t care enough to try.

But anyone who had known Harley had known when she purchased this place—her first home. And from that moment on, Marc’s visits had been punctuated with stories about whatever work she’d been doing. Any time he had asked, “How have you been, Harley?” he never heard about college achievements or career successes, but her accomplishments around this house.

“I sanded the floors to the grain before refinishing them,” she had told him proudly. “They gleam like new.

“I tackled plaster last month. Repaired the damage from some old broken pipe, and now I’m texturing the walls. By the time I’m through, no one will know there’d ever been a leak.”

Marc glanced around the room, at the bright white, finely textured walls, at the planked floor with the rich pine finish beneath the gleam of polyurethane. Both jobs done with care and attention to detail.

If anyone had deserved a home, that anyone had been Harley. She had grown up on the wrong side of Courtney’s business—foster care. But if Harley had owned this place, then Marc knew Courtney must have purchased her portion of the property from her brother after Harley had married him.

He supposed that shouldn’t surprise him, either.

“Oh, I forgot,” Courtney said. “Let me run up to my house. Be right back.”

She didn’t give him a chance to reply, just spun around and took off again, leaving the door open behind her. The sound of her footsteps on the flagstones faded, and Marc took the opportunity to scope out the rest of the place.

The kitchen chewed up a lot of square footage, but as he ran a hand long the smooth finish of the wooden cabinets with their scrolled pewter handles, he could remember Harley talking about the months of work it had taken her to dismantle the cabinetry and refinish the wood. She’d lived without hinges and handles until she’d had the money to purchase the hardware so everything would match.

Such attention to detail because she had cared so much.

There were three large windows in the kitchen overlooking what appeared to be another walled edge of the property. Hard to tell with all the foliage. There were a lot of windows for such a tiny place, and he didn’t have any problem imagining why the Harley he had known had been so in love with her home. Secluded. Airy. Traditional. Right up her alley.

Of course Marc had known the Harley who had been Anthony’s longtime girlfriend. Not the Harley who had left his brother to marry Courtney’s brother. That Harley was a stranger.

Hurried footsteps through the open door brought Marc around in time to see Courtney reappear, the shallow breathing and high color in her cheeks as if she’d run the whole way.

Covering the distance to the kitchen, she set a thick file folder on the table. “Lots of reading here.”

Marc edged closer and flipped open the cover to riffle through the contents.

Reports. Court documents. Profile pages. Correspondence.

“How did you get all this?” he asked.

“It’s the case file from work.”

Normal rules just didn’t apply to any of the Gerard family. Marc should have seen that coming. Courtney wasn’t playing games. She had already made that clear. But this confidential file shouldn’t be anywhere but in her former office, particularly during an ongoing FBI investigation.

She seemed to think she could do whatever she wanted to get what she wanted. Marc knew the type. He wondered if Courtney had a clue that he didn’t think much of the way she operated. Or her family. She probably wouldn’t care. She’d tell him to keep his opinions to himself and write him a check.

“So how do you want to do this?” she asked. “I’ll swap my car before I need to take you home, so any idea when you’re going to want to leave?”

Marc smiled then, a real smile he didn’t have to force for someone else’s benefit. No, this smile just happened, a memory from days when he’d actually had something to smile about.

He didn’t want the complication of Courtney Gerard in his life right now, and he certainly didn’t need the complication of his attraction to her. He didn’t like who she was or what she stood for. But compliments of his nuisance family, she was his to deal with for the time being.

So he would make the situation work for him.

Folding his arms across his chest, he stared at her and said, “I won’t be leaving until we track down your kid. So why don’t you swing by my mother’s place while you’re out and grab my things?”

* * *

COURTNEY STARED AT MARC and blinked stupidly. He was waiting for her reaction. That much she knew.

But she didn’t have one. Not yet, anyway.

In that moment, she couldn’t decide what surprised her more —Marc’s declaration to become her guest or the purely physical sensation that dropped the bottom out of her stomach.

Because she stood close to Marc DiLeo?

Courtney knew this feeling, though she hadn’t experienced the sensation in a very, very long time.

But...Marc DiLeo?

She couldn’t begin to explain why she was suddenly so aware of everything about him. Everything. From the way he propped strong hands on the handle of his cane to the defiance radiating off him like summer heat. No denying he was an attractive man. That in itself was a DiLeo thing. Despite the scowl.

Was Courtney suddenly so aware of him because they were alone? Now that she thought about it, she’d never actually been alone with him until he’d finagled his way into her car today.

“Okay...well, okay,” she said.

If Marc wanted to stay, there was no reason he couldn’t. She didn’t use this place, and more of his attention would be given to finding Araceli if he was away from family distractions. That worked for her.

“I’ll need my things.” His expression was inscrutable, just intense eyes and that hint of defiance.

Did he really expect her to deny him?

“We can swing by your mom’s.”

“You go. Tell her to throw my stuff in my suitcase. There’s only one. Bring that and my laptop case.”

He should probably tell his own mother to pack his things, but his defiance was instigating hers. She needed his help. If he wanted to stay in her empty guest cottage and bum rides, then her guest cottage wouldn’t be empty anymore. No problem.

But she wouldn’t run interference for Mama, who had bullied Marc in the first place. Mama had pushed the issue, and she deserved what she got. If Marc decided to temporarily move out, then Courtney wasn’t about to feel bad.

“Sounds like you travel light,” she said. “I’ll go now then. Will you look through the file while I’m gone? We can work out the details of our arrangement when I get back.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

She slipped the cottage key from her pocket and handed it to him. “Make yourself at home.”

Then she headed to the door, so very aware of each step, the measured length of her strides, the whisper of her shoes on the floor, the way her hands dangled at her sides as if she was suddenly unsure what to do with them. As if his dark gaze followed her every step. When she finally pulled the door shut, she inhaled deeply, apparently her first real breath in a while because she felt light-headed.

What was wrong with her?

She had way more important things to deal with than physical awareness of a man who was an idiot. Taking another deep breath, she walked briskly to her car. Anxiety must be getting the better of her or else her emotions wouldn’t be all over the place.

Marc DiLeo? No way.

But even Courtney’s dismissal of her haywire reactions didn’t stop her from obsessing.

She bypassed Mama’s house. Instead, she drove onto the expressway and headed out of metro New Orleans for her brother’s house. She needed some time to wrestle her racing thoughts under control so she could effectively deal with Mama the bully.

By the time the security guard logged her tag number at her brother’s subdivision, Courtney was grateful for every mile she had put between her and the man she’d left in the cottage. Mac and Harley’s place bordered a conservation lot, and winding through the subdivision felt like driving into another world. The streets were shaded with old cypresses and oaks. The homes were set far back from the street.

Pulling into the driveway, she parked and peeked inside the garage to see if her brother’s car was there. It wasn’t, so she used her key to let herself in, calling out, “Harley, it’s me. Do not get up.”

There was no reply, so Courtney took the stairs two at a time and found her sister-in-law scowling when she walked into the bedroom.

Harley was such a beautiful woman, exquisitely feminine with big blue eyes and a cloud of red hair. She sat propped up with pillows, fully dressed in a comfy-looking shorts ensemble and strappy sandals.

“You look like you’re going somewhere.”

“I am,” Harley said. “Insane. Just a heads-up.”

“No worries. I can take you.” A first since Harley had been Damon’s protégé at martial arts from the time they’d been kids. She must surely have a black belt or two by now.

Harley narrowed her gaze and folded her arms. “Just kick me when I’m down, why don’t you?”

“I would never.”

“Why are you here? I know you didn’t come to visit, because Mac wouldn’t have left had he known you were on the way.”

“Where is everyone? It’s Sunday. Am I missing some performance I wasn’t made aware of?”

“Mac and Toni are with your parents,” Harley said. “Your dad is taking everyone out for dinner. Except me.”

“I’m sure they’d have gotten takeout and picnicked with you, though. They’re just looking for things to do that get Grandpa out of the house.”

“No picnics. Dinner out works for all of us. I can’t cook, and they’ve been hovering, trying to cheer me up. I’m so grumpy even I feel bad.”

“Humph.” Courtney sank onto the bed, careful not to jar the pregnant lady and the new little niece or nephew. “Now I’m sorry I didn’t go to dinner, too. I went to Mama’s instead.”

Of course Courtney had declined her parents’ dinner invitation specifically because she didn’t want to get into the details about why she was on leave.

“Mama mentioned that you’d been there today.”

“That was fast.” Not a surprise, as Mama and Harley were mother and daughter in so many ways. “Did you hear that Mama bullied Marc into helping me sort out my little work problem?”

Harley narrowed a no-nonsense gaze. “What I heard was that your work problem wasn’t as little as you said it was. Mama was tripping over herself to tell me what was going on without actually telling me what was going on. That was my first clue I might not have all the information.”

Courtney attempted nonchalance. “I wanted to pick Marc’s brain. I wasn’t sure if I should, given his convalescence, so I went to Mama first.”

Involving Marc even in a peripheral way would get back to Harley, so Courtney had known to have an explanation ready. Of course, her explanation didn’t fit so neatly now that the situation had taken an unexpected turn, and she was here for the explicit purpose of swapping cars to chauffeur Marc.

Harley arched a delicate eyebrow as if silently chiding, Is that really the best you can do?

This day was turning out to be a mixed bag in so many ways. Courtney’s only defense would be an offense, so she launched into one, explaining what she’d told Mama earlier without as many details.

Harley was positively scowling by the time Courtney finished. “There are children missing, an FBI investigation and you’re on administrative leave. Did I get that right?”

Courtney nodded.

“I get why you didn’t involve Nic, but why wouldn’t you be up-front with your brother and me? We have some experience with this sort of thing, you know. Just a little.”

“Sarcasm doesn’t become you.” Which was a joke, since Harley could wield sarcasm without even opening her mouth. “From where I’m standing, you and my brother have your hands full. Mom and Dad have their hands full with Grandpa, too. I’m trying to help everyone, not give you all more to worry about. Why on earth would I burden you?”

“Because you care about me enough to give me something to do while I’m languishing in this bed going insane.”

“You’re not languishing. You’re baking my new little niece or nephew, keeping the oven all nice and toasty so she or he rises like a perfect little biscuit.”

Harley practically growled, which forced Courtney to bite back a smile. Smiling would have been a mistake right now.

“Harley, there’s a reason my brother isn’t giving you work.” Courtney gave her mouth something less offensive to do than grin. “Or your boss. Or me. My brother is worrying about his family right now, which is exactly what he should be doing. If I had wanted to add more to his plate or yours, I would have told you. I didn’t. I’ve got things under control, so enjoy your vacation. Once our newest Gerard gets here, you’ll be wishing you rested. You’re not as young as you were when you had Toni.”

Harley rested her head against the pillows with a sigh and stared at the ceiling.

Okay, maybe she was languishing.

Courtney was about to concede the point when Harley said, “I could advise you to do the same thing. Why are you taking on the FBI? Go home, take up knitting and let them do their job. But I know you won’t listen, so do one thing for me since wondering and worrying won’t be good for me or the baby. Or your brother for that matter, since he’s the one trying to do everything because I’m down.”

“What?”

Harley sat up again, leveled that bright gaze Courtney’s way. “Be honest with us from now on. I seriously can’t sit here with the seconds ticking by like years and not worry if I think you’re hiding things. I’ll worry even more. So will Mac. We’re in panic mode already.”

“Trust me. I know the feeling.” Courtney sighed. “No worrying about me. I’ve got things under control. Compliments of Mama and the bullying brothers, I’ve got Marc.”

“Bullying brothers. Well said.”

Courtney stretched across the bed. “You probably would have seen it coming. I didn’t.”

“Really? Well, you don’t know Marc that well,” Harley conceded. “He is not in a good place.”

“He’s alive after an accident. That’s a very good place.”

“No argument. But he’s another one who isn’t being honest. You two have that in common.”

“Cut me a break, will you?”

That got a hint of a smile. “You’ve come to the wrong house for breaks. I’m fresh out. No breaks for Marc, either. It was only a matter of time before Mama found some way to light a fire under his ass and get him moving. Sounds like you and your little work problem fits the bill.”

An answer to a prayer. Isn’t that what Mama had said?

Had the prayer been to give Marc something to distract him from his pain and slow recovery?

“I think Mama might get a bit more than she bargained for.” Courtney certainly had. She explained how Marc had invited himself to move in.

“He’s staying with you?”

“No. He has apparently taken a liking to your old place, because he wasn’t there ten minutes before informing me he wouldn’t be leaving. What was I going to say?”

“You’ll nearly be roommates. Good luck with that.”

“Speaking of, would you mind swapping cars with me? There’s not enough legroom in mine. I’m providing car service, too.”

Harley nudged Courtney’s leg with her foot. “The keys are on the ring by the door, but listen to me. Whatever you do, do not let Marc give you a hard time. I’m serious. And do not, under any circumstances, let him into your bedroom.”

Courtney opened her mouth to issue a quick reassurance on that score, but the phone on the bedside table rang out a rock tune.

Harley reached for it. “Do you mind? Mac will freak if I don’t pick up.” She glanced at the display. “Oh, it’s not— To what do I owe this pleasure?”

Courtney rolled over, ready to provide privacy, but Harley shook her head and cradled the phone against her shoulder to broadcast half of the conversation.

“No, where?” she asked. There was a beat of silence while the caller replied. “My old place? Really?”

Marc was on the other end of the line, and Courtney’s reaction came fast. A fluttering heartbeat. A shallow breath.

Harley was watching Courtney so closely that a flush prickled her cheeks and she missed the next exchange. Harley arched an eyebrow, and Courtney forced herself to look casual. She wished she had stepped out of the room.

“Tell you what, Marc,” Harley said. “Why don’t you come over here and stay with me? We can both lie in my bed and keep each other company while we work. I’ve got my big tummy and you’ve got your wrecked leg. We’ll make a great team.”

Even Courtney could hear the disgusted snort on the other end and admired the easy rapport between two people who had known each other forever.

“Play nice with Courtney or you’ll be answering to me,” Harley cautioned before saying, “Thanks. You take care of you, too. Call me if you need help. I’ll be here. In bed. Staring at four walls. Not moving.”

Disconnecting the call, she set the phone back on the table. “Well, you’re right. He’s settling in for the long haul.”

“You warned him to be nice. How much trouble am I in?”

Harley considered her. “Can’t say for sure. Marc’s off his stride since the accident. Any other time I’d tell you to lock your bedroom door and throw away the key so you don’t get your heart broken.”

Right. No problem there. “But now?”

“Now...well, I don’t know. He’s one grumpy bastard. More miserable than I am. That much I can tell you. But he and I aren’t the same as before. He hasn’t forgiven me for marrying your brother.”

“You’re kidding.”

She shook her head. “Marc hasn’t lived here for a long time. He stays up on what’s going on, but that’s not the same as seeing for himself. He’s really hardheaded.”

“Like the rest of his brothers.”

Harley’s expression was thoughtful. “Except this one has a marshmallow center.”

Which was about the last thing Courtney expected to hear.

CHAPTER SIX

MARC SAT ON the couch in his new living room, grimacing as he grabbed a pant leg to hoist up his leg. The couch was just long enough to stretch out, and almost instantly the ache eased so he could attempt to think clearly.

Sunlight streamed through the windows, illuminating dust particles. And silence. He couldn’t remember the last time he had heard so much quiet. Not since he had come home, for sure.

He should close the windows. The need for fresh air was yielding to the need for cool air. Despite all the trees, this was summer in New Orleans. God, he hoped there was central air or he might be regretting his decision. He was already starting to sweat, but he didn’t have enough energy left to get up and deal with the situation.

Instead, he opened the file on the coffee table to start piecing together the mystery. He needed to learn all he could about the missing kid.

Araceli Maria Ruiz-Ortiz had been born in New Orleans. Her parents had been from Colombia. She had one sibling, a brother who was four years younger. The father, Silvio Ruiz, had drowned on the wharves where he worked unloading cargo on the river. Araceli had been seven. The mother, Gracielle Ortiz, had been a seamstress and housewife before the husband’s death, a full-time housekeeper after.

Both parents had been in the country illegally.

“Not good,” Marc said to no one in particular. He could guess the next part of the story before setting down the profiles and starting on the court documents. Sure enough...the mother had been deported during an immigration crackdown when Araceli was eight.

The son had been at work with the mother when she was detained, but Araceli had been in school. For some undocumented reason, she had wound up in the care of a neighbor before being picked up by Family Services.

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