Home At Last

He could hear his buddy’s breezy, carefree tone even through the tremor in Kirsten’s voice. That sounded like Brad, all right—blithely assuming she wouldn’t mind giving up her kids on the one hand, and signing off with “love you” on the other.

That son of a—

But he couldn’t trash the father of Kirsten’s kids, no matter how upset she sounded right now.

“I never would’ve agreed to let them spend the rest of the summer with him!” she cried. “Two weeks, all right, they can eat candy every morning for two weeks, and it’s important for them to spend time with their dad. But the whole summer—when he’s never been all that responsible in the first place—”

“Right,” J.D. acknowledged, forcibly channeling the heated anger into the cold concentration he employed virtually every day of his life. “You’ve already tried calling him?”

“When they weren’t on the plane, I talked to the cleaning lady—only it was too late by then. Brad probably thought it was fine to take them, since I hadn’t said no, but the postcard only came today. And I’d never, ever let him keep Lindsay and Adam and Eric that long!”

At best the Seattle P.D. might send someone over to the house, leave a message, check back a few times…. Kirsten needed more than that. “Let me get someone on this, okay?”

“The police?” She sounded both hopeful and apprehensive. “Will that—I mean, as much as I hate him for doing this, I don’t want Brad to get arrested or anything. It’d be horrible for the children to think their father was— I just want them home.”

It wasn’t all that horrible, seeing your father arrested…although, J.D. reminded himself, Kirsten’s kids had grown up in the same comfortable, happy-ending world she’d always taken for granted. Maybe it would be horrible for people like that.

“I’ll get you a private investigator,” he told her, “someone who can start right away.” He would have to give the P.I. everything he could remember from that conversation during the Super Bowl, when Brad had boasted about all the great things he could do for his kids if Kirsten weren’t so fussy about school attendance. “Find a couple photos of them, okay? And write down everything you know about Brad—where he likes to stay, friends he might call, any credit-card numbers, that kind of thing.”

“I will,” Kirsten promised, sounding somewhat reassured. “J.D., really, I appreciate your help. I was hoping someone could…I mean, I can’t let them go all summer—”

“No, I know.” Brad had always been good company, but the same blithe irresponsibility that made him fun to spend time with was probably a major drawback when it came to looking after kids. “You’d just as soon they didn’t live on candy bars, right?”

“Well, that, and the kindergarten needs Adam and Eric in by August first. If they’re going to be in separate classrooms instead of together, I have to—” She broke off, sounding suddenly embarrassed. “I’m sorry, that’s mom stuff. And here I didn’t even ask…how have you been?”

The question startled him, coming over the phone on which no one had ever asked such a thing. “Uh, fine,” he said, gripping the receiver a little tighter as he scanned the list of private investigators he recommended to parents seeking children sucked into the world of drugs. “I’m moving to Chicago in a few weeks.”

“Chicago! What will you be doing there?”

“Narcotics task force. I got the call last month.” He’d been elated at getting into a department where the work would be more demanding, more challenging, more of a chance to make a difference. More opportunity to keep addicts and dealers from inflicting on anyone the kind of childhood he’d endured. “Same kind of thing I’m doing here, but a bigger city. With better pizza.”

He could almost hear her smile at that last comment. “You always wanted to travel,” she observed, surprising him with how much she remembered of the dreams he’d never shared until that one summer. “It’s wonderful you’re getting the chance.”

She sounded a lot happier for him than anyone else had. Not that he’d told many people—just the captain, a few of the guys he worked with and the manager at his apartment complex.

“Well, thanks.” It was typical of Kirsten, he recalled, to show such genuine pleasure in a friend’s good fortune. Although he couldn’t exactly call himself a friend, not after the way he’d failed to warn her about Brad’s bar talk. “I’ve still got two weeks here, but there’s not much left to do. So I’ll find you a P.I. right away.”

“I really appreciate it,” she said again. “What shall I do besides make that list? And should I—do you know how much they charge?”

He couldn’t let her pay for his mistake, J.D. knew. It was partly his fault that she’d lost her kids, although he couldn’t quite bring himself to confess it…especially when she was already hurting. Somehow he’d have to make things right for Kirsten without letting her know that both members of her old trio had let her down.

“Depends on who you get,” he began. “But the thing is…I mean, if that’s a problem—”

“No, of course not!” The indignation in her voice startled him—Brad had said she’d refused anything beyond a single large settlement in exchange for his promise to stay involved with the kids—but apparently money was of no importance when it came to her children. “I’ve still got my grandmother’s trust fund, and my parents can always help. It’s not a problem.”

Did her parents still think Brad Laurence was the best thing that could happen to their daughter? J.D. wondered. Not that it mattered—the whole issue had been settled a long time ago, and in fact he’d agreed with their opinion—but he couldn’t help feeling a twinge of curiosity.

“All right,” he said, deliberately squelching it and returning his gaze to the list of investigators. He owed her a lot more than a P.I.’s name, but what else could he offer without explaining how badly he’d failed her? And while he deserved her condemnation, she didn’t deserve to hear about yet another betrayal. “I’ll phone some people and get right back to you. It shouldn’t take long.”

“I’ll wait right by the phone,” she promised.

“No, I meant, it shouldn’t take long for someone to find them.” Especially with his list of all the places Brad had mentioned. He could handle the search himself, if only he had the freedom to—

The freedom…

He could do this for her. For the woman he had loved, the woman he’d vowed never to hurt. The woman he had failed to protect.

J.D. took the Freedom Form from its stack and stared at the vacation-refusal box he’d marked. “Tell you what, Kirs,” he said slowly, scratching out his initials and inking a heavier X in the opposite box. “I can be in Tucson in three hours. You get those photos ready…and I’ll find your kids myself.”

Chapter Two

In ten more minutes, she’d be face-to-face with J.D. Ryder. Kirsten cast another glance around her half-decorated living room, knowing she shouldn’t care how it looked right now, and moved her carefully selected photos and list from the still-empty bookshelf to the Mexican-glass coffee table.

Then back again.

It was silly to feel nervous. There was no reason for her heart to be jumping around this way. Although meeting a detective would probably make anyone nervous, at least anyone who needed help in finding their children….

How on earth, she wondered through another rush of anguish, could she have let this happen? What kind of mother could lose track of her children? Especially to a father who’d never been all that excited about parenting before, who had once forgotten to retrieve them from a hotel sitter until two in the morning.

She should have taken steps to make sure this could never happen, Kirsten knew, twisting her fingers together around the drapery cord. She should have phoned five times a day from the moment they arrived in Seattle, the way she used to before admitting it wasn’t fair to keep intruding on the children’s rare opportunities to see their father. She should have stayed in constant contact, never mind interrupting their time with Brad, because now he was—

Take a deep breath.

She could still hear the command J.D. had given her three hours ago, and she’d been following it ever since. Emotions, anger, fury at Brad wouldn’t help her children now. And unless she wanted them to view their father as a horrible person, she couldn’t allow herself to feel this kind of rage at him…because it would surely slip out at the wrong moment.

So take another breath.

This whole situation, she reminded herself as she took a series of deep breaths and resumed her pacing, called for the kind of steady control she had always admired in J.D. Ryder. The kind of control she hadn’t learned early enough. The kind she’d seldom had the chance to practice…until now.

But now it was silly to be nervous. J.D. would find the children, exactly as he’d promised. It was even more silly to wish she had a mirror in here, in the first living room she’d ever decorated without bowing to her parents’ or Brad’s wishes. She didn’t need to check her reflection again, didn’t need to make sure her yellow cotton sweater fell smoothly to her waist, because this wasn’t a visit from someone who cared about what she looked like. This was a matter of business, nothing more….

He didn’t want you, remember?

She remembered. All too well.

This might be his way of making up for that long-ago wound, although she had no reason for believing she knew how J.D.’s mind worked. But if he’d ever suspected how much his departure had hurt her, he might very well want to make amends. There was a fundamental decency about the man…although no one but Brad and herself had ever recognized that.

Maybe because he’d never shown it to anyone else.

He’d shown everyone else exactly what they expected from the delinquent son of a drunken brawler. From a newcomer living on an outlying piece of land in a condemned trailer that only Brad had managed to visit…and only once. Through the entire three years he’d spent at Tubac High, J.D. had shown the kind of smoldering darkness that made teachers stiffen their posture whenever he shifted in his seat. But he’d also shown intriguing flashes of wry humor—and, occasionally, of genuine, searing compassion beneath the stark and gritty defiance he wore like an impenetrable shell.

A shell he probably still wore. And that was fine, Kirsten told herself. She didn’t need to know what lay inside J.D. Ryder. All she needed was his professional expertise, nothing more. There would be no reminiscing, no sharing the kind of confidences she’d shared so trustingly before he shot out of her life.

Leaving her reeling. Leaving her lost.

Leaving her with no one to turn to but Brad.

Yet she couldn’t regret her marriage to Brad, in spite of how it had turned out, because of the children. The children who brightened her world beyond measure, who deserved all the love and security and happiness she could give them…no matter how much effort it took when their father viewed them with such indifference. She’d vowed, from the day she first held Lindsay in her arms, to give her children a life as comfortable, as nurturing and as perfect as she could possibly make it.

And here she’d sent them off without ever imagining an outcome like this….

But—please, God—with J.D.’s help, she would have them safe at home soon.

Seven more minutes, Kirsten noted, glancing at her platinum bracelet watch again. He might not be exactly on time, of course; there was no accounting for traffic and navigation delays. But during the worst of rush hour he would’ve been on that empty stretch of desert freeway between Phoenix and Tucson, and her new house off Ina Road shouldn’t be too hard to find.

At least not for J.D. Ryder, who had always been good with directions. She remembered him pointing out the distant constellations, that night of the desert bonfire, and how matter-of-factly he’d directed Brad’s attention to the North Star. How easily he’d guided them home from that hike in Aravaipa, the one time her parents had let her spend a Saturday with the boys. That was back when all three of them were friends, before she and Brad had become a couple, before J.D. had gone his own way….

The chime of the doorbell sent a jolt of shock radiating through her. She moved to the front window, hoping for a glimpse of him before he turned and saw her, then caught her breath in amazement.

J.D. Ryder hadn’t changed. At least not that she could see. He looked older, yes, but that darkly compelling aura of focused strength still glimmered in his cool demeanor, his watchful stance. He still gave the impression of banked fires beneath a deceptively relaxed exterior, of the ability to strike without warning and retreat without moving.

But when he saw her at the window, his eyes reflected the same astonishment she’d felt at the sight of him. For a moment he hesitated, staring at her as if he couldn’t quite believe Kirsten Laurence was waiting for J.D. Ryder, and she saw his guarded expression grow warmer. Then, when she flung open the carved wood door, he gave her the slow, almost challenging smile of greeting she remembered from eight years ago.

“Kirsten,” he said simply.

“You haven’t changed,” she blurted. It shouldn’t be such a surprise—eight years wasn’t all that long—and yet somehow she had never imagined that J.D. Ryder could still exude such solitary strength.

“Neither have you,” he murmured, moving past her into the foyer as if he needed all the space around him he could get…and setting off another familiar chord of recognition. The man seemed to command the very air around him, and Kirsten felt her breath coming a little faster as she turned away to close the door. Which made no sense, she reminded herself hastily. This was an old friend, nothing more.

And she’d better remember that.

“I’m glad you could come,” she told him, wondering whether he’d spent the day testifying at a trial or something. It was hard to picture J.D. choosing such a flawlessly cut summer-weight suit to complement his deep brown eyes and close-cropped black hair, but she had the impression of a catalog model…except, again, for that ever-present sense of smoldering darkness.

“Yeah, it was good timing.” He glanced around the living room, as if assessing its vulnerability in a five-second sweep, then turned back to her. “I’m not leaving for Chicago for another couple of weeks, and I’d already given notice. I just need to phone in while they’re finishing up my cases.”

She had been lucky to catch him before he left work, Kirsten realized. But if today was his last day— “Did you miss your farewell party, coming down here?”

He gave her a look of disbelief, as if such a notion had never entered his head. “The police department doesn’t throw parties every time someone leaves.” Then, with a wry grin, he amended the statement. “At least not without a few hours’ notice.”

“Oh, well, I guess they’re busy solving crimes.” While it saddened her that J.D. didn’t seem to care about leaving people he’d worked with for the past three years, he evidently didn’t feel anything lacking from his life. He didn’t seem to want any more closeness, any more sense of connection with others, than he’d wanted eight years ago.

Remember that, Kirsten.

“I’ve got the photos of Brad and the children,” she told him, forcing her attention back to business and taking her list and photos from the bookshelf. Settling on the Navajo-patterned sofa, she waited until J.D. seated himself at right angles to her. “Here’s a list of everywhere he’s mentioned visiting, with any phone numbers I could find. And a couple of credit-card numbers—we divided up the cards, but he’s probably still using the same ones as when we were married.”

J.D. accepted the handwritten paper from her, scanned it rapidly and nodded in appreciation. “Nice job, Kirs. You’ve been busy.”

It had been a relief to have a mission, something to keep her from crying all over Lindsay’s stuffed lion while she sorted through the photo albums. Some opportunity to use the self-sufficient strength she’d worked at building ever since Brad had announced, a month after their divorce, that he was leaving Miss Scottsdale and expected to be welcomed back with open arms….

The dogged determination that she’d forced herself to develop two years ago was finally going to get some use, Kirsten knew. Keeping her children happy was the only thing she had any power to control, but she was going to pursue that mission with all the force she possessed.

“I’ll do whatever it takes,” she vowed, “to get my children back.” She hadn’t yet contacted her parents aboard their cruise ship, but they would immediately offer all the assistance they could provide. “Oh, and I need to write you a check.”

Her saddle-leather purse was only a few feet away, but he interrupted her before she could reach it. “No, you don’t.”

“J.D.—”

“We’ll settle it later,” he said, gesturing her back to the sofa as if to indicate that other matters deserved priority. “I’ve been thinking about where to search, and this list is a great beginning. But I always get better results in person than by phone. So I’m thinking the place to start is Seattle…talk to some people there, neighbors, whoever might know something they wouldn’t spill over the phone.”

That sounded like a good plan, Kirsten thought. But what else would she expect from a professional detective? “Okay, sure. I’ve got a key to Brad’s house if it’ll help.”

From the gleam of amusement in his eyes, she realized that for someone like J.D. Ryder, a key was only one of many options. But he gave her a faint smile of acknowledgment. “It’ll help.”

She ought to be used to that speculative expression, to that hint of unexplored territory, but she found herself taking another deep breath against the out-of-control sensation that flustered her yet again. “Can I get you some iced tea?” she asked hastily. “Or—”

“No, that’s okay,” he interrupted, barely scanning the snapshots she handed him—a selection she’d anguished over—before stacking them in a tight sheaf. “I’m figuring on leaving first thing in the morning, and I want to get these photos copied tonight.”

Business, Kirsten thought desperately. Business was good. “There’s a one-hour place right up the street.”

“Yeah, I saw it. Thanks.” J.D. stood up, deftly pocketing her handwritten list and photos without even a second glance at the faces of her children. “And if you want to get that key….”

The key. Right. She had to find the key Brad had given her two years ago, when she’d escorted the kids to Seattle for their first summer visitation. “It’ll take some digging, but I can find it while you’re getting the pictures.”

He reacted with what looked like a moment of readjustment, then nodded. “I shouldn’t be more than an hour,” he said, starting for the door. Then, with one hand on the hammered-pewter knob, he turned back to her. “Be sure and let me know everywhere I can reach you, okay?”

During the next hour? “I’ll be right here,” Kirsten told him.

J.D. looked at her curiously, as if she’d missed something obvious. “Well, yeah, but if there’s anywhere else…I figure you’ll want to hear how it’s going.”

At the photo place? That didn’t make sense.

“Unless you’d rather skip the day-to-day reports,” he offered. “Some people just want the results without all the notes.”

Suddenly she realized what he meant, and she felt a chill of disbelief. How could he expect to find her children alone? “J.D.—”

“Either way’s okay. But I thought you’d probably rather stay up to date, and I don’t mind calling whenever something happens.”

Oh, no. He couldn’t possibly believe she’d stay at home waiting for a phoned report. “You don’t need to do that,” Kirsten said.

He didn’t even seem to hear her, he was so focused on his list of options. “Or if you’d rather I phoned at a certain time—”

“You don’t need to do that, either,” she interrupted, clenching her fists in the folds of her bright-flowered skirt. “Because, J.D., I’m coming with you.”

For the second time in the past few hours, J.D. experienced the same sucker-punch sensation he remembered from the nights his father would come home. He knew better than to show any sign of surprise, but he could feel the strain of keeping his voice level. “You are?”

“Well, of course.” Kirsten sounded more defiant than he could ever remember hearing her. “You can’t think I’d send you off alone to bring home my children. They don’t even know you!”

He hadn’t viewed that as a problem, but obviously she did. Having her with him on the search, though, would present an even bigger problem. “You want to come along?” he asked, struggling for a coherent response.

“I am coming along.”

“Kirsten, wait a minute.” He wasn’t prepared for dealing with this, for spending that much time with her. Not when he’d realized, from the moment she’d opened the door for him, that she was still everything he remembered…and more. “I wasn’t—” he stammered. “I mean, what if Brad tries to call you here?”

She twisted her hands even deeper into the soft fabric of her skirt, drawing it tighter across her body and making him wish he could close his eyes. “I’ll keep checking the answering machine,” she said, and in her voice was a thread of steel he’d never heard before. “J.D., there’s no use arguing about this. I’m not letting you go alone.”

He could understand her wanting to see her kids at the earliest possible moment. And he couldn’t very well back out of the case, not when he’d already promised his help. But neither could he tell her how barely five minutes together was making him want her as much as ever. “What if I told you,” he countered, “I can work faster by myself?”

That argument didn’t seem to impress her. “How can it slow you down having somebody along?” she protested. “I can share the driving, if we need to drive anyplace. I won’t be sleeping, anyway, so that’ll let us keep going twenty-four hours a day.”

It might come to that, if they didn’t strike gold in Seattle. “Yeah, it’s just…”

“These are my children,” Kirsten said evenly. “And Brad’s telling them I need a break from them—” She broke off and took a deep breath, then burst out in a cry that tore his heart, “J.D., they’re somewhere out there thinking their mother doesn’t want them!”

Other children had known that for certain and survived, but there was no denying how much the knowledge hurt. And he hated to see Kirsten imagining her children in such pain….

“I’m going with you,” she repeated, and he closed his eyes for a moment.

“All right.” He would deal with it, J.D. told himself. Twenty-four hours, two days, hopefully no longer…he could get through that if he had to. Look at it as penance for having failed to warn her back in January after that Super Bowl conversation. He took the car keys from his pocket and reached for the door again. “I’ll pick you up at six-thirty tomorrow morning.”

“What?” She sounded as startled as he’d felt just a minute ago. “Where are you going?”

To clear his head. To get himself ready for spending an undefined amount of time with the only woman who’d ever made him want a life he could never have. “To the photo place,” he answered shortly. “And then the Hyatt.” He hadn’t bothered with a reservation, but there shouldn’t be any problem getting a room in Tucson during a hundred-degree summer.

“You don’t need to stay at a hotel!” Kirsten protested, gesturing toward the Saltillo-tiled hallway behind her. “I have a guest room.”

Another situation he hadn’t been expecting. “Ah. Well…”

“It’s not really decorated yet,” she apologized, with the first note of hesitation he’d heard from her. “The movers just finished unloading a few days ago, and I’ve been doing the kids’ rooms first. But we can save time getting to the airport tomorrow if you’re already here.”

Kirsten Laurence inviting him to spend the night under her roof? His skin felt tighter than ever, which he knew was all the more reason to refuse her offer. A woman like her had no business with a man like him…and yet he couldn’t quite make himself say no. “You don’t even know me anymore,” he reminded her.