Mackenzie's Promise

“No. I’m smart enough to pick up the signs, that’s all. Take you, for example.”

“I’d rather you didn’t,” she said, uncomfortable at the idea of being the subject of his too-perceptive analysis.

His smile sent goose bumps racing the length of her spine. “Figuratively speaking only, cookie, so relax. You’re not my type, although—” he tilted his head to one side and surveyed her through narrowed eyes “—under different circumstances, it’s conceivable that I might find you satisfactory.”

Satisfactory? She almost choked on a mushroom!

“Would you like some water?” he inquired, starting up from his chair with phony concern. “Or is the Heimlich maneuver called for?”

“Keep your hands to yourself!” she spat, wiping her eyes with the corner of her napkin. “And just for the record, you’re not my type, either.”

“No?” He sat down again, amusement tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Time will tell. Meanwhile, getting back to our discussion, you’re the complete opposite of your sister. Proactive, stubborn, impulsive.”

“How you do you figure that?”

“You’re here, aren’t you, and going to extraordinary lengths to persuade me to help you, despite my less than encouraging response?”

“I’d say that’s pretty self-evident.”

“Yet I doubt, if it were your child that was missing, your sister would be sitting across the table from me now—mostly because you wouldn’t dream of entrusting someone else with the task, but also because she wouldn’t have the stomach for the job. She’s probably very good at weeping, wringing her hands, and drumming up sympathy, but basically useless in any sort of crisis. You, on the other hand, rush in where the proverbial angels fear to tread—without any sort of backup provision in place, should your first course of action fail.” He took a sip of wine and regarded her quizzically. “Well, how am I doing so far?”

She’d have lied if there’d been any point in it. Instead she watered down the truth. “Quite well, I suppose.”

“And that’s it?” He raised his brows in feigned surprise. “You’re not going to lambaste me for saying mean and nasty things about your poor, misunderstood sister? Have a tantrum and throw your plate across the room, maybe? What’s the matter, Linda? Didn’t your dinner agree with you?”

“I wouldn’t dream of abusing such beautiful china,” she said, striving for nonchalance. “Did you inherit it from your grandmother, as well?”

“Yes,” he said. “And stop trying to sidestep the question. How close to the mark am I with your sister?”

“Too close. Bull’s-eye close.” Defeated, she pushed aside her plate. “You’re right. June isn’t strong like me. She’s a gentle, passive soul who hates confrontations of any kind—which just goes to show how bad things must have been between her and Kirk that she’d walk out on him when she was expecting his baby.”

“What’s your impression of this Kirk?”

“Only what I’ve been told about him. She met him while I was in Europe. I’ve seen photos of him and know that he’s American, appears to have money and works in the computer field, but I’ve never actually met him or spoken to him in person.”

“You’re not going to be much help tracking him down then, are you?”

“No, Mr. Sullivan,” she said, folding her hands meekly. “That’s why I’m throwing myself on your mercy.”

“You’ll stand a better chance of getting it if you dispense with the annoying ‘Mr. Sullivan’. My name’s Mac.”

“I’ll try to remember that, just as I’m sure you’ll remember I’m Linda, the next time you get the urge to call me to heel.”

A scowl marred his handsome brow. “I bet you’re a nurse when you’re not on a mission. You look like the type who’d enjoy wreaking vengeance on a guy by stabbing a foot-long needle in his behind when he’s at your mercy.”

“Sorry to disappoint you, but this time your fabled instincts are way off target. I’m not a nurse—but I am very handy with a knife, which you might want to remember. My sister might be guilty of bad judgment, but that’s her only sin, and I won’t sit idly by while you rip her character to shreds.”

“You can’t afford to be overly protective of her, either. If I’m to be of any use at all, I need to know everything about her—the flaws and weaknesses, as well as the strengths. And I don’t mind telling you, right now I don’t see a whole lot of strengths.”

He was hard. Inflexible. She saw it in the set of his jaw, the flat, cold light in his eyes. He wouldn’t have much patience with a woman like June. “Haven’t you ever made a mistake about someone—in a personal context, I mean?”

“Sure,” he said without a flicker of regret or emotion. “I made a huge mistake thinking police work and marriage went together.”

“You’re married?” The possibility struck a blow she’d never have anticipated. He seemed so self-reliant; so…single. And yet, was it really likely a man like this wouldn’t have a wife—or at least, a woman?

“Not anymore.” His smile struck her as uncommonly fond.

“Do you still care about your ex-wife?”

“Sure I still care. Why wouldn’t I?”

“Because, as you just said, you’re divorced.”

“That doesn’t automatically make her the villain of the piece. The marriage is what didn’t work, and it wouldn’t say much for my judgment if I chose an outright bitch to be my wife.”

“Are you still in touch with each other?”

“Occasionally. We call each other on birthdays and Christmas—things like that. She checks up on me to make sure I’m not hibernating too long at a stretch. I give her the benefit of my unasked-for advice on the men in her life, take her to lunch when I find myself on her stamping ground.”

“That’s beyond my understanding,” Linda said, marveling at his sanguine outlook. “In my experience, divorce is synonymous with…all the bad things in life.”

Mac surveyed her curiously. “Exactly what is your experience in this field?”

“My parents divorced when I was in my teens. We haven’t heard from my father in years. Are you and your ex-wife still lovers?”

She couldn’t believe she’d actually come out and asked such a question, and would have given anything to withdraw it. He wasn’t impressed by it, either. “What’s it to you, cookie? I thought you came here to enlist my help, not quiz me about my sexual history. Are you done with that plate?”

“Yes, thank you,” she mumbled, still awash in embarrassment. “Dinner was delicious.”

“Nice of you to say so. Did I mention, when we went over the house rules, that the one who doesn’t cook gets to clean up once the meal’s over?”

“You seem to live by a great many rules.”

“I make them up as I go along, especially when I’m saddled with uninvited houseguests.”

“Well, it’s easy enough to be rid of me,” she said, rallying. “All you have to do is agree to help me find my niece, and I’ll leave.”

“And if I don’t?”

“I won’t budge.”

“Then it seems I’m stuck with you either way, since you don’t have any other place to stay tonight.”

Either way? A flicker of hope took hold of her. “Does that mean you’re prepared to take on the case?”

Face unreadable, he swirled the wine in his glass and took his time replying. “It means I’m prepared to consider it. Not, I hasten to add, because I find your powers of persuasion irresistible or because your sister was fool enough to get herself pregnant by a man she didn’t know well enough to trust, but because a young and helpless child is the ultimate victim.”

“Oh, thank you!” she exclaimed, relief leaving her voice shaking with emotion. “Thank you so much, Mac! You don’t know how grateful I am, or what this will mean to my family. Now, probably the best place to start—”

He cut her off with a decisive gesture, slicing his hand through the air like an ax blade and thumping it down on the table so hard that the plates rattled and the wine danced in the glasses. “Let’s get something straight right off,” he said. “If I take this on, I will be the one to decide on the best place to start. I will be the one who calls the shots. Not you, and not your family. With all due respect to your understandable concern, you are not the ones with the experience or contacts needed to bring that baby back home. But only, as I said, if I decide to pursue the case, something which is by no means certain.”

“What do I have to do to clinch things in my favor?”

He smiled. A dazzling, beautiful smile, which should have reassured her but which inspired instead the tingling sense that accepting favors from him would come with a very high price—one she might never be able to afford. “I’ll let you know when I’ve figured it out, cookie,” he said, rising from his seat and strolling languidly to the couch at the other end of the room. “Meanwhile, tackle the dishes.”

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