Secrets of Paternity

“I wish I hadn’t had to.”

His hesitation lasted several beats. “‘Never make a promise you can’t keep, and always keep your promises,’” he said, parroting a lifetime of her own words to him.

It wasn’t only her philosophy but Paul’s, as well. She’d fulfilled her end of the bargain. Now she was free of the technical part of her responsibility. She still had to deal with the results of backing into his Harley—plus if Kevin did at some point decide to meet him, the emotional aspects of the whole business.

She stood, smoothed the wrinkles from her skirt. Her fingertips brushed against the outline of the business card in her pocket. “He’s a private investigator, by the way,” she said, giving him the last piece of information, one she thought might interest him too much.

Kevin lifted his head. “Yeah?”

“Will you tell me if you decide to meet him?” she asked, wishing she could hug him as though he were five years old again and make everything better. He’d had a horrible time adjusting to Paul’s death.

“I guess so.”

“You want to stay for dinner?” she asked.

“Nah. Jeremy’s coming over to study. He’s bringing pizza.”

“Okay.” Caryn had bought an old duplex near Kevin’s college. They each had their own two-bedroom unit, his downstairs.

“How’d work go?” he asked.

“Good tips today.”

“Was Venus there?”

“Yes.” She grabbed a glass from the cupboard, turning away from him, keeping her frown to herself. Kevin’s crush on the young waitress who worked with Caryn worried her. He didn’t need another obsession in his life, and Venus was fast becoming one.

“Did she…say anything about me?”

“No.” Caryn kept her voice upbeat and didn’t ask questions.

“Okay.” He started to leave but stopped, his hand on the doorknob. “What does he—” He frowned. “Do I look like him?”

She nodded. The similarities struck her anew. The same facial features, except eye color. And their hands—long fingers and broad palms. Close in height, too, although James had a man’s body, while Kevin was still growing into his.

“Why did Dad choose this guy?”

“I don’t know. I gather they knew each other, but I don’t know what the connection was.”

“Okay.” He banged his open hand against the doorjamb. “Later.”

After the front door shut she tried to find something mindless to do. She opened the refrigerator, stared inside it, then shut the door. She’d lost weight since Paul died, pounds she hadn’t needed to lose. She should fix herself a meal, but she doubted she could eat more than a bite, anyway.

She walked across the slightly warped hardwood floor to where a portable phone hung on the charger base. She picked up the handset. After a minute she carefully returned it to the base. Who could she call? No one. Not until Kevin made a decision to acknowledge James. Until then she couldn’t tell her mother, her brother or even her best friend.

She’d had such hope for this move back to her hometown. Some people thought she was clinging to Kevin, that she’d bought the duplex in order to keep him close instead of turning him loose as an independent adult. Maybe that was partly true. He’d had an even harder time than she had adjusting to Paul’s death, yet he’d decided to attend Paul’s alma mater, to major in criminal justice, like his father.

She worried that Paul’s life philosophy was embedded in Kevin, that he would take as many risks, revel in them, actually. He already had the notion that the accident that ended Paul’s life was intentional, even though law enforcement people from more than one agency had been involved in the investigation, and nothing they found indicated any hint of truth to Kevin’s claim.

Lately Caryn had been wondering the same thing, if not worse.

She took a sip of water, letting go of her worries about Paul and focused on Kevin instead. She’d listened as friends and family advised her to let go of him, that it was time for him to spread his wings—and she’d ignored the advice, because she knew her son better than anyone else did, and she knew he wasn’t ready to be cut loose yet. When he was, she would know. She hoped it would be soon, for both their sakes.

For now, however, her longtime curiosity about the man whose generosity had given her Kevin had been satisfied. He was tall, dark and handsome, and her son clearly resembled him. And the man was capable of keeping his temper under control, as witnessed by his demeanor toward her after she’d run into his bike. He was in a profession that required intelligence, cunning, quick-on-his-feet reaction—and a willingness to take risks, the part of Paul she’d had the hardest time dealing with through the years. With good reason, as she’d discovered.

Had Kevin also wondered about the man? She and Paul had never kept it secret that Kevin had been conceived by artificial insemination. But then, Paul had never mentioned James Paladin and the agreement. She understood, perhaps, why Paul had kept it from Kevin, but why hadn’t he told her? If she hadn’t found the letter of agreement, what would’ve happened? Would James have found Kevin and her instead, and accused them of not biding by the agreement?

If Kevin didn’t contact the man within a certain amount of time, would he come looking? It wouldn’t be too difficult for a competent private investigator to find out where they lived.

Maybe she would have to intervene, after all, if only to say that Kevin didn’t want contact yet.

But she would give Kevin some time first. Just a little time. She hoped James would, too.

That same evening, James’s doorbell rang. His gut clenched as he hurried downstairs and to the front door. Even after a twenty-year career dominated by anticipation, he was surprised at the almost staggering sense of expectation that surged through him every time the phone rang or someone came to the door. But then, this wasn’t work related.

“I come bearing food,” Cassie Miranda said as she shouldered her way past him, trailing a scent of basil and garlic.

He masked his disappointment—or relief, he wasn’t sure—that an eighteen-year-old with maybe his own green eyes wasn’t standing there instead. He wished he knew whether he was waiting for a boy or girl. “Did we have plans, Cass?”

She looked around. “Do you have company?”

“No.”

“Heath is in Seattle. I got lonely.”

He shut the door and followed her to the kitchen. “You’ve been engaged for three weeks and you’ve forgotten how to eat alone?”

“Amazing, isn’t it?”

James knew why Cassie was there, and it had nothing to do with her fiancé being out of town. In the almost-year that James and Cassie had worked as investigators at ARC Security & Investigations, they, along with their boss, Quinn Gerard, had forged a friendship rare for such independent souls. They were the only people he’d told about what was happening in his life, what he was waiting for.

“Any word?” she asked as she pulled plates from his cupboard.

“Nothing.”

“Give them time.” Her long, golden-brown braid swung along her lower back as she reached for a couple of wineglasses.

He grabbed a bottle of Merlot. “Maybe Paul decided to ignore our agreement.”

“From everything you’ve told me about Paul Brenley, I don’t think you need to worry about him going back on his word.” Cassie stopped dishing up the food and set her hands on the counter, leaning toward him. “Let’s focus on your biggest worry—what if the kid doesn’t want to meet you?”

He plunked down a tub of grated parmesan cheese next to the plates. “Yeah, so? That’s normal.”

“My point exactly, Jamey. And if you don’t hear from them, you only have to track down the Brenley family and get the answers yourself. An easy thing for you, unless they’re in witness protection or something.” She flashed him a teasing smile then went back to serving generous portions of ravioli. “In fact, I can’t believe you haven’t tried.”

“I agreed to no contact, and I’ve stuck by it. I don’t want to take advantage of my resources unless I have to. We’re jaded enough from this business, Cass. Maybe my agreement with Paul was only slightly more than a handshake, but I want to believe he would honor it.” Like the Harley wrecker this afternoon, he thought. He wasn’t going to track her down, but let her prove him right—that most people were trustworthy.

“Speaking of being jaded,” she said, “how was your date last night?”

He’d put the woman out of his mind already. Not very complimentary, he supposed, but he didn’t date for fun anymore. Every woman was a potential wife and mother, now that he was looking to settle down. “It was okay,” he said.

“How old was this one?”

He gave her a cool look.

“That young, huh?” she asked innocently.

“Need I remind you that your fiancé is eleven years older than you.”

“Yeah. Eleven. Not twenty.”

“My date wasn’t that young.”

“How old?”

“Twenty-five.”

“Oh, okay. Only seventeen years’ difference. Jamey, Jamey, Jamey. I know dating a P.I. can make a woman starry-eyed for some odd reason, but, really, what do you want with someone that young?”

Babies, he thought. A home. “Energy,” he said instead with a grin, to which Cassie heaved a huge sigh.

James made it through the evening without telling Cassie about his incident that afternoon with the Harley wrecker, knowing he wasn’t ready to deal with Cass’s potential interrogation, even though she would like the fact the woman was closer to his own age. Is she attractive? Cass would ask. Yes, and although she looked as if a strong wind could blow her away, her personality wasn’t subtle. He thought about the empty place on her ring finger. Divorced? Widowed? While there was a certain vulnerability to her, he hadn’t seen weakness.

Is she smart? Oh, yeah. He’d especially liked how she’d told him to take a cab and add the cost to her bill.

But the question he was likely avoiding most from Cassie: What is she hiding? That he didn’t know, but it seemed tied more to her not giving him her name than insurance issues.

The encounter had jarred his life—in a good way—at a time he needed jarring.

After Cassie left around ten o’clock, James sat down at his computer, found he couldn’t concentrate, and so he wandered into his backyard. The size of his house and the denseness of foliage blocked most of the street noise and city sounds. The birds slept. A year ago he couldn’t have pictured himself living in a place like this, a four-bedroom, stately manor house with room for a family. While he’d been born and raised in San Francisco, and the city had continued to be home base during his twenty years as a bounty hunter, he’d lived in a small, cheap apartment when he wasn’t out of town—since his divorce, anyway.

When his father died last year and James decided he’d had enough of life on the road, he’d looked at high-rise condos and lofts, but this house had lured him with unspoken promise, even the yard. This summer he’d planted a small vegetable garden. Next year he would do more. The yard was a work in progress.

As was his life. Gone were the days of tracking down fugitives, at least on a daily basis. He’d signed on with ARC because investigation was what he knew, and even though he still worked more than forty-hour weeks, the clientele had gone way upscale.

He wanted a personal life-change, as well. Home and hearth, although maybe not in the traditional sense. He wouldn’t mind if the woman came with children already, except that he would like to have one of his own, too, if it wasn’t too late.

One of his own. He had one of his own. He just hadn’t had a hand in raising that one. But maybe they could have a relationship, anyway. A friendship. Extended family. Would Paul encourage that? And his wife, Caryn, whom James had never met—would she feel threatened by James’s intrusion into their lives? Had they found a way to provide a sibling or two for the first child?

There were plenty of times he’d questioned whether meeting the child was a good idea, given the potential complications to everyone involved, but James would never break his word, never go back on a promise.

It was the lack of control that was hardest for him. He had no control whatsoever.

All he could do was wait.

Three

In a family-friendly neighborhood like his, James expected a lot of trick-or-treaters, but the sheer numbers amazed him. Time after time he answered the door, dropped candy into a paper bag or plastic pumpkin or pillowcase, shut the door and started to walk away, only to hear the bell ring again.

He gave up trying to do anything but give out candy, deciding to sit on his front steps, about four up from the bottom. It was already dark but still early in the evening, a magical time when the littlest kids were brought around by parents who either coaxed them to approach or dragged them away because they were too talkative and curious.

James enjoyed them all. It was his first Halloween in his home, in a real neighborhood, for more years than he could remember. The costumes ranged from store-bought to homemade to thrown together. Pirates swaggered, princesses pirouetted. Some things never changed.

The trick-or-treaters got older as the hour grew later, kids traveling in groups but without adult supervision. They more or less grunted, shoved their bags into range, grunted again then kept going. When the crowds thinned to one or two kids every five minutes or so, he decided to go inside. He stood just as a young man approached and stopped at the bottom of the stairs.

“No costume, no candy,” James said lightly. The kid hadn’t bothered to don a hat or even carry a prop, unless he considered his black leather jacket and sunglasses, two hours after sunset, a costume.

“I’m Kevin,” the boy said, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “Kevin Brenley. Are you James Paladin?”

It was a blow to the abdomen—pain and joy jumbled together, wreaking havoc. Kevin. He had a son. Kevin. How had he doubted for a second that he wanted to meet the boy?

He found his voice. “Yes, I’m James.” Their connection was purely biological, but he was there, looking scared and slightly hostile and handsome. James put out his hand. “Thank you for coming.”

The boy hesitated a few seconds, shook his hand, then jammed his own back in his pocket.

James tamped down his inner turbulence. “Would you like to come inside?” he asked. He’d faced an escaped murderer with less uncertainty about what to do next.

“Can we just sit here?”

“Sure.” James gestured to the spot beside him, resisted smiling when Kevin sat on the step above, as far away as he could get. Damn. What did you say to a boy you had fathered but never seen? How much inane chitchat had to be spoken before anything important could be said? Did he even have the right to ask questions of this young man who had yet to remove his sunglasses?

James was surprised Kevin had come on his own, although grateful that he had. Having Paul there, too, might have been even more awkward. “How is Paul?”

“My father died a year ago.”

James looked away, sadness rushing in. He closed his eyes. His throat tightened. He hadn’t seen Paul in almost nineteen years, but he could see his face, hear his voice. “I’m sorry. Very sorry.”

“Thanks.” Kevin shoved his sunglasses on top of his head. His jaw twitched. “I’m not here looking for a father to replace him.”

Kevin was angry. James understood that. His father was dead, and James lived. It wasn’t fair. Life wasn’t fair. “I wouldn’t expect to take his place. He raised you.”

“I heard you’re a P.I.”

Surprise zipped through him. “How’d you find that out?”

“From my mom. Last week she found the agreement between you and Dad. She checked you out.”

Smart woman, not to let her son go blindly into a situation. But James wondered what she would’ve done if he hadn’t passed muster. “I hope to meet her sometime.”

One side of Kevin’s mouth lifted. “My mom’s kinda unpredictable.”

“Okay.” James didn’t know what else to say. Did unpredictable mean crazy? Would she be a problem? “Does she know you’re here?”

“No. And we’re going to keep it that way.”

“Why?”

“Because she wouldn’t approve.”

Which made no sense to James. “But you said she checked me out, and obviously she gave you my name and address. That sounds like approval to me.”

“She was keeping Dad’s promise, that’s all.”

“I see. But you’re here. Why?”

“Because there’s something you can do for me.”

“What’s that?”

“Help me find my father’s killer.”

Stunned, James studied the boy, noting his fury and pain. “Killer?”

Kevin nodded once, sharply. “The cops say it was an accident. I know better.”

A group of trick-or-treaters approached. James divided the remainder of his candy among them, tossing a handful into each bag.

“Cool!” a couple of them said before running off. “Thanks!”

James stood. “Let’s go inside,” he said to Kevin.

After a moment Kevin stood, too. James saw his own DNA in the boy, not like looking in a mirror, but as if Kevin had stepped out of James’s high school yearbook. Did Kevin see it? Did it make him uncomfortable? James and Paul had shared some similarities, but not like this.

He turned off the porch light to discourage more trick-or-treaters, then watched Kevin look around his house, wondering what he thought of it. Sometimes the echoing quiet overwhelmed James.

“You live here alone?” Kevin asked, his hands shoved in his pockets again.

“Yes.” He gestured toward the living room.

“Got any kids?”

Just you. “No.”

“How come?”

“Until last year I worked as a bounty hunter. I wasn’t home much. Didn’t seem fair to a family to be gone so much.”

He hesitated a few seconds. “My dad was gone a lot, too.”

“What did he do?”

“Stuntman.”

James sat in an overstuffed chair, deciding he would seem less intimidating sitting down. Kevin moved slowly around the room, stopping to look at an item, then moving on.

“Hollywood type?” James asked.

“Yeah.”

“Seems like his death would’ve made news.”

Kevin picked up a piece of yellow quartz that sat on the mantel and examined it. “It did.”

“Maybe I was out of the country. Where’d you live?”

“In Southern California, in the Valley. Near Sylmar. We had a small ranch.”

“With horses?”

“Yeah. Can’t be an all-around stuntman if you can’t ride.” His tone of voice implied that James was being stupid for asking.

“I suppose not. You ride?”

“Of course.”

Of course. “Your mom, too?”

Kevin faced him squarely. “Will you help me?”

So, no more chitchat. Kevin didn’t care about James beyond what he could do for him, but it was enough for now. “Tell me what you know.”

The boy drew himself up. Obviously, even a year later, he had trouble talking about the accident.

“Dad was riding his bike down the canyon road. It was raining. He and the bike went over the side.”

“Why do you think it was intentional?”

“My dad was careful. Supercareful. He checked every stunt ten times. And he knew every inch of that road. No way that could’ve happened. No way.”

“Even though it was raining?”

“He would’ve been supercautious.”

The determination in his voice was convincing. “Yet the police think otherwise.”

“The police didn’t know my dad.” He planted his feet and crossed his arms. “Look, if you don’t want to help me, just say so.”

“Had he been acting differently, Kevin? Do you have something concrete to go on?”

“Yes. Different. I don’t know how to describe it. Just different.”

“In what way?”

He closed his eyes for a few seconds. “Not there. I know that doesn’t make sense. He was there, around, but he wasn’t there. Like he was distracted all the time.”

“Did you talk to him about it?”

“Sort of. I asked him if something was wrong, but he said no. He was just tired.”

“You didn’t believe him?”

Kevin shook his head. “I let it go, because I thought I would just give him some time. He told me everything. I figured he’d tell me this, too.”

Not everything, apparently. Layered over the boy’s obvious grief was belligerence, probably to hide how much he hurt. James’s decision was easy. He would help Kevin—because if he didn’t, Kevin would probably disappear from his life as quickly as he’d come into it, but also because James needed to help Kevin end his pain, or find a way to live with it, if he could. If Kevin would let him.

James also understood Kevin’s urgency for justice.

“I’ll investigate it,” James told him.

“You don’t sound like you believe me.”

“I believe you knew your dad better than anyone, except your mom, probably. I just don’t want you to get your hopes up.”

“Are you good?”

“Yes.”

Kevin stared at him. Wariness dulled his eyes, and he looked ready to flee at any moment. Finally he moved his shoulders, more an involuntary gesture of relief than an adolescent I-don’t-care shrug. James figured he cared a whole lot.

“I’ll need a little more information,” James said, standing. “Let me get a pad of paper. Can I get you something to eat or drink while I’m up?”

“Not hungry.”

The doorbell rang. James ignored it, assuming it was trick-or-treaters. He grabbed a pad from his office, convinced Kevin to sit down, then James wrote down more details—exactly where and when the accident occurred. Which police agencies were involved. More exact descriptions of Paul’s out-of-character behavior.

“I can start with this,” James said. “Give me a couple of days to do some preliminary digging. Do you want me to call you?”

Kevin swallowed hard then nodded.

James pretended not to see how much his help meant to Kevin. “What’s your phone number and address?”

Kevin gave him a telephone number only. “It’s my cell.”

It was twice in a week that someone was afraid to give James personal information. An image of the Harley wrecker flashed in his mind. She’d had the same sort of wariness in her eyes as Kevin.

“I gotta go,” Kevin said, pushing himself up. He hadn’t taken off his jacket, and now he dropped his sunglasses back into place—before he headed out into the night.

James didn’t want him to go, but he understood that if he wanted a relationship with this young man, he’d better take it slowly. He’d been handed a golden opportunity to get to know Kevin. He wouldn’t squander it because he rushed it.

James extended his hand. Kevin clasped it. “Thanks,” he mumbled, then he headed for the door, his strides long and quick. The door shut behind him with a rattle of glass. His footsteps down the stairs were heavy and fast, drifting out of earshot within seconds.

Silence crash landed louder than ever before in the big house James loved. He hadn’t realized just how empty it was, not truly. It made him hunger to fill it up now. Right now.

He grabbed a beer and headed into his office. He would look up newspaper articles about Paul’s death first. But when he pulled up a chair to the computer, he just sat there, thinking about Paul, about how they met, and what had happened between them to make James indebted to him.

He needed to tell someone. Not his mother, not yet. Not until the relationship settled. Quinn was in Los Angeles helping the other ARC owners on a big case. That left Cassie. He called her home number and got her answering machine. He hung up, debating whether to call her cell, which would be on, but he didn’t want to interrupt her night with her fiancé. They weren’t at home, so they must be out having fun somewhere.

The doorbell rang. As before, he ignored it. It rang again. Fifteen seconds later, again. Irritated he headed to the front door. When he was a kid, an unlit porch light meant “do not disturb.” He didn’t have candy left to give out.