“I swear to God, Mom, if you call the police, I’ll leave,” Jon said, his voice de ep with conviction. He sw ept his algebra book off the dining room table and it flew, pages fluttering, old assignments littering the floor as the book skidded across the floor. “Pick it up.” Kate couldn’t stand the out-and-out rebellion from her son. It seemed that as each day passed, he became more vocal. “Not until you promise that you won’t call the police or Neider’s dad.” “Pick it up, Jon. The book belongs to the school and even if it didn’t—” “Geez, Mom, you can’t be getting the police in volved in this,” he said, but reached down and scooped up the mess. Houndog cowered under a chair in the living room and whined pitifully. Kate gritted her teeth and slowly counted to ten. Deliberately she removed her reading glasses and placed them on the table next to her stack of unread essays. They’d found an uncomfortable peace since returning from the clinic, but Kate had sensed that the calm was temporary, that beneath her boy’s battered body a storm of emotions was raging, ready to explode. The battlefield was the dining room table, she seated on one side, he on the other. While he attempted homework, she read a stack of essays that needed to be graded. For years they’d been able to work this way, together but ind ependently, at the old table, sharing a bowl of popcorn or a joke, but no longer; it seemed they fought more than they agreed. And the tension was only getting worse. Kicking back his chair, Jon struggled to his feet. His face was discolored, nose broken, two black eyes making him appear to be wearing a mask. His shoulder was strained, but no ribs had cracked, so Jon was bruised and battered but not yet broken. He’d miss at least a couple of days of school. “Neider’s old man beats him.” “That doesn’t surprise me,” she said, anger surging through her blood. Carl Neider was a foul-mouthed blowhard who spent more than his share of hours on a stool in the local watering hole. “Maybe children’s services should be called.” “Oh, Mom, no! Don’t you get it? Just leave him alone.” “Like he left you alone?” With as much patience as she could muster, she leveled her eyes at her boy and said, “You were beat up, Jon, but you lucked out. You could have been seriously hurt, even maimed and crippled for life—” “But I wasn’t! I hit him once too, y’know.” She bit back the urge to yell at her son with his bruised face and black eyes. “He stalked you in his car. If it’s not you, it’ll be someone else. He has a history of violence and he has to be held accountable, or helped if that’s possible.” “Daegan’ll make him stop.” Kate nearly laughed. If the situation weren’t so dire, the consequences so great, she might have allowed herself a smile. As it was, she couldn’t. Stretching out of her chair, she crossed through the living room to the dark fir eplace. “I thought you were so sure that O’Rourke murdered someone,” she said, sorting through the few dry logs in the basket on the hearth.
“Weren’t you convinced a couple of weeks ago that there was trouble and danger coming our way, that a man, a good man or an evil man, was coming?” “Daegan’s good.” Jon crossed his arms over his chest, his eyes, de ep in bruised sockets, sparking defiance. “Since when? Because he saved you from getting pulverized?” “Yeah! What would have happened if he hadn’t been there?” Jon demanded and Kate felt cold as death inside. Jon was right. Ever since Daegan had st epped foot in Hopewell, he’d done nothing suspicious, been nothing but neighborly and well intentioned. So what if he seemed charged with a restless energy, like a man who was constantly on the run and looking over his shoulder? What did it matter that he was sexy as all get-out and realized it? Even if he had some skeletons buried de ep in his closets, who knew and who cared? Jon was right. So far O’Rourke had proved a trustworthy and concerned neighbor. Nothing more. She tossed a chunk of mossy oak onto the blackened andirons and searched the mantel for a match. Jon edged into the living room. “Why do you hate him so much?” “I don’t hate him. He just worries me, that’s all.” “Well, I like him.” “Do you?” Her heart sank. Until recently, Jon had never attached himself to anyone but her. He’d had his share of teachers who had been fond of him and a coach or two—usually fathers of other boys—who had been kind to him when a lot of people in town treated him as a pariah, but she’d never heard that ring of conviction and awe in his voice when he’d spoken of another adult. Daegan O’Rourke, whether he intended to be or not, was now a rival for her child’s affections. “It’s because of me, isn’t it?” Jon said. “Because of what I said about him. About him killing someone.” She found a match, struck it against a brick in the fire box, and held the sizzling flame to kindling she’d stacked earlier. “I just don’t know him, Jon,” she said. “Well, maybe you should.” Her head snapped up and she met her son’s pained, hostile gaze. The same thought had been nagging her, though she’d been loath to admit it. She just hadn’t faced the truth because it scared her and not just a little. Daegan and her reaction to him were all wrong. She couldn’t—wouldn’t— get in volved with him and yet she’d felt it more than once, a simmering attraction that was downright dangerous with the wrong man. And Daegan was definitely the wrong man. But Jon’s point was well taken and there was no reason she couldn’t be more neighborly than she had been, less suspicious. “All right.” She stood and dusted her hands. “If you handle all the ghosts and goblins that knock on our door tonight, I’ll visit Mr. O’Rourke.” Jon snorted in disgust and eyed the platter of cupcakes, decorated with orange frosting and candy corn that sat, at the ready, on the table near the door. Houndog had moved, plopping himself directly underneath the table, hoping that a scrap would fall. “We don’t ever have any trick or treaters, Mom. I don’t know why you bother.” “Because the year I wasn’t ready, we’d have legions of kids ringing the bell.” “In your dreams,” he muttered under his breath.
It’s not my dreams that worry me, she thought as the fire sputtered and hissed. It’s yours. As he walked down the icy streets of Boston, Neils Van Horn was a man on a mission. He believed firmly that opportunity knocked only once on a man’s door and right now opportunity was trying to beat his damned door down. This was it. The big time. His hands itched at the thought of how much money he was going to make in the next month or so. Bending his head against a blast of raw wind, he ground his teeth together. Soon he’d give up this frigid climate, buy himself a thirty-foot sailboat, and spend his time in the Caribbean. He found the Irish pub, a dark cavern-like den where whiskey and ale were served with raucous noise and great fanfare. Darts zipped through the air in one corner of the establishment, and glasses clicked behind the bar. Waitresses in white blouses that showed off enough cleavage to give every guy in the place a hard-on swung through the crowded tables. Smoke clouded the air and laughter and gravelly voices vied for air time with muffled music—ballads of some sort. Van Horn took a corner booth in the back away from most of the noise and other patrons. He ordered a pitcher of the house’s special ale and waited, dropping his gloves into the pockets of his coat and unwinding his scarf before hanging everything on a wooden peg sprouting from one of the support posts. By the time his companion arrived, he was sipping from his second glass, warm inside and bolder than he should have been. “Have a seat,” he invited, eyeing the woman in her mohair jacket and expensive perfume. Even in the dinginess of the pub, she remained wearing tinted glasses, her makeup flawless, her expensive jewelry in sharp contrast to the ambiance of the surroundings. “Remind me why I’m here,” she said, sliding a glance around the room with obvious disdain. She was still standing, as if deciding if he was worth her time. “Because you want to be informed,” he said evenly. He enjoyed playing both ends to the middle even though it was dangerous. “You don’t like it when other people are manipulating you.” “As you are now?” “I’m just here with information.” He took a swallow and let that settle with her. “When you called, you said Robert was up to something.” “That’s right.” He enjoyed seeing her try to wrestle the information from him and in a quick instant he saw a trade in the future. What he knew exchanged for a night in her bed. He bet she sl ept on perfumed satin sheets. In his mind’s eye he caught a glimpse of her long legs strapped around his torso. “What is it you think is so valuable?” She didn’t bother hiding the irritation in her usually well-modulated voice. He played with a matchbook, tapping each corner on the table, watching her nearly squirm out of her skin while she pretended to have the patience of Job. “You know that his daughter had a bastard son about fifteen years ago. She gave him up for adoption.” The full, red lips pinched ever so slightly. “Of course Robert, he didn’t want the kid, nor did Bibi. Now, it seems, he’s changed his mind.” A beat. She touched the edge of the table, and her eyes, behind those dark shades, never left his face, as if she was trying to figure out if he was lying to her. “So?” “So he’s paying me to find the boy.” “Why?”
“Seems as if he’s had a grandfatherly change of heart. Thinks it’s time the kid took his rightful place as a Sullivan. You know, inherit everything that should have gone to Stuart.” Carefully, she slid into the booth opposite him. He filled the empty glass the waitress had left for her. “Why are you telling me all this?” she asked. “What’s in it for you?” “Robert’s paying me well.” “To betray him? I don’t think so. If I called him now, you’d be off the case like that.” She snapped her fingers. “But you won’t call, will you?” He settled back against the seats. “Because I’ll let you know what’s going on.” “For a fee.” His gaze skated down her slim figure. What would it feel like to have some uppercrust woman in bed? Were they ice-cold statues, or did they breathe living fire? This one, he was certain, was definitely hot-blooded. “How much?” she asked, and without so much as blinking behind her four-hundred-dollar dark glasses, she dug in her purse and withdrew her checkbook. The oldest trick in the book. “Uh-uh. Shame on you.” The leather book was halfway out of her purse, but she paused. “I only deal in cash. Small, unmarked, untraceable bills, lots of them, preferably with Alex Hamilton’s face printed on them, though I’m partial to Andy Jackson’s as well.” Her mouth twisted into a seductive smile that he found impossible to resist. She settled back against the tufted seat and licked her lips. “Why Mr. Van Horn,” she breathed and he was instantly so hot he wanted to pull on his tie. “It looks like you’re a man after my own heart.” “Okay, so I believe you.” Daegan rubbed an ache from his shoulder and winced as he held the receiver to his ear “The boy’s mine. I saw a chart with his blood type.” Bibi sighed gratefully. “Thanks for all your faith. Now, what’re you going to do about him?” Daegan heard the worry edging her voice and he wondered how he’d ever found her vaguely attractive. It wasn’t so much a matter of looks as of attitude. The fact that she wasn’t interested in her own child was unnatural. “I figure I’ve got several options. I can tell everyone the truth and—” “Oh, God, don’t do that. If that woman finds out that Jon stands to inherit a fortune, then she’d let Dad claim him or try and blackmail me or —” “She won’t do either,” Daegan said with conviction. In his encounters with Kate, he’d started to change his opinion of her. She didn’t seem the least bit concerned about money. “I don’t know why she got in volved in the first place, but I can tell you firsthand that she loves that kid more than anything.” “I didn’t say she didn’t care about him, but just because she loves him doesn’t mean she doesn’t have a mercenary streak in her. Face it, Daegan, we all do. My guess is she split the eighty thousand dollars Dad gave Tyrell. Maybe she got the short end of the stick, but don’t make her out like she’s some kind of goddamned saint.” “None of us are.” “Just so we understand each other,” Bibi said and he heard her click a lighter. She let out a long breath. “Option one’s out, what’s number two?”
“I stake my claim as the natural father.” “That’s worse yet. You’ll have to name me as the mother and Kyle will never forgive me.” Now we were getting to the nitty-gritty. “How is lover boy?” Daegan asked, not even remotely curious. “Fine, so far. He adores me, Daegan. For the first time in my life someone really loves me, but if he found out that the baby I’d given up was... was conceived with my cousin, I think... I think I’d lose him.” Her voice actually shook with emotion and Daegan felt like a heel, as he did each time he was reminded of his one night with Bibi. “If he loves you, he won’t care what happened in the past.” “You’re a great one to talk,” she said, sarcasm lacing her words. “The original ‘love ’em and leave ’em’ guy.” He bit back a hot retort and decided she had the right to her bitterness. “Now that I’m in this, Bibi, I won’t be able to leave it alone.” “Your job was to find the boy and come up with some idea of how to thwart Daddy.” “It may not be possible.” “Oh, Christ, Daegan, anything’s possible, don’t you know that by now?” He glared out the window to the dark night, caught his reflection staring harshly at himself, and wished to heaven that there was an easy answer. “What do you want from me, Bibi?” She let out a long-suffering sigh. “I want the same thing I gave you for fifteen years. My life. With no complications.” “I don’t think I can promise that.” “Well, do something. Find out what secrets the Summers woman is hiding, get some dirt on her so that we have some leverage.” “In case we have to resort to blackmail or extortion?” The thought burned like hot lead in his stomach. “Exactly. She’s got to have something she’d rather ke ep secret, something we can use as bargaining power.” “For what?” “For her to get lost—more lost than she’s ever been—but hurry up. We don’t have much time. Dad’s going to talk to a private investigator, I’m sure of it, and once that happens, it won’t be long before the you-know-what hits the fan.” Its gonna be worse than you know, Bibi. He sensed an apocalypse the likes of which the Sullivans had never seen before. “Does Collin have any idea that this is coming down?” He heard her little catch of breath. “Collin doesn’t have a clue,” she said with more than a trace of acrimony. “But then, what else is new?” He heard her neatly manicured nails tapping thoughtfully on the other end of the line. “I think, and this is no goddamned joke, okay, I think you should steal the boy and take him to Canada or Europe or Mexico, somewhere outside the jurisdiction of the United States. Look, if you do this, I promise that when I inherit everything from Dad, I’ll set you and the boy up for the rest of your life.” “Can’t do it, Bibi,” he said.
“But—” “Leave it to me. I’m going to handle this my way.” “And what way is that?” “I’ll let you know when I figure it out.” Slamming the receiver down, he swore long and hard. That old Sullivan chain seemed to be coiling around his neck again and he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being set up. A headache pounded behind his eyes. He walked through Eli’s pathetic cabin to the refrigerator he’d recently leased. Everything in the few musty rooms was rented, the old furniture, if that’s what you’d call it, stored in the garage. He had only the bare essentials. Just enough to get by for a few weeks—however long this might take. Snagging a beer from the refrigerator, he twisted off the cap and walked onto the back porch, where, through the trees, he saw lamplight glowing at the Summers place. He wondered about Kate, how he was going to deal with her, then thought of Jon. How was he getting along? He looked like hell. The Neider kid had taken care of that. How was a boy like Jon going to handle Todd Neider and the other hotheads who wanted a crack at the kid who was different, the boy through no fault of his own could see into a person’s life? Daegan knew from past experience what a curse that could be and thanked the powers that be that his own gift had faded with the years. If only Jon could be so lucky. Jon. His boy. The one he should claim, but couldn’t. Kate’s son. Her reason for living. “Son of a bitch.” He leaned one shoulder against the rough post that supported the roof and listened as a coyote let out a long, lonesome howl. One of the horses neighed nervously and the wind tugged at his shirt tails. A low growl emanated from the floorboards. “Come on out from under there, Roscoe,” Daegan ordered as if he expected the ornery animal to obey him. “Come on, boy. Give it a rest.” Another growl and de ep-throated bark. “You’re the ugliest and most unfriendly mutt I’ve ever come across,” Daegan allowed as he remembered another dog hidden in the shadows, a dog that had growled and threatened to attack when Stuart had stalked him on the waterfront all those years ago. Stuart, the great manipulator, who had ended up dead. Why the hell would he remember that night now? After over fifteen years? As he turned to walk back inside, he heard a car jolting down the dual tire tracks of his lane. A visitor? The hairs on the back of his neck rose as headlights splashed twin beams over the dry grass of the backyard. He half expected Todd Neider’s old man, equipped with a tire iron or baseball bat, to leap from the car intent on breaking bones or balls, or that someone Robert Sullivan had hired to find his illegitimate grandson might appear. Instead he recognized Kate’s old Buick as it ground to a stop near the barn. He felt an unexpected warmth de ep in his center and called himself a fool. Whether he wanted to or not, he was going to end up wounding her worse than even he could imagine. With a curse leveled at himself, he took a swallow of beer as she threw open the door. Light from the car’s interior played in the golden strands of her hair. Daegan’s jaw grew tight. He had no business noticing her hair or anything else about her, especially in light of his last conversation with Bibi. Pocketing her keys, she nudged the car’s door shut with her heel and approached the porch carrying a platter of some kind of cupcakes. “I think I owe you an apology,” she said without much of a preamble. “No, I know I do.”
She shook her head, as if this humble gesture wasn’t in her nature. “Happy Halloween.” The scent of her perfume—jasmine, he guessed—carried on the cool wind that teased at her hair as she handed him the plate. “Halloween. Hell, I’d forgotten. Thanks.” Eyeing the jack-o’-lantern cupcakes, he set the platter on the seat of an old rocker well past its prime. “Look good.” “The batter was.” A ghost of a smile whispered over her lips. “If you want to know the truth, I feel pretty ridiculous bringing them over, you know, like I’m going to a PTA bake sale or something. It’s—it’s really not my style. Jon told me the idea was lame, but we don’t have many trick or treaters clear out here and I thought you might like them and... to tell you the truth, it was just an excuse to tell you I appreciate the fact that you might have saved my son’s life.” My son’s, too. She stuffed her hands into the pockets of her jeans and rocked back on her heels as she stared up at him. “Jon hasn’t had a lot of men in his life. My dad died years ago and then Jim and... aside from Eli Mc Intyre, no one’s ever taken an interest in him.” Don’t tell me this. I don’t want to know. “Is that so?” “Fact is, he scares most men off.” “Then they’re fools.” His throat was suddenly parched and he took another swallow. Her eyes, in the dark, seemed larger, a liquid gold that shimmered. “Probably.” She lifted a shoulder. “As I said, there haven’t been all that many. And out here... it’s pretty isolated, no close neighbors, town so far away.” “I thought maybe you liked it that way,” he said, deciding she’d unwittingly presented him with an opportunity to get to know more about her. “No,” she said with a shake of her head. “The price was right and I was tired of the city.” “You’re not from around here?” He knew better, of course, but wanted to hear her version of the story. She leaned a hip against the porch rail. “No. I grew up in the Midwest— Iowa—got married and moved to... well later my husband died and Jon and I moved to Seattle where I finished school. Once I got the job at the community college, we settled in here. Haven’t moved since.” “So you like it here?” A breath of wind tugged at her hair. “It has its moments both bad and good.” “Every place does,” he said, then held up his bottle. “Join me?” She hesitated, then shook her head. “Not tonight, but thanks.” Her gaze touched his for a fraction of an instant before she quickly glanced away. In the span of that single heartbeat he felt a tightening in his gut he didn’t like and couldn’t control. “I think Jon’s a helluva kid.”
“Do you?” Pride flickered in her eyes. “So do I.” Tilting her head, she studied him with inquisitive eyes. “He needs to learn how to fight.” “Or avoid them.” “Hard to do when an ass like Neider hunts him down.” “You offering to help him?” she asked as little furrows of worry gathered between her eyebrows. Daegan lifted a shoulder. “Why not?” “No, the question is ‘why’? Why would you bother with a kid you barely know?” she asked, pushing herself upright. Some of the old distress he’d witnessed before tightened the corners of her mouth. “I just don’t like seeing a kid used as a punching bag. It’s not good for his self-esteem.” He finished his beer and set the empty bottle on the rail. “You don’t know a thing about—” “I know what I saw,” he cut in swiftly, his temper snapping. “Your boy was getting the crap beat out of him. Either he learns to defend himself or he’s gonna end up in the hospital if that Neider kid has his way.” “Jon seems to think he won’t be bothered again.” “I wouldn’t bet on it. That’s one mean son of a bitch, lady, and he gets his jollies by picking on smaller kids in front of his friends. If I were you, I’d enroll my kid in karate, wrestling, and boxing lessons, then I’d swear out a complaint and press charges and let his folks know that you won’t put up with this kind of backwoods attitude!” “Jon doesn’t want me to talk to the police.” “Jon’s a kid. What does he know?” “You don’t have to live with him.” “True enough, but if I did, you can bet that I’d be the boss.” “Do you have any kids?” she demanded, st epping closer. Jolted, he just stared at her flushed face and the way her fists were planted on her hips. She didn’t know what she was asking... or did she? “What?” Waving impatiently, as if scooting away a bothersome insect, she said, “Just because you’re not married doesn’t mean you don’t have a kid or two living with an ex-lover somewhere.” He couldn’t prevent the slow, dangerous smile that cr ept across his jaw. If you only knew. “No way.” “Is that right? Then you must be ‘Dear Abby’ or have some license that makes you an authority when it comes to raising teenagers.” He held her gaze steadily, refusing to flinch beneath the anger that seemed to radiate from her in waves. “I believe in telling it like it is, lady, and it looks to me like your kid could use some instruction in defending himself. His mama isn’t always gonna be around to bail him out nor will he be able to d epend on help from a stranger like he got from me the other day. Now, did I hear you wrong or did you say you came over here because of some apology?”
“You’re pushing it, O’Rourke.” “I didn’t start this.” She elevated a disbelieving eyebrow. “You’re standing on my porch,” he reminded her. “Without an invitation.” Color sw ept up her neck and her lips compressed in a silent fury he found fascinating. The night seemed to close in around them, dark and seductive. He noticed the swe ep of her eyelashes against her cheek, the way her lips curved into a sexy pout, the angle of her chin as she glared up at him. Dangerous thoughts cr ept into his mind and he wondered how her lips would feel against his, how easily her body might press against the harder contours of his muscle and bone. You’re getting in way over your head, O’Rourke. Remember why you’re here, what’s supposed to be happening. But it was too late. Much too late. Already that age-old chemistry was stirring in his blood, and desire, so long dormant, was awakening, starting a fire de ep in his loins, sending warm jets of want through his limbs. He wondered what it would be like to make love to her all night long, only stopping when dawn was peeking over the horizon and they were exhausted. “About that apology,” she said and she seemed to have trouble breathing. Her eyes moved to his lips again, and he was damned sure she was wondering what it would feel like to kiss him. Don’t do it. Be smart. “I was coming over to thank you for saving Jon’s skin today, for st epping in and helping out. Despite what I said earlier, I’m thankful you were there to break it up. I, um, I... Oh, God, this isn’t easy. I’ve told Jon to stay away from you, that he shouldn’t trespass or bother you.” She gathered in her breath. “But it wasn’t for all the right reasons.” “You’re afraid for him. Because he said I killed someone.” “Yes,” she admitted, her eyes searching his. It was all he could do to ke ep from reaching forward and dragging her close to him. His jaw worked. His heart began to pound. “Look, Kate, I’m not going to stand here and pretend that I’m a saint, because I’m not, but you have to believe me, I’m not a cold-blooded killer.” She looked up at him with soft whiskey-colored eyes. “I’d like to believe it.” Yearning and self-loathing throbbed through his veins because he was going to lie to her, and damn it, if she didn’t leave soon, he’d try to kiss her and things wouldn’t stop there. “Do, Kate.” He reached forward and brushed a strand of hair from her cheek, his fingertips brushing her skin, the fire in his blood nearly boiling. Despite the dec eption, despite the knowledge that he’d lied to her from the start, despite his own convictions that getting in volved with her was unthinkable, he couldn’t back away. His words—so treacherous as they reached his own ears—echoed into the night. “Trust me,” he said, when he couldn’t even trust himself.