Secrets of Paternity(4)

"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."