Secrets of Paternity(5)

"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.

He yanked open the door, intending to give an etiquette lesson to the  trick-or-treater. No costumed kid stood there, however, but the Harley  wrecker, not decked out in a costume but in blue jeans and a red  sweater.