Secrets of Paternity(8)

"Why did you move to San Francisco?"

"It's home for me." And she needed to get away from the Valley and all its memories-and future worries.

"You have family here?"

She was getting impatient with his questions, even as she understood why  he had them. "Not anymore, but Kevin decided to go to college here and I  decided to come home. It's worked out fine." She crossed her arms.

"You don't like that he got in touch with me," James said.

"No."

"Why not?"

Because you will intrigue him. You take risks, like his father did. He  will be enthralled. And I will be relegated to the background.

"Never mind," James said. He laid a hand on her shoulder. "I think I  know. I'm not going to take him away from you. I couldn't if I tried."

His touch was electric. She tried to ignore the feeling and the unbidden  thought that she hadn't been touched by a man in nearly a year, 361  days to be precise. Every neuron snapped to attention and saluted. Every  hormone wanted to break ranks and mutiny.

She shoved that thought to the back of her mind. "Look," she said as  calmly as possible. "I'll hire you to do a full investigation. Just keep  Kevin out of it."

"I can't do that."

She turned away from him, hurt and angry. How could she protect her son?  How much would she have to reveal to James to get him to back off or at  least investigate on his own?

"Kevin needs to be involved," he said. "He loved his father. It's a  point of honor for him. If he doesn't get an answer that satisfies him,  he'll never rest. I know this because I would feel the same in his  position. He needs to be part of the process. I'll protect him. He'll be  safe."

How can you guarantee that? she wanted to scream, feeling handcuffed. If  she didn't give in, she stood to alienate her son, and she was afraid  of that. She'd already lost too much in the past year, including  whatever innocence about the world she'd had. And her relationship with  Kevin had become stormy, as well, worse since he'd turned eighteen last  month.

"I want to be involved, too," she said, turning to face James, keeping her expression neutral.

He was silent for several long seconds. "All right. But let's tell Kevin  it was my idea. I think he'll take it better if I make it part of the  deal."

"I can live with that."

One side of his mouth lifted in an appealing half smile.

How was she going to work with him with this attraction clawing at her?  He had a way of focusing on her, eye to eye, his attention fully  engaged, that she liked. She hadn't been listened to so well in … a very  long time. Then again, she'd learned why Paul had stopped looking her in  the eye-guilt.

"I'll give him a call right now," James said, then punched in a number on his cell phone.

The doorbell rang. His phone to his ear, he opened the door then signed  for a package. He tossed it on a chair then returned to the living room.  "Kevin," he said into the phone, "this is James. I want to continue the  investigation. When you get this message, call me. Better yet, come on  back and talk."                       
       
           



       

He snapped the phone shut. "Voice mail."

"So, now what?" Caryn asked.

"We wait. Are you hungry?"

She was surprised that she was. Her stomach had been tied in knots until a minute ago. "I could eat something."

"I've got stuff to make sandwiches. Let's eat while we wait for your son."

She followed him to the back of the house into a beautiful kitchen with  white cabinets, stainless steel appliances and granite countertops. The  mix of old and new worked, for the house and the man, this time, now  that she knew he wasn't part of a biker gang.

He pulled a deli tray from the refrigerator, grabbed a bag of sourdough  sandwich rolls and set them on the counter. She had questions for him,  questions she'd prefer to ask without Kevin there.

She was also enjoying sitting at his kitchen counter and watching him  move around the kitchen. The distraction prevented her from firing the  first salvo.

"What can you tell me about Paul's death that isn't in the police report?" he asked.

"What makes you think there's more?"

He met her gaze and held it, his eyes boring into hers, his expression serious, probably a skill from his bounty hunter days.

"Okay," she said. "There's more."

She should've known he wouldn't leave things alone.





Five





James had no doubt there was "more." His suspicions weren't aroused by  anything in the police report but by Caryn's body language. He knew when  someone wasn't telling the truth, and her face was more open than most.  He wanted to keep his distance, now that he knew who she was. But the  attraction wasn't fading, and in fact was only being added to as he  learned more about her-which was not a good sign.

"Tell me about the gambling," he said, the food going untouched.

"There are things I don't want Kevin to know."

"You call the shots."

She studied him for several long seconds before saying okay. "I can only  tell you what I've learned since he died. I wasn't aware of it before,  except that I often wondered why we weren't doing better financially  than we were."

Her hands were folded in her lap. Her expression seemed neutral, but  hurt dulled her eyes. Too many burdens, he decided. Too much to handle  alone, as she undoubtedly had. Shame like that wasn't something people  confided in others, especially a woman like Caryn, who wore her  independence openly.

"Some men came to the house right after the funeral. They had notes, IOUs."

"Signed by Paul?"

"Yes."

"For how much?"

"Eight hundred thousand."

Fury snaked through James, although he wasn't sure whether it was directed at the men or Paul. "You believed them?"

"Not at first. You hear about all sorts of scams that people try to pull  on the family after someone dies, so I ordered them off my property. I  had my phone in my hand, and I started to call the police. They told me  if I did, that … " She closed her eyes and swallowed.

"That they would harm Kevin?"

She nodded. "Um, they told me to check out my bank statements and his  pay statements, and all the other financial paperwork that Paul had  always taken care of. They gave me a week. Then they came back. Well,  that's not true. Someone was always hanging around the property, making  sure I didn't run away, I guess."

He could only imagine her fear. She should've involved the police, but  he couldn't tell her that, not now that it was too late to do anything  differently. "You found out they were right?" he asked.

"I couldn't verify the exact amount, but there should've been a lot more  money invested. And then there were the intangibles-I didn't know how  much he'd won and lost, how much cash he would bet after a big win-or  whatever he did. But we should've had a lot more in the bank, that much I  know." She tucked her hair behind her ears. "I can't believe I was so  stupid. He'd always said he was handling it, and yet we never seemed to  have enough. We didn't even have horses of our own. We boarded other  people's."

"Why didn't you question him if that was something that bothered you?"

"What can I say? It would be like complaining that he wasn't taking care  of us. I loved him. I trusted him. I knew he took risks-he always had.  It just never crossed my mind that he was taking financial risks."

A hard lesson learned for her. She would never trust in the same way again, he thought.

"How did you come up with the payoff, Caryn?"                       
       
           



       

"Insurance."

"They waited that long for payment?"

"Oh, sure. Mr. Nice Guys. They just demanded their pound of flesh with it."

James's world exploded red. "What?"

"Not that. Not me," she said quickly, a hand outstretched. "I meant  interest. Fortunately, because of the nature of his business, being a  stuntman, he was well insured, and he'd never missed a payment."

James drew a slow breath, settling himself. "Then you sold your ranch and moved here."

"I wanted to come home. I wanted to feel the fog and climb the hills and smell the ocean again. I wanted hustle and bustle."

"Were you isolated on the ranch?"

She jumped as the doorbell rang. He put a hand on her shoulder until she  relaxed. He could kill Paul for what he'd put her through. Jolted at  his thoughts, he pulled back mentally. Too close, too fast.

"Let's hope it's Kevin," he said, heading out of the kitchen.

"You won't tell him about, you know, Paul and-"