Crime and Passion (6 page)

“I guess I forgot to tell you, I’m staying here, too. Temporarily.” he said.

Somehow, it didn’t seem quite right for a twenty-seven-year-old police detective to be living at home with his father and two sisters. Although he had to admit that, if he didn’t care what other people thought, he didn’t really mind the living arrangements. The sounds of his family around him gave off comforting vibes. If he wanted to be alone, he could usually manage it, and if he didn’t, there was always someone to talk to.

Clay wondered if that made him a family man or just someone who had trouble moving on and away from a good thing.

No, he reminded himself, he’d left Ilene behind, and that was definitely moving away from a good thing.

Ilene hesitated as doubt grew larger. “Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.”

“If you have any concerns, my father is pretty much of a fixture in the house. He’ll be your buffer. And my sisters are here when they’re off duty.” He stopped the car and looked at her. He couldn’t read the expression on her face, couldn’t find his way around her eyes the way he’d been able to do so often when they’d been together. “This isn’t a den of iniquity, Ilene, this is a place to keep you and your son very safe.”

Even as he said it, she knew it was true. Not necessarily because he said it, but because of the distinguished, gray-haired man who was standing in front of the house, framed by the illumination coming from the front porch light.

The moment they pulled up in the driveway, Andrew Cavanaugh came down the stairs, a ready smile on his remarkably unlined face. She could see the resemblance as he approached the car. This was what Clay would look like in another thirty years.

Opening the passenger door, Andrew took her hand to help her out. “You must be Ilene.” His voice was warm, welcoming.

“Yes, I am,” she heard herself reply. She felt instantly at ease, as if she was in the presence of someone she could turn to with anything. It amazed her that someone she’d never met could make her feel that, just by the warmth of his smile.

“Welcome to my house,” he told her, his attention on the sleeping child in the back. “What is he, about five?”

“Four.” She hated lying. But if she said five, then Clay could easily do the math, easily realize that she had conceived Alex while they were still together.

“Big for his age.” Before she could say anything, Andrew had already opened the rear door and was scooping the boy out. “Been a long time since I held one of these in my arms.” Expertly he took the boy out without waking him. Looking at Ilene, he observed, “His hair’s dark.”

As dark as Clay’s was, she thought. Ilene pressed her lips together, wondering what the man was thinking. “His father had dark hair.”

Andrew’s eyes traveled toward his younger son a moment before he turned toward the front step. “Handsome boy,” he pronounced before walking back into the house.

Clay came up beside her. He held her suitcase in one hand, the laptop tucked under his arm. With his free hand he took her arm and guided her up the stairs in his father’s wake.

Panic reared its head, pushing aside the sense of well-being within her that Andrew had begun to build. “I don’t want to impose—”

Andrew heard her. “Impose?” There was an incredulous expression on his face as he turned to look at her. Holding Alex against him, he closed the door with his free hand. “I’ve got enough rooms in the house to turn it into a hotel,” he told her softly. “My two oldest are gone, and there are guest rooms besides that. You’re not imposing, girl, you’re keeping us from getting lonely.” He pointedly looked at his son over Alex’s head. “Isn’t that right, Clay?”

Clay set the suitcase down for a moment. “Whatever you say, Dad.”

“That’s a first,” Andrew commented, his words directed to the young woman his son had brought to him. “Usually, he likes nothing better than to butt heads with me. You partial to the first or the second floor, Ilene? I’ve got an empty bedroom on each.”

“First,” she said. It made her feel as if she could leave if she wanted to. Instantly she felt guilty at wanting to flee. The man was putting himself out on her account, and he didn’t even know her.

She followed him as he led the way to the rear of the house. He was still carrying her son. “You’re being incredibly accommodating.”

“Hear that, Clay?” Turning to look at his son over his shoulder, Andrew grinned. “I’m accommodating.” There were times when some, if not all, of his children thought of him as pigheaded and stubborn. They’d all tried, at one time or another, to gently talk him into accepting Rose’s death. But he refused. Because he knew she was alive.

“Sure, Dad.” Clay gave his father a look.

Andrew shook his head. “Teach your son early on never to talk back.” He shifted the boy in his arms, a smile of appreciation as he did so. Even the simple gesture made it clear that the man ached for a grandchild. “It’s something I overlooked doing. Not that you can teach this one anything.” He frowned in Clay’s direction. “Stubborn as a mule most of the time.”

She couldn’t help smiling. “I know.”

“Then you do know each other?” Stopping in front of a doorway, Andrew turned to look at her as he waited for an answer.

She took a breath before saying quietly, “A very long time ago.”

Okay, time to get the train back on the track. Clay elbowed his way in between his father and Ilene. “Dad, I didn’t bring Ilene here so you could practice interrogating someone.”

“Just being friendly, Clay. Something that comes naturally to me if not you.” He walked into one of the two guest rooms. “Here you go. I think you’ll be very comfortable here.” Very gently he placed Alex down in the middle of the bed. “The bathroom’s right through there,” he indicated a door inside the bedroom. “And the kitchen’s just down the hall. Speaking of which, is there anything I can get you?”

She shook her head. “No, you’ve already been more than kind.”

“Something warm to drink?” he suggested, then thought of the state her nerves were probably in. “Or maybe something a little stronger to calm your nerves? Just this once,” he tacked on, guessing at the protest rising to her lips.

Clay knew it was time to come to her rescue before his father started force-feeding her. “Her nerves are fine, Dad.”

Crossing back to the doorway, Andrew snorted. “Can’t see how that’s possible when she made the trip here with you driving.”

“Dad—”

Andrew raised his hands in front of him in mock, grudging surrender. “Backing away.” He cocked his head, looking around his son to his new house guest. “You’ve got the run of the place, Ilene. Feel free to use it.”

“Thank you.”

“I’d better let you get some rest,” Clay mumbled, half hoping she’d ask him to remain. But she didn’t, as he knew she wouldn’t, and he withdrew.

Ilene closed the door behind him.

“Like her smile,” Andrew said as they walked away from the room. Behind them, they heard her flip the lock. “Pretty girl.”

“Yes,” Clay agreed. And she’d only gotten more so, he thought. He looked at his father. “Thanks for letting them stay here.”

Andrew waved away the thanks and began to head for the stairs. “Don’t mention it.” Hand on the banister, he paused. “By the way.”

Clay raised his eyebrow, waiting. “Yes?”

“Is the boy yours?”

Chapter 6

“W
hat?”

Clay felt as if he could have easily been knocked over by a moderate-size feather. Especially since his father had given voice to the question floating in the recesses of his own mind.

Stopping dead in his tracks, Clay looked at his father.

“You know I don’t like to pry—”

Clay snorted. “Yeah, right, and you’re also a misguided leprechaun.”

Amusement played on Andrew’s lips. “Whole other discussion, boy. Now—”

“No.” Time to nip this thing in the bud before his father got carried away.

Arching the same eyebrow that each of his children were prone to raising, Andrew looked far from convinced. “No?”

“No, he’s not my son,” Clay said firmly. He didn’t want to have to tell his father to butt out, but he would if it came to that. “Alex is four. I wasn’t seeing her five years ago. We’d broken up by then.”

Andrew leaned against the wall, his arms crossed in front of a chest that still looked powerful. “Kind of big for four.”

Clay found himself playing devil’s advocate, taking the exact oppose stance from the one he’d mentally taken earlier. “Some kids are.”

“Boy has your coloring.”

Clay saw the end of his temper in sight and struggled to hold on to the rope. “That narrows it down to about a quarter of the kids in Aurora.” And then he laughed. No, he wasn’t Alex’s father, for all the reasons he cited and more. If he’d gotten Ilene pregnant, she wouldn’t have kept something like that from him. She would have told him. She was nothing if not honest. “I get around, Dad, but I’d have to sweep through the town like a broom to leave that much of myself around.”

“I’m not asking about the town, I’m asking about a woman who looks at you as if this isn’t the first time she’s seen you.”

When he’d asked his father if Ilene could stay at the house, he hadn’t mentioned that he’d known her before, much less that they’d been involved. He hadn’t confided in his father back then. Maybe because Clay had known from the start that this time was different.

Now Clay just shook his head. “You should have never retired from the force, Dad. You need something to occupy your mind.”

Andrew grinned as he looked past Clay’s head toward the room they had just walked out of. “Might say I’ve found it.” And then he glanced at his watch. “Where the hell is your sister?”

His father didn’t have to say which sister he was referring to. Teri was at the motel, still playing decoy with Shaw. Even if she hadn’t been, Teri was the reliable one, just like Callie was. His father hardly ever worried about either of them. Rayne was another story. “Relax, Dad, Rayne’s a big girl now.”

Andrew gave him a penetrating look, as if to ask how that was supposed to be a comfort to him. “That’s exactly why I can’t relax. That new leaf she turned over might want to blow itself back someday.”

At least the conversation had gotten away from the subject of Alex’s paternity. But once his father got started on Rayne and her escapades, Clay knew he could go on forever. A retreat was called for.

Clay pretended to stretch. “Well, it’s been a long day. I’m going to turn in.”

Just as he moved to pass his father, Andrew commandeered his arm. Keeping a firm grasp on it, he directed his son toward the kitchen where lengthy conversations were coaxed out with rich, hot food and, according to Callie, the best coffee this side of heaven. “Not before filling me in you’re not.”

Clay blew out a breath. “Dad, I already told you, he’s not mine.”

“I know, I know, the timing’s off. I mean fill me in on the particulars about this case.”

You could take the man out of the police force, but you couldn’t take the police force out of the man. Clay shook his head, knowing he was in for an even longer night than he’d anticipated. But that was all right, he decided philosophically, because he had a feeling that sleep would not come easily tonight. Not when Ilene was sleeping somewhere in the same house that he was.

He grinned at his father, allowing himself to be led into the kitchen. “You
really
should never have left the force.”

“An obsessive cop tends to make people nervous, especially when he’s in a position of higher authority.”

Clay slipped onto a stool at the long granite bar that ran on the other side of the work island. He knew his father was referring to his belief that his mother was still alive. At one point, his father had spent all his free time going over the evidence, trying to find someone who might have seen his wife leaving the area around the river, or someone who might have talked to her before she had taken off.

The newspapers had been unfair to Andrew, making it seem as if she had been fleeing her husband when she’d accidentally plowed her car over the bridge into the river. But when they’d recovered the vehicle, there’d been no suitcase, no prior arrangements made, no credit card charges to indicate that she was doing anything more than just going off on a long drive to cool off after a heated argument.

An argument, Clay had discovered recently, that had been over his uncle. Not the one who was currently chief of detectives, but the one who’d died not too long after Rose Cavanaugh had gone missing. Uncle Mike, he’d learned through something his cousin Patrick, Mike’s son, had overheard, had been attempting to get Rose to run away with him.

That day she disappeared, had she been going to meet him? Had something happened to prevent her from getting to Mike?

Clay shook his head, shaking off the thoughts. He was beginning to sound like his father. And he already had enough on his mind with his own ghost from the past.

An ironic smile played along his lips as he wondered just how much of an effect the one had on the other. If his mother hadn’t walked out, if she’d stayed home, stayed alive, would he still feel this rootless when it came to making a lasting commitment? Would pledging his heart to just one woman for all time be easier for him?

It was something he knew he was never going to resolve. Better not to try.

He looked at his father now. “You weren’t obsessive, Dad. Just stubborn. As always.”

Andrew took a plate of home-made pastries and placed it on the counter in front of Clay before sliding onto a stool beside him. “You know, sometimes you do have a lot of insight, boy.”

She’d remained in bed as long as she could, hoping to drift off again, to grab another snatch of sleep. But after an hour of futile attempts, Ilene gave up and got dressed. The moment she did, Alex had woken up, as fresh and rested as she was not. So she’d gotten them both dressed and then, holding his hand more for her own support than for his, she’d ventured out to the kitchen.

There were pots and pans everywhere, all being used by the whirling dervish in the middle of the room. Wonderful smells greeted her; however, she was more curious about the explosion of toys in the family room just beyond the kitchen. The place was absolutely littered with them. It didn’t seem to be a natural state of affairs for a house full of adults only.

But then it occurred to her that Andrew Cavanaugh might be a grandfather several times over. She didn’t know that much about the man. Or that much about Clay’s family, when she came down to it. Not much beyond the fact there were a lot of people in it. Unlike hers. She had no aunts, no uncles and consequently, no cousins.

And hardly even parents, she thought ruefully. They’d each gone on to remarry and form new bonds, all which excluded her.

Alex pulled at her side, eager to get at the treasure trove spread out before him. She tightened her fingers around his. Though she’d been officially up for the past half hour, she still felt a little groggy. But that was because she’d gotten less than four hours total sleep last night. Unlike her son, she didn’t adjust all that well to different sleeping conditions. And it didn’t exactly help that her mind kept insisting on racing along a mile a minute, trying to process everything that had gone on yesterday. Not the least of which was having Clay reenter her life.

He wasn’t reentering, she insisted silently, he was there in a professional capacity only. It wasn’t his fault that she’d felt that old electricity shooting through her at top speed the moment he’d lightly placed his hand on her arm. That was strictly her problem and she was going to have to do something about it before she joined the ranks of the living dead.

She had more than a sneaking suspicion that she already looked the part.

Hearing her enter despite the fact that he’d just turned on the blender, Andrew turned from the stove to look at his newest house guest. She’d brought the boy with her. And that instantly brought out a smile from him. “Good morning.”

Suspending his spatula, he smiled down at the boy who was hanging onto her arm, looking back at him with wide, clear-blue eyes. Eyes that reminded him a great deal of Clay, he thought.

“And what’s your name?”

If he thought that the boy might be shy, he was in for a surprise. All hints at possible shyness went out the window the second he opened his mouth.

“Alex,” the boy announced with pride. He was clearly eyeing the profusion of toys even as he politely remained standing by his mother. “Is this your house?”

Andrew was taken aback by the boy’s display of precocious behavior. At the very least, the child seemed as poised as one closer to the end of his first decade rather than just approaching the middle of it.

“Yes, it is,” he told him, “and you and your mom are going to be staying here with me and my family for a little while.” Out of the corner of his eye he saw Ilene shifting. He knew she was here unwillingly.

Alex couldn’t contain himself any longer. “Whose toys are those?”

“Alex.” Ilene gave her son a warning look, although she had to admit she was proud that the boy hadn’t lunged at the toys yet.

Andrew held up his hand, stopping her from saying anything. “That’s okay. They belonged to my kids when they were your age. I thought you might like playing with them.”

Alex’s head immediately whirled around in her direction. “Can I, Mama?”

That the man had gone to all this trouble for her child warmed her no end. “Since Mr. Cavanaugh was kind enough to get these out for you, yes, it’ll be all right.” She barely had time to finish her sentence when Alex dove into the bonanza.

Andrew nodded at the profusion on the rug. “I don’t have any of those electronic video games, but—”

Ilene cut short the apology she saw coming. “He doesn’t have any at home, not yet. I wanted him to develop his own imagination before he went on to harvest anyone else’s.”

Andrew studied her for a moment, deciding that he liked the woman a great deal. He couldn’t help wondering why Clay had never mentioned her. She didn’t strike him as the usual type his son went after. And that was a good thing.

“Sounds like a good plan to me.” His eyes indicated the counter littered with various items in different stages of preparation. “Are you hungry?”

Her stomach felt as if it was tightly wrapped up with a cord. Hungry? She still wasn’t sure she could eat. “I don’t usually have breakfast.”

Andrew believed the old adage about breakfast being the most important meal of the day. “Well, that’s going to change, at least while you’re here.”

“Don’t bully the woman, Dad. She can just have coffee if she wants.”

Ilene turned and saw the blond police detective she’d met briefly in her home last night. But as the woman drew closer, Ilene found herself thinking that she looked a little younger than she’d first thought.

Hands occupied with separating bacon strips, Andrew nodded toward the blonde with his chin. “Ilene, Lorrayne. Rayne, Ilene.”

Alex’s dark head bobbed as he briefly glanced up from the middle of the light rug. “And I’m Alex.”

Rayne crouched down beside him long enough to tousle his hair. “Hello, Alex, nice to meet you. You don’t have to have breakfast, either.”

Looking as if he was just short of salivating, Alex protested, “But I want breakfast.”

“Then you can have it,” Rayne told him with a quick, infectious grin as she rose to her feet.

Andrew nodded his head in approval. “I knew I liked you, boy, first time I saw you.”

Alex cocked his head, his perfect brows drawing together over a perfect nose. “You mean just now?”

“No, last night.” Andrew poured batter on the griddle. “I carried you from the car. You were sound asleep.”

“It was past my bedtime,” Alex informed him before returning to the flight pattern he’d established for the airplane he’d discovered.

Andrew chuckled to himself as he made eye contact with Ilene. “He’s a pistol.”

“That and more,” Ilene agreed.

“Hi, what’s for breakfast, I’m starved.”

Turning toward the sound of the exuberant voice behind her, Ilene saw almost a carbon copy of the woman already in the room. But this time Ilene was fairly sure that the woman walking into the kitchen was the one she’d met last night.

Stealing a piece of crisp bacon that had come off a frying pan only seconds ago, the woman dropped down in a chair. “Carrying around dolls in the middle of the night always leaves me hungry.”

Andrew gestured at the by now familiar array. He cooked like this daily, enjoying providing for a family that technically no longer needed him to continue providing. “French toast, pancakes, waffles, eggs, take your pick.”

Ilene stared at him. She heard Rayne laugh and realized that she probably hadn’t managed to mask her thought.

“Feels like you wandered into a restaurant, doesn’t it?” Rayne asked.

Ilene looked at Andrew, unable to conceive of anyone doing anything this elaborate on a regular basis. “Please, don’t go all out on our account.”

“You’ve got nothing to do with it, trust me. Except that maybe he’s put on a cleaner shirt in your honor. Dad’s like this all the time, aren’t you, Dad?”

The voice sounded as if it belonged to Clay, only deeper. But as she turned, she saw a tall, well-built man slipping into a chair at the table. She’d never seen a kitchen table quite as long as this one before. Lengthwise, it looked as if it had been lifted out of an army mess hall.