Tell Me a Story (9 page)

❧

Ann didn't give any more thought to Flynn's threat to find her a hobby. She knew he was just kidding. After all, nobody could choose a hobby for another person. She might have known that this was another rule that Flynn McCallister had never heard of.

The next evening when she got home, she didn't even bother to pretend to herself that she wasn't going to go to Flynn's apartment. Like it or not, she was involved. As long as he had Becky, Ann was involved in his life.

She changed clothes and fed Oscar, giving him some extra attention to make up for the fact that she was leaving him alone again. An hour after arriving home, she was knocking on Flynn's door. Becky answered the door.

"Ann! Mr. Flynn is making tacos. He says there's lots if you want to eat with us." Becky took Ann's hand and pulled her into the apartment. Ann was surprised by how much it felt like coming home. "We got you a hobby."

"You did what?"

Flynn came to the kitchen doorway in time to hear her exclamation. He gave her his most devilish grin. "Ann! How nice to see you. Becky, why don't you go get Ann's hobby. I'm sure she must be wild with excitement. Are you going to be joining us for dinner?"

"That depends." She checked to make sure that Becky was out of earshot and lowered her voice to be safe. "Did Becky cook any of it?"

Flynn's grin widened. "She made the instant pudding for dessert."

"Then maybe I'll join you for dinner."

Becky ran back into the room, a gaily wrapped package in her hands. She was a far cry from the ragged little girl Ann had met less than a week ago. Her hot pink cotton play pants and matching T-shirt gave color to her rather pale face. Her hair still needed a good cut, but Flynn had pulled it back from her face and clipped it into two pink barrettes. She looked like a normal, healthy child.

"Here." She thrust the package into Ann's hands, her face glowing with excitement. "Mr. Flynn and I picked it out together."

"Bring it into the kitchen so I can keep an eye on the tacos." Ann and Becky followed Flynn into the kitchen, and Ann couldn't help but sniff appreciatively at the spicy aromas that filled the room.

She set the package down on the table and tugged off the ribbon. Becky stood beside her, hopping back and forth with excitement. "Do you need help getting it open?"

It was clear that Ann's usual methodical procedure was not going to do. She nodded and Becky's small fingers made short shrift of the wrapping paper. When the contents were revealed, Ann didn't know what to say. Lying in the tattered remnants of the wrapping was a paint-by-numbers kit. A picture of a bowl of flowers.

She looked at Flynn who looked back at her with a totally bland expression. "Becky and I thought you'd enjoy it."

"It's wonderful. Thank you." She hoped the comment sounded enthusiastic enough for Becky. She didn't worry about Flynn. After all, he had clearly bought it as a joke. He didn't really expect her to do anything with it. Paint-by-numbers. How silly could you get?

She could never quite explain to herself how it happened. She took the kit home, planning to throw it away, but it seemed a shame to throw it out without at least opening it. And then those little pots of paint looked kind of interesting. It couldn't hurt to dab a few colors on the canvas. And before she knew it, it was midnight and she was still hunched over the table, dabbing little bits of paint into numbered segments on the picture.

And damned if she wasn't having a thoroughly good time!

"
I
'm sorry, Mr. McCallister. I wish I had more news for you. We'll keep looking but, frankly, we're beginning to run out of directions to go."

Flynn nodded, his eyes on the rather bilious floral print that hung over Leon Devoe's desk. Leon Devoe fit neither his name nor his profession. Everyone knew that private investigators were either tall and stunningly handsome with a slightly world-weary attitude, or short and slimy and out to cheat every client who came within reach. Leon looked like an ad for Mr. Average. Average size, average looks, average honesty. But he came with high recommendations.

"Perhaps if I could talk to the little girl. She might be able to tell me something that would help me to locate her mother."

"No." Flynn shook his head. "I don't want to involve Becky any more than we have to. She's scared enough without having someone asking questions. I've told you everything she knows about her mother's disappearance."

Leon shrugged and shuffled the papers on his desk. "I don't suppose it would do much good anyway. Frankly, there are a number of odd things about this woman. I can't find any record of her or the child past about three years ago. It's as if they fell out of the sky and into Los Angeles."

"That might have been about the time that Becky's father took off. She's a little vague on the dates."

"Well, if her mother wanted to hide the two of them from the child's father, she did a remarkably good job of it. I'm sure I'll be able to trace them but it could take quite some time."

Flynn leaned forward in his chair. "I'm not all that interested in their past. I want to know where the woman is now. I want to know why she didn't show up when she was supposed to."

"I understand, Mr. McCallister, but as I told you, we're running into walls. Beyond the fact that she left with a man, just as the little girl said, we haven't been able to find out much more. No one remembers the car, except that it was brown or possibly tan or maybe black. No one remembers the man except that he was tall or possibly short and he might have had brown hair, though one of the neighbors distinctly remembers that his hair was red."

Flynn stood up, his movements tight with controlled impatience. "Didn't anyone pay any attention at all?"

"Not really. Apparently, it wasn't at all unusual to see the woman leaving with a man. It was a normal occurrence. There was no reason for anyone to take special note of the child's mother going off for a weekend trip.''

"Except that she didn't come back from this trip."

"Exactly. But there was no way of knowing that ahead of time."

"Have you managed to find out anything at all that might tell us where she went?"

Leon shook his head slowly. "I wish I could say otherwise, but so far we've found very little of any use."

"Let me know if anything changes. You've got my number."

Leon stood up, coming around the desk to open the door for Flynn. "Rest assured, Mr. McCallister, that you will be the first to know if we find out anything helpful. But, frankly, I can't hold out much hope."

The two men shook hands and Flynn stepped out into the hall, listening to the door shut behind him. He didn't move away immediately. He wasn't looking forward to going home and telling Ann that he hadn't found out anything at all. As time passed, it was beginning to look less and less likely that Becky's mother was coming back. How was he supposed to tell a little girl that her mother might never return?

❧

Child and cat stared at each other with equal intensity. Each waiting for the other to make a move. Oscar's paw darted out, catching hold of the old sock and jerking it from Becky's hand. With a triumphant lunge, he was off and running, Becky hot on his trail. Ann looked up from the medical journal she was reading and smiled. She'd been concerned about introducing Becky and Oscar, uncertain of how the big tomcat would take to having his territory invaded by a small human. After some initial caution, Oscar had apparently decided that Becky had been imported solely for his pleasure. When he was tired of playing, Becky was content to sit beside him and pet him. Oscar was in cat heaven.

Ann looked at the clock and frowned. It was only five minutes since the last time she'd looked at the clock. This was ridiculous. Flynn would return as soon as he could. He'd only been gone a little over an hour. As soon as he'd talked to the private detective and found out if there were any leads to Becky's mother, he'd come home. There was no sense in watching the clock.

When the doorbell rang fifteen minutes later, Ann practically flew to the door, Becky hard on her heels. Oscar watched them from a safe perch on the sofa. Ann flung open the door, hoping that she'd be able to read something from his expression. They'd already agreed not to tell Becky where he'd been, so until they could get Becky out of the room, they wouldn't be able to talk openly. But surely he'd find a way to let her know if there was any news.

"Flynn—"

"Mr. Flynn—"

Both sentences came to an abrupt halt. The man standing outside the door was definitely not Flynn. He was short, stocky and balding, and the expression on his face bore no resemblance to Flynn's lazy charm. His eyes traveled from Ann's face to Becky.

"Dad." Ann knew her tone fell short of enthusiasm and she repeated the word, trying to sound less like she'd just discovered an encyclopedia salesman on her doorstep. "Dad."

"Ann." He nodded. "Obviously, you were expecting someone else."

"That's okay. Obviously, you aren't someone else." He didn't bother to smile at her weak attempt at humor.

"May I come in?"

"Of course. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to keep you standing there." She stepped back, aware of Becky retreating to stand next to Oscar. She shut the door behind her father and followed him into the living room. "Dad, this is Rebecca Sinclair. She's staying across the hall and I'm taking care of her for a little while. Becky, this is my father, Mr. Perry."

He acknowledged the introduction with a short nod.

"Staying with the McCallister fellow, is she? I thought you were steering clear of him."

Robert Perry believed that children should be seen and not heard. He also believed that they should be treated as if they were part of the furniture, which included not only silence, but deafness.

Luckily, the doorbell rang again before Ann had to find an answef for her father's comment. Her pace was much more subdued this time, and she waited until the door was fully open before greeting her visitor.

"Flynn." They had only an instant in the semi-privacy of the hall. There was no time for Ann to ask any questions about his visit with the private detective. Her eyes met his and he shook his head slightly, the only thing they had time for before Becky clutched Flynn around the knees.

"Hi, urchin." He bent and scooped her up, holding her casually under one arm. Her giggles drew a smile from Ann, a smile that died when she looked at her father.

"Flynn, this is my father, Robert Perry. Dad, this is Flynn McCallister."

The two men nodded. Robert Perry's face expressed his disapproval of both Flynn and Becky. "I understand Ann has been baby-sitting for you."

"I suppose you could call it that."

"My daughter is a very busy woman. I hope you don't plan to intrude on her time like this again."

"Dad!" Ann could feel the color coming up in her cheeks. She looked at Flynn, half-expecting him to stalk out in a rage. But, of course, Flynn McCallister never did the expected thing.

One black brow arched upward, and his mouth twisted in a half smile that brought an angry flush to Robert Perry's face even before Flynn spoke.

"I think Ann can take care of herself. She's never hesitated to speak her mind in the past. Of course, you have to be willing to listen to hear what she's saying." His words fell into a little pool of silence. Ann held her breath, waiting for the explosion.

Flynn seemed oblivious to the tension. He shifted Becky from one arm to the other, holding her against his hip as if she weighed nothing. "Ann, we're having chili dogs tonight if you want to join us."

He turned and left without another word to her father, tugging the door shut behind him, cutting off the sound of Becky's giggling pleas to be put down. Ann stared at the door for a long moment, surprised by the strength of the urge to follow him.

She had to force herself to look at her father, pinning a determinedly cheerful expression on her face. Maybe he would just ignore Flynn's comments. One look at his purple complexion told her that he wasn't going to ignore anything. It was going to be a rough visit.

❧

"Have a glass of wine." Ann shook her head. "I really shouldn't stay. It's late and... thank you." She took the glass he handed her and sipped the pale red contents.

"You'll sleep better after a nice glass of pinot noir."

Flynn sank into a chair at right angles to the sofa and propped his stockinged feet on the glass coffee table. He looked absolutely boneless, slouched in the chair, a wineglass in one hand, the other hand relaxed on the wide arm of the chair. He had nice hands, long fingers and neatly clipped nails. Artistic hands.

Ann took another sip of wine and felt some of the tension seep out. She slid farther back on the sofa and leaned her head against its back. It was so peaceful here. Becky was asleep; the city was quiet beneath them. No one was demanding anything of her. How had it happened that, in the space of a few short days, Flynn McCallister had gone from being a thorn in her side to being an oasis of calm?

Of course, it was only temporary. As soon as Becky's mother was found, she and Flynn would go their separate ways again. Not that they'd go back to being antagonists, but they'd certainly have no reason to do more than nod politely in the hall. Why wasn't that thought more reassuring?

"What did the private investigator have to say about Becky's mother? Any luck?"

Flynn shook his head. "Not much. He's found out quite a bit about her but nothing that tells us where she might have disappeared to." He swirled the wine in his glass, his expression uncharacteristically serious. "She doesn't sound like your average mother who belongs to the PTA and bakes cookies every second Tuesday."

"So? Most women don't fit that pattern anymore."

"True. But most women don't have a different boyfriend every weekend and no visible means of support."

"You think she's a..." Ann cleared her throat, her eyes going toward the room where Becky was asleep.

"I don't know." Flynn took another swallow of his wine, his frown deepening. "She must love Becky or she wouldn't have bothered to keep her. Maybe she is earning her living in the oldest profession. Maybe she doesn't have a choice."

"Still, that's not going to be very good for Becky, especially when she gets old enough to understand what's going on."

"It would explain why her mother has instilled a fear of the 'welfare people' in Becky. I imagine they would take her away if her mother's doing what I think she's doing."

"What are we going to tell Becky?" She used the plural without thought. It was no longer possible to pretend that she wasn't involved in this situation.

"Nothing. At least not until we have some news of her mother. She's happy here. I'm just going to let her stay that way."

"What if her mother's never found?"

Flynn downed the last of his wine and stared broodingly at the glass. "We'll cross that bridge when it gets here."

Ann took another swallow of wine, feeling the warm glow of it settle in her stomach and then ease its way through her body.

"Did Becky get to sleep all right?"

"No problem. I told her a story and she went out like a light before I even got to the punch line. She asked where you were."

Ann tried to ignore the pleasure the words gave her. She was getting too emotionally involved here. She was going to get hurt. "What did you tell her?"

"I told her that you'd asked me to give her a kiss for you and that you'd see her tomorrow."

"That was nice."

"I thought so. Of course, you owe me a kiss now." Ann's eyes flew to his face. He gave her a lazy smile that set up a fluttering in her stomach. "I'll collect later."

"Oh. Fine." Fine? Had she really said fine? It had to be the wine. Maybe he'd drugged it.

"How did the visit with your father go?"

In her current relaxed state, not even the mention of her father could seriously dim the warm glow Ann felt. He seemed so far away.

"The same as usual. I'm not doing well enough. I should be further along in my career. I don't attend the right gatherings. He doesn't like my cat, my apartment, my life-style."

"And he most especially doesn't like Becky and me."

It had to be the wine. She wasn't even upset that he'd hit the nail on the head with such unerring precision.

"It's nothing personal. He just worries that I'll let things get in the way of my career."

"Things like personal relationships?" The question was unanswerable, but he didn't seem to expect a reply. He leaned forward and picked up the wine bottle, filling his own glass before leaning forward to fill Ann's.

"I really shouldn't. It's late."

"You've got to try it now that it's had time to breathe."

She sipped obediently. It didn't taste any different to her, but she nodded and made an appreciative noise. She really should go home, but the sofa felt so wonderfully soft.

"You know, I've found that you can't always fulfill your parents' dreams for you. Sometimes, you just have to do what you want to do, even if it disappoints the people you love."

"lam doing what I want to do."

"Then you've got nothing to worry about."

Ann frowned into her glass. "It's not that my father isn't proud of me. It's just that he has very high standards. He wanted a boy, you know."

"Well, I, for one, am glad he didn't get what he wanted. You're much too beautiful to make a good boy." He raised his glass in a toast and Ann felt that disturbing tingle of pleasure again.

"Thank you. I don't think that's any consolation to my father."

"I wasn't trying to console him."

"You know, I wish I was more like you." Ann was almost as surprised by her words as he was. Amazing what a couple of glasses of wine could do.

"Like me? I wouldn't have guessed that you harbored a secret desire to be a worthless playboy, as my father so succinctly puts it."

"No, I don't mean that. I mean, I wish I didn't care so much what other people thought. You just go through life doing what you want to do. You don't let what your father wants control your life."

Flynn's mouth twisted ironically. "Oh, I don't know. In some ways, I am what I am just to spite my father. Nobody is completely free of their parents' influence. You've just got to keep it in perspective."

"Perspective." Ann yawned. "Did you know that I wanted to be a veterinarian when I was a kid?"

"Why didn't you?"

She swallowed the last of her wine and set the glass down with a thump. "My father thought it was dumb. Doctoring people is more important than animals." She yawned again. "I'm sorry. I should have warned you that wine makes me sleepy."

"That's okay. Do you ever regret it?"

"That wine makes me sleepy? It doesn't cause me much trouble." She blinked at him owlishly.

He smiled, his eyes bright with amusement. "Do you ever regret becoming a people doctor instead of an animal doctor?"

"Of course not. People doctoring is much more important." Her eyelids felt so heavy. "I really should be going home."

Flynn watched as her head slipped slowly to the side, her eyes shut, her mouth the slightest bit open as she slid into sleep. There was a funny ache in his chest. She looked so vulnerable. He set his glass down and stood up. He should probably wake her up and send her home. She wasn't going to be happy about falling asleep in front of him. It was too big a chink in the wall she kept between them. He looked at her a moment longer and then left the room.

When he returned, he was carrying a pillow and a blanket. Ann didn't twitch when he tucked the pillow under her head, easing her down to lie on the sofa. He lifted her feet up, slipping her shoes off.

He covered her with the blanket, and she cuddled under its light warmth, snuggling her face into the pillow. Her hair was still pulled back in a loose bun, but a few rebellious strands had escaped the pins to curl around her face. He brushed them back, letting the soft warmth curl around his fingers.

He wasn't entirely sure what was happening between them, but he knew it was a lot more than just concern for Becky. Thirty-three was a hell of a time to fall in love for the first time. He'd almost begun to think it would never happen. He tucked the blanket more firmly around her shoulders and moved away, scooping up the glasses and the half-empty wine bottle on his way to the kitchen.