by Lisa Jackson
Her heart leaped to her throat as she remembered Eric Compton’s warning. Spinning, she surveyed the lot, but saw nothing out of the ordinary, just a few other employees walking to their vehicles.
Behind the wheel, her hands began to sweat, and she locked all the doors before pulling out of her parking space. As she drove through the gate, she caught a glimpse of a shadowy figure huddled behind a post, but it disappeared as quickly as it had appeared. “It’s just your imagination,” she said, hoping to calm her jittery nerves. “Nothing else.” But she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was being watched as she drove across the river to Sellwood.
The drive home, including a stop for groceries, took less than thirty minutes.
Kimberly juggled two sacks as she unlocked the back door and hurried inside. Arlene and Lindsay were in the kitchen.
“Did you get anything for me?” Lindsay asked, eyeing the sacks from her vantage point under the table, where she was carefully stacking building blocks.
“Everything,” Kimberly replied with a sly grin. “It’s dinner. And we’re having company.”
Arlene’s brows inched upward.
“What company?” Lindsay demanded. She scooted out of her hiding place and eyed her mother. “Who’s coming over here?”
“Jake—you met him earlier.”
Lindsay’s lower lip protruded, and her pudgy face clouded suspiciously. “I don’t like him!”
“Why not?”
Lindsay shrugged. “He’s too big.”
Arlene smothered a smile.
“Tell him to go home!”
“Wonderful,” Kimberly whispered sarcastically. “This is shaping up to be a barrel of laughs.”
“Come on, you,” Arlene said fondly, taking Lindsay’s hand. “I’ll help you get cleaned up.”
While Arlene and Lindsay were upstairs, Kimberly unpacked the groceries she’d bought, put a kettle of water on the stove and raced into the bedroom. She changed into a pair of black jeans and an aqua-blue sweater, then hurried back to the kitchen and tossed the lasagna noodles into the steaming kettle. After starting another can of tomato paste simmering, she yanked out vegetables, cheese and the remains of a baked chicken, then started grating mozzarella cheese.
Arlene returned to the kitchen. “Lindsay wanted to finish dressing herself. She’ll be down in a minute.” She studied the boiling pot on the stove. “What’re you making?”
“Chicken lasagna.”
“Need some help?” Arlene snatched her favorite apron from a hook near the back door and tied the strings around her thin waist.
“I’ll manage,” Kimberly said wryly. She glanced nervously at the clock mounted over the stove and started working double-time on the cheese.
“Then let me,” Arlene offered. Without waiting for a reply, she found a sharp knife and began expertly separating bones from meat. “Tell me about this McGowan character,” she said, casting Kimberly a sly glance.
“Well, he’s my lawyer.”
“That much I know. I met him already. I assume he’s single?”
“You assume correctly,” Kimberly said, remembering how pained Jake had appeared when he’d talked of marriage. “But he was married once. His wife’s dead. They were divorced.”
“What about children? Does he have any?”
“No.” She filled Arlene in, surprised at how little she knew about Jake.
“Sounds like a bit of a mystery man to me,” Arlene observed as she stripped off her apron.
“He is,” she admitted, frowning. “I keep thinking I’ve heard of him before, but I don’t know where.”
“Does it matter?”
Kimberly lifted a shoulder. “Probably not.” She layered the lasagna and stuffed it into the oven.
Lindsay barreled into the room. Wearing lavender stretch pants and a T-shirt with mint-green bears tumbling across its front, she handed her mother a wrinkled ribbon. “I did my ponytail myself!”
“So I see.”
“But I can’t tie the ribbon.”
“I’ll help.”
“And I’ve got to scoot,” Arlene said, pressing a kiss onto Lindsay’s forehead. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
Lindsay cried, “What about the tree?”
“Tree?” Kimberly asked.
“The Christmas tree!”
Arlene’s hand was poised over the doorknob, but she stopped. “Oh, right. Maybe tomorrow.” She explained to Kimberly, “I’ve got a little Douglas fir I promised Lindsay. Lyle’s brother brought us a couple of firs from his tree farm by Estacada. We only need one, so I left the other in a corner on your back porch.”
And we’re s’posed to put the lights on it!” Lindsay said.
“Tomorrow—”
“Now!” Lindsay cried.
Rolling her eyes toward the ceiling, Arlene said, “I’ll see you in the morning, angel. Don’t forget you’re staying overnight with me Friday night.”
The tree momentarily forgotten, Lindsay grinned.
“And you,” Arlene said to Kimberly as she opened the door, “take my advice and go out.”
“I’ll think about it,” Kimberly said to the door as it shut.
“Go out where?” Lindsay demanded.
“I don’t think it matters.” Kimberly laughed, wiping her hands and then tying the ribbon around Lindsay’s ponytail. “As long as I go. Come on, you can help me.” She reached into the drawer and pulled out three settings of silver—part of a wedding gift from her grandmother. “Put these and the red placemats around the table in the dining room.”
“Candles?” Lindsay asked, “and fancy glasses?”
“Silver, china, candles, the works,” Kimberly said, laughing.
Lindsay’s face brightened. She tore into the dining room and started her task with a vengeance.
Twenty minutes later the doorbell peeled, and Kimberly nearly jumped out of her skin.
“I’ll get it!” Lindsay said, sprinting into the living room.
“Be sure to look out the window first—”
But Lindsay had already yanked the door wide open. Jake was standing on the porch, two bottles of wine tucked under his arm. Cold air swept across the porch, swirling the few dry leaves that had collected near the railing.
At the sight of Jake, Kimberly’s heart did an unexpected flip, but Lindsay eyed him suspiciously.
“Come in,” Kimberly said, closing the door and taking Jake’s jacket. “Dinner’ll be a while.”
Inhaling dramatically, Jake said, “It smells great.”
“Let’s just hope it tastes as good as it smells.”
“Here.” He handed her the two bottles of wine, his fingers grazing hers. “Red or white—whichever you prefer.”
“I want red!” Lindsay announced.
Kimberly laughed. “But you’ll get white—the kind that comes from cows.”
Jake uncorked the wine and poured them each a glass. “To success,” he said, nodding in Lindsay’s direction.
“Success,” she agreed, wondering if it were possible as she touched her glass to his.
“Now, which do you want first—the good news or the bad?”
She froze. So this is why he’d wanted to go out. To prepare her. She felt her face pale a little. “I hate good news-bad news jokes,” she said softly.
“This is no joke.”
She sucked in her breath. “I was afraid of that. Okay, let’s start with the good.”
“Robert’s attorney petitioned for a change of custody, and we have a court date. January twentieth.”
“That’s good news?” she asked, her heart nearly stopped.
“It gives us time to work.”
“I hate to ask what the bad news is.”
Jake touched her arm. “The judge assigned to the case is Ken Monaghan.”
Kimberly nearly dropped her wine glass. “Monaghan? But he and Robert . . .”
Jake’s lips thinned. “. . . have known each other for years.”
“Su
rely he couldn’t take the case.”
“I objected and made a lot of noise at city hall, but Monaghan was assigned the case.”
Kimberly rested a hip against the counter. All her fears settled in her heart. She’d been kidding herself, of course; there was no way to fight a man as powerful as Robert.
“Don’t worry,” Jake said, reaching forward, his hand cupping her shoulder.
“But he could take her away.” Tears stung her eyes, and she had to fight from breaking down completely.
Jake drew her close. “Hey, I told you I wouldn’t let that happen, didn’t I?”
“But—”
“You asked me to keep you informed, to let you know everything that’s going on. That’s why I told you. But we’ve got to work fast.”
“How—?”
“By proving that Robert isn’t fit to be a father.”
The room seemed to close in on her. Going to court against Robert was one thing. Trying to publicly rebuke him was another. “But I couldn’t—”
Jake’s expression turned stern. “You promised,” he reminded her, “that we would do this my way or no way. We both know that Fisher has been involved in a lot of shady deals, some of which have been downright illegal. You’ve suspected as much for a long time. All we have to do is connect him to the crimes.”
Kimberly stiffened. “Crimes?” she repeated. It sounded so harsh. Her insides quaked.
“You don’t have to play innocent,” Jake said, all kindness gone from his features. His gaze drilled into hers. “You were his wife. You lived with the man. You saw things no policeman has ever seen.”
“So you want me to play spy, is that it?” she asked bitterly.
“I want you to do everything possible to keep your child with you.”
Kimberly leaned heavily against the counter. She knew it would come to this, of course. Jake had been dogged in leading up to Robert and his questionable connections. She sipped her wine but didn’t taste it. Jake, like so many others, believed the worst of Robert. Not that she didn’t think he had his faults. But a criminal? A crime lord? A man involved in drugs and prostitution and smuggling? She didn’t believe it, though she’d noticed the change in him. “I just don’t have any proof,” she said. “I told you that already.”
Jake’s face grew taut. “You’re the only one who was close enough to him to know of anything incriminating.”
“We’ve been over this before. He never discussed his business with me while we were married, and we’ve barely spoken since.”
Jake’s eyes grew cold and calculating. Kimberly shuddered as he insisted, “Maybe you saw or heard something you don’t think is important,” he prodded, pressuring her.
With a great amount of effort she concentrated, her thoughts returning to that bleak, lonely time that was her marriage to Robert Fisher. She remembered many things she’d rather forget, but nothing to do with his business.
“He,” she began on a sigh, “was cold. Not interested much in the family. He spent a lot of nights away from the house.”
“Did anyone visit him?”
“No.” She chewed on her lower lip. “We had only a couple of parties while we were married, and most of the people who came were wealthy businessmen and their wives.”
Jake’s jaw split the side. “What about after Daniel Steven’s death?” he asked quietly.
She shook her head. “Nothing.”
“It wasn’t suicide, you know,” Jake said, his gaze never leaving her.
“You don’t know that.”
“I do. Believe me, it just didn’t happen that way.”
Kimberly finally understood. “You knew him, didn’t you?” she asked gently.
“Yes.”
“And you didn’t tell me before?” she asked, staring at him as if he were a stranger—for in many ways he was. “Why not?”
“I didn’t want to color your judgment.”
“Or you didn’t trust me with the truth.” She felt anger swell up inside her. “That’s it, isn’t it? Even though you told me you’d tell me everything.”
“Daniel’s death doesn’t have anything to do with your case.”
“Then why do you keep bringing it up? You lied to me.”
He grabbed her wrist in an iron-like grip. “I didn’t lie to you. I just didn’t mention my friend.”
“Why not?”
“What would be the point?” They eyed each other for several seconds, and Kimberly was sure he would feel the quick beat of her pulse on his fingertips at her wrist.
“Let’s just start out being honest with each other, okay?”
His mouth tightened. “Of course.” Then, explaining, he said, “Daniel investigated a man who’s been known to associate with the less desirable elements of society, including your ex-husband. And Dan ends up dead.” Jake’s nostrils flared slightly. “Now, Kim, just what conclusion would you draw from that?” His eyes were dark with an inner, raging fire.
“I don’t know,” she said, swallowing hard, unable to believe that Robert would be involved in drugs and murder. Her throat worked, and her voice was barely a whisper. “I—I’m sorry about your friend.”
“So am I,” he said, dropping his arm. He finished his wine and set his glass in the sink. “Let’s not think about Dan,” he said under his breath. He shoved his fists into his pockets and closed his eyes. Slowly the tension in his features relaxed. “At least, let’s not think about him tonight.” He stared for a few long seconds through the kitchen window to the black night beyond. “Enough for now,” he said quietly, “but if you think of anything—anything—that might tie your ex-husband to organized crime, you’ll let me know.”
“Organized crime?” she choked out, but his stern expression cut off any further protests.
“Yes.”
“All right,” she agreed, mentally crossing her fingers. Fighting Robert for custody of Lindsay was one thing; trying to prove him a hardened criminal—perhaps a murderer—was beyond her comprehension. And she couldn’t forget that Jake, if he hadn’t actually lied to her, had kept the truth to himself.
The timer buzzed. Kimberly started, then getting a grip on herself, motioned toward the dining room. “Sit—and pour us each some more wine. The red. Lindsay and I’ll serve.”
Jake settled into a chair at the table. The hard anger in his face disappeared, and he actually managed a thin smile. Oddly, despite his mood swings, Kimberly sensed that he belonged in this house, that his presence filled an empty void that she hadn’t known existed until she’d met him.
“Lindsay,” Kimberly called to the girl in the next room, “can you put your toys away and come in here, please.”
Rustling could be heard outside the kitchen, followed by Lindsay’s jovial voice. “Coming!” she proclaimed.
With Lindsay’s help Jake lighted the cream-colored tapers. Candlelight gleamed in his dark hair and in the ruby-red claret as he poured.
Kimberly placed the thick Portland phonebook on a chair and hoisted Lindsay on top of it. Once Lindsay was settled, she set the platter of lasagna on the table and took the chair opposite Jake’s. His gaze touched hers as she sat down. His sensual lips curved into a smile, and Kimberly’s chest constricted against a wayward rush of emotion.
They could be friends, she thought, maybe even lovers, if circumstances were different. Jake McGowan was a fascinating, mysterious man and she liked him—more than liked him. That was the problem. Whether she wanted to admit it or not, she was falling in love with him. And yet there was so much she had yet to learn. Why hadn’t he told her about Daniel Stevens being his friend? And why did she feel he was still holding something back?
Later, after the dinner dishes had been cleared and Kimberly had tucked Lindsay into bed, Jake tried to tell himself to go home, that he had no business being here. He couldn’t afford to fall for Kimberly, and he certainly didn’t want to form any attachment to her daughter. Yet he lingered, watching Kimberly with a growing fascination that was dangerous
and wanting to please the little blond girl.
“Coffee?” she asked, pouring water into the coffee maker.
“Maybe later.” He motioned toward the back porch, where he’d seen what appeared to be a bedraggled fir tree. “Let’s put up the tree and surprise Lindsay.”
“You’d do that?” she asked, setting the plates in the sink.
He lifted his shoulder. “Why not?” Jake noticed the proud set of her spine, the graceful way her hair fell between her shoulder blades and the nip of her waist, visible when she reached into a high cupboard for the sugar jar. Her sweater slid up a bit, exposing creamy white skin. Jake felt a stirring deep within and glanced away, swallowing hard against a suddenly dry throat.
While he wrestled with the tree, Kimberly opened the closet under the stairs and began pulling out boxes of lights, tissue paper and ornaments. Finally she found the stand. After wiping off the dust and moving the old rocker, she placed the stand by the window and watched Jake struggle with the fir.
Dark needled branches swiped at Jake’s face as he attempted to place the sawed-off trunk squarely in the stand. The house filled with the scent of fresh air and pitch. Unaware of needles caught in his hair or that his muscles moved fluidly beneath his sweater, he adjusted the brace and asked Kimberly to hold the tree straight.
“I think it leans a little,” Kimberly said, eyeing the listing Douglas fir.
“Which way?”
“Right—no, left.”
Jake laughed. “Make up your mind.”
“I will, when you quit moving it.”
Swearing under his breath, Jake gave the tree a shake.
“That’s better.”
Jake’s deep, rumbling chuckle erupted from beneath the lowest branches. “This could take all night.”
Through the branches, he saw her grin. She was beautiful. Her hair was mussed, red-brown and framing her face in tangled curls, and her eyes, wide and intelligent, were the most seductive shade of blue he’d ever seen. She didn’t want to get involved with him—he’d made no bones about it—and he knew getting romantically entangled with the ex-Mrs. Fisher was an irrevocable mistake. Yet he couldn’t shake the hope that maybe she would change her mind.
