After Dark

by Beverly Barton

  He had come home to help her. To help her and Will. If their son had killed Kent, he couldn’t help the boy unless he knew the truth.

  After disengaging himself from his seat belt, he opened the door and quickly followed her. Taking rapid strides, he caught up with her on the small bridge that separated the north side of the park from the south side. She stopped running, leaned over the railing and stared into the algae-thick pond, which was fed by an underground spring. He didn’t have to see her eyes to know she was crying. Her slender shoulders trembled. Silent tears.

  He came up behind her and engulfed her in his arms, holding her there, her back to his chest. She shuddered and released a long, loud sigh. Mournful. Agonized. Desperate.

  “It’s all right, babe,” he whispered in her ear as he nuzzled her neck. “We don’t have to talk about it now. But soon. When you’re ready. No matter how bad it is, I’ll move heaven and earth to help you and Will.”

  She swallowed the lump of emotion lodged in her throat. “You—you really mean that, don’t you?” She draped her arms over his where they crisscrossed at her waist.

  “I know my past record isn’t very good, but I’m not the same selfish, cocky boy who left town fifteen years ago. I’ve matured and hopefully gained a little wisdom along the way.” With the utmost gentleness, he turned her in his arms until she faced him. “The way I see it, you and Will are my family. And a man—a real man—protects what’s his. He keeps them safe, at any cost.”

  “Will is your son…your family. But I’m only Will’s adoptive mother, not—”

  “Shush.”

  Her bright blue eyes looked up at him, and for a split second he saw the same expression he had seen when she’d been nineteen and had begged him to take her with him when he left town. Hope. Love. Those sentiments shined in her eyes. But within an instant, those beautiful emotions disappeared, replaced with uncertainty and sadness.

  How could he even begin to tell her what he felt when he didn’t know himself? He could admit that of all the women who had been a part of his life, she was the only one he’d been unable to forget. He could thank her for Will, for giving the boy life when Sharon would have destroyed him. He could beg her to forgive him for not taking her with him, for not saving her from Kent.

  And he could tell her that he wanted her more than he had ever wanted anyone or anything. That a raging hunger rode him hard and it was all he could do not to act on his baser instincts.

  He could have had her years ago. She had been more than willing. But she had been so sweet and innocent. And so trusting. He had been so damn proud of himself for letting one naive little rabbit free from the trap that had caught so many others. But how could he have known that by releasing her, he had in turn trapped himself? Always wondering. Always thinking of what might have been. Never knowing.

  Each woman was a mystery, waiting to be solved. But more often than not the solution held no reward beyond solving the riddle itself. Would it be that way with Lane? Once he’d had her, would she become just one more woman in a long line of women?

  He wrapped her securely in his embrace, keeping her close. She relaxed against him, as if she could no longer bear her own weight. Her arms encircled him and held tight.

  “Lane, I—”

  A car horn blew. Someone yelled out a greeting. Lane lifted her head off his chest and searched for the source of the sounds. On the paved drive that circled the outer edges of the park, a young woman in an SUV had stopped to talk to one of the elderly walkers.

  Lane disengaged herself from Johnny Mack’s arms.

  “Take me home.” She glanced down at her wristwatch. “Will should be there by now. He’ll worry if we don’t show up soon.”

  As she turned to go back over the bridge, he grabbed her arm. She halted and stared at him, wariness in her eyes.

  “Whatever the truth is, you need to share it with me,” he told her. “You’re not helping Will by lying for him.”

  Lane jerked free. “Don’t you dare presume to tell me what’s best for my son.”

  Damn! Somehow, no matter what he said, it turned out to be the wrong thing. Lane was hiding something. Will was more involved in Kent’s murder than anyone knew. She was covering up for the boy. And he would bet his last dime that Lillie Mae was helping her.

  What if Will had killed Kent! Would he actually allow his mother to go to prison for a crime he had committed? If so, what kind of young man did that make Will? A spoiled, selfish….

  “You’re right,” Johnny Mack said, his voice terse. “It’s apparent that even though I’m Will’s father, you still don’t trust me enough to be honest with me. Maybe I haven’t earned the right to make a judgment call when it comes to Will. But dammit, Lane, no matter what you think of me or how you feel about me, you’ve got to know”—he laid his fist over his belly—“in your gut, that I’d never do anything to hurt Will.”

  “You wouldn’t mean to hurt him,” she said.

  Johnny Mack’s cellular telephone rang. Lane jumped. He pulled the phone from the inside pocket of his sport coat, flipped it open and growled his name. “Cahill here.”

  “Where the hell are you two?” Quinn demanded. “I’ve been at Lane’s house for the past ten minutes. Lillie Mae and Will are climbing the walls worrying that something has happened to Lane.”

  “Lane’s fine. We got sidetracked. We’re on our way.”

  When Lane’s gaze questioned him, Johnny Mack said, “That was Quinn. Your presence is required at home.”

  “Johnny Mack?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Don’t say anything to Will about…please, don’t ask him anything about the day Kent died.”

  “I won’t ask him anything if that’s what you want. Not now. But you’d better have a damn good excuse to give Quinn, because he’s going to want to ask Will and Lillie Mae a lot of questions.”

  “Lillie Mae, yes. Will, no.”

  If he thought it would do any good, he would shake her until her teeth rattled. But she had made up her mind to protect Will, no matter what. It would prove an impossible task to convince her that lying for Will would, in the long run, only harm him. But sooner or later, he would have to find a way to unearth the truth, even if it meant alienating Lane.

  Will met them at the door. The moment Lane stepped over the threshold, she opened her arms and Will walked into her maternal embrace. His son had neither a glance nor a word of greeting for him. What had he expected? Thanks, Dad, for guaranteeing a hundred and fifty thousand dollars bail to get my mother out of jail. Thanks for getting her safely away from a vicious group of reporters. Thanks for bringing in one of the best criminal lawyers in the country to defend her.

  When he entered the living room, Lillie Mae came to his side and whispered, “You got a phone call about an hour ago. Some woman. Said her name was Monica Robinson. Said you had her number.”

  “Thank you.” He could tell by the frown on Lillie Mae’s face that she disapproved of him receiving a call at Lane’s house from another woman.

  “Who is she?” Lillie Mae asked.

  “Monica?”

  “Yes. Who is she?”

  “A friend.”

  “A lover?”

  “Why the third degree?” he asked.

  “I hoped you’d changed.” Lillie Mae glanced around the room as if to make sure no one overheard her. “Like always, one woman isn’t enough for you. You’re still tomcatting around, aren’t you?”

  “My love life is none of your damn business,” he told her, his voice low and controlled. “But since you’re so determined to believe the worst of me and your opinion of me actually matters, I’ll explain. I’ve been in a monogamous relationship with Monica for a year now.”

  “Are you going to marry her?” Lillie Mae asked.

  They had been so engrossed in their conversation that neither Johnny Mack nor Lillie Mae had realized that Will had approached them. Not until he spoke.

  “Are you getting married?” Will as
ked. “To the woman who called here earlier?”

  “What?” From across the room, Lane gasped the question.

  Quinn, who was standing next to Lane, a glass in his hand, gave Johnny Mack a raised eyebrow. He figured Quinn was drinking Jack Daniel’s, the only whiskey Lane’s father had ever kept in the house. Despite his wealth and sophistication, Bill Noble’s taste in liquor had been plebeian.

  “I’m not getting married,” Johnny Mack said. “The woman who called here is a good friend. Nothing more.”

  As much as she tried to hide her emotions, Lane could not disguise the expression on her face. She looked as if he had slapped her. The last thing he wanted was to inflict more pain, but he seemed to have a knack for doing just that, especially where Lane was concerned.

  Shit! Why the hell had Monica called and opened up this hornet’s nest? Because you haven’t bothered to call her since you left Houston, you idiot!

  “If y’all will excuse me, I’ll return Monica’s call.” He glanced across the room at Quinn. “When you finish up here with Lane, we can head back to the motel. I want to check out of that dump and find a better motel, until I can rent a condo or an apartment for us.”

  “There’s no need for you to rent a place,” Lane said, only a hint of a quiver in her voice. “This house is huge, and we have rooms we never use. You and Quinn are welcome to stay here until the trial is over.”

  “That’s very hospitable of you, Lane,” Quinn said. “We’d be delighted to take you up on such a generous offer.”

  “Y’all living here will be convenient for all of us. I’ll have my lawyer within arm’s reach twenty-four hours a day, and if Johnny Mack stays here, it’ll give Will and him a chance to become better acquainted.”

  “I don’t want him here!” Will skewered Johnny Mack with a drop-dead glare.

  Ignoring his son’s outburst, Johnny Mack focused on Lane. “Thank you for the invitation, but are you sure?”

  “Yes, I’m sure. And you’re quite welcome.” Lane nodded to Johnny Mack, then smiled at Quinn. “You’re both welcome.” She glided across the living room and slipped her arm through Quinn’s. “While Lillie Mae prepares dinner and Johnny Mack makes his phone call, why don’t I show you around the house and you can choose which bedroom you’d like.” She glanced at Will. “Do you have any homework you should be doing?”

  “Yeah, sure.” Will shrugged. “I’ll be in my room. Call me when dinner’s ready.”

  Johnny Mack could have strangled Quinn for responding so enthusiastically to Lane’s invitation. When they disappeared upstairs, he had to force himself not to follow them. Quinn Cortez was a lady-killer, and Lane was very vulnerable right now. Later, he would have a talk with his old friend—and warn Quinn to keep his hands off personal property. And God help him, that was how he thought of Lane. She was his. First. Last. Always.

  If the lady was in the market for a lover, then she had damn well better choose him.

  They sat around the large glass and wrought-iron table on the patio as the sun set and splashed the western horizon with vivid hues of pink, crimson and lavender. The lulling cadence of the river’s flow added to the summertime music of the cicadas singing nearby. Lillie Mae had served barbeque ribs, which were Johnny Mack’s favorite. But he hadn’t known, until tonight, that they were Will’s favorite, too.

  Except for an occasional question to Quinn about Lane’s case, Will had remained quiet and sullen, not once speaking to or looking at Johnny Mack. But there had been no lulls in conversation, no periods of awkward silence, thanks to Quinn. That half-breed Mexican-Irishman had certainly inherited the gift of gab from his mother’s Celtic ancestors. He could relate a tall tale with the best of them. But from his father, Quinn had inherited his Latin charm, which he lavished on Lane tonight. And Lane seemed to be absorbing Quinn’s attention like a dry sponge soaking up water. Was she that needy, Johnny Mack wondered, that she would fall for Quinn’s flattery?

  When he caught Lane’s eye, she smiled, but there was no warmth in her eyes, no genuine congeniality to her expression.

  “Did you make that call to your friend?” Lane asked.

  “Yes,” he replied.

  “I suppose she misses you and wants you to come home soon.”

  “Not really. Monica has a busy life and many other friends.” Johnny Mack didn’t want to discuss Monica with Lane. He didn’t want to discuss any of the other women in his life—past or present—with her. Monica had mentioned missing him, and had asked how much longer he would be gone, but she hadn’t seemed disappointed when he’d told her he was staying in Noble’s Crossing for the duration of Lane’s trial. Monica was a good friend and an enjoyable lover, but he suspected that she knew their time together was over.

  “Excuse me.” Will jumped up abruptly. “I’m going to go shoot a few hoops.”

  “Want some company?” Quinn asked.

  “Nah. I’d rather have some time alone. Thanks anyway.”

  The minute Will disappeared around the corner of the house, Lillie Mae suggested that everyone go inside for after-dinner coffee. Before Johnny Mack even got out of his chair, Quinn was up and assisting Lane.

  Just as the couple started to go through the French doors leading off the patio into the house, Johnny Mack grabbed Quinn’s arm. “Could I talk to you for a few minutes, old pal?”

  Lane gave Johnny Mack an inquisitive stare, but saved her gracious smile for Quinn. “We’ll have coffee waiting when y’all finish your private conversation.” She followed Lillie Mae, leaving the two men alone.

  “What’s up?” Quinn asked.

  “That’s what I want to know.” Johnny Mack released his friend’s arm, but stood eye to eye, command and determination in his stance.

  “I’m clueless, amigo.” Quinn shrugged.

  “Clueless my ass. And don’t you amigo me. What the hell do you think you’re doing with Lane?”

  “What am I doing? I’m being charming and attentive to a very lovely lady who is in great need of male appreciation.”

  “Well, you don’t have to be so damn charming. There’s no law that says you have to be a Latin lover all the time. Besides, Lane is off limits to you.”

  “And why is that? I find her an incredibly desirable woman.”

  Johnny Mack’s black eyes narrowed to angry slits. “Lane isn’t the type for a one-night stand or even a brief affair. She’s vulnerable and lonely and she could be easily hurt. So stay the hell away from her.”

  “I agree. And I have no problem with drawing the line at being Lane’s attorney and her friend. What I want to know, Johnny Mack, is will you be able to take your own advice?”

  “What the hell do you mean by that?”

  Quinn laid his hand on Johnny Mack’s shoulder. “This is Quinn you’re talking to. We’ve been best friends for nearly fifteen years. I know you better than you know yourself. You’ve got the hots for that woman. And maybe there’s something more to the way you feel about her. More than the fact that she saved your life and has raised your son. Man, if you could see your face when you look at her, you’d know what I mean.”

  Was Quinn right? Did his feelings show on his face? In his eyes? If so, could Lane read him as clearly as Quinn did? And just what could others see that he couldn’t?

  “Lane’s special to me,” Johnny Mack admitted. “She’s always been…. What I feel for her is different from what I’ve felt for other women.”

  “Then, why not follow through and give the lady what she needs?”

  “I’m not going to hurt her. She’s been hurt enough.”

  “And would becoming her lover harm her?” Quinn asked as he squeezed Johnny Mack’s shoulder. “She is hungry for you, my friend. I see the desire in her eyes, too.”

  “Go inside and have your coffee. And while I’m gone, don’t flirt with Lane anymore,” Johnny Mack said, deliberately avoiding the subject of Lane’s passion for him. “I’m going to find Will and see if he’ll talk to me.”

  “Tha
t boy is very hostile toward you. Don’t be surprised if he tells you to take his basketball and put it where the sun don’t shine.”

  “Tell Lane I’ve taken a walk. She doesn’t need to know that I’m—”

  “Giving her son the third degree?”

  “You know, without my saying so, that Will could be the one who killed Kent. Lane could be protecting him.”

  Quinn nodded. “Don’t push the boy too hard.”

  “You just keep Lane entertained. But keep your hands off her.”

  “I will try my best to accommodate you on both counts.”

  The sound of Quinn’s deep-throated laughter drifted on the twilight breeze as he saluted Johnny Mack with a mock bow, then turned and went into the house.

  He stood at the side of the house and watched Will as he made hoop after hoop. The boy was a natural. Tall. Lean. Athletic. With an amazing power of concentration. But the most amazing thing about this smart, handsome, fantastic boy was the undeniable fact that he, Johnny Mack Cahill, was his father. A reckless act of sex, one long-ago summer night, had created this perfect child. No love. No commitment. No thought beyond the pleasure of the moment. How was it possible? Nature sure as hell had things screwed up. All a guy had to do to become a father was have a climax. Without a thought of the consequences. Without any plans for the future. Without wanting to reproduce.

  Johnny Mack studied his son, searching for any resemblance to Sharon. The shape of his face, a little rounder than his own, with a softer, less square jaw. And his nose was Sharon’s. Smaller, with a slight tilt at the end. But the eyes, the mouth and even the sulking expression were pure Johnny Mack. The height and build, as well as the black hair and dark eyes, were gifts passed down from John Graham, may the frigging old bastard rot in hell. Traits that he, and now Will, had shared with the old man and with Kent.

  If he never did anything else right in his entire life, he had to make it right with Will. He owed this boy something more than money, which he now had in abundance. Will might have killed Kent. Lane could be covering for the boy, willing to go to jail to protect her son. But what would it do to Will if he let his mother take the rap for him?