Jason didn’t like the picture he was getting of a woman struggling to make ends meet, only to be taken advantage of by her no-good kid brother. Where were her parents? Why weren’t they disciplining the brat? He barely resisted the urge to reach in his pocket and replace the missing money. But he figured that was the surest way he knew to get another punch in the mouth.
“Where do I fit in?” he asked. “What makes you think Sammy gave me your money?”
“I found this VCR in his room. He told me he bought it.”
“From a store?”
She regarded him accusingly again. “No, from some man he met on the streets. He was supposed to see the guy again today. The guy offered him a deal on all sorts of fancy things—stereos, computers, who knows what else—if Sammy would go in with him.”
Incredulous, Jason was beginning to get the whole ugly picture. “What the hell are you suggesting?” he demanded indignantly. “Surely you didn’t think I was dealing in stolen property and recruiting your brother to help?”
He could see from her expression that that was exactly what she’d thought. It was the last straw.
He leaned in close and lowered his voice. “You’ve made a mistake, okay? If you leave quietly, right now, we’ll forget this ever happened.”
“I have no intention of staying quiet about this, mister. You won’t get away with it. Men like you are a blight on society, a disgrace to decent people.”
“Men like me?” Jason repeated. Now his voice was climbing to the fishmonger level of hers. “Men like me! What the hell would you know about me?”
“I know that you were willing to use my brother, that you played on a kid hungry for a little money and attention.”
Jason raked his hand through his hair and tried to control his temper. Another five minutes of listening to this woman’s outrageous accusations and he might forget all the rules of propriety and…and what? Hit her? Hardly. Give her a stern talking to? That would certainly terrify her. He faced the fact that he was stymied, unless he could get to the bottom of this story.
“Maybe we should start at the beginning,” he said very slowly. He was gritting his teeth. “Why did you assume that I knew your brother?”
“You were right where Sammy said you’d be,” she said defensively. “You stood on the corner down the block, right under the old clock. You had another one of those VCRs. The exact same model. It said so on the box. It was obvious you were waiting for someone, so don’t even bother trying to deny it.”
Jason prayed for patience. “I bought that VCR less than an hour ago. I can show you the sales slip.” He got it out of his pocket and waved it under her nose. She didn’t look impressed.
“And I was waiting for someone—my grandfather. We’re meeting at noon for lunch and I was early. I thought about waiting outside, but it was too damned cold.” He shook his head at the ridiculousness of her mistake. “Can I give you a bit of advice? Next time be sure of your facts before you attack some stranger in a bar. Otherwise, you’re likely to land yourself in jail or worse.”
She regarded him defiantly. “What makes you think I’m not sure of my facts now?”
Jason realized that she was absolutely serious. He hadn’t convinced her of a thing. On a day when he’d decided nothing would ever surprise him again, the idea of being considered shady and dangerous held a certain insane appeal. “You honestly think I’m a thief?”
She shrugged. “You could be. Just because you’re wearing fancy clothes and talk smooth doesn’t mean you’re honest. Some of the biggest crooks I know spend a bundle on clothes.”
“And the sales slip?”
“If you’re any good as a thief, you can probably forge that.”
“You’re very cynical.”
“I’ve had to be.”
To his utter astonishment, Jason found that he wanted to ask why. He wanted to spend the next twelve hours talking to this woman, finding out what made her tick, explaining that a kid who’d knowingly bought a stolen VCR probably couldn’t be counted on to lead her to the thief. He wanted to discover the source of all that fierce determination and protectiveness, because one thing was perfectly clear—she didn’t blame Sammy for his crime. She blamed the man who’d lured him into it. He wondered if anyone stood up for her the way she stood up for her brother. He wondered about parents and lovers. He wondered a lot about lovers and cursed the notion that there might be one.
He dragged a hand through his hair. It was obvious he was every bit as nuts as she was.
She was sitting perfectly still beside him, as alert as a predatory jungle creature waiting for a chance to spring on some unsuspecting prey. Jason looked up and then caught sight of his grandfather striding across the tavern. Even though his hair had gone silver and his shoulders were slightly stooped, at sixty-eight he was an impressive man. No one could mistake Brandon Halloran for anything less than the distinguished, legitimate businessman he was.
Hallorans had been held in high esteem in Boston since the first one had made his way over in the 1800s. Brandon had done his part to see that the image of respectability remained intact. As he stopped to talk with one of his cronies, Jason could just imagine the wild tale he was hearing about his grandson’s latest escapade.
“Okay, whatever game you’ve been playing, it’s over now,” he said with finality. “I want you to leave before my grandfather gets over here. And if I hear the slightest hint that you’ve continued to spread these lies about me, I’ll slap you with a slander suit that will make your head spin. Is that clear?”
He moved out of the booth to let her pass. She slid across the seat and stood up. Instead of going, though, she stood toe-to-toe with him, undaunted. Her chin jutted up a defiant notch and her hands went to her hips.
“I’ll leave,” she said. “But don’t think for one minute that I’m intimidated by the likes of you. And as long as we’re issuing warnings and threats, you might remember this—if you come near my brother again with one of your shady deals, I’ll turn you over to the cops. Is that clear?”
With his grandfather approaching, Jason didn’t have the option of telling her exactly what he thought of a woman who managed to get her facts so incredibly screwed up, then tossed around slanderous charges.
“Oh, I think we understand each other,” he muttered.
She nodded. “I’m sure we do.”
She cast one final glare in his direction, then whirled around and stalked off, leaving both Jason and his grandfather staring after her.
“Who the devil was that?” Brandon demanded.
“Some lunatic.”
Brandon’s gaze narrowed speculatively. “What’d she do to get your dander up?”
“Nothing.” Jason slid into the booth and gulped down the remainder of his Scotch.
“Oh, really? Last time a woman got me that hot and bothered, I asked her to marry me.”
Jason’s horrified gaze shot to his grandfather. “I don’t even know that woman.”
Brandon shrugged, his expression pure innocence. “Maybe you should get to know her. Mind you, I don’t know the whole story, but judging by what I’ve heard in the last five minutes, she’d give you one hell of a run for your money. Seems to me you could use the challenge.”
“Granddad, if I ever need the skills of a matchmaker, remind me not to come to you for advice. That woman would would drive a saint to drink.”
Brandon eyed the empty glass in front of Jason and nodded complacently. “Yes, indeed. A regular hellion. You could do worse.”
“Frankly, I don’t see how,” Jason said. “With any luck, I’ll never see her again.”
* * *
Sammy Roberts was sprawled on the frayed living room sofa watching television when Dana got home. He spared her an all-too-familiar sullen, hostile glance then returned his attention to the thirteen-inch screen where black-and-white images flickered weakly. At least she knew that set hadn’t been stolen. She’d bought it herself. Sammy would have gone for color.
Still shaken by her encounter in the bar and worried sick by what was happening to her brother these days, she crossed the room in three quick strides and snapped off the TV. “We need to talk.”
“Again? I got nothin’ more to say.”
Filled with determination and furious that she might actually have made a complete fool of herself earlier, she pulled up a chair in front of him and sat on the edge. “Well, I do. I want you to tell me again about this man who sold you the hot VCR.”
Sammy sighed heavily and stared at the ceiling. A hank of limp hair hung down in his eyes. Dana barely resisted the desire to brush it off his face. She supposed he was just being a teenager, but he’d grown increasingly resentful of any suggestions she made about his clothes or appearance. It had nearly killed her when he’d shaved one side of his head to crew cut length and left the other side long, but she’d bitten her tongue and chalked it up to his need for self-expression. She’d seen at least a half dozen other boys in the neighborhood sporting equally horrifying hairstyles.
“Dammit, Sammy, I want you to talk to me.”
“He’s just a guy.”
“How old? How tall? What’s his name?”
“I figured you’d know all that by now. Didn’t you find him and turn him over to the cops?”
“No, I did not,” she answered truthfully.
There was no mistaking the relief in Sammy’s eyes. He’d been scared when she’d stormed out of the apartment earlier, not for her, but for himself. He’d obviously feared retaliation, but he’d been wise enough to know there was no way he could stop her.
“Sammy, the man belongs in jail. What he did—what you did—was wrong.”
“So turn me in,” he said with the sort of smug bravado that made her want to shake him. He knew she wouldn’t do it, knew that she was a soft touch where he was concerned.
It had been seven years since she’d taken on the responsibility for raising Sammy. He’d been nine and she had just turned sixteen when their ne’er-do-well father had vanished for the last time. Their mother had died two months later, of a broken heart as near as Dana had been able to tell. Dana had been more concerned with survival than with a medical diagnosis that was too late to do anybody any good.
It had taken every ounce of ingenuity Dana had possessed to keep herself and Sammy two steps ahead of the social workers and out of the legal system. She’d conned one of her mother’s friends into posing as a legal guardian, whenever the need arose. She’d even trumped up some very official-looking documents to make it all appear legal. Since Rosie hated authority and had always wanted to be an actress, she’d been more than willing to step in occasionally and present herself as the responsible adult in the household. Overworked school officials had been easy enough to fool.
The scheme had turned out just fine. Dana had worked hard, taking any job she could get, from waiting tables to mowing lawns. Sammy had helped out after school and she’d even managed to take night courses until she’d passed her high school equivalency exam. Right now Sammy had only two more years until graduation. The Roberts kids had done okay so far.
It was only in the past year that Sammy had begun rebelling, wanting more than she could give, more than he could earn. He was a good kid, but he’d done without for a long time. She couldn’t really blame him for wanting all the fancy things his friends took for granted. Yet that didn’t mean she was about to condone his buying stolen property.
“What does this man look like?” she repeated. Though she wasn’t entirely convinced that the man she’d accosted in Washington’s Tavern was innocent, she wanted to be certain. As she’d told him, she wasn’t impressed by his clothes, his smooth talk or that sales slip he’d waved under her nose. The seemingly refined grandfather had made her pause, but she supposed it was possible the whole family was involved in a well-paying life of crime.
Still, she hadn’t expected a thief to have eyes that could melt stone, gentle gray-blue eyes that had at least momentarily filled with compassion once he’d gotten over the shock of that reasonably accurate left hook to his jaw. She would really hate to think she owed the guy an apology. In fact, she would hate like heck to have to see him again at all. He’d made her nervous in a way no man ever had before, a way that guaranteed trouble even for a woman who considered herself an expert at dodging it.
“I didn’t pay that much attention,” Sammy said evasively.
“Then how did you expect to meet up with him again? Was he supposed to find you?” She couldn’t keep the sarcasm out of her voice.
Sammy squirmed uncomfortably. “Yeah. No. I don’t know. Come on, sis, gimme a break.”
Dana sighed. This was getting her nowhere. “Was he tall? About six-one?”
Sammy shrugged.
She thought of the man’s wind-tousled golden hair and deliberately asked, “Dark hair?”
“Yeah, I guess.”
She studied Sammy’s pale face, but couldn’t for the life of her tell if he was lying or telling the truth. What difference did it make? She wasn’t going to turn the guy in, not when she was still so uncertain of his identity. She might as well let it go for now. She cupped her hand around Sammy’s chin and forced him to meet her gaze.
“If one thing comes into this house without a proper sales slip from a regular store, I will personally turn you over to the police and let them deal with you. Got it?”
He didn’t look nearly as intimidated as she might have liked, but he mumbled an affirmative response. Dana nodded. “Okay. I’ve got a design presentation to do this weekend, if I’m going to have a prayer of getting that ad agency job.”
Dana took twenty dollars from her purse. She didn’t want Sammy to get the idea she was rewarding him for his dishonesty, but she really needed the peace and quiet. “Why don’t you call one of your friends, maybe take in a movie? Stop at the store on the way home and buy something for dinner, maybe spaghetti. I’ll make homemade sauce.”
For the first time since their fight over the VCR she’d discovered in his room that morning, Sammy’s expression brightened. He wrapped skinny arms around her for a quick hug. “You’re okay, sis.”
Dana sighed. “You’re pretty okay yourself. Don’t forget the onions and green peppers and be back here by six-thirty.”
“You got it.”
As soon as he left, Dana pushed aside all her doubts and worries. The only way to deal with Sammy—with any teenage boy, from what she’d seen in the neighborhood—was to take each day as it came. She couldn’t panic over each and every failure. If she did, it would mean conceding that she had done the wrong thing by trying to raise him by herself. No matter how bad things got, she refused to believe that they would have been better off separated and placed in a couple of loveless foster homes.
With a sigh she got out her art supplies and set up her drawing board in front of the living room window. The light was terrible in the dreary apartment, but at least she had a view. It was better than the cubbyhole she’d been assigned to in the back room at the printing company. It was there that she proofread type and, if she was lucky, designed an occasional cheap flyer for the dry cleaners down the block or the bookstore two streets over.
On Friday she’d applied for a better job in the graphics department at an advertising agency. Despite an impressive portfolio, they had required that she do an actual assignment before offering her the job. She pulled out the materials she’d been given by the art director and began to read about the textile manufacturing company that was looking for a new corporate logo to jazz up its staid image.
By the time she’d read the first half dozen pages of the company’s annual report, she suspected that their idea of a more modern image would be a nudge into the twentieth century, not a daring leap into the twenty-first. It was the sort of assignment she’d hated in her night school design classes. It required little imagination and even less skill to create a bland logo, which would be barely distinguishable from the old one that had satisfied for the pas
t hundred years.
Dana flipped through the rest of the report. She had just turned to the last page when she felt her heart screech to a halt, then begin to hammer.
“Oh, hell,” she muttered under her breath as she stared at the page of photos of the company’s corporate executives. Unmistakably, right in the middle and listed as the head of marketing was the man she’d accused just a few short hours ago of being a thief: Jason Halloran—as in Halloran Industries.
Oh, God, why hadn’t the name registered when the bartender had mentioned it earlier? Why hadn’t she made the connection in time to retract her stupid charges?
With a sense of urgency she flipped to the front of the report and took another look at the letter from the chairman of the board. She’d skipped over it before, not even glancing at the accompanying postage-stamp-sized photo. The only difference between this distinguished-looking older man and the one she’d brushed past this noon was the fierce expression on his face. This morning he’d merely looked stunned.
“Oh, hell,” she repeated as weariness and a sense of doom spread through her. Leave it to her to ruin a perfectly good job opportunity.
Chapter Two
Dana stood outside the glass doors of the small but prestigious Lansing Agency for the better part of a half hour Monday morning, trying to work up the courage to submit her work. She knew the logo designs were good. She wanted the job more than almost anything she could ever remember wanting, except maybe a real home complete with fireplaces and window seats and ceilings tall enough for a storybook-style ten-foot Christmas tree.
But more than any other time in her life, she was gut-deep scared. Scared she would get the job and fail, equally terrified that she would have to meet Jason Halloran again and be fired on the spot.
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