She was silent a long time and Bo wondered if she’d fallen asleep when she suddenly asked, “Do you ever hear from him?”
“Who?”
“Mike.” The way she said the name made him realize she was holding back tears. He didn’t want his past to intrude on what they’d just shared so he tried to keep it light.
“Sure. All the time. He’s a big used-car dealer down in the Keys. Smuggles a few cigars on the side. Never been married but he’s got three kids.”
“Do you ever wish you’d been the one they sold?”
Bo closed his eyes against a sudden shaft of pain. It took him a minute to regain the use of his vocal cords. “Why would I? I had it good—three squares, finest education money could buy, enough pocket money to score booze off the doorman. I couldn’t complain,” he finally said. But in truth, he’d dreamed of running away so often, in a way, a part of him was that imaginary brother living on some balmy Caribbean beach.
She sighed, her breath whispering across his chest. “Maybe we could go visit him someday.”
He kissed the top of her head. “Before or after Niagara Falls?”
She lifted her head. “It’s your call. He’s your brother.”
Bo tried to smile but his mouth wouldn’t work right. She moved to take his face in her hands, and she told him, “You just gave me something I didn’t think I’d ever find—my heart. Maybe someday you’ll let me return the favor.”
He squeezed his eyes tight and nodded, not trusting himself to speak. With a light sigh, she kissed his lips then sank back down. Bo held his breath, afraid any movement might create a ripple in the calmness. His heart was fine, thank you. As was his libido. His conscience was another matter, but he was just too damn tired to get into that.
Pulling her closer, like a shield, Bo gave in to sleep.
MATT RUBBED the sleep from his eyes and stumbled out of the elevator. It wasn’t that late—probably about ten, but he’d fallen asleep watching some lame sitcom and might still have been curled up in his recliner if not for the phone call that jolted him awake.
His mother had been short and to the point. “Robert’s being taken into surgery. They need to relieve the pressure in his brain. It’s highly risky and we can’t reach Bo.”
He hadn’t bothered arguing with her that if Bo didn’t answer the phone it was probably because he was dead to the world and needed his sleep. More than likely the phone lines were down in that part of Manhattan and the cell phone’s battery was low. Whatever, Matt knew his duty. As his Jeep negotiated the slippery streets and slush-covered potholes, Matt realized the storm had blown itself out. Stars were visible as moonlit clouds scattered before an icy wind.
Stalled cars, idiot drivers and a couple of impassable streets combined to slow him down. When he reached his aunt’s apartment building, he had to use his badge to secure the okay from the building’s doorman to leave his car in the loading zone. Stomping snow from his feet, he pushed the doorbell and waited.
When no one answered, he used his fist. “Bo, open up. It’s me, Matt.”
Concern was starting to build when he finally heard a noise on the other side of the door. “Matt?”
“Claudie. Open up. The phones are down and I need to talk to Bo.”
Two locks clicked and he hurried in. To his utter shock, Claudie was standing to one side, wrapped in a blanket—with quite obviously nothing under it. Her hair was tousled, and she had that just-loved look about her.
He felt his cheeks grow hot and he looked down the hall toward Bo’s room. “Is he here?” Well, duh?
She nodded. “He’s asleep. I’ll get him.”
Matt had to force himself to stare at his boots to keep his eyes off the fetching figure she made tiptoeing down the hall. Angelic was the word that came to mind.
Bo joined him moments later, zipping his pants as he walked toward the foyer. “What’s going on?”
Matt gauged the changes he saw in his cousin’s demeanor. More the old Bo than the bitter man of late. Maybe she was an angel, he thought.
“Your dad’s having some kind of crisis. Mom didn’t go into the details on the phone, but the bottom line is they’re taking him into surgery. Sounds touch-and-go. Your phone’s out, so they sent me.”
Bo swore. He ran a hand through his hair impatiently. When he looked at Matt, he said, “I’ll be right back.”
The bedroom door slammed behind him and Matt walked into the living room. A trail of clothes littered the carpet, but before he could analyze it too deeply Bo returned. “There’s no need for both of us to go. I can call a cab.”
Matt handed him the keys. “It’s stopped snowing but the roads are a mess. There aren’t many cabs running. I’ll just crash here.”
“Okay.” Bo took his jacket from the coat closet and felt around in his outer pocket. “Damn,” he said, producing his cellular phone. “I meant to plug this in the minute I got home.”
He tossed it to Matt. “Take care of it, will you?”
Matt nodded, but Bo had already turned away. “I’d better tell Claudie goodbye. This will probably be an all-nighter. No telling—”
Before he could finish the words, she appeared, wrapped in a too big robe, obviously borrowed from Bo’s closet. Barefoot, she dashed to him and threw her arms around him. “Are you sure you don’t want me to come with you?”
Bo shook his head.
“Call if you need me, okay?” She kissed him.
Matt looked away. The tender scene hurt. He loved his cousin and was glad he’d found someone to help him through this turbulent time, but a part of him was bitterly jealous.
“Go back to sleep,” Bo whispered, kissing her. “I won’t call, unless—”
“Call,” she ordered sternly. “I won’t be able to sleep until I hear.”
Bo nodded then took a deep breath and left.
Matt and Claudie stood in silence a moment. He sighed. “Well, hell, I’m awake now. Want some ice cream? Aunt Ruth always keeps ice cream in the house.”
CLAUDIE HEARD Matt’s question, but it didn’t register. She stared at the door, kicking herself for not insisting on going along. Did his refusal to include her signal a reversion to the stranger she’d been seeing for the past two days instead of the tender, caring lover she’d been with an hour earlier?
“Umm, here,” Matt said, tossing something to her. Claudie reacted instinctively, catching the soft bundle to her chest. Looking down, she saw her sweatpants and flannel shirt. Heat instantly consumed her cheeks.
“You might need these,” he said. “The snow stopped, but now it’s colder than hell.”
“I suppose it’s pretty obvious that we—”
Matt cut her off. “Bo and I have an agreement. I don’t make up stories about my nonexistent sex life and he doesn’t tell me about his. If something happened between you two, I’d say it was about time, but I’d really prefer not to talk about it. Envy isn’t a pretty emotion.”
She couldn’t help but smile. He returned it with a wink then headed for the kitchen. “I’m a top-notch sundae maker. Wanna risk it?”
Claudie took a deep breath and let it out. “Okay. I doubt if I can sleep. I’ll be right back.”
“Take your time. A perfect sundae is a work of art. It can’t be rushed.”
Hugging her bundle of clothes, Claudie returned to Bo’s room. The sight of the bed—a jumble of blankets and pillows—made her sigh. She sat down on the side Bo had occupied and reached beneath the sheets searching for any residual heat. His smell—soap, body talc and something intangible that seemed to define him in her mind—made her flatten her body against the covers.
“You are a treasure chest of wonders,” he’d told her. “Glittering gold baubles, sparkling jewels. I feel like the richest man on earth when I’m in your arms.”
She’d believed him. How could she not when he took her over the brink of the most glorious feeling her body had ever known? Their connection was too special, too perfect to be anything but love
. For the first time in her life, she understood what her mother had felt for her father.
Propelled by an impetus she couldn’t name, Claudie pulled on her warm clothes and dashed across the hall to the bathroom where her toiletry bag sat on the marble counter. She fished inside—impatient to find the one tangible link she had with her mother.
“Ah,” she sighed, pulling the golden chain from the bag. Claudie faced herself in the mirror as she placed the necklace over her head. “I’m sorry it didn’t work out better for you, Mom. I truly am,” she whispered.
With that concession came a sense of pity for her stepfather. “Poor Garret,” she said, drawing the locket to her cheek. “I’d be bitter, too, if I couldn’t—”
Superstitiously, she bit her tongue. Things were too unsettled to predict what would happen between her and Bo. What if his father doesn’t make it? she wondered. What if Bo never gets the chance to tell him how he feels?
She couldn’t predict what might happen because, despite what they’d shared and how much she loved him, she didn’t know him well enough.
With a sigh, she turned off the light and went to find the one person who did know Bo—maybe even better than Bo knew himself.
“How’s the art project coming?” she asked, poking her head inside the doorway of the kitchen.
“The bowls are on the coffee table,” Matt called back. He was standing in front of the microwave, his back to her. “I decided to make some tea, too. Do you like sugar in yours?”
“No, that’s Bo’s cup of tea.”
Matt snickered, glancing over his shoulder. “I forgot napkins, grab a couple, will you? They’re in the buffet by the liquor cabinet.”
She took two from the top drawer of a built-in buffet. She wondered if Matt had noticed the mess. She tucked the napkins in the waistband of her sweatpants and hastily cleaned up the spilled whiskey. The smell almost sent her racing for the bathroom.
“Close call?” Matt asked, walking past her with two steaming mugs.
Frowning, she rinsed the rag. “You could say that.”
“I’ve been worried about him the past few days, but I honestly didn’t expect him to turn to booze,” Matt said conversationally. “Once Bo makes up his mind about something, that’s it. I haven’t seen him take a drink in ten years.”
Claudie joined him at the cozy grouping of over-stuffed furniture. Two damask upholstered sofas faced each other while a pair of pale-yellow leather recliners sat side by side facing the fireplace. She took the chair at right angle to Matt.
Claudie laid a napkin beside one giant bowl of ice cream then reached for the bowl Matt had scooted toward her. Art was an understatement. Wavy lines of chocolate syrup drew to mind a child’s painting, but strategically placed cherries gave it more a Picasso look. “This is gorgeous.”
“Thanks.”
She swallowed a bite of ice cream and sighed with pleasure.
Matt cleared his throat then said, “You know, Claudie, Bo’s a great guy and I love him like a brother, but he is a guy.”
“No argument there,” she said, unable to keep from grinning.
Matt’s swarthy complexion darkened. “What I mean is that’s why Bo’s been such a jerk lately. He’s tweaked about his dad, but he can’t talk about it. Guys don’t talk about their feelings.”
He sounded so sincere Claudie asked, “To each other or to anyone?”
“Pretty much anyone. Used to drive my ex-wife crazy. She was sure I was holding out on her—you know, keeping my inner thoughts private. Truth is, men don’t have inner thoughts.”
Claudie burst out laughing. “That’s not true.”
“It is. They might exist, but we’re genetically programmed not to hear them.”
She almost choked on a cherry. “Baloney. We sell a ton of books at the bookstore about men getting in touch with their feelings. Just because you’re a little deaf to those kinds of emotions doesn’t mean you can’t learn to hear.”
He gave her a horrified look that made her sit back laughing—until the little twinkle in his eye let her know he was putting her on. “You’re just as bad as your cousin,” she said, taking a sip of tea.
He scraped the last bit of ice cream from his bowl. “I know. But it’s nice to see you smile. It’s been awhile.” He set the bowl down and leaned back. “This has been a pretty crazy week, huh? First, your family, then Bo’s. I guess you could call this trial by fire.”
“I guess.” Claudie fingered her locket, trying to picture the image of her father. She wondered what her life would have been like if he’d been strong enough to disobey his father and marry her mother.
Suddenly, something Sherry said came back to her. This was her path. If the misery of the past hadn’t happened as it did, she wouldn’t have known Bo.
Sighing, she looked at the cluster of photos on the mantel. “Matt, do you know who Mike is?”
“Mike?” He frowned as if racking his memory banks. “What’s his last name?”
Claudie shook her head and rose. “Never mind. It’s not important. I’m going to try to sleep. Are you staying?”
He nodded. “Yeah. I’ll hang out in case Bo calls.”
Claudie smiled, but deep inside she knew he wouldn’t call. He’d shared his love with her but not his demons. And what that meant for their future was anybody’s guess.
CHAPTER TWELVE
THE MUTED HUM of a vacuum cleaner shook Claudie out of her dead-to-the-world sleep. She leapt from her bed, confused and a little dazed. The unfamiliar surroundings momentarily brought a burst of panic—some guy’s hotel room, but the sight of Bo’s suitcase with his shaving kit spilled open gave instant relief.
“Whoa,” she murmured—the adrenaline in her system slowly dissipating. “I actually slept.”
She grabbed the robe she’d used the night before and left the room. Somehow, the normalcy of a vacuum seemed out of place given all that had happened. She and Bo had made love. And it was good. Very good. Claudie couldn’t repress the grin that spontaneously blossomed.
Her smile faded when she saw Matt and Ruth standing at the living room window against a backdrop of blue sky. Brilliant sunlight poured across their shoulders. They were speaking in low tones, their body language tense. The vacuum switched off and Ruth turned to say something to the maid. She spotted Claudie.
“Claudie, you’re awake. I’m sorry if the vacuum—”
Claudie shook her head, walking forward to join them. “No, that’s all right. I didn’t mean to sleep so long, but I had a hard time falling asleep last night. Did Bo call?” she asked Matt.
Matt glanced at Ruth before answering. “Yes. I told him you were asleep, and he ordered me not to wake you.”
“How’s Mr. Lester?”
Ruth reached out to pat Claudie’s arm as if she were the one whose husband was in critical condition. “He came through the surgery fine, but they’ve got him heavily sedated—a sort of precautionary coma this time. Irene said the doctors are optimistic.”
Claudie’s initial relief was tempered by a sense of underlying tension. “Is Bo at the hospital? I’ll grab a shower quick then…”
She started to leave, but Matt’s look stopped her. “What?”
Matt started to speak but Ruth cut him off by reaching out and taking Claudie’s arm. “Would you care for a cup of coffee? There’s pastry and fruit in the dining room. Let’s go sit down.” Ruth’s smile was so like her son’s, Claudie almost hugged her.
“I have some calls to make. I’ll join you in a few minutes,” Matt said, excusing himself.
Claudie watched him walk away. Something’s wrong.
When they were seated, Ruth handed Claudie a cup filled with dark, fragrant coffee. Claudie sipped the bitter brew then set down the cup and pushed back the wide sleeves of the robe. “Okay,” she said, “tell me what’s going on?”
Ruth closed her eyes a moment and sighed. She’d aged since Claudie met her last summer. “I hate nosy people, Claudie. I’ve always made e
very effort not to intrude in other people’s lives, particularly my son’s. But I don’t feel as though I have a choice in this case.”
She drew in a breath, then said, “Claudie, Bo loves you. And I’m guessing that you love him, too.”
Claudie looked down. Her feelings were too new to share in public. Especially like this.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” Ruth said, her tone gentle. “And, Claudie, I’m very glad because you’ve done something no other woman ever has. You’ve gotten under Bo’s skin—touched his vulnerable underbelly.”
“Is that bad?” she asked, glancing up.
Ruth shook her head. “No. It’s wonderful. You’ve exposed the Bo that exists beneath all those silly disguises he’s so fond of. Have you ever asked yourself why Bo chose to become a policeman and then a private investigator?”
Claudie shook her head.
Ruth made an encompassing motion. “As you can see, he didn’t want for much growing up. He led a very entitled life—the kind of upbringing that usually spawns lawyers and doctors and investment bankers, not private investigators.”
Claudie didn’t bother looking—the old-wealth opulence had been the first thing to hit her when she’d walked in the door.
Ruth smiled. “I’m sure you’ve wondered about that, too. Well, I believe Bo purposely chose a career he thought his father would detest.”
“There’s nothing wrong with being in law enforcement,” Claudie said, although Ruth was right. The thought had crossed her mind.
“Of course not, but Robert B. Lester, God love him, is a very pretentious person. He was raised that way and truly can’t help himself. If it weren’t for his amazing intellect and an almost childlike need to be loved, I never would have looked twice at him.”
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