Secrets of Paternity

by Susan Crosby

  On top of that confusion, however, James Paladin was a puzzle, she thought as she pulled into the parking lot of her bank. A contradiction. A…big problem, frankly. Obviously he was a risk taker, like her late husband, Paul. And a man used to taking charge and giving orders, also Paul’s MO. Paul had ridden a motorcycle—and he’d died in an accident on the bike he cherished a year ago.

  She was beginning to see why Paul had chosen James to provide the sperm for Caryn’s artificial insemination almost nineteen years ago. She’d never met him, had only learned of his existence last week, and now they were about to turn each others’ lives upside down. And Kevin’s.

  Was he married? Did he have children? She hadn’t noticed a wedding ring on his finger, but he also seemed the type to shun public displays of, well, possession, for lack of a better word. He seemed…unpossessable.

  She parked the car and turned off the engine, saw him pull in a few spaces away. She wished she could tell him who she was, what their connection was. She couldn’t. If Kevin decided he didn’t want to meet the man responsible for his existence, it was his choice, as per a written agreement between Paul and James made all those years ago. Caryn had found it only last week while cleaning out the paperwork she’d dumped from Paul’s desk into boxes for her move back to San Francisco. Then she’d discovered a letter James had sent last year with his current address—the wrong address, apparently—and his phone number, nothing more.

  That note had been mailed a week before Paul’s death to a private mailbox of Paul’s that Caryn hadn’t known existed. That hurt still lingered. How many other secrets had he kept that she hadn’t uncovered yet?

  As for the potential relationship between James and her son, she couldn’t intrude. Kevin alone held that key.

  She didn’t know whether she wanted James in her life or not. Everything was finally settling down for her. She’d been prepared to have Kevin’s biological father become part of his life—assumed that he wanted to be part of Kevin’s life—but that was before she met the man, when he’d been just words on paper, not a flesh-and-blood person. A man in full biker regalia. A man who made her hormones come out of a long hibernation.

  He came up beside her, his sheer size in his boots and leathers making her feel like a background singer to a rock star.

  “You don’t need to go inside with me,” she said.

  “I have nothing else to do.”

  She met his innocent gaze. Up close he was even more attractive, his eyes a lighter green than she’d first thought, his hair not just dark brown but thick and shiny. Only the scruffy beard detracted.

  “I won’t walk up to the teller with you,” he added.

  He seemed to be enjoying the moment. She didn’t know why she thought that, because he wasn’t smiling, but something lurked in his eyes, some sense of mischief at the absurdity of what they were doing. Cloak-and-dagger stuff. She smiled. She couldn’t help it. Oh, the irony. The first man she’d been even the slightest bit attracted to since Paul died, and he happened to be…well, who he was.

  “What’s so funny?” he asked, as they entered the bank just before closing.

  The security guard locked the door behind them then stood at his post, letting each person out as they finished their business.

  “Just in the nick of time,” she said.

  “That’s funny?”

  She shrugged. Let him wonder.

  He lingered a distance away as she withdrew a huge chunk of her savings and asked the teller for an envelope to put the money in, which she then passed to James. The guard gave him the once-over, his gaze shifting from James to Caryn and back, as if trying to match them as a couple—or perhaps trying to determine if James had coerced her into giving him money.

  She smiled at the guard. He unlocked the door to let them through, bade them a good night. James walked with her to her car.

  “I’ll need a receipt,” she said to him.

  He pulled his pad of paper from his pocket, scrawled something on it, signed it, ripped it off the wire spiral and presented it to her. “How about taking me to my mechanic’s shop in the morning to pick up my loaner?”

  “You have no friends?”

  “Of course I have friends.”

  She studied him. Mischief was back in his eyes. “Take a cab,” she said. “Add the fare to my bill.”

  He grinned. She felt her face heat and tried to draw his attention from the fact. “I’m gathering that this wasn’t the first accident you had with your bike.”

  He cocked his head. “It’s the second, and very similar.”

  “Seems to me you should learn to park your bike differently.”

  He laughed, then after a brief hesitation he reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulled out a business card, passing it to her. “I’ll see you in a few days, Ms…. Mysterious.”

  He walked away. She looked at his card. James Paladin, Investigator, ARC Security & Investigations.

  Well. Maybe he wasn’t like Paul, after all.

  Two

  An hour later Caryn was holding her breath as she waited for her son to say something. Anything.

  “I don’t want to meet him,” Kevin muttered at last.

  He pushed away from the kitchen table and stalked to the window overlooking their tiny backyard. Caryn sat quietly, giving him time to let the idea of James Paladin settle. She’d had a week’s advantage on him in that regard, but she was by no means calm or accepting, either.

  She’d explained everything she knew—that Paul had chosen James specifically as the sperm donor, that they’d entered into a written agreement which stated that the resulting child, if there was one, would have the right to contact James upon turning eighteen. She told Kevin how she’d found the agreement in Paul’s paperwork, then about the other letter giving James’s current contact information. That was it. Bare bones information. No note saying he still wanted to meet Kevin. No hint at all. Name, correct address—she’d double-checked that—and phone number. Period.

  “I don’t have to see him,” Kevin added, his arms crossed, his tone harsh. “The agreement says so.”

  “That’s right. Nothing requires you to.”

  He shoved his hands through his hair, as James had done earlier. The gesture caught her by surprise. Maybe Kevin had always done that, but it took on more significance now—heredity, not environment.

  “I wish you hadn’t told me,” he said, firing a look at her.

  “I wish I hadn’t had to.”

  His hesitation lasted several beats. “‘Never make a promise you can’t keep, and always keep your promises,’” he said, parroting a lifetime of her own words to him.

  It wasn’t only her philosophy but Paul’s, as well. She’d fulfilled her end of the bargain. Now she was free of the technical part of her responsibility. She still had to deal with the results of backing into his Harley—plus if Kevin did at some point decide to meet him, the emotional aspects of the whole business.

  She stood, smoothed the wrinkles from her skirt. Her fingertips brushed against the outline of the business card in her pocket. “He’s a private investigator, by the way,” she said, giving him the last piece of information, one she thought might interest him too much.

  Kevin lifted his head. “Yeah?”

  “Will you tell me if you decide to meet him?” she asked, wishing she could hug him as though he were five years old again and make everything better. He’d had a horrible time adjusting to Paul’s death.

  “I guess so.”

  “You want to stay for dinner?” she asked.

  “Nah. Jeremy’s coming over to study. He’s bringing pizza.”

  “Okay.” Caryn had bought an old duplex near Kevin’s college. They each had their own two-bedroom unit, his downstairs.

  “How’d work go?” he asked.

  “Good tips today.”

  “Was Venus there?”

  “Yes.” She grabbed a glass from the cupboard, turning away from him, keeping her frown to
herself. Kevin’s crush on the young waitress who worked with Caryn worried her. He didn’t need another obsession in his life, and Venus was fast becoming one.

  “Did she…say anything about me?”

  “No.” Caryn kept her voice upbeat and didn’t ask questions.

  “Okay.” He started to leave but stopped, his hand on the doorknob. “What does he—” He frowned. “Do I look like him?”

  She nodded. The similarities struck her anew. The same facial features, except eye color. And their hands—long fingers and broad palms. Close in height, too, although James had a man’s body, while Kevin was still growing into his.

  “Why did Dad choose this guy?”

  “I don’t know. I gather they knew each other, but I don’t know what the connection was.”

  “Okay.” He banged his open hand against the doorjamb. “Later.”

  After the front door shut she tried to find something mindless to do. She opened the refrigerator, stared inside it, then shut the door. She’d lost weight since Paul died, pounds she hadn’t needed to lose. She should fix herself a meal, but she doubted she could eat more than a bite, anyway.

  She walked across the slightly warped hardwood floor to where a portable phone hung on the charger base. She picked up the handset. After a minute she carefully returned it to the base. Who could she call? No one. Not until Kevin made a decision to acknowledge James. Until then she couldn’t tell her mother, her brother or even her best friend.

  She’d had such hope for this move back to her hometown. Some people thought she was clinging to Kevin, that she’d bought the duplex in order to keep him close instead of turning him loose as an independent adult. Maybe that was partly true. He’d had an even harder time than she had adjusting to Paul’s death, yet he’d decided to attend Paul’s alma mater, to major in criminal justice, like his father.

  She worried that Paul’s life philosophy was embedded in Kevin, that he would take as many risks, revel in them, actually. He already had the notion that the accident that ended Paul’s life was intentional, even though law enforcement people from more than one agency had been involved in the investigation, and nothing they found indicated any hint of truth to Kevin’s claim.

  Lately Caryn had been wondering the same thing, if not worse.

  She took a sip of water, letting go of her worries about Paul and focused on Kevin instead. She’d listened as friends and family advised her to let go of him, that it was time for him to spread his wings—and she’d ignored the advice, because she knew her son better than anyone else did, and she knew he wasn’t ready to be cut loose yet. When he was, she would know. She hoped it would be soon, for both their sakes.

  For now, however, her longtime curiosity about the man whose generosity had given her Kevin had been satisfied. He was tall, dark and handsome, and her son clearly resembled him. And the man was capable of keeping his temper under control, as witnessed by his demeanor toward her after she’d run into his bike. He was in a profession that required intelligence, cunning, quick-on-his-feet reaction—and a willingness to take risks, the part of Paul she’d had the hardest time dealing with through the years. With good reason, as she’d discovered.

  Had Kevin also wondered about the man? She and Paul had never kept it secret that Kevin had been conceived by artificial insemination. But then, Paul had never mentioned James Paladin and the agreement. She understood, perhaps, why Paul had kept it from Kevin, but why hadn’t he told her? If she hadn’t found the letter of agreement, what would’ve happened? Would James have found Kevin and her instead, and accused them of not biding by the agreement?

  If Kevin didn’t contact the man within a certain amount of time, would he come looking? It wouldn’t be too difficult for a competent private investigator to find out where they lived.

  Maybe she would have to intervene, after all, if only to say that Kevin didn’t want contact yet.

  But she would give Kevin some time first. Just a little time. She hoped James would, too.

  That same evening, James’s doorbell rang. His gut clenched as he hurried downstairs and to the front door. Even after a twenty-year career dominated by anticipation, he was surprised at the almost staggering sense of expectation that surged through him every time the phone rang or someone came to the door. But then, this wasn’t work related.

  “I come bearing food,” Cassie Miranda said as she shouldered her way past him, trailing a scent of basil and garlic.

  He masked his disappointment—or relief, he wasn’t sure—that an eighteen-year-old with maybe his own green eyes wasn’t standing there instead. He wished he knew whether he was waiting for a boy or girl. “Did we have plans, Cass?”

  She looked around. “Do you have company?”

  “No.”

  “Heath is in Seattle. I got lonely.”

  He shut the door and followed her to the kitchen. “You’ve been engaged for three weeks and you’ve forgotten how to eat alone?”

  “Amazing, isn’t it?”

  James knew why Cassie was there, and it had nothing to do with her fiancé being out of town. In the almost-year that James and Cassie had worked as investigators at ARC Security & Investigations, they, along with their boss, Quinn Gerard, had forged a friendship rare for such independent souls. They were the only people he’d told about what was happening in his life, what he was waiting for.

  “Any word?” she asked as she pulled plates from his cupboard.

  “Nothing.”

  “Give them time.” Her long, golden-brown braid swung along her lower back as she reached for a couple of wineglasses.

  He grabbed a bottle of Merlot. “Maybe Paul decided to ignore our agreement.”

  “From everything you’ve told me about Paul Brenley, I don’t think you need to worry about him going back on his word.” Cassie stopped dishing up the food and set her hands on the counter, leaning toward him. “Let’s focus on your biggest worry—what if the kid doesn’t want to meet you?”

  He plunked down a tub of grated parmesan cheese next to the plates. “Yeah, so? That’s normal.”

  “My point exactly, Jamey. And if you don’t hear from them, you only have to track down the Brenley family and get the answers yourself. An easy thing for you, unless they’re in witness protection or something.” She flashed him a teasing smile then went back to serving generous portions of ravioli. “In fact, I can’t believe you haven’t tried.”

  “I agreed to no contact, and I’ve stuck by it. I don’t want to take advantage of my resources unless I have to. We’re jaded enough from this business, Cass. Maybe my agreement with Paul was only slightly more than a handshake, but I want to believe he would honor it.” Like the Harley wrecker this afternoon, he thought. He wasn’t going to track her down, but let her prove him right—that most people were trustworthy.

  “Speaking of being jaded,” she said, “how was your date last night?”

  He’d put the woman out of his mind already. Not very complimentary, he supposed, but he didn’t date for fun anymore. Every woman was a potential wife and mother, now that he was looking to settle down. “It was okay,” he said.

  “How old was this one?”

  He gave her a cool look.

  “That young, huh?” she asked innocently.

  “Need I remind you that your fiancé is eleven years older than you.”

  “Yeah. Eleven. Not twenty.”

  “My date wasn’t that young.”

  “How old?”

  “Twenty-five.”

  “Oh, okay. Only seventeen years’ difference. Jamey, Jamey, Jamey. I know dating a P.I. can make a woman starry-eyed for some odd reason, but, really, what do you want with someone that young?”

  Babies, he thought. A home. “Energy,” he said instead with a grin, to which Cassie heaved a huge sigh.

  James made it through the evening without telling Cassie about his incident that afternoon with the Harley wrecker, knowing he wasn’t ready to deal with Cass’s potential interrogation, ev
en though she would like the fact the woman was closer to his own age. Is she attractive? Cass would ask. Yes, and although she looked as if a strong wind could blow her away, her personality wasn’t subtle. He thought about the empty place on her ring finger. Divorced? Widowed? While there was a certain vulnerability to her, he hadn’t seen weakness.

  Is she smart? Oh, yeah. He’d especially liked how she’d told him to take a cab and add the cost to her bill.

  But the question he was likely avoiding most from Cassie: What is she hiding? That he didn’t know, but it seemed tied more to her not giving him her name than insurance issues.

  The encounter had jarred his life—in a good way—at a time he needed jarring.

  After Cassie left around ten o’clock, James sat down at his computer, found he couldn’t concentrate, and so he wandered into his backyard. The size of his house and the denseness of foliage blocked most of the street noise and city sounds. The birds slept. A year ago he couldn’t have pictured himself living in a place like this, a four-bedroom, stately manor house with room for a family. While he’d been born and raised in San Francisco, and the city had continued to be home base during his twenty years as a bounty hunter, he’d lived in a small, cheap apartment when he wasn’t out of town—since his divorce, anyway.

  When his father died last year and James decided he’d had enough of life on the road, he’d looked at high-rise condos and lofts, but this house had lured him with unspoken promise, even the yard. This summer he’d planted a small vegetable garden. Next year he would do more. The yard was a work in progress.

  As was his life. Gone were the days of tracking down fugitives, at least on a daily basis. He’d signed on with ARC because investigation was what he knew, and even though he still worked more than forty-hour weeks, the clientele had gone way upscale.

  He wanted a personal life-change, as well. Home and hearth, although maybe not in the traditional sense. He wouldn’t mind if the woman came with children already, except that he would like to have one of his own, too, if it wasn’t too late.