He'd run a hand over his jaw. "Unless she lied to you."
"Why would she?"
"Maybe she was embarrassed or didn't want it getting out that she'd been having an affair with him. Did you ask her in front of anyone else?"
I'd thought about it. "Ruth was there the whole time. She's the one who called Kimmy over."
"People lie for all sorts of reasons. It could be that she was afraid she'd be linked with his death."
I'd shaken my head. "You didn't see her. She was disgusted by him."
"I'm not going to argue with you. You're better off tracking down your mysterious Escalade driver."
"I already found him." The words had come out before I'd thought them through.
"What?" Hunter had sat up abruptly, disturbing the dog, who'd hopped down.
My teeth had sunk into my lower lip. Damn it, I hadn't meant to say that. "Yeah, he's another PI who was also following Paul Granger. He was hired by Paul's employer because Right Touch Pharmaceuticals thought Paul was faking his disability claim."
"I need to talk to him. Do you have his information?"
"About that…"
Even in the low light I'd felt his intense gaze on my burning cheeks. "What aren't you telling me, Red?"
So, so much. "Well I sort of know him. The PI. Not recently, but from a long time ago. He's, well it's kind of funny actually."
Hunter had waited.
I'd blown out a sigh. "He's Mac's father. Only he doesn't know he's Mac's father, so if you'd just not mention her to him."
"Is he dangerous?" Hunter asked. "Are you afraid he might hurt you or your daughter?"
"What? No, nothing like that. I just never told him."
No one could do quiet like Hunter.
"You think I'm horrible, don't you." I didn't phrase it as a question. "My daughter's not speaking to me because when I saw him earlier, I knew I had to tell her, to tell them both, and now she thinks I didn't want her because I told her I wasn't ready for a kid. She doesn't understand that she has been and will always be the very best thing in my life."
He hadn't responded.
The wind had picked up, and I'd risen, wrapping my arms around myself, temper flaring. "Well don't just sit there and listen. Say something!"
"Aren't women supposed to like it when men listen?"
"When they actively listen. And engage in conversation. Otherwise it's me just ranting like a lunatic."
Slowly, carefully as though he'd been worried about spooking a wild animal, he'd gotten to his feet. "It's okay, Red. She doesn't hate you."
"Well she should. I sort of hate me. I mean, I'm still freaking fabulous but—" I'd run out of words and just shaken my head.
Warm palms had gripped my shoulders and he'd stood there like a great barrier against the world's dark underbelly. "You made a tough decision. I told you before I'm no judge."
I'd sniffled. "If you'd gotten your girlfriend pregnant at sixteen, wouldn't you have wanted to know about it?"
"My situation was different. Much different, from what you're describing. But yes, I think I'd want to know."
"So, I have to tell him. Now. Because I know my kid, and if I don't tell him, she'll show up on his doorstep and tell him herself. Better I prepare him and he takes out whatever gut reaction on me." I'd been trying to put up a brave front, but the truth was I'd been terrified of telling Brett.
"It's all wrong." I had shaken my head. "He was supposed to be this great academic, have this huge future with piles of money, a place on Nantucket where his family would be all mint juleps and tennis whites all summer. The kind of life my mother always wanted. How is it he's doing the exact same thing I'm doing?"
Hunter hadn't said anything, and this time his silence had felt lighter, reassuring. He hadn't had any answers, but he had been there with me, there for me all the same.
I'd stepped back. "I should go in."
"I won't mention you when I talk to him. It's not my place to spill your secrets."
"Thanks, much appreciated." I'd turned, but he caught my arm.
"Do I still scare you?" he'd whispered.
More than ever, but in a much different way. Mac had been right. I liked relationships I could control, ones I never had problems walking away from when the time came. Though I barely knew Hunter, something instinctively told me he wouldn't tolerate that, would never cede control to me. I'd licked suddenly dry lips and murmured, "I'm not sure how to answer that."
"Honestly." He pulled me closer, so close that the wood smoke and pine scent of him cocooned me. "That's the only way you should ever answer me. With honesty."
He wanted the naked truth? Fine. "Yes. But it's more about me than anything to do with you. You've been…"
"I've been what?"
Perfect. I'd thought. Supportive, protective, everything a man ought to be. Sure we'd had our showdowns, but even arguing with him had gotten my blood pumping, reminded me that I was a woman, and I had needs. Needs that hadn't been met in a very long time.
It was as though central casting had yanked the image I had for a perfect mate directly out of my head and teleported him into reality. Telling Hunter that wasn't an option. Instead, I'd gone with a lame, but still honest response. "Great. You've been great."
"I'll show you great," he growled and lowered his lips to mine.
I'd been cold half a second before, I knew it, remembered it. His warmth had rolled over me like a liquid wave of heat as he kissed me senseless. He'd cupped my face tenderly, almost as though he were being extra careful not to leave a mark, even as his mouth had devoured my own.
I'd melted into him, all my strong-woman bravado washed away in the current of passion that roared to life. Oh this was bad. Anything that felt so amazing had to be bad.
My lips had parted, hungry for more. Damn my hedonistic hide. Willpower, had to get me some of that.
Hunter had ended the kiss first, though he didn't release my face. I'd sucked in much-needed oxygen and tried to think of something to say.
His thumb had traced my bottom lip. "Good-night, Red."
And then he'd disappeared inside his own apartment.
* * *
The sound of Mac's bedroom door creaking open pulled me from my reverie. I had so much to tackle, and most of it should have been done yesterday. Or sixteen years earlier. Either way I was behind schedule, and why was my coffeepot taking so long to yield the sweet nectar of life?
"Hey." Mac stood in the little gap between the counter and the kitchen.
"Hey yourself." I studied her. She didn't look any the worse for wear, but that was a sixteen-year-old for you. I'd lost track of how many times I'd scrambled up the old oak to my bedroom window after spending all night with Brett, changed my clothing, and gone down to breakfast with Nan without missing a beat.
I waited for Mac to say something, but she was looking at me as though holding back until I said something.
We waited, eyeing one another, the only sound the bubbling hiss from a coffeepot as old as Methuselah.
"You're the best thing that ever happened to me," I blurted at the same time as she said "I'm so sorry, Mom."
We rushed to each other like it had been choreographed, and I hugged her close. She tucked her head beneath my chin the same way she had when she'd been five and perched on my lap.
"What do you have to be sorry about, huh? I'm the screw up, not you," I murmured, stroking her auburn hair.
"But if not for me—"
"I wouldn't have a reason to get out of bed every morning. I'd probably still be living with Mom and The Captain. Well, if they were still together. The point is that I'd be totally lost without you."
Mac shook her head back and forth. I wasn't sure what she was trying to communicate— remorse maybe.
"You know what you need? Some coffee."
There was a small sniffle, but when she pulled back, her eyes were dry. "Sounds good."
"It's a date then. Go, get dressed."
"For coffee?" s
he asked.
"Yeah I'm pretty sure the pot is busted, and I have a giant to-do list, and going out sans caffeine is a public health issue."
"I thought we were broke," Mac protested.
My shoulder bag was on the counter, and I fished out the bills Len had spotted me. "Not totally broke. And come on, we're taking Fillmore on his first stakeout."
Mac had turned back down the hallway but paused. "How come we're not taking Helga?"
"I have it on good authority that she's too noticeable. Go get dressed, and meet me outside in ten. I need to run up and see Grams for a second."
Mac disappeared into her room, and I dug through the mountains of laundry until I found a black tank top and clean pair of jeans. I threw a white men's button-down shirt over the top and then tied it at the waist, before sitting down to do the socks and sneakers bit.
Mac was speaking to me again—that boded well. I wasn't about to take my sixteen-year-old daughter on an actual surveillance trip, but I thought maybe I could practice my tailing skills and give her a real in-person look at her father at the same time. After, I'd drop her off back home to set up for the dinner shindig while I got back to work.
But first I had to set the other half of my parent trap.
Fully dressed, I snagged my leather jacket and shoulder bag and sprinted up the stairs to knock on my mother's door. No answer. I dug around in my pockets until I retrieved the small notebook and pen and scribbled her a hasty invitation to dinner. Then, for good measure, I headed over to Nona's door.
"Mackenzie, how you doing, doll?"
"Fine, Nona. Sorry about the movie night getting cancelled."
Nona waved it off. "No trouble. My sciatica was flaring up anyhow."
"Sorry to hear that. I'm having a little dinner get-together tonight and wanted to invite you. If you're feeling up to it, of course."
"Oh, that sounds nice. What time and what can I bring?"
I was tempted to ask for the entire dinner, but refrained. "Whatever you want to bring will be great. Come down at seven thirty." Inspiration struck, and I added, "Maybe you can get together with my mom and plan what to bring."
"Will Hunter be there?"
I flashed hot and then cold again as I thought of our kiss. "I'm not sure. I haven't seen him yet today."
"Oh he's out with his sister. I saw her pick him up when I went out to get the paper. If he comes back, I'll ask him for you." She winked at me.
"Nona, you're a trip, you know that, right?"
She shrugged. "I've been called worse. See you later, doll."
Mac was waiting for me on the front porch. "What were you doing?"
"Inviting the upstairs neighbors to dinner. My boss is coming too, and The Captain."
"They're coming here," Mac repeated. The chill autumn wind brought out the pink flush in her cheeks. "For dinner. Tonight."
"That's right." I unlocked Fillmore's driver-side door, squashed myself in behind the wheel, and then reached over to unlock Mac's side.
"Mom." She had an incredulous look on her face as she plopped in her seat. "You know they're expecting actual food to be cooked and served to them."
"Mac, I told you that you can't waste your time worrying about other people's expectations." Fillmore had always had a rough starter, but the week of sitting idle hadn't done him any favors. He choked and wheezed and grumbled like the little old man he was before finally throwing up his hands to do what I wanted. "Besides, considering the way your grandparents are ignoring each other, it might not last too long."
"But," she protested as I pulled out onto traffic, "we've never hosted a dinner before."
The sad little Jetta putt-putted along. Helga had ruined me for other cars. "Where's your adventurer's spirit? I'm trying to do a good thing here. The least you can do is support me."
"The least I can do is commit you," Mac grumbled as we reached the coffee shop. "You better keep the engine running if we don't want it to die on us. What do you want?"
"Coffee with extra coffee and a side of coffee. Oh, and see if they'll top it with coffee beans." I handed her a twenty.
When she disappeared inside I called Len. The machine picked up at the office, but I doubted he was in. He'd given me his home number, and I rummaged around in my shoulder bag until I found the scrap of paper where I'd scribbled it.
"Lo?" Len wheezed.
"It's Mackenzie. I spoke with one of the detectives on our case last night. There's been another murder. One of the employees who worked for the men's clinic."
"This could be good news for our client, but only if they can tie the murders together. She has an alibi for last night."
"Oh?"
"An administrative meeting at the hospital. She called me this morning to tell me they've asked her to take a leave of absence for a while."
Damn it. It made sense. No one wanted his or her kid being treated by a pediatrician who was fighting a murder rap, but still… "What should I be doing?"
Len answered my question with one of his own. "What does your gut tell you?"
"To find out information on the victim and find out if there was a connection to anyone besides Paul Granger. And find out who would want her dead."
"Exactly what I would suggest." There was a smile in Len's voice. "We can discuss anything you find after dinner tonight."
I hung up with him just as Mac reappeared carrying two giant cups of coffee. Even with the windows rolled up, my mouth began to water.
Supplied and ready, I headed back to Brett's neighborhood. Mac fiddled with the radio as we drove down the street. "There's nothing good on. Freaking auto-tune BS."
"You know, I have never once doubted that you are my child. No hospital mix-ups for you." Taking a page out of his book, I backed into an empty driveway three houses down with a for sale sign on the lawn.
"What if someone sees us?" Mac slunk down in her seat.
"They'll think we're just waiting for a real estate agent to show up."
"And if an actual agent shows up?" She raised a brow.
"Then we say we were driving past and wanted to schedule a showing. You were just dialing the number when they arrived. Sit up. You'll draw more attention by looking suspicious. We have every right to be here."
"So who are we investigating?" Mac asked.
I looked over at her. "Your dad."
Her eyes got big. "Oh Mom, no. I'm not ready, and look at what I'm wearing! Look at what you're wearing!"
I frowned down at what I thought had been a stylish choice. "What's wrong with what I'm wearing?"
"You look like you spent the night with your artist boyfriend and threw on his shirt to cover your pit stains."
I looked up at the ceiling. "This is why we shouldn't teach children to talk."
"Mom, focus. I don't want to meet him."
"We're not going to meet him. We're going to tail him."
Mac's panic ratcheted back a little. "Why?"
"Well, to see what kind of guy he is. I want to know more about him before I bring him into your life."
"And?" My kid knew me too well, knew when I held things back.
"And so I can practice tailing a car. If he doesn't make me, it's been a success."
"And if he does make you?" Worry crept back into her voice.
"We'll jump off that bridge when we come to it," I said as Brett's front door swung open. "It's show time."
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
"No one runs away without telling someone else first. The trick is finding his or her confidant."
From the Working Man's Guide to Sleuthing for a Living by Albert Taylor, PI
"That's him?" Mac starred at the figure emerging from Brett's house the way I stared at designer boots I couldn't afford—hungrily.
"Yes."
She watched as Brett trotted down the steps, flipping his keys around his finger and catching them in his palm. She pressed her own hand to Fillmore's dirty window. "What if he doesn't like me?"
Something pinged in my
chest. Taking her out on surveillance had seemed like a good idea when I'd first come up with it, but seeing her lost expression made me rethink the scenario. "Babe, how can anyone not adore you?"
She didn't turn her head from the window. "You're biased."
"He will be too."
"Do you think he'll be mad, when you tell him?"
"I honestly don't know. He used to be a very easy-going guy, but people change. If he's mad at anyone, it'll be me, though, not you."
"Are you going to do it now?"
Coffee churned in my stomach. When I told him. Not if. It was one thing to know I had to come clean, another entirely to waltz over to my high school boyfriend who I hadn't seen for more than a decade and a half and ruin his life.
"Not now."
"Mom," Mac pleaded.
"I thought you weren't ready?" I asked.
"I'm not, but I want him to know about me. He should know about me." She lifted her chin to a stubborn angle and for one second was the spitting image of her grandmother. Java help me.
"Don't, hon, I can't right now. Let me call him and set up a meeting."
"Tomorrow. You need to do it tomorrow." She turned back to the window. "I don't want to keep wondering how he'll take the news. It's making me feel sick."
"That makes two of us. I promise, I will call him tomorrow." Brett's SUV pulled away from the curb. I waited until he'd turned the corner before pursuing.
"We lost him," Mac said, not even five minutes later. "You weren't kidding when you said you needed practice."
"Hey, I've got mad driving skills. I just didn't want to risk having him bust us." I cruised through again at the intersection where we'd been held up. No sign of the Escalade. "Damn it."
"It's probably better this way," Mac soothed. "We should get you some GPS tech to tag vehicles you need to follow. That way you don't have to worry about getting made."
"Technology isn't the end-all and be-all of life. There was a time we made do without it."
"Yeah, but why would you want to if you had another option?" Mac shuddered and her phone barked.
"Who's the dog?" I asked as I turned toward home.
"My lab partner," she grumbled, ignoring the bark. "Five minutes into our review he asked if I wanted to make out. When I told him no, he asked if I was a lesbian."
Sleuthing for a Living (Mackenzie & Mackenzie PI Mysteries Book 1) Page 16
