As for her heart and its attachment to both of the Steele men…there was nothing she could do about that now. The damage was done. When she was gone she would have plenty of time to figure out how to put her life back together.
Chapter 9
Jack Stryker cradled his cup of coffee as he sat in one of the leather chairs on the opposite side of Jonathan’s desk.
“The FBI is being closedmouthed about what they’re doing,” Stryker was saying. “The fact that they’re involved means David was dealing with some interesting people.”
“Any news about the two cars that went tearing out of the hotel parking lot that night?”
“Nothing concrete. The first guy—probably the shooter—got away. The second guy crashed. He’s pretty beat-up and doesn’t remember who he is.”
Jonathan considered the information. Was the second man an accomplice or law enforcement? Obviously Stryker didn’t know either.
“So they don’t know who shot David and Lisa?”
Stryker shrugged. “If they’ve figured it out, they’re not telling me. They’ve expanded the scope of their investigation, which means the illegal activities reaches past Grand Springs.” He took a sip of coffee. “Not a big surprise there.”
Jonathan tried to imagine how David had gotten involved with people who would eventually kill him.
“The good news is you’re going to get your money back,” Stryker said. “At least all that we can find. The rough estimate is about eighty percent.”
It took Jonathan a couple of seconds to figure out what the other man was talking about. “The money David embezzled?”
The detective nodded. “He hadn’t taken that out in cash. Instead it was put in several of his accounts. We’ve got our police accountants tracing it right now. Like I said, we’re guessing we’re going to recover most of it.”
“Great,” Jonathan said, trying to get excited. But the truth was, the money wasn’t all that important to him. He didn’t need it to keep the company running. What he wanted was answers. Who had killed his brother and sister-in-law and why?
Stryker set his coffee cup on the edge of Jonathan’s desk. “That about does it for me, unless you have any other questions.”
“None that you can answer.”
The two men rose and shook hands, then Jonathan walked the detective to the door.
“We’ll be in touch,” Stryker told him.
When he was alone again, Jonathan walked to the expanse of window behind his desk. From his high-rise office, he had a view of downtown Grand Springs, such as it was. The town wasn’t very big and more than once he’d considered moving the corporate headquarters to a larger city. But he never had. To him, this was home.
But thinking about home was a mistake. It made him remember his conversation with Cynthia the previous day, when he’d told her he wasn’t interested in playing house and had walked out angry. Although he’d been back, he hadn’t seen her last evening. Mostly because he’d stayed in his office, not sure what he was supposed to say.
He knew that his words had hurt her—something he’d wanted to avoid if possible. But she was so damn innocent and he couldn’t figure out what she wanted from him. Whatever it was, he had a reasonable suspicion that he was going to fail at delivering it. She thought he was some kind of saint while he knew the truth. He was a sorry excuse for a man and he didn’t have a prayer of being even half of what she expected.
He told himself it didn’t matter. That her good opinion was meaningless. He told himself that she would be out of his life in a matter of weeks, and then he would never have to see her again. That wanting her was simply a physical reaction to a long period of celibacy and that once he did the wild thing with Martha Jean this weekend, all the aching would fade.
But it wasn’t just about sex, he realized, even though he didn’t want to admit it to himself. Cynthia intrigued him on multiple levels. Her innate ability to see the best in people, despite evidence to the contrary. Her affection and ease with Colton. Her fearlessness. She stood up to him, saying things no one had ever dared. It was as if she believed her convictions would keep her safe.
Without knowing why he was doing it or what he hoped to accomplish, Jonathan left his office. His stunned secretary stood in the hallway reading from his busy schedule.
“Cancel all my meetings for the rest of the day,” he told her as the elevator doors closed behind him.
Thirty minutes later he walked into his house and upstairs to the baby’s room. He found Cynthia and Colton sitting on a blanket in a patch of sunshine. There were piles of brightly colored plastic blocks around them. Colton was on his stomach, raised up on his arms. He smiled when he saw Jonathan.
Cynthia looked up. “We were discussing dinner,” she said lightly. “It’s about time to start introducing him to solid foods. We’ve spent a bit of the last four days getting used to sitting in a high chair. I suggested a menu of rice cereal but Colton is leaning toward a fruit or vegetable baby food. You want to cast the deciding vote?”
The words sounded fine, but he saw the hint of pain still lurking in her eyes.
He looked around the room. What once had been a generic guest room was now baby paradise. Lucinda had arranged for a border print of teddy bears in a marching band. She’d told him that she would pick out something with cars when Colton got older. Soft, pastel stuffed animals sat on a shelf across from the window. There was a crib in the center of the room, a changing table against a wall. A child lived here. A child who was his responsibility. How the hell had that happened?
He turned to Cynthia who still sat on the floor. She wore her usual uniform of jeans and a sweatshirt, while Colton had on a bright blue one-piece romper.
“What do you want from me?” he asked, then motioned to the room. “Isn’t providing this enough?”
“I don’t want anything,” she said. “This isn’t about me, it’s about Colton.”
She was both lying and telling the truth, he thought. They had two issues with each other. Their relationship, if that’s what anyone would call it, and his nephew. Jonathan decided it would be a whole lot easier to talk about the latter.
“I’ve taken care of Colton,” he said. “He has a home, someone to see to his needs.”
“You have a responsibility to do more than pay the bills,” she said, scrambling to her feet.
She’d pulled her long blond hair back into a ponytail and hadn’t bothered with any makeup. She looked young and impossibly out of her league, yet she didn’t act intimidated or afraid. Instead she moved closer to him.
“Colton is family,” she said. “Your family. From what I can tell, he’s the only family you have left. But do you respect that or act like it matters? No. You ignore him.”
“He’s a baby. We’re hardly going to have a meaningful discussion about world peace.”
“Agreed. But that’s no reason not to develop a relationship with him.”
He waved a hand at her. “I’m not interested in this.”
“So what?” She moved closer and placed her hands on her hips. “We all have to do things that might not be our first choice. It’s called being an adult and dealing with our responsibilities. Right now Colton is one of your responsibilities. This isn’t about business or some annoying social obligation. We’re discussing the life of a child. How dare you dismiss the importance of that?”
Anger flared in her hazel-green eyes. Her breath came in sharp gasps as if she hung onto her control by a thread.
“Quit being so damn selfish,” she said, poking his chest with her finger. “Yes, you had a lousy relationship with your own father. Yes, your brother was the favorite. So what? Get over it. You have a wonderful life now. One of your own making. You have many accomplishments that have brought you prestige and great wealth. But none of those matter. If you don’t get your act together you’re going to do to Colton exactly what your father did to you.”
Her words slammed into him, ripping through his façade of calm ci
vility and anchoring in still-open wounds. He didn’t want to be like his father.
But that wasn’t what he was doing, he told himself. It couldn’t be. He might not care about Colton, but he didn’t actively dislike the child. His feelings were more neutral. He made sure that Colton had everything he could need.
As his father had done with him, a small voice whispered in his head.
Cynthia seemed to sense the battle being waged within him. But rather than backing off, she moved in for the kill. “What kind of legacy are you going to leave, Jonathan Steele? A hundred years from now you’ll be dead. Will anyone at Steele Enterprises remember the man you were? I don’t think so. But Colton’s children will know. What do you want your nephew to say about you? That you were a great man, stern and honest, yet always available and filled with a giving heart? Or that you were a distant relative who gave him up to the hired help to raise?”
Her words rang in the silence. He tried to think of something to say to dispute them, but what was there? Everything she said was true.
He took a step back, then turned away. He didn’t want to be like his father, but he wasn’t sure he could change.
“You’re better than this,” she said softly. “This isn’t who you are.”
He gave a sharp laugh. “It’s exactly who I am. I warned you.”
“Then it’s time to change and be someone else.”
Jonathan did his best to ignore everything Cynthia had told him. He and his father had little in common—he wasn’t treating Colton the same way he’d been treated. But there was too much truth for him to avoid it. He had many flaws, but self-delusion wasn’t one of them.
In between meetings and while in the car over the next three days, he replayed parts of their conversation. What would Colton think about him as he grew up? Jonathan knew that he would never forget or forgive his own father’s inattention, the way the elder Steele had made Jonathan feel like an interloper in his own home. He was going to have to change the present or he was destined to repeat the past. But how?
With no obvious answer to the question, he made his way from the garage to the house. He hadn’t seen Cynthia or Colton since Monday, three days ago. But tonight he’d come home earlier than usual with the thought that he might talk to her. Not that he knew what he was going to say.
He opened the front door and was immediately assaulted by loud music. Not rock, but something with the distinct rhythm of a waltz. In front of him Lucinda moved down the stairs.
“The baby, he sleeps through all of this,” she said loudly as she approached and took his briefcase. “It’s Miss Cynthia. She’s teaching her sister how to dance.” A maternal smile softened Lucinda’s face. “There is a school dance this weekend. Something about ballroom dancing.” She jerked her head toward the living room. “They’re in there.”
Jonathan loosened his tie. He walked into the living room and stood just inside the doorway. The sofas and occasional tables had been pushed up against the wall, while the rug covering the hardwood floors had been rolled out of the way.
Cynthia and Jenny stood in the center of the open space, facing each other. As he watched, Cynthia assumed the position of the man and put her hand on her sister’s waist. They were both in jeans and sweatshirts, but Jenny had slipped on a pair of high heels. Now she glanced down at her shoes.
“I hate these,” she complained. “I keep feeling like I’m going to tip over.”
“I know, but you’re wearing them with your dress so you need to get used to them.”
Cynthia wore athletic shoes, so she was only a couple of inches taller than her sister. Both females had pulled their hair back into ponytails. Viewed from the side, he could see the similarities in their profiles and posture. Jenny was still a young girl but in time she would be as lovely as her sister.
“Remember,” Cynthia was saying. “Listen to the music. A waltz has a very specific beat. If you can begin to feel it as well as hear it, you’ll find it easier to dance. One, two, three, one, two, three.”
As she spoke, music from a portable CD player blared into the room. It covered the sound of Jonathan’s steps and he was able to step farther into the room, then lean up against the wall.
The sisters moved well together. Jenny hesitated a few times, but obviously had the general idea down. It was just a matter of practice. Cynthia patiently led her through the movements again and again.
He studied the woman who had invaded his life and demanded much from him. Not for herself but for a baby she’d known only a couple of weeks. What would she be like if she were defending an offspring of her own?
He knew instinctively that Cynthia would protect her baby with a fierceness that rivaled any in nature. She would never abandon her child, walking away without a second glance. For the early and formative years of her life she’d been raised by a single mother who had faced incredible odds to keep her small family together. To Cynthia there was no greater bond than that of blood kin.
They couldn’t be more opposite. He still believed that families were nothing but pain and trouble. Look at what his own brother had done to him. Yet even knowing what she did about him, Cynthia still expected him to open his life and his heart to his nephew. She expected him to have the same giving nature as herself.
He wanted to dismiss her as foolish and innocent, but a part of him wondered if she might not be the stronger of the two of them. Didn’t her capacity to love and forgive mean that her emotional boundaries were greater?
For reasons that were not clear to him, she saw the best in him. She had unreasonable expectations of his nature and personality. Even when he tried to convince her that he wasn’t anything she imagined, she persisted in assuming the best. Her attitude was so different from any he’d ever experienced. She was a fool and yet in some small back corner of his being he was pleased and flattered by her opinion, however false and undeserved.
Now, as she danced with her sister, she caught sight of him. Instead of a welcoming smile, she gave him a tentative nod. Questions flickered in her eyes and there was a tremor at the corner of her mouth. He hated that he’d damaged her ability to believe in him. Which only went to show how perverse human nature could be. After working to convince her he was a bastard, now he was disappointed he’d finally gotten her to believe the truth. He hated that he missed her open and honest admiration, even if it was based on a fairy tale.
“How about the male perspective on this whole thing?” he asked, walking toward the two women.
Jenny looked up and saw him, then blushed. When she ducked her head she looked so much like her sister. A younger version, just as innocent, just as willing to lead with her heart.
“Mr. Steele,” Jenny said and stepped away from her sister. “I’m horrible at this. Cynthia is trying to help me, but I don’t guess I’m ever going to get it.”
“I think you’re doing very well.” He stepped in front of her and held out his arms. “May I have this dance?” he asked as the CD quieted for a couple of seconds before moving to the next selection.
“I, um…” Jenny glanced at her sister who nodded encouragingly, then smiled shyly at Jonathan. “Okay. I’ll try not to step on your toes.”
“I’ll do the same.”
His comment earned him a quick laugh, then she sobered as she mouthed the one-two-three count of the waltz.
Jonathan waited until she was on “one” then began to move. He took small steps, using their joined hands to give her a sense of the direction they would go next. Jenny stumbled twice, then seemed to catch on to the dance.
They waltzed around the room together, developing a rhythm that nearly matched that of the music. Her young face screwed up with concentration as she focused on staying in step.
As they turned, he caught sight of Cynthia. Some of her tentativeness had fled. Warmth and gratitude took its place. He realized that by taking the time to dance with her sister, he’d found his way back into Cynthia’s good graces. He wanted to be cynical and remind her tha
t he was far from a nice guy, but he found himself pleased by her pleasure.
“Don’t look at your feet,” Cynthia called.
Jenny jerked up her head, then stumbled and would have fallen if he hadn’t caught her. She mumbled an embarrassed apology.
“Don’t worry about it,” Jonathan said. “How about if you watch for a few minutes and catch your breath?”
“I’d like that,” the teenager said.
He turned to Cynthia and held out his hands. “Care to provide a demonstration?”
Cynthia walked over to stand in front of him. She wore jeans and a sweatshirt, not a ball gown. Whatever makeup she’d put on in the morning had faded and her hair was slipping free of its ponytail. Even so, he thought she was as lovely as she’d been the first night they’d met.
He took her in his arms and they began to dance.
They moved easily together, swaying and turning in time with the music. While he’d held Jenny at arm’s length, he drew Cynthia up against him so they were nearly touching. He could feel the heat of her body. Her breasts were close enough to tease him and he longed to have their interested audience gone so that he could lean down and kiss her.
“The key is to relax,” Cynthia called to her sister. “Let the man pick the direction. Shift your weight after each step and you’ll be able to pivot in any direction.”
The lesson continued for nearly an hour, with Jenny dancing with Jonathan again. This time she was able to look at him almost as much as she looked at her feet.
“Excellent,” Cynthia said when the CD ended. “You’re going to be wonderful tomorrow night.”
“I hope so,” Jenny said doubtfully. “At least the boys won’t be any better than me.” She bit her lower lip. “What if none of them want to dance with me?”
“They will,” Jonathan said. “You’re going to be the prettiest girl there, which is both good and bad. Pretty girls can be scary. But you’re also funny and nice, which makes guys feel comfortable. I think your big problem is going to be deciding who you want to dance with.”
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