Ryan's Renovation (The McKade Brothers #3)

by Marin Thomas

  “Do you remember much about your childhood, Ryan?” she asked when Isabella had delivered their desserts and had finally left them in peace.

  “I don’t have any memories of my parents. But I had a good life with my grandfather and brothers. Why?”

  Did she have to have a reason to learn more about him? “I dreamed of being raised in one house by one family.”

  “Tell me about Charlie,” he said. “What kinds of things did you two do?”

  My, my, my. Ryan was an expert at steering the topic away from himself. At the rate they were going she’d never get up the nerve to engage in a dialogue about her daughter.

  “Charlie worked at a fast-food restaurant as soon as school got out in the afternoons, until ten o’clock at night. Although we lived in the same house, I didn’t see him a whole lot. When he was home, we played basketball in the driveway or threw the football around. I wasn’t any good at sports, but I was always willing to play. Charlie bragged I’d make a good brother.”

  “I’ve never met a woman as comfortable around men as you are.”

  The comment caught her by surprise. “Men are easy to get along with.” Most, anyway. “They don’t keep secrets the way women do.” Like me. Anna reached for her wineglass, drained the last few swallows, then announced, “I have a secret.”

  Before Anna drew another breath, Isabella joined them at the table. “Now we talk.”

  So much for coming clean about her daughter tonight.

  Isabella took Ryan’s hand and placed it atop Anna’s on the table. “Tell Isabella…what are your intentions toward my Anna?”

  Lord, she loved Isabella and Enrico. They were caring people who meant well and were determined to find a suitable husband for Anna. But Ryan would be lucky if he escaped tonight without having to propose to her.

  “RYAN, GOT A MINUTE?” Anna hovered near the locker-room door, a tired smile curving her lips. Willie’s death lingered in everyone’s minds and a week after the funeral the mood at the station remained somber.

  “What’s up?” he asked.

  “Actually, I have a couple of things I need to talk to you about.” The subtle scent of her perfume drifted past his nose, and he wondered if he’d ever have the chance to discover for himself where on her body she spritzed the fragrance. Behind her ears…the pulse at the base of her throat…her wrists…between her breasts?

  A quick check of the wall clock told him the other men, even Leon, had left for the night. No one stuck around past quitting time on Fridays.

  “How’s work going at the Blackwell factory?” She moved about the room, checking the air fresheners. Anna was nervous. She’d been edgy since their dinner date at DiRisio’s last Thursday.

  Friday morning following their dinner, he’d expected Anna to confess the big secret she’d intended to tell him before Isabella’s interruption. Instead, Anna had avoided him, and continued to do so all this week—which made her appearance in the locker room right now suspicious.

  “We’ll finish the job Tuesday. Wednesday at the latest.” Ryan doubted Anna was interested in how many loads of garbage they’d hauled from the condemned factory near the railroad tracks.

  She nibbled her lower lip, a nervous habit he considered cute. “You’ve been quiet lately. Is everything all right?”

  He’d been quiet? What about her? “I’m fine,” he growled.

  Tears welled in her blue eyes, and before Ryan could stop himself, he’d crossed the room and pulled Anna into his arms. She snuggled her head under his chin, and he lowered his face and breathed in the fresh scent of her soft hair. Her warm, curvy body felt good…right, pressed against him. “I’m sorry I snapped. It’s been a long week.” All I’ve thought about is you, and how to fit into your world.

  She rubbed her nose against the front of his T-shirt. “You’re a special man, Ryan Jones.”

  Each time she spoke his last name he was reminded of who he really was—a McKade. Not a Jones. Not a man who worked with his hands for a living, but a rich man who hid from life. Uncomfortable with her praise, he insisted, “What did you want to talk about?” He should have kept his mouth shut. As soon as he asked the question, she wiggled free and paced the floor.

  “It’s Bobby.”

  “The boss?” Now that Anna mentioned the man, Ryan realized he hadn’t seen Parnell since the funeral. “What about him?”

  “He’s behaving oddly. Make that has been behaving oddly since he and his wife separated.”

  “I wasn’t aware he was having marital problems.”

  “He and Mary separated once before, right after his brother, Harold, passed away.”

  This wasn’t any of his business, but after almost two months on the job, Anna probably considered him family now. “What kind of odd behavior?”

  “When Bobby’s in his office, he’s always on the phone.”

  “And that’s unusual because…?”

  “He shuts the door. He’s never done that.”

  “Maybe he wants privacy.”

  “I don’t think so.” Her mouth formed a thin line. “I stumbled upon a glitch in the accounting books.”

  That didn’t sound good. “What kind of glitch?”

  “The numbers don’t balance. Money is vanishing right under my nose, which is unusual considering its size.”

  His lips curved in a semblance of a smile. “Have you told the boss?”

  “I brought up the missing money before Willie’s funeral and he got a funny expression on his face, then mumbled an excuse and left the office.”

  A sad sigh escaped Anna, the sound tugging at Ryan’s heart. “You know where the money’s going, don’t you,” he said.

  “He’s gambling again,” she whispered.

  “Again?”

  “That’s why Mary left him the first time. Bobby began betting after Harold’s death. Mary got him into counseling and their marriage survived.”

  There was no fast, simple cure for a gambling addiction. Rolling the dice or betting at the track was an emotional sickness that a person had to manage his or her entire life. Ryan remembered the boss calling him into his office to ask his intentions toward Anna. Ryan had noticed the desktop littered with newspapers opened to the sports page. Bobby bet on sports teams. “Didn’t you mention the boss had gone to Atlantic City when Willie was shot?” He refrained from using the word killed. No one at the station ever said Willie had been killed. Or murdered. Those words were too final. Everyone continued to use the word shot—as if that word would somehow keep the teen’s death from becoming real.

  “Actually, Bobby said he was headed to Forty-first Street and Eighth Avenue.”

  “What gave you the idea he went to Atlantic City?”

  “The address I just mentioned is where the Port Authority Terminal is located. Buses leave every hour for Atlantic City.” She rubbed her brow. “I did something I shouldn’t have.”

  Ryan swallowed a groan. Was this the big secret she’d planned to confess last week at DiRisio’s? He’d changed his mind. He didn’t want to hear any more. The less he knew, the less involved he’d become—although Anna appeared determined to drag him into everyone’s problems. “What did you do, Anna?”

  “We usually receive payments for our services around the first of the month. But this past Wednesday a check came in. Instead of depositing the money into the company bank account, I opened a second account for the business under my name and deposited the money. Without that check I wouldn’t have been able to meet payroll and the guys would have gone home with empty pockets.”

  “Aren’t you putting your job on the line?” He hoped the men appreciated Anna’s loyalty.

  “Bobby won’t be happy when he finds out, but he won’t fire me.”

  “What can I do?” Damn. Sticking his nose in places he shouldn’t.

  “Did you drive your car in to work today?” When he nodded, she pleaded, “Help me find Bobby.”

  “Where do you want to begin searching?”

  �
��Atlantic City. I phoned Mary this afternoon. She filed for divorce and Bobby moved out two weeks ago. He’s been staying with friends and Mary hasn’t seen or heard from him since.”

  Oh, hell. What else did he have to do this weekend besides sit alone in his bedroom and watch TV. “Fine. We’ll stop at your apartment so you can pack a change of clothes, then we’ll head over to mine.”

  “I brought an overnight bag to work with me.”

  Surprised, he asked, “Were you planning to go to Atlantic City alone if I’d refused?”

  “Maybe,” she hedged, a wry smile tilting the corners of her mouth.

  Yep, she was stubborn enough to travel by herself if she had to. Ryan didn’t cotton to the idea of Anna searching for Parnell among the thugs and street scum who lurked outside the casinos.

  “I owe you big-time, Ryan.” She went up on tiptoe and pressed her mouth to his. Soft. Featherlight. When she shifted away, he swore he read a promise in those blue eyes. What that promise meant he hadn’t a clue. But he was willing to gamble it had to do with sin.

  Caesars Palace, here we come.

  “YOU LIVE IN THE—” Anna dipped her head to peer out the passenger-side window at the letters carved into the stone facade “—Klinedore Building?”

  Ryan didn’t respond to the question. Instead, he strangled the steering wheel and gazed out the windshield. Maybe he hadn’t heard her. “When did they convert the building into apartments?”

  “They didn’t.” Still no eye contact. “I live on the thirtieth floor. The rest of the building is office space.”

  He lived on a whole floor? She yearned to ask how he’d arranged that but feared he’d blurt out an outrageous answer—such as he owned the whole building. Impossible. Is it?

  Okay. She admitted that, when she first met Ryan, she’d suspected him of being an uptown guy. The Lexus, the two thousand dollars in the collection jar for Willie’s funeral expenses and now the Klinedore Building…all confirmed her earlier suspicion. She exhaled a silent sigh at the realization that she and Ryan were literally worlds apart. Ryan had been the first man in years to pique her interest and wiggle his way into her heart. She’d been hoping…For what? A white wedding?

  There was much more between her and Ryan than a couple of kisses, a game of Monopoly, a funeral and a dinner at DiRisio’s. She believed Ryan was physically attracted to her, although she sensed he didn’t wish to be. She prided herself on reading other people, but same as her, Ryan harbored secrets.

  “A man is standing next to my door. Should I see what he wants?” she asked.

  “That’s Waldo, the doorman.” Ryan’s brown-eyed gaze swung her way, and she swore he winced.

  Stung, she snapped, “If you’d rather I stay here…” Darn it, she didn’t care to wait in the car. She wanted to check out Ryan’s apartment. Sneak a peek inside his world. Find out personal tidbits about him—the color of his bath towels. Did he have leather or fabric sofas? What kind of artwork decorated the walls? Did he leave his toothbrush out on the counter or put it in the medicine cabinet?

  “Come on.” He waved a hand at Waldo, who immediately leaned forward and opened Anna’s door.

  “Good evening, ma’am.” He helped her from the car.

  Although she wore a long jean skirt, leather boots and a nice sweater, she was underdressed for Manhattan. “Thank you, Waldo.” She flashed a warm smile.

  “Sir.” Waldo nodded to Ryan, then walked ahead and held open the lobby door.

  “We’ll be out in ten minutes.” A hand on her elbow, Ryan escorted Anna to a bank of elevators. She quickened her pace, fearing that if she asked him to slow down, he’d send her back to the car. As if by magic, the elevator farthest on the right opened. After they entered and the door closed, Ryan kept his back to her, his hands curling and uncurling at his sides. Obviously, he was uncomfortable bringing her to his apartment. Why? She found it difficult to believe a man as handsome as Ryan hadn’t brought a woman home after his divorce. She wished she had a crystal ball and could see into the future—hers and Ryan’s. The more she learned about him, the more she worried if she was setting herself up for heartache.

  The elevator stopped, and as soon as the doors opened, Ryan bolted. Anna hesitated, apprehensive about what surprises awaited her behind the double mahogany doors across the foyer.

  “Change your mind?” His hard stare challenged her, as if he sensed she was poised to run.

  C’mon, Anna. Don’t be a chicken. She left the elevator and entered his apartment. Approximately three steps inside, she froze. The room was empty. No furniture. No artwork. No lamps. Not even a rug covered the tile floor.

  “Be right back.” His announcement bounced off the barren walls and she jumped inside her skin. After he disappeared, she sucked in a lungful of air, startled she’d been holding her breath.

  Ryan’s home was nothing more than an empty box. Stark whiteness with ornate moldings and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the bay. Her eyes burned at the thought of Ryan standing alone in front of the dark glass walled off from the world outside.

  The kitchen was to the left of the living area. Stainless steel appliances and granite countertops. She didn’t have to snoop inside the refrigerator to figure out the contents—water bottles, maybe leftover Chinese takeout and a few condiments. If not for the coffeemaker on the counter and the ceramic mug next to it, she’d assume the kitchen had never been used.

  The crushing weight of the loneliness and grief filling Ryan’s apartment threatened to smother her, as if an anvil rested on her chest. What had happened to reduce him to this desolate existence? Had he loved his wife so much he couldn’t go on without her?

  When she envisioned a future with Ryan, she cringed. Add her hang-ups from a childhood spent in foster care to the baggage from his marriage and the two of them together spelled disaster.

  Anna spun in a slow circle and noticed built-in bookcases on either side of the front entry. Save for one, the shelves were empty. Intrigued by the novels toppled on their sides, she moved closer, intent on discovering Ryan’s reading preferences.

  The books were classics. The Old Man and the Sea. To Kill a Mockingbird. The Grapes of Wrath. Moby Dick. She was about to move away, when an object caught her eye. On tiptoe, she reached behind the books. A picture frame.

  A photo of a beautiful woman. Ryan’s wife? Upon closer inspection, Anna noticed the photograph had been torn in several places, then taped together. This woman had caused Ryan much pain and grief. Ryan was a good man. An honest man. A man with integrity. He didn’t deserve whatever it was that this woman had done to him. She returned the picture to the shelf.

  Her thoughts drifted to Atlantic City. She’d be a liar if she didn’t admit that she hoped this weekend might turn romantic between her and Ryan. She might not be as beautiful as Ryan’s ex, but she cared about him more. Besides, foster care had taught Anna to be a fighter. And she just happened to believe Ryan was worth fighting for.

  Ryan returned to the living room. He’d changed into casual dress pants and wore a suit coat over an olive-colored turtleneck sweater—handsome and sophisticated. “Ready?” he asked.

  “All set.” She waited for him to make a move toward the door, but he hesitated. Please don’t change your mind. “If you’d rather not go, I’ll catch a bus to Atlantic City.” She didn’t want to ride in a stinky, crowded bus. She preferred to ride in Ryan’s comfortable Lexus.

  He carried his overnight bag across the room and set it at her feet. Tenderly, he touched her cheek. “For better or worse, I’m along for the ride.”

  Chapter Nine

  “If it’s all right with you, I intend to search at least one casino before finding a room for the night.” Anna studied the flashing neon lights as Ryan drove south on Atlantic Avenue.

  The dashboard clock read nine-thirty. Ryan was bushed after a full day of garbage detail with Antonio and Patrick, but he couldn’t ignore the hopeful note in Anna’s voice. “Which casino did you have in m
ind?”

  “The Borgata.”

  “Why that hotel?” he asked.

  “I phoned Mary earlier to tell her I planned to go to Atlantic City to search for Bobby.”

  Ryan wondered if the boss’s wife deemed it odd that the company secretary was out searching for her husband. Then he recalled how Anna had claimed the employees at Parnell Brothers were one big, happy family—one big, happy, dysfunctional family. Ryan considered himself the worst one in the bunch.

  “A while back, Mary discovered a deck of cards from the Borgata in Bobby’s dresser drawer. A matchbook with the casino logo turned up in his trouser pocket.”

  A deck of cards. A matchbook. What did Ryan possess that would expose his weaknesses? Save for the photograph of his ex-wife, he could think of nothing. Unless one believed nothing evidence. When Sandra left him, he’d demanded she take all their possessions—furniture, dishes, towels, bedsheets, artwork. Everything. He’d desired no reminders of the life they’d shared.

  After the divorce was final, he’d discovered the picture of his wife in a kitchen drawer. Whether she’d left it intentionally or not, he didn’t care. He’d torn it up. Then the next morning he’d confiscated the pieces of her image from the wastebasket and painstakingly glued them together. He’d decided he needed at least one reminder of what they’d shared—the loss of their unborn child. Ryan shook off the memories and followed the signs for valet parking at the Borgata.

  The attendant opened Anna’s door. Ryan suppressed a grin at her wide-eyed expression as she sized up the thug waiting to assist her. Ryan exited the car, slipped the man a twenty, then reached for Anna’s hand. He squeezed her fingers reassuringly and hoped for her sake they’d discover Parnell at one of the blackjack or craps tables.

  “Have you ever been in this casino?” he asked after they’d entered the polished marble lobby.

  “No. I visited Atlantic City with a friend several years ago but never came in here.”

  “Check out the chandelier.” He indicated the colorful work of art near the bank of elevators.