Her surprised smile helped them both.
Taking the glass from her, he resumed staring out the window. He’d never pull this off if he had to gaze into eyes he’d seen alight with mischief or confused by desire. “The answer to your question is—being on leave sucks. Want to talk about the weather next?”
Chloe’s laughter was shaky and faint, but the sound of it warmed his heart.
AS SHE DROVE TOWARD her parents’ house that evening, Chloe thought about her session with Vince. It had gone better than expected, and though she was certain that there were still depths in him she hadn’t plumbed, she’d been able to honestly render a report to Internal Affairs that she didn’t believe the shooting had held any premeditation. Not being sorry that Krueger had died didn’t equate to intending to kill him.
She’d also spoken with Sergeant Woods about his unofficial concerns and eased his mind that Vince wasn’t acting on an urge to self-destruct, though he was definitely dogged by a type of survivor’s guilt over the unsolved murder of a man who had been the only father figure in his life. Sergeant Woods had promised to stay in contact with her, and vice versa.
And Vince had even agreed to seek out Rick Bradley, the senior staff psychologist, if he felt a need for his services. Chloe was almost certain he’d said it only to comfort her and not from any belief that such a need would ever arise, but she would count on her arrangement with Woods being a fail-safe.
So somehow they’d survived the session, carefully keeping her desk between them. She almost could have imagined that kiss, except for its indelible imprint on both her lips and her heart.
But when her next appointment had arrived and the session was over, Vince had stood, rapped his knuckles on her desk and told her he’d be by first thing in the morning to pick her up for their wallpapering date.
And while she was trying to dredge up a response, he’d escaped. The man certainly had no dearth of sheer nerve. Despite her concern over this meeting with her parents, she had to fight an urge to chuckle.
Parking her car in the circle drive in front of her parents’ Niles Road mansion, Chloe touched her stomach lightly, willing it to settle. Once at the front door, she rang the bell. Their houseman answered. As she followed him across the soaring marble-floored entry into the formal living room, she glanced around at the splendor that had so impressed her childhood friends. They’d oohed and aahed about descending that curved mahogany staircase in a bridal gown; Chloe knew her mother had cast Roger in the role of groom.
“There you are, dear,” her mother said. “You look lovely, as always.”
Chloe noticed that despite her mother’s usual ramrod-straight posture, there was something defeated in her frame. “Are you all right, Mother?”
Completely out of character, her mother clasped Chloe’s hand and drew her close, wrapping her arms around her daughter. “You know I love you, darling, don’t you?”
The desperation Chloe heard alarmed her. “Where’s Daddy?”
Her mother clasped Chloe’s cheeks. “He’s in the library. And no, he’s not any worse.”
“Then why—”
“Where’s my girl?” her father’s voice boomed.
“I’ll be right there, Daddy.” Chloe’s nerves skittered. “Mother, what—”
Her mother shook her head. “We’d better go in. Just remember that everything we’ve ever done has been because we love you.”
“Mother, you’re frightening me.”
But her mother had already moved ahead to open the library door.
Seeing John St. Claire for the first time since hearing about his illness, Chloe wondered how in the world she hadn’t realized that his health had turned for the worse. His skin was pale, and he’d lost weight. Tenderness swept her. She’d always viewed her father with a certain amount of awe. He was larger than life, a commanding presence who’d been the foundation of her world. She’d always felt that nothing bad would happen to her as long as John St. Claire watched over her, and nothing ever had. Chloe struggled past this girl who’d always known that in the shelter of her father, she’d be safe.
He was the one who needed shelter now. Ignoring her resolve, she blurted out her intention. “Daddy, I’m going to get tested for bone-marrow compatibility. I want to help you.”
Chloe wasn’t sure what she’d expected—anger that she’d disobeyed, gratitude that she would help him? She saw neither. Instead, her father looked, if possible, even older. A glance at her mother revealed the same thing.
“Chloe, come sit by me. We have to talk.” In her father’s tone was not his usual order but, rather, a plea.
“Why?” A visceral dread settled inside her.
“Please.” He held out the big hand that had, for so many years, steadied her in a hundred different ways.
She took it, surprised to feel a tremor in him. “What is it?” She halted, almost sure now that she didn’t want to hear whatever was making both of them behave so oddly.
“Sit down, darling,” her mother said softly. “Your father tires easily these days.”
So Chloe did, gripping her father’s hand while wishing she could turn back time and feel reassured instead of threatened.
“You aren’t necessarily a viable bone-marrow donor, Chloe.”
“What?” She frowned. “Why not? I’m your only living blood relative.”
His eyes were sad and old. “Please…don’t blame your mother for this. She was trying to protect me.”
“By not telling me that you’re sick?”
“No.” His shoulders sagged. “By not telling you that you’re adopted.”
His words echoed around her, but she couldn’t make sense of them at first. Then the air in the room splintered into crystals. Icy needles of shock rained down so thick she was blinded.
“What?” She hadn’t heard right. Couldn’t have. “What did you say?”
“It doesn’t mean anything, sweetheart. Nothing has changed—”
“But you—” She blinked. “No—” A crushing weight squeezed her chest.
“I’m sorry. We never wanted you to find out this way.”
She saw his mouth move. Saw her mother step toward her, but she couldn’t hear a word they were saying for the cacophony of her own shattered thoughts.
“I can’t be—why would you—” But even as she denied it, something in her knew. A whole life fell into place, all the reasons that fitting into this world had sometimes been so hard. Why the expectations of her had been so stringent.
Not because she was theirs—
But because she wasn’t.
She tugged away, but her father’s hand tightened. “Chloe, we love you so much—”
“How can you say that?” Chloe leaped to her feet, swiveling her gaze between them. “You lied to me.” She couldn’t breathe as the enormity of the fact sank in. “All my life…everything about me…is a lie.”
“It’s not, darling. Our love for you has never been false. You’ve been the sun and the moon to us—”
But Chloe couldn’t hear past a horrible thought beginning to dawn on her. “You were ashamed of me. That’s why you never told anyone. Why—what was wrong with my past?”
Her mother’s head shook in denial, but guilt swept over her father’s face.
“You were,” she insisted, her heart breaking. “But I tried so hard—” Chloe turned to run—only, she didn’t know where to go.
“It wasn’t like that,” her father protested. “We were never ashamed of who you were, Chloe. You can’t believe that.”
“Darling—” Her mother’s hand clasped her arm.
Chloe jerked away. “What’s my name? My real name?”
Her mother looked stricken. “You’re Chloe St. Claire. Don’t ever doubt that.”
Shock gave way to fury. “I doubt everything right now.” She tore her gaze from her mother and pinned her father. “What’s my name? What happened to my real family?”
All the remaining color fled from his face, and Ch
loe knew an instant’s shame. He was a very ill man. “Tell me,” she insisted. “Then I’ll leave you alone. I don’t want to hurt you—” Her voice broke on a sob. She didn’t want to harm either of them, but she felt as though they’d gutted her.
“Chloe—” He started to rise.
“Don’t,” she ordered. She looked down and fought for composure. “Please. Don’t get up, Daddy. Despite what you’ve done, I don’t want anything bad to happen to you.”
“Sit down, darling,” her mother said. “Let us explain.”
But Chloe knew she’d fly apart if she lingered. Start screaming or, worse, devastate them the way they were killing her. “Give me the truth,” she demanded in a voice she didn’t recognize.
Her father—but he wasn’t her father, was he? The magnitude of the betrayal rolled over Chloe in a pounding, punishing wave. It was all she could do to stand there, fingernails digging into her palms.
“We didn’t change anything but your last name. You were almost four years old, and we didn’t want to confuse you.”
One thing about her wasn’t a lie. She wanted to sink to the floor, but she had to hold on. “What was it?”
His jaw worked. “Malone. Chloe Elizabeth Malone.”
She’d try to think later if the name fit better somehow. “What do you know about my family?”
He settled heavily on the sofa. “Your birth parents are dead, but—”
Even as her stomach clenched at the loss of people she couldn’t remember, she seized on the last. “But what? Who else is there?” And how could she not remember, if she’d been four years old? She was so busy trying to figure out the youngest age she could remember that she almost missed his next words.
“You had two sisters.”
Sisters. She’d prayed at night for a sister. “Had?”
“They were much older. Teenagers.”
“Why was I separated from them?”
“They were too young, darling.” Her mother’s voice wavered, then gained strength. “They couldn’t have taken care of you.”
“How did my parents die?” She had to know, even though she was terrified of what she’d find.
“Your mother apparently died of natural causes. Your father had abandoned all of you years before, then died, as well.”
Abandoned. He hadn’t loved them, then. But maybe her mother had. Maybe her sisters— “Didn’t they want me?” If they’d cared, why wouldn’t they have stayed in touch?
Then she knew. “You bought me, didn’t you? Somehow you used your money to make them go away.”
Neither would look at her at first. Then her father raised tormented eyes to hers. “Your adoption was private, and the records were sealed. We didn’t want anyone to know you weren’t ours. We moved to Austin and started over.” His voice turned fierce. “You were ours, Chloe. You still are.”
“No—” Desperation and rage and heartache kept her strong even when she wanted to fold. “I want everything you have on this. I’m going to find them.” Chloe held her father’s gaze, daring him to deny her. Beside her, her mother sobbed.
Some of her father’s old steel returned. “Chloe, no one could love you more than we have.”
Even as she recognized that there was truth in his words, bitterness for all the times she’d felt so alone and out of place shoved that truth away. “We’ll never know, will we?”
His shoulders slumped. Her mother gripped her arm again. “Chloe—”
She couldn’t stand here one more minute. She had to have some time to absorb everything. Time to figure out—
“I have to go.” She jerked her arm from her mother’s grasp. On shaky legs, she crossed the floor, trying to imagine the little girl she’d been, the sisters she’d lost…
“Darling—”
She held up one hand without turning. Gasping for one solid breath, she managed to speak. “Not now. I’ll—I promise I’ll come back when I can—” Her voice cracked. “I have to go.”
She ran out the door.
CHAPTER EIGHT
SATURDAY MORNING traffic wasn’t half-bad, Vince thought as he drove north on Lamar Boulevard. Usually, he would have been out late on Friday night, trailing his suspects through an endless selection of dingy bars or topless joints. Soon, he’d be back at it; he was almost certain.
He stopped to pick up cinnamon rolls and coffee, having to guess at how she liked hers. There was a lot he didn’t know about Chloe St. Claire yet, but he would find out. After that kiss, nothing else would do.
They had unfinished business between them. Lots of it.
Didn’t matter that they were opposites in breeding and experiences and much more—she was a hell of a darts player and she loved old houses. She’d finished her own wood floors, though imagining it was still a stretch.
They’d start with wallpapering and work up to another kiss. He’d take it slow if it killed him.
It probably would. But you only won the game if you got out on the field. He’d had a taste of her, and he wanted more. She wanted more, too; he’d bet everything he owned on that.
Who the hell was he kidding? He was the son of a whore. Her father would probably put out a contract on him before he’d allow Vince’s hands on his lily-white daughter.
Roger Barnes already wanted to take away his job.
Vince caught the name on the street sign ahead and realized he had only two blocks to change his mind.
Just as he was about to whip a U-turn and get the hell back on his side of the river, he remembered caramel-brown eyes full of mischief as Chloe pointed out a bull’s-eye shot. Thought about a woman who’d trembled in his arms under the oaks.
Recalled the whipsaw of craving when her mouth softened under his.
Saw again the loneliness she worked so hard to hide.
Vince smiled and shook his head. Of course it made sense to turn around before he escalated foolishness to downright stupidity. But as Chloe had so accurately pointed out—
He didn’t choose safety.
Just then he noticed the fire-engine-red door on the otherwise sedate and traditional house. Maybe there was a risk taker inside the good doctor, too. With a grin, he emerged from his T-bird and strode up her walk.
Two minutes later, he’d rung the bell, knocked and rung again. Her car was there—he saw it through the side window of the one-car garage. Didn’t mean she was around, though. She might have spent the night with Barnes, her claim that they weren’t sleeping together notwithstanding.
Disappointment rode him harder than it should have. Sure, he’d tossed off a promise to pick her up this morning, but she hadn’t actually said yes, had she? He was about to leave, when the door opened.
“Vince? What are you—”
He got one glimpse of her and grasped the edge of the door to open it wider. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” She averted her face.
He was having none of it. “You look like hell.”
“I don’t— Go away, Vince.” She shoved the door toward him.
He blocked it with his shoulder. “Not until I know what happened to you.”
“Please.” Her voice was barely a whisper, her eyes downcast, her hair a snarled mess. She had on a thick robe far too warm for this weather, but her body shook as though gripped by fever. “Just leave. I can’t—”
Her grasp faltered, and he pressed through the opening. She backed away, still not meeting his gaze.
Vince closed the door and crossed to her. “Are you sick? Have you called a doctor?”
She shook her head. “I don’t need a doctor.” But she looked as though she’d collapse in the faintest breeze.
“You should lie down.” He clasped her arm, almost afraid that touching her would shatter her. He felt her tremble. “Chloe, talk to me. Do you have a fever?” With his other hand, he checked her forehead, but it was cool to the touch.
He smoothed her tangled hair away from her face; with a sob, she sagged against him. “Tell me what’s wrong,” he
urged as he folded her into his embrace.
She came undone then. Heartrending sobs shook her whole frame. Hot tears soaked into his T-shirt. Her legs gave way.
Vince swept her up into his arms and moved to a wicker rocking chair filled with plump cushions. He sat down with her across his lap and, feeling absolutely helpless, didn’t know what to do but hold her close while she cried.
As the woman he’d once thought too controlled sobbed against his chest, Vince rocked her and stroked her hair, awkward with words of comfort, since he had no idea what was going on. But even baffled as he was, something about this felt…right. As if a key had turned in a lock and opened a new place inside Vince with a smooth, well-oiled click.
There were only about a million reasons he should be scared half to death or on his feet running, but instead, Vince Coronado, the hard-ass who needed action and lots of it, who’d rather take a bullet than see a woman’s tears, felt peace settle over him like the welcome weight of a blanket on a cold night.
He didn’t know why she was crying or when she would stop, but somehow it didn’t matter. He would stay with her, and her tears would eventually cease. When she was ready to talk, he’d listen and try to help. But in the meantime, he’d relish the feel of her against him and welcome the trust she’d placed by settling into his arms. He, who’d been careful never to let himself be vulnerable again, had other priorities, other ideas about how his life would play out.
But somewhere along the way, a not-so-cool brown-eyed blonde had blown the hell out of his plans.
CHLOE AWOKE with a raging thirst and a curious lightness.
And heard the strong, slow thump of a heart against her ear just as warm, firm flesh registered. Along with a definite bulge beneath her right hip. Oh, God. She wanted to look, but she was terrified of what she’d see.
“You can open your eyes, Doc,” a deep voice rumbled with amusement. “I can’t help how my body reacts, but I’m not one to take advantage of a woman who’s cried her heart out in my arms.”
The Good Daughter Page 11
