“Maybe she’d be better off coming to live with me and Kimberly.”
“Better off? Are you kidding? You’ve been a lousy father.”
“Maybe you’re a lousy mother. There is a nasty rumor circulating that you may not be a fit parent. What with your alcohol problem.”
Her gut reaction was to snatch the butter knife off the counter and drive it repeatedly into his back. Then she considered the hassle it would be disposing of a two-hundred-pound corpse and changed her mind. Instead she put the knife back in the drawer and the lunch meat in the refrigerator. “Get out.”
“Did I mention I won’t be able to take Lacey out next week, either?” Jeff said. “I’m taking Kimberly to Hawaii for a few days.”
He knew Sydney loved Hawaii. But if it meant never having to look at his arrogant face, she could live without their annual trip.
“We’re going to the Virgin Islands next month,” he added, and she clenched her teeth.
“What are you trying to do?” she asked. “Subdue her with jet lag?”
“Jealousy is so unattractive, Sydney.”
She folded her arms across her chest. “I’m just curious to see how long it takes her to drain you and move on to her next victim.”
His smug laugh echoed in her ears with the grating effect of nails on a chalkboard. “The only place she’s draining me is in the bedroom. You can think about that while you’re standing in the unemployment line.”
Bastard. She should have used the butter knife when she had the chance.
“While you’re here, the air-conditioning is acting up again,” she told him and watched the smile disappear from his face. It frosted him that as part of the divorce settlement, not only did he have to buy her a house, but he was responsible for any maintenance and repairs as long as Lacey was a minor. One of the many benefits of having a shark for an attorney.
“I’ll call someone next week.”
“We can do this through our lawyers if you’d prefer.”
Tight-lipped, he said, “I’ll call today.”
“Good. Now get the hell out of my house.”
Lunch forgotten, Jeff grabbed his suit jacket and slung it over his shoulder and strode out the side door. He slammed it with such force her newly patched wall shook. She watched as the spackling came loose, fell away and landed with a splat on the floor.
LACEY SLIPPED DOWN THE HALL and into her room before her parents could see her. No way in a million years would she go live with her father and his bimbo. Lacey hated Kimberly almost as much as she hated her father. The first and only time he’d taken them both out to dinner, Kimberly had looked at Lacey as if she were a bug she intended to squash. Her dad even had the nerve to suggest that his perfect little Kimberly could take her shopping for some decent clothes and teach her how to apply makeup correctly.
“Why, so I can look like a slut?” she had asked, and her father went ballistic. Now he only took her out on nights when the bimbo had class. She was learning French, or something lame like that. Lacey would run away from home and live in a Dumpster before she let some pasty-faced old judge tell her she had to go live with them.
She picked up the phone, dialing Shane’s cell number.
“Yo,” he answered, music blaring into her ear.
“Come get me,” she whispered.
“Lacey? Is that you?” he yelled.
“Yes, it’s me!” she hissed. “Turn down the music.”
The music faded into the background. “Why are you whispering?”
“Come pick me up. I have to get out of here.”
He hesitated. “But I just dropped you off, like, two minutes ago.”
“I don’t care! Come and get me, but park down at the corner. I’ll meet you.”
He let out a loud sigh. “Fine. I’ll be right there.”
She hung up and walked over to her bedroom door, peeking out into the hall. She could hear her mom in the kitchen, banging things around. She always did that when she was mad. And she’d been mad a lot lately.
Lacey crept back down the hall and out the front door, so her mom wouldn’t hear her. Her father was long gone and when she reached the corner Shane was waiting.
“I thought you had to go home,” he said as she climbed in.
“Not anymore.” She used her cell to call her mom and tell her she would be late.
“Something came up at work and your dad can’t make it tonight,” her mom said.
Lacey knew it was a lie. She knew her father dumped her for the bimbo. Again. She had no clue why her mom always tried to protect him.
“I’ll be home by ten,” she said and hung up before her mom could say no.
She tossed the phone on the seat and turned on the radio, cranking up the volume. As long as the music was loud, she could forget about how messed up everything had become.
When her parents were still married and fighting constantly, she would sit in her room with the music turned up. She didn’t want to hear the awful things they said to each other. She’d hoped the fighting would stop when they finally got divorced, but it had only gotten worse. Every time she saw her dad, he was meaner and meaner to her mom.
As Shane tore down the street, Lacey plucked a pack of cigarettes from his shirt pocket. He handed her a lighter and she lit them each one. She inhaled deeply, feeling the smoke burn her lungs.
Shane reached over and turned down the radio. “Okay, what did I do?”
She flicked her ashes out the open window. “What do you mean?”
“You only smoke when you’re pissed off about something.”
She brought her knees up to her chin and hugged her legs. “It’s not you.” The cigarette was starting to make her sick so she tossed it out the window. “My life sucks and it’s all that bimbo’s fault.”
Shane huffed. “That’s nothing. My dad brought home Bimbo Number Four last Saturday. I think he’s getting married again.”
It annoyed her that Shane always thought his problems were bigger. He didn’t get it. His family was normal compared to hers. But he was cute, had a cool car and money to burn. And he didn’t treat her like she was a freak. So what if he wasn’t the best kisser in the world? Kissing was highly overrated as far as she was concerned. That was as far as she would let him go, anyway. No way was she going to take a chance and end up pregnant and married like her mom. She wasn’t ever getting married.
“My mom lost her job today,” Lacey told Shane, even though she was pretty sure he didn’t care. “It’s all my father’s fault. I hate him.” She turned to look out the window, squeezing her eyes shut. She wasn’t going to cry. She never cried in front of anyone.
“So, what do you want to do now?” he asked.
“We’ve got finals to study for.”
“Boring.”
Typical Shane. He didn’t take school seriously. Actually, there wasn’t much he did take seriously. But he was right: studying was boring and she doubted she’d be able to concentrate anyway.
“Okay,” she said, turning to him with a sly smile. “Let’s do something fun instead. Something that will really piss my dad off.”
“Great, let’s do something fun.”
She couldn’t stop the bad stuff that was happening or change the past, but she could get back at her father for all the crap he’d put them through. And she knew just how to do it.
SYDNEY WOKE late the next morning, a blazing headache thrumming the inside of her skull. She shuffled to the kitchen, doing her best to ignore the damaged wall, and fished a can of coffee from the cupboard. She pried off the plastic lid and groaned. Empty.
Out of sheer desperation she put the kettle on to boil and dug out an ancient jar of instant decaffeinated shoved to the back on the uppermost shelf. A trace of caffeine was better than nothing. She spooned a clump of the gooey, congealed crystals into her cup, filled it with boiling water, and sipped, scrunching up her nose with distaste. It ranked right up there with the sludge left in the pot in the teachers’ lounge at the en
d of the day.
“Why are you drinking instant coffee?” Lacey asked from behind her.
Startled, Sydney spun around, sloshing hot liquid down the front of her robe.
“Please don’t sneak up on me like that!” She grabbed a sponge from the sink and dabbed up the stain. “Why aren’t you at school?”
“Why are you drinking instant?” Lacey crossed her arms over her wrinkled blouse. Her hair, streaked green today, hung limply over her shoulders and looked like it could use a good washing.
Sydney dumped her coffee down the sink. “Because we ran out of the other kind.”
“What am I supposed to drink?” she asked, as if the world revolved around her getting coffee in the morning.
“I’ll stop at the market today.” She dropped the jar in the recycling bin under the sink, and, turning back to her daughter, gasped. “Good God, what have you done to your face?”
“Isn’t it cool?” Lacey reached up to press a finger to her slightly swollen, newly pierced eyebrow.
Breathe, Sydney. Don’t kill her, just breathe. It was Lacey’s way of taking control of her otherwise chaotic life. And it wasn’t permanent, that was all that mattered. Although she couldn’t help thinking tattoos would be next.
She tried to remain calm. “Honey, you already have ten holes in each ear. If you keep puncturing your head it’s going to deflate.”
Lacey rolled her eyes. “Ha-ha.”
“Why aren’t you in school?”
She touched her brow and cringed. “I have a headache.”
Yeah, right. “Tough. Take two aspirin and get your butt to school. If you want to mutilate your body, you’re going to have to live with the consequences.”
“Fine,” she grumbled. “I need a note for the office.”
After Lacey left, Sydney showered and dressed, and because she’d forgotten to buy a gift yesterday, whipped up a quick chicken casserole to present to her new neighbor.
Call her manipulative, but if she was going to have to live next door to a cop, she might as well try to get on his good side.
Sydney stepped outside and cut across the grass to the house next door. She knocked and barely ten seconds passed before Deputy Valenzia appeared in the doorway. He hadn’t shaved since yesterday, and the thick dark stubble made him look…dangerous. In her experience, most cops were.
He folded his arms across that impressively wide chest and said, “Don’t tell me you hit it again.”
She forced a smile and held out the casserole dish. “I brought you a housewarming gift.”
He opened the door, stepping out onto the porch, and she instinctively took a step back. Holy cow, he was big. Tall and trim with just the right amount of muscle in all the right places.
Perfect.
He took the dish from her, their fingers barely brushing. There it was again, that annoying zing of awareness.
“I didn’t introduce myself yesterday,” he said, holding out a hand for her to shake. “Daniel Valenzia.”
The absolute last thing she wanted to do was touch him, but she couldn’t be rude, either.
“Sydney Harris.” She slipped her hand into his and he clasped it firmly. Possessively.
It was the stupid badge he wore. That was the only reason she felt so nervous. It wasn’t his rough palm against hers or the sexy grin that heated her blood. Or the fact that he seemed in no hurry to let go.
She pried her hand from his and gestured over her shoulder toward home. “Um, I should probably—” She was interrupted by the unmistakable howl of a crying baby. Deputy Valenzia had a baby?
No way.
“Shoot, she’s awake.” He yanked the door open. “Don’t go anywhere. I’ll be right back.”
“But—”
“Give me two minutes,” he called as he disappeared into the house, then added in his cop voice, “Don’t leave!”
She should have left right then, but curiosity got the best of her. Two more minutes wouldn’t kill her, right?
She knew Deputy Valenzia wasn’t married, so he must have been babysitting for a friend, although he didn’t exactly strike her as the babysitting type. Not for an infant, anyhow.
Two minutes stretched into three and she peered inside, wondering if she should keep waiting or just leave. The baby was still wailing pitifully. Another two minutes passed and the screams increased in intensity, until the infant had worked itself into a frenzy of choking and gasping. It sounded as if the deputy needed some help, and if he didn’t, that poor baby did. Sydney didn’t typically walk uninvited into stranger’s houses, especially strangers with the authority to throw her in jail, but she had to do something.
Her maternal instincts overwhelming her, she stepped inside. The house was smaller than hers, but cozy. A black leather sofa and matching love seat, glass-top coffee and end tables and a television on a mahogany credenza were the only furniture in the living room. Guy furniture. Dirty plates, cups, bowls and baby bottles littered every flat surface. The walls were freshly painted stark white, the hardwood floors newly polished. And it smelled like…baby powder.
She followed the screams down the hall past a small empty room, then a larger room with a mussed, king-size bed, chest of drawers and a floor covered in discarded laundry. Deputy Valenzia’s bedroom, she surmised with a flutter of interest. She wondered how many women he’d taken to that bed… She probably didn’t want to know. If the rumors were true, living right next door, she would see the evidence soon enough.
Feeling like a snoop, Sydney continued on to the bedroom at the end the hall and looked in. A white crib sat adjacent to a matching dresser and rocking chair, and against the far wall was a changing table. In the middle of it all Deputy Valenzia stood with the hysterical infant over his shoulder, patting her back, looking as if he might burst into tears, too.
It just might have been the sweetest thing she’d ever seen.
“Can I help?” she asked over the screams.
He didn’t look angry that she’d let herself in. In fact, he seemed relieved to see her.
“She was up half the night. I don’t think she likes the new house.” He awkwardly shifted the baby to the opposite shoulder and patted her back. Sydney had never seen a man who moved with such natural ease look so uncoordinated holding a baby. It was unbelievably cute.
“Change is difficult for young children,” she said, stepping tentatively into the room. “They’re creatures of habit.”
The baby whimpered against his shoulder, then lifted her head and wailed again—and Sydney’s heart melted. The child’s plump red cheeks were dotted with tears, her clear blue eyes wide and accusing.
“Oh, she’s beautiful,” Sydney breathed. “How old?”
“Five months.”
She held out her arms. “Let me try.”
“You have experience with babies?” he asked, extending a protective hand across the child’s back.
“I worked in day care all through college, taught school for ten years and I have a daughter who suffered a severe case of colic,” Sydney said. “Though I still say she’s more trouble as a teenager.”
“That’s good enough for me.” He thrust the squirming, noisy bundle into Sydney’s arms. “This is April. She’s all yours.”
CHAPTER THREE
“OH, SO YOU’RE April.” Sydney held the baby up to get a good look at her. “I thought you were a puppy.”
“A puppy?” Daniel asked.
“Yesterday you said April drooled on your cell phone so I assumed she was a dog.”
“A puppy couldn’t be much more destructive. She puts everything in her mouth.”
He watched as his new neighbor laid the baby against her shoulder, rubbing her back. Sydney wasn’t beautiful in the conventional sense, but there was something about her, something that appealed to him. The eyes that were a little too round, the slightly upturned nose that was too cute to belong to a mature woman, and the sprinkling of freckles across her cheeks that made her look twelve. Although, he w
as guessing she was probably only a few years younger than him.
She wasn’t wearing much makeup, although she was attractive enough without it. Her hair was twisted up and fastened in a large clip. The loose wavy strands falling out from every direction gave her a natural, unspoiled appearance—bordering on wild and unruly. He tried to picture her prim and proper in the typical teacher wardrobe, but the only image he could conjure up was one of her sitting in a field of wildflowers, a chain of daisies around her head, holding her fingers up in a peace sign.
She cradled April against her bosom, which Daniel couldn’t help but admire, and the baby instantly quieted. If he were nestled against her breasts he wouldn’t be complaining, either.
Yeah, right, as if that would ever happen. As if his life wasn’t complicated enough. He had a strict rule of never dating a single mom. Or a next-door neighbor. He tended to stay clear of divorcees, too.
“Her belly is tight,” Sydney said.
Daniel’s pulse skipped, his first thought being cysts or tumors or ruptured embolisms—proof he’d been watching too many hours of The Learning Channel all those late nights he’d spent pacing the floor, trying to get April to sleep. “Is that bad?”
“She probably has a gas bubble to work loose. Can I sit with her on the couch?”
“Sure.” He led Sydney back to the living room. Gas he could deal with. He’d even grown accustomed to changing diapers, including the messier variety, when the stuff wouldn’t stay in the diaper.
Sydney sat April on her lap facing Daniel and, supporting the baby’s chest and neck, gently rocked her back and forth. Within seconds April stopped fidgeting and her plump little body relaxed. His new neighbor definitely had a way with babies. Why couldn’t he find someone like this to babysit?
He’d received three calls that morning. Two were from college students and neither willing to work even close to the hours he needed. The other was from Margie at the station, with a message from his boss wondering when he would be back to work. If Daniel didn’t find a sitter by Monday, it could mean his job.
He watched Sydney. She was talking softly to April, her voice soothing and patient.
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