Chapter 13
Two days later, Zane strolled the sunny beach hand-in-hand with Jillian while Casey darted in and out of the shallows collecting treasures in his bucket.
With the musical successfully behind them and the Center closed, they’d enjoyed a leisurely breakfast, then ambled out for a refreshing seaside walk before Jillian’s scheduled meeting with Lynn Reynolds.
They arrived back at the house, and Casey scampered away to wash the sand off his hands while Jillian brewed a fresh pot of coffee. The kid returned to the table with paper and crayons and began scribbling and humming a happy tune.
His mouth watering, Zane watched Jillian, vibrant in red shorts and a red and yellow tie-dyed tank top, retrieve the chocolate chip cookie dough she’d mixed-up earlier from the fridge and spoon it onto a baking sheet. She’d scooped her hair into a high ponytail, and he’d bet a year’s salary she was the only woman on the planet who could make a hair-tie festooned with ladybugs look sexy. She slid the cookies into the oven and the delectable smell soon wafted out.
“How long before they’re done?” he asked eagerly.
“Ten minutes or so to cook, and another three or four to cool down.”
“Nah, I can handle them hot.”
She gave his ass a playful swat with her potholder. “I know you can, Champ.”
Their gazes locked, she grinned, and his pulse went supersonic.
A knock on the front door saved him from making an idiot of himself by surrendering to the temptation to grab her and kiss her senseless in front of the kid.
“There’s Lynn, reliably on time as always,” she said. “Would you let her in, please? I don’t want the cookies to burn.”
“Anything to get to sink my teeth into your hot cookies, sweetheart.”
With her lilting laughter swirling around him, he strode to the door.
Lynn’s tasteful makeup, impeccably styled hair, pale pink suit and heels were a startlingly formal contrast to Jillian’s relaxed attire. And she wasn’t alone. Her husband stood beside her, also dressed to impress, flanked by Wentworth and another man who carried a camera.
“Hello again, Mr. Wolfe.” Reynolds greeted him with a toothy smile. If he was surprised to see Zane answering Jillian’s door, he didn’t show it. But then the good old boys who networked in D.C. were masters at playacting.
“Actually, it’s FBI Special Agent Wolfe.” Zane purposefully didn’t let them in the house as he covertly watched both men’s reactions to his announcement.
Reynolds’ jaw hardened—almost—imperceptibly and his eyes cooled, but his smile didn’t dim a watt. “Special Agent, is it then?”
Wentworth’s pale complexion bleached a shade paler, his narrow eyes narrowing further. “I hope there’s no trouble.”
“I told you both about the vandalism at the center,” Lynn said.
Reynolds frowned. “Vandalism doesn’t fall under FBI jurisdiction.”
“I’m here as Jillian’s friend.” Zane indicated the guy with the camera. “Speaking of, who’s your friend?”
“This is my publicist, Larry. I have another check for the Center and he’s documenting my donation.”
Nothing like using underprivileged kids for political gain. Zane ran his tongue around his teeth. “Ms. Ramsay has been the target of anonymous harassment lately. No photos in or around her home.”
“Look here, Wolfe,” Wentworth huffed. “Congressman Reynolds is an extremely charitable benefactor to the Hope Center. And if Ms. Ramsay would like his handouts to continue, it’s in her best interests to fully cooperate with all publicity efforts.”
“You know, Carson,” Zane said pleasantly. “That sounded an awful lot like extortion.”
As Carson blanched, Reynolds clapped his assistant on the back. “Simmer down, Wentworth. We aren’t here to strong-arm the girl. It is, after all, all about the kids.”
Yeah, and I’m a fucking ballerina. Zane returned the Congressman’s phony smile with one of his own. “We appreciate your understanding. I’m closing in on the scumbag who’s stalking Ms. Ramsay. It shouldn’t be too much longer before we start making arrests.”
Let’s see if that bit of intel shakes any rats—or ferrets—loose and sends them into a panicked scramble to cover their tracks.
Jillian walked up behind Zane. “Hi. The cookies are done. What’s taking so long?”
Zane moved just enough so she could stand in the doorway beside him. “The Congressman brought another check for the Center and we were having a chat.”
“Oh, how nice. Thank you.” She flicked Zane a puzzled sideways glance. “I’m sorry to keep you all out on the porch. Won’t you come in?”
“No … no.” Reynolds handed Jillian the check. His publicist automatically started to raise his camera, but a glare from Zane made him quickly lower it. Reynolds cleared his throat. “You girls have a lot of arrangements to finalize for the fundraising gala, so we’ll be on our way.”
“Thank you again for the donation,” Jillian said. “The children benefit so much from your generosity.”
Or blood money.
“A worthwhile cause.” Reynolds brushed a kiss on his wife’s cheek. “Phone me when you need a ride home, dear, and I’ll send Carson with the car.”
The three men turned and walked toward the luxury SUV parked at the curb.
Zane stepped back, finally allowing Lynn entry.
The flustered woman hurried inside, hot pink flags streaking her regal cheekbones. “Please accept my apologies for Wade. I asked him not to bring a photographer to your house, but you know how stubborn men can be when they get their hard heads set on something.”
“Do I ever,” Jillian replied. “Let’s go into the kitchen, I just made cookies.”
“I am terribly sorry though, Jillian.”
“Really, no apologies are needed from you, Lynn.” Jillian sent silent gratitude to Zane. “But like Zane said, I do need to protect my private home life from my work.”
“As a career politician’s wife, I assure you I completely understand.”
The trio entered the kitchen, and Casey looked up from his coloring.
Jillian carried a plate heaped with warm, fragrant cookies from the counter to the table. “Would you like coffee, Lynn?”
“Yes, please.” The woman sat across from the little boy. “Hello, Casey, what are you drawing there?”
“Flowers. Aunt Jelly likes flowers.” The child looked down at his picture. “So did my mommy.”
“I remember,” Lynn said gently. “But you know what? I think there are a lot of flowers in Heaven.”
“Casey,” Jillian asked. “Do you want juice or milk with your cookie?”
Casey set his orange crayon on the table. “I don’t want anything, Aunt Jelly.”
“What?” Jillian frowned. “What have you done with Casey, you droid?”
The child didn’t crack a smile. “I kinda got a headache.”
She went to him and knelt to his level, felt his forehead. “No fever. Is it the pinchy sort of headache or the stuffy sort?”
“Both sorts.”
“Okay, baby, it’s probably your allergies flaring up.” She glanced hopefully at Zane. “Lynn and I really have a ton to do. Could you take him upstairs and give him a teaspoon of his medicine? It’s in my upper bathroom cabinet, the measuring cup is on the cap. And maybe … then … just read to him or something for a short while? He’ll conk out fairly quickly.”
“All right.” After all, Jillian would be within immediate hailing range if Zane derailed.
Upstairs, he dispensed the purple liquid and tucked the listless child into bed. “Do you want me to read you a story?”
“Yes, please.”
“Which one?”
“I don’t care. You pick.”
Zane perused numerous titles lined up on the pint-sized bookcase. “ Ferdinand the Bull. Sounds interesting.” He settled on the edge of Casey’s mattress and opened the book.
“Zane?” Solemn brown eyes caught, held his. “You’re a secret agent and everything. Does that mean you pertect good people from bad people?”
“Yes, I protect people and lock up the bad guys.”
“So …” Small teeth worried at the boy’s lower lip. “If someone wanted to hurt Aunt Jelly, or Poppy, or Miss Loucinda, you’d pertect them, right?”
His gut tightened. The kid was sharp. He must’ve seen or overheard more at the center than they’d thought and surmised more than they realized. “A hundred percent.” He rubbed Casey’s arm reassuringly. “If anyone tried to hurt any of you, I’d definitely protect you all.”
“You got a big gun.” Casey gulped. “If somebody tried to hurt us, you’d shoot ‘em?”
Whoa. Zane considered the innocent child staring at him with complete faith. Finally, he nodded. “I don’t like to shoot bad guys. But, yes, if I had to in order to stop them, I would.”
“What about … what about when you aren’t here anymore?”
The solar plexus punch knocked the wind out of him. “Casey, I promise, I will do everything in my power to make sure you’re safe—whether I’m around or not. Why are you worried about this? Did you see or hear something that upset you?”
Casey’s lids fluttered down. “I think I just want my story now.” His low voice was drowsy. “Ferdinand doesn’t like to fight. He only likes to smell the flowers.”
By the time Zane finished the book, Casey was out like the proverbial light.
Zane sat on the bed with his throat aching … and watched his son sleep.
* * *
Zane was still sitting there when Casey blinked awake well over two hours later. He hadn’t wanted him to wake up alone and afraid. “How’s the head, buddy?”
“Better.”
“You want to take a second run at that cookie and juice now?”
“Ya. I think so.”
Because the child was still wobbly, Zane held onto his small hand as they walked downstairs to the kitchen.
Jillian was reading a stack of notes and keying information into her phone. “There’s my men. Good timing. Lynn left a few minutes ago. Feeling better, Case?”
“Ya. Zane stayed with me the whole time.”
“I know.” She gave Zane a considering look. “You didn’t have to stick around once he fell asleep. I was going to turn on the monitor when you came back downstairs.”
“I wanted to stay with him.” He and Casey sat at the table, and he winked at the kid. “And now we brave rebels would like our cookies, if it pleases Your Worship.”
Casey erupted into giggles and Jillian joined in. “Okay, we’ll do backwards lunch. Cookies first, sandwiches after.”
“Yay!” Casey shouted.
Casey ate with gusto and seemed fully recovered as he skipped outside to play on the back deck after lunch.
Sitting next to Zane at the kitchen table, Jillian put her hand over his. “That was nice of you to stay with him.”
“He needed me to.” He relayed their conversation before Casey had fallen asleep.
Then he and Jillian discussed what provisions they should make for Casey’s welfare in the event of a worst-case scenario.
Jillian turned to face him, gave a troubled sigh. “Five-year-olds shouldn’t have to worry about bad guys hurting them or their loved ones.”
“Exactly why I chose to serve and ‘pertect.’”
Her smile of admiration blazed straight down the center of his body. “You truly are one of the good guys, Zane Wolfe.”
Then she leaned in and kissed him.
A moment. One stolen moment. But her silky tongue stroking against his short-circuited his system, incinerated all reason. He tugged her closer, wrapped his arms around her and delved into the kiss. Gloried in her taste, sweeter, satisfying, and more decadent than any cookies.
A needy moan hummed in her throat as her fingers clutched his shirt, and her heartbeat galloped against his. His hand slid between them and cupped her breast, her nipple beneath the fabric pebbling in his palm. One sweep of his arm would clear the table, and—
“ What? ” Casey’s incredulous voice slapped Zane with the same chilling effect as a bucket of ice water. “Are you kissing Aunt Jelly?”
Zane jerked back from Jillian to meet the child’s indignant glare. “Ah …”
“I never thought you would do a dumb thing like kiss a girl. ”
Shit. Where the hell was his common sense? And he’d obviously lost major brownie points with the kid. “Uh … this is another thing you won’t appreciate until you’re older, pal.”
“I seen Poppy kiss Miss Loucinda, too. I’m never kissing any girls! Yuck! ”
Chuckling, Jillian gracefully gained her feet. “Since we’ve invited Mia and Dallas over for a barbecue tonight, why don’t you men go find something to do out back? I have macaroni salad and coleslaw and coconut cream pie to make.”
“I’ll hang out in here and give you a hand,” Zane offered.
“No thanks, Champ. Out with you. I’ve had about as much of your hands as I can manage for now.” Grinning, she waggled mischievous fingers at him. “However, later, maybe you could …”
Zane hurriedly followed Casey outside, where the boy decided to show Zane everything he’d collected in his bucket.
Zane sat with thighs spread, feet planted on opposite sides of a lounge chair while the kid stood in front of him and lined up agates and shells and broken sand dollars on the cushion, chatting about each item with surprising detail.
“And look, Zane!” Casey reverently handed him a chunk of shiny cobalt. “Sea glass! Aunt Jelly has a collection in her exercise room. She says she likes it because the pieces start out all broken and sharp, and just plain old regular glass, and then the waves tumble it around for a long time … and then it comes out all smooth and pretty and clean, and won’t cut you anymore. Isn’t it amazing that soft squishy stuff like water can polish hard sharp stuff like glass?”
“It’s amazing all right.”
“You can have that piece if you want. Aunt Jelly has lots and she says sharing is important.”
“Thanks.” He pocketed the treasure, wondering how something so ordinary could seem priceless. “Hey, kid, let’s play some catch.”
Sometime later after the game of catch, Zane found himself lying on his back on the beach while Casey diligently attempted to bury him. He still wasn’t quite sure how he’d gotten finagled into that deal.
Dallas’ shout of laughter brought Zane’s head up to see his friends strolling toward them.
“Jillian said we’d find you here,” Dallas said. “But looks like we’ve stumbled on one of the Sand People.”
Zane sat up, scattering sand in every direction. “Hi guys.”
“Zane.” Casey planted small hands on his slender hips. “I told ya not to move!”
“Sorry, pal, but we have company. Casey, this is Mr. Dallas and Miss Mia, and they’re my best friends.”
Casey gave Dallas the once-over. “Hi.”
“Hi yourself. How’s it goin’?”
“You talk just like Miss Loucinda.” Casey studied Mia. “Hi.”
“Hi.” Sentimental tears glistened in her amber eyes. “He looks so much—” She gulped. Sniffled.
“You have a baby in your tummy,” Casey announced.
Mia and Dallas grinned in unison. “Yes, I do,” she replied.
Dallas glanced from Zane to Casey in amusement. “Don’t miss a trick do you, tadpole? I know someone exactly like that.”
Casey scrunched his nose. “Tala at the Center has a baby in her tummy, too. How do them babies get in there? I keep asking and asking, and Aunt Jelly says they grow in there like when we plant seeds in our garden. But I don’t get it. Did you swallow a watermelon seed, Miss Mia? Because I swallowed a whole lot of ‘em and I never had a baby.”
Mia blinked. “Um …”
Zane had never seen the incomparable attorney at a loss for words before. He covered his laugh with a cough. “Casey, why don’t you run on ahead and ask Aunt Jillian if she’ll let you help put the whipped cream on the coconut pie? I bet you can even lick the spoon.”
“Oh, boy!” The child streaked toward the house.
Dallas turned to Zane as they followed the child’s path more slowly. “Lord Almighty, Wolfe, you’ve got yourself a perfect Mini-Me right there.”
Zane shoved his hands in his pockets because they wanted to shake. “Listen, Jillian and I’ve talked about this … and we wanted to ask you if you’d be willing to be Casey’s godparents. When I …”
He cleared his throat and forged ahead. “After I leave, maybe you could still visit and bring Lucas to play with Casey. Jillian’s dad is getting up there and raising another kid would be too much for him—so if God forbid something happens to both Jillian and me, we’d like you to become his legal guardians. You may have to fight Richard for custody again. That’s if we win it in the first place.” He cleared his throat again. “I … I’d like our sons to be friends.”
Dallas and Mia exchanged a long look while silent communication pinged between them.
Dallas’s broad hand squeezed Zane’s shoulder, and he nodded. “Whatever you and Jillian need, whatever that little boy needs … you’ve got it.”
“No matter what happens, Zane,” Mia quavered. “Our sons are going to grow up to be good friends. Just like you and Dallas.”
“Thanks,” Zane said thickly. “And damn, I could use a beer about now. How about you, McQuade?”
The rest of the afternoon and evening passed in pleasurable companionship. Aragorn flummoxed Zane further when he cuddled up to Dallas and Mia like they were his long-lost best buds, all the while sneering scornfully at Zane during his attempt to barbecue chicken.
Casey fell asleep on a chaise, and sensitive to his earlier anxiety, Jillian didn’t put him to bed upstairs alone, instead covering him with a throw. He snoozed away as the adults lounged on the candlelit deck with drinks and talked while admiring the moon and stars winking on over the ocean.
Jillian wanted to hear all about Mia and Dallas’ meeting and courtship. As Mia related the unique tale, Zane relived the highs and lows of that interesting experience.
Afterward, Zane went to the kitchen to nab a second helping of dessert for him and Dallas. He stood at the counter with a knife poised over the pie tin, looking out the window at his sleeping son. Watched as Jillian tipped her head back and laughed at something Dallas said. The slender column of her throat gleamed as pale and luscious in the moonlight as the whipped cream beneath his hands.
“Hi.” Mia’s voice had him pivoting to see that she’d followed him inside. “I decided I wanted more pie, too.”
“Color me surprised.”
“Ha ha. You’ve been enjoying yourself here and relaxing more. It shows.”
He glanced out the window at Jillian again. “It’s been good … for a short window in time.”
Mia stepped closer and her hand delved into his jeans’ pocket and withdrew his phone.
Zane shot her a mock scowl. “You’re not gonna throw me down, tie me up and pitch my phone in the closest Dumpster are you?”
She snorted as she keyed in numbers. “If it’d knock some sense into you, I would.”
“What are you doing?”
“Inputting the name and number of the therapist who helped Dallas and me resolve leftover issues from our pasts after we got married. He’s top-notch.”
She slid the phone back into his pocket. “Making a big life change is scary, but you know what’s even scarier?” She inclined her head toward the scene out the window. “ Regret. This could be your new life, Zane. If you want it badly enough.”
* * *
The following two weeks flew by. The more time Zane spent with Jillian and Casey, the more comfortable he grew. Which perversely, made him uneasy.
Because peaceful interludes never lasted long.
He and Dallas finished installing the Center’s security system and began combing through the minutia of Reynolds’ and Wentworth’s data and constructing a timeline of their activities during the two years prior to Deb’s death. It was skating on the edge of legal, and yeah, okay, tearing through the envelope at times. Any evidence collected without a warrant wouldn’t be admissible in court, but they’d cross—or burn if necessary—that bridge when the time came.
Zane usually strictly adhered to protocol. However, Jillian and Casey’s safety was priority one. So screw the rules and regs.
Just as Zane had hoped, they found a call from Deb’s regular cell to her private cell. And that number had made numerous calls to another cell that had been canceled the day after her death—and was registered to Carson Wentworth. All the info had been scrubbed, likely by hacking into the company’s database. Reynolds had money up the wazoo, and money bought power … and silence.
But as with all technology, not everything could be completely eliminated. And while Zane was no slouch in computer investigations, Dallas was a damned savant.
Not only were there hundreds of calls back and forth to and from Deb’s private cell, but— gotcha you bastard —numerous calls traced back to an expensive, exclusive penthouse in a downtown Seattle high-rise. The maximum security building catered to celebrities and the uber-wealthy willing to pay out the ass for guaranteed discretion. Rent and a staggering amount of sundry expenses had been signed for on a credit card belonging to Wentworth, which was also canceled and the records “erased” the day after Deb’s death.
Zane and Dallas visited the concierge. Photos of Carson, Wade, and Deb combined with Zane’s badge and threats of obstruction and accessory to murder, loosened his tongue. The man confirmed when and where Wade and Deb had been hooking up. Obviously, Wentworth was fronting for his boss.
Speaking of Weasely Went, Zane had dropped in for a friendly hi-ya at Reynolds’ campaign headquarters and asked a few not-quite-subtle-enough questions to watch Wentworth sweat and squirm, and learned the guy had no alibi for the estimated window of time of Deb’s death. He claimed he’d been home, asleep.
As did Reynolds, who said his wife could confirm it, having been asleep next to him all night. A flimsy alibi at best.
Zane recognized Carson’s type. Gutless Wonder-Boy was an opportunist, and self-preservation would become his god if it looked like he was about to take the entire rap alone for murder one. Zane also knew if he amassed enough evidence and exerted the right pressure he could make Carson roll on Reynolds.
However, it made no sense that Reynolds or his assistant was stalking Jillian. If they’d suspected she knew about the affair, they’d have done far worse than harass her. Zane and Dallas concluded either Dr. Dick and/or Mrs. Psycho Dick had hired someone in an attempt to intimidate and upset her during the custody case, gangbangers were pissed off about her progress at the Center, or Farley’s case of puppy love had truly gone Cujo.
Either way, once the Wolfe/McQuade team amassed enough evidence in both instances, Mia would help secure the proper warrants, then they’d launch a sweeping perp roundup. Zane vowed every single scumbag involved in killing Deb and distressing Jillian would soon be wearing pretty prison orange and wishing for soap-on-a-rope.
Then he could leave.
Maybe.
Because he and Jillian grew closer every minute. Touching her, kissing her came more naturally, more frequently, and became harder to resist. And as he grew accustomed to being with Casey, the three of them were bonding into a harmonious unit. Their days together were spent as a happy trio, and after Casey went to bed Zane and Jillian would lounge on the deck sipping wine, talking … and kissing.
Zane had so far managed to keep his passion leashed, although it cranked him up to the point of pain. It wasn’t right to play house with Jillian if he wasn’t going to stick around.
Dallas and Mia spent a lot of time with them as well, and Zane had to admit he was more content than he’d ever been in his life.
While at the same time, also the most leery.
Because suddenly, for the first time, he dared to hope. And hope scared the ever-loving shit out of him.
So he’d lied to Jillian, Dallas and Mia about working alone the other day. Instead he’d driven to Portland for an appointment he’d made with the therapist Mia recommended—only to sit rigidly in the guy’s office in a cold sweat, saying a whole lot of nothing.
The therapist had assured Zane he could talk when he was ready. He’d congratulated Zane on taking the first big step, but warned him that exorcising his past would be like surgery … without anesthesia. During the healing process, the pain always got a lot worse before it could get better. And he had to fully face the pain, fully feel it, in order to conquer it.
Hip-fucking-hooray. Something to look forward to.
Now he was waiting for the other boot to drop … and kick him in the ass.