Within Striking Distance Page 4

  “You were hanging around near the Cargill-Grosso garage space.”

  “What’s wrong with that? Do you think I’m some kind of stalker?”

  “No. You have no record of that kind of behavior.”

  “Thanks a lot.”

  “I meant no offense, Becky. I consider it part of my job to protect my clients.”

  “Fine. It if helps put your mind at ease, not counting you, the only two people I’ve spoken with about this are Tara Dalton and Nicole Foster. They’re my best friends, and they understand how much this means to me. They wouldn’t gossip. I’d trust them with my life.”

  “Okay. That does ease my mind.”

  She crossed her arms. Jake suspected the gesture was defensive and wasn’t meant as an attempt to cover up the numbers on her chest. He hated having made her feel that way. He wanted to reach across the table and take her hand. Instead, he curled his fingers around the head of his cane. “I’m also concerned about you, Becky.”

  “Me? Why?”

  “I realize that learning your identity is a very personal issue. If you allow yourself to believe you’re Gina and it turns out you’re not, this could be hard on your emotions, as well.”

  She drew in her breath as if she were about to make a quick retort, then pressed her lips together and exhaled slowly through her nose. “I know that. I’ve already told myself the same thing more times than you can imagine.”

  “Good.”

  “But in the meantime, I intend to enjoy the possibility.”

  “Becky…”

  “Life would be pretty boring if we didn’t take chances, and I’m no coward. What’s the point of keeping your heart safe if it means it never gets used?”

  He kept his expression impassive, even though he felt as if he’d been the one who had been shoved backward this time.

  Yes, he believed in safety, but caution wasn’t the same as cowardice. A smart man learned from his mistakes. Jake hadn’t risked his heart in almost twenty years, and he didn’t intend to. That’s why he was so good at his job: he didn’t put his faith in anything unless he could prove it. Trust was a trap for the unwary, and love was the bait…

  Whoa. Love? Where the heck had that come from? His mind was going way off topic here. He grabbed his menu.

  “Is this the reason you asked me to lunch? To make sure I don’t stalk or otherwise embarrass your clients?”

  No, the real reason I asked you to lunch is because you’re a fascinating woman who has haunted my thoughts since we met.

  He concentrated on the list of burgers until he was sure the reply that had sprung to his mind remained unspoken. Okay. So he was attracted to her. It didn’t have to be a problem. There was nothing wrong with enjoying Becky’s company at lunch while he conducted business. This was a good opportunity to learn more—if he tossed a few morsels about his own life into the conversation, she’d be more likely to respond candidly about her own. Once they were done, he would get on with tracking down the leads Earl had given him.

  Only this time, he’d make sure he didn’t stand around like a pathetic puppy as he watched Becky leave.

  He decided to give her one part of the truth. “No, I asked you to lunch because I’m hungry.” He smiled crookedly. “And I don’t think all that straight on an empty stomach.”

  BECKY KNEW she was staring but couldn’t stop herself. Her brief annoyance with Jake was dissolving as quickly as it had arisen. This was the first time she had seen him smile, and it transformed his face. Even though it was only half a smile, a dimple appeared beside the lines that bracketed his mouth, just as she’d suspected it would. His gaze sparkled, giving her a glimpse of warmth that for some reason he seemed determined to wall up. Why hadn’t she noticed how thick his lashes were? They were darker brown than his hair, framing his eyes in a way that turned the light blue into a vibrant, captivating shade.

  “What would you like?”

  She would like to see a full smile, maybe hear a laugh…

  She blinked, realizing the waitress had returned and stood beside their table with her pen poised above her order pad. Becky fumbled for the menu, then asked for a salad and a diet soda. Jake arched one eyebrow at her choice before he ordered a cheeseburger and fries.

  “I’m not surprised,” he said after the waitress had left. “I had figured models ate nothing but rabbit food.”

  “How did you know I’m…” She stopped. Of course, he was a detective. He would have easily learned what she did for a living. “Actually, I happen to like salads, but in my business I do have to be careful about my weight. You’re lucky that you can eat burgers and stay so, uh, trim.”

  And trim was an inadequate word to describe Jake. He appeared to be in his mid-forties but he showed no sign of excess weight anywhere. He’d rolled his sleeves above his elbows, revealing forearms contoured with lean, ropy muscle. His shirt was pale blue chambray, washed often enough to have softened so the fabric molded his wide shoulders and broad chest. His stomach had the taut flatness that could only come from well-developed abs. The table hid the rest of him, but on the walk to the restaurant she had noticed how nicely his torso had angled into his slim waist and hips. Except for the left leg that he favored, he was in excellent shape.

  Becky caught herself before she could begin staring again. Normally, she was as immune to perfect bodies as she was to perfect faces. She’d seen so many of them.

  Still, Jake’s wasn’t perfect. Was that why she found him so interesting?

  “I have a high metabolism,” he said. “Lucky genes, I guess.”

  “Sounds like it.”

  “When I was a kid I was like them,” he said, tipping his head toward the children at the neighboring table. Two were standing on their seats while the third was smacking puddles of ketchup on her high chair tray. “I burned off whatever I ate.”

  Becky watched the kids as the adults at the table tried to regain order, a difficult task for them since they were outnumbered. “Your parents must have had their hands full,” she said.

  “Yeah. Never realized how hard a job keeping track of kids was until I had to do it.”

  Her gaze darted to his hands. He didn’t wear a wedding ring, yet that didn’t necessarily mean he was single. She should have considered that possibility. She couldn’t be the only woman to have found Jake so…interesting. “Do you have children, Jake?”

  “No, geez, I didn’t mean to give you the wrong idea. You’re looking at a confirmed bachelor. I meant my little brothers. I had to ride herd on them after our father died and our mom went back to work. They were a challenge.”

  “That must have been difficult. How old were you?”

  “Almost thirteen when it started. But I shouldn’t complain.” The dimple reappeared in his cheek. “Considering what a brat I had been, taking care of my brothers was justice.”

  She tipped her head to one side, imagining Jake at thirteen. He must have been a responsible child for his age. Or maybe the circumstances had made him that way. She could readily picture him watching over his little brothers while trying to be the man of the house. He showed signs of having a protective streak now, that was for sure. “It probably helped that you had something to focus on that would keep you busy.”

  “That’s right, you’d know how losing a parent can leave a big hole in your life,” he said. “When you lost your mother, you were only a few years older than I was when I lost my father.”

  “Yes, I was fifteen.”

  “Is that when you first thought of finding your birth parents?”

  “No, it started earlier than that, when I found out I was adopted.”

  “How did that happen?”

  She hesitated. She didn’t normally talk about this to anyone, yet if it could help Jake’s investigation in any way, she would tell him whatever he wanted to know. “It was on my twelfth birthday,” she said. “My parents were having an argument about my party. My mother wanted my dad to stay and help but he needed to work. She used to w
ork at the hospital as a receptionist before I came along but she quit her job in order to take care of me, and so money was tight. It escalated from there to other stuff. They didn’t realize I could hear them.”

  Jake moved his hand on the table. It seemed for a moment as if he were about to reach for her, but he was only picking up his water glass. He took a long sip. “What happened?”

  “I heard my father say he had believed adopting a child would have fixed their marriage, but instead I was causing them more arguments.”

  “I’m sorry, Becky.”

  I’m sorry, Becky. I didn’t see you standing there. Dad didn’t mean what he said.

  Becky pressed her lips together, remembering her mother’s words. She’d forgotten nothing about that day, although she’d tried. Her parents had been almost as upset as she’d been when they realized she’d come back into the kitchen where they’d been arguing. She hadn’t wanted to—she preferred to stay as far away as possible during her parents’ frequent quarrels. Yet she’d needed some tape to repair a crepe paper streamer that had come loose, and they kept the tape in the kitchen junk drawer. At first her parents had tried to deny what she’d overheard, but their excuses had been transparent, even to a twelve-year-old. Eventually they’d had to admit the truth.

  It had been her last birthday party. After that one, she’d never wanted to celebrate her birthday again.

  “It’s okay,” she said finally. “I know they loved me. They just had problems with each other. I did what I could to help.”

  “Sure, you would have thought their problems were your fault. That’s an awful burden for a kid.”

  His insight was accurate. Learning she had been adopted hadn’t been half as hard as learning the reason behind it. She had become increasingly nervous with each of her parents’ quarrels. She’d felt it was her responsibility to keep the peace between them, which had been an impossible task, and she’d blamed herself when she’d failed.

  “Was that when you decided to look for your birth parents?” he asked gently.

  “Yes. It was a childish thing. I fantasized that my real parents were part of a big, loving family and that they had been searching for me for years, not because they thought I’d be useful but because they loved me. I used to build elaborate scenarios in my mind about how they would find me and welcome me back. Then, after my mother died, I felt guilty for wanting to find another mother, as if she hadn’t been enough for me. But at the same time, I wanted someone else to belong to more than ever.” She laughed self-consciously. “Jake, I don’t blame you for thinking I might be stalking the Grossos. All of this sounds a little neurotic, even to me.”

  This time, when he reached out, he bypassed his glass and touched her hand. “It’s not neurotic, Becky, it’s natural. I understand why you’d want to be Gina. I just don’t want you to get hurt if it turns out you’re not.”

  The contact was brief, only a light graze of his fingertips against the back of her knuckles before he drew back. It left her skin tingling.

  Becky returned her gaze to his face. This was like the connection she’d felt when they’d first met, only stronger. Had he felt it, too? Warmth he couldn’t quite hide swirled in his eyes, but the rest of his expression gave nothing away. “I appreciate your concern, Jake,” she said. “But I need to know the truth, whatever it turns out to be.”

  “YOU AND YOUR ‘friend of a friend’ must have had a nice lunch?” Shirley asked, raising her voice over the din of the crowd and the cars as Becky reached her seat.

  Becky grabbed her hat to hold it down against a gust of wind. Nice? That was true, it had been surprisingly enjoyable, even though she’d had the feeling that Jake had been subtly pumping her for information.

  “Yes, the time flew,” Becky replied, realizing that Shirley was still regarding her inquiringly. She waved a greeting at Bud. He smiled but didn’t reply—judging by the earphones jammed into his ears, he was more interested in listening to the voices coming over his scanner. “Which team is he listening in on, Shirley?”

  “He started out with FastMax and switched to Sanford.” Shirley reached into the cooler beneath her feet to pull out a canned soft drink. She offered it to Becky, who shook her head, before she popped the top. “He’s still at loose ends now that Dean Grosso retired.”

  “Isn’t he rooting for Kent? Or what about Robert Castillo? Mallory’s dating him.”

  “You know Bud. He doesn’t switch his loyalty easily.” She gestured toward the tight pack that was entering the backstretch. “Trey Sanford just passed Will Branch. Do you think this could be his year?”

  Becky picked out Trey’s No. 483 car as it swung around Turn Three. She had dated Trey on and off this past winter. He was a nice man, but neither of them had felt anything special and they had parted as friends by the spring. She wondered now whether she’d dated him because of her inherited affinity for racing…

  Jake’s caution about assuming she was Gina flickered through her mind, but she blocked it out as the cars entered Turn Four. Trey took it too high, allowing Kent Grosso to nose in front of him. Becky cheered for them both as they swept past.

  That was another thing she loved about this sport. It demanded all of her attention. For the next few hours, she didn’t have to think about anything else.

  THE TELEVISED SPECTACLE was almost as absorbing as being there. Cars rippled across the sixty-four-inch screen in a riot of crayon colors and sponsors’ logos. Engines roared, tires screeched and the race commentator’s voice boomed from the fourteen speakers that were fastened to the walls. In the center of the floor, three tiers of overstuffed armchairs were arranged in staggered rows so that each provided an unobstructed view. The home theater could accommodate two dozen guests in luxurious comfort, but only one of the chairs was occupied.

  Cynthia walked to the middle row and sat beside her father. Though he didn’t attend races anymore, he seldom missed the broadcasts. Lit only by the screen, Gerald’s face looked as craggy as the acoustic foam that covered the walls. He’d always had a gauntness to his features, but over the past few years his flesh appeared to be drawing in on itself.

  He’d seemed invincible when she’d been a child. There had been no request he would deny her, no problem he couldn’t solve for her. She’d always been able to count on him. Sometimes she found it hard to believe the father she’d relied on was the same person as this frail old man. When had their roles reversed?

  He jerked when he noticed her presence. The controller he’d left on the arm of his chair dropped to the floor. He doubled over to grope for it, then straightened up and hit the mute. “Did Peters call again?”

  Cynthia’s ears rang in the sudden silence. “No, Daddy.”

  “I want to be told immediately if he does. We have to figure out what to do.”

  She nodded, feeling a stirring of pity as she heard an echo of the man he used to be. Gerald hadn’t figured anything out in years. She had found him shaking in panic last week when one of the servants had unthinkingly woken him up to put Floyd Peters’s call through to him. She’d fired the idiot the next morning and had left strict instructions with the remaining staff about screening all phone calls through her. “It’s all right, Daddy,” she said. “I’ll take care of it.”

  “We can’t afford to let anyone ask questions about that baby.”

  “No one will find anything.”

  “But Peters sounded worried. What if he changes his mind and talks to that private detective?”

  “He’s kept quiet for three decades. There’s no reason for him to go back on his word now.”

  “I pray he doesn’t.” Gerald pinched the bridge of his nose, which meant he was trying to think. “We’ll be ruined.”

  We? she thought. No, her father would be fine. In his current state of health, any judge would be lenient when it came to sentencing. Everything Gerald had done, he’d done to help cover up his daughter’s crime. Cynthia was the one with the most to lose if the truth got out. In addition
to her freedom, there was her position at the company, her reputation in the community, her marriage…

  At the thought of her husband, tears started to gather but she forced them back. No. She would not let one youthful mistake ruin a lifetime of achievement. “Daddy, I’m not going to let that happen.”

  “But—”

  “Please, don’t get yourself agitated. You know it’s not good for you.”

  “I want to help you, Cynthia, but I don’t know how.”

  “It’s my turn to take care of you now, Daddy. The past is going to stay buried. I’ve taken steps to make sure Jake McMasters doesn’t learn anything that could hurt us.” She patted his hand, then slipped the controller from his grasp and turned the sound back on. “I have a meeting in a few minutes,” she said, raising her voice above the din. “I have to go. Enjoy the race.”

  He made a weak protest, but his gaze had already moved back to the screen. Within seconds, his shoulders relaxed forward. He looked…relieved.

  Cynthia blinked impatiently at another spurt of tears. She truly couldn’t rely on her father’s help anymore. It was all up to her now.

  CHAPTER THREE

  “YOU REALIZE those things will kill you.”

  Jake bit into the hot dog and chewed with gusto, ignoring Len’s warning. He’d first met Lieutenant Leonard Denning when the man had been a rookie with the Charlotte police force and Jake had been learning the ropes as a P.I. They’d knocked heads a few times since then, but more often than not they found it mutually beneficial to cooperate. “There’s nothing wrong with a nice, juicy hot dog now and then, Len. Pure energy food.”

  “Do you know what’s in them?”

  “As long as it’s not still moving, I’m not particular.” He licked a drop of mustard that was inching out of the bun as he threw a glance at Len’s paunch. “Did Nancy get you on a seeds and nuts diet now?”