Most Likely To Die. Lisa Jackson

over.” Another exaggerated roll of her expressive gray, and overly made-up, eyes. “Didn’t he tell you?”

      “I must have missed that memo.” Of course Ross hadn’t said anything. Lately, he didn’t seem to understand that she needed some warning before he strolled into the kitchen. Ever since the night of the first reunion meeting, Ross had been making a point of inserting himself into their lives again. It bugged her, but worse yet, Kristen found herself kind of enjoying the attention a bit, too.

      Now she gritted her teeth. For whatever reasons, Ross was playing the part of interested, concerned father, and for that Kristen was on board. She wasn’t as certain she liked his renewed attentions to her…it was as if some switch had flipped back on. Suddenly he was smart, witty, and attentive—more so than he’d been in years. But what did it mean? How long would it last?

      Bottom line: she didn’t trust him.

      And she didn’t trust herself when it came to him.

      It was just too easy to fall into that trap again.

      “He said he was going to bring dinner again. Oh, wow,” Lissa said, curling her lip, “another Dad date.”

      “Could be worse,” Kristen pointed out.

      “How?”

      “Could be taking you to his condo.”

      Lissa looked stricken. The thought of being stranded in Ross’s Portland high-rise was enough to give her apoplexy. Forget the fact that she’d go there with her cell phone and iPod and have e-mail access through his computer; in Lissa’s opinion spending a night in the condo was a jail sentence.

      “I’ll be back before ten, I think,” Kristen said, but her daughter was already plugged in again, her nose pointed toward her open algebra book, while on the computer screen someone named ZeeMan was instant-messaging her.

      No doubt Zeke.

      Kristen bit her tongue and walked the few steps to her room, where she showered, changed, slapped on some lipstick and mascara, then ran her fingers through her hair and called it good. She had just picked up her laptop and notes when Ross, pocketing his keys, walked in.

      She tried not to notice how good he looked, but her female antennae picked up everything in a flash. His black hair was unkempt, aviator sunglasses covered his eyes. He was wearing khaki slacks and a white shirt with sleeves rolled to the elbows to show off tanned, sinewy forearms. His tie hung from a loosened collar, which added to the image of hardworking businessman ready for a little R&R. “Hi,” he said, tossing his keys and wallet onto the table.

      “I didn’t know you were coming over.”

      Taking off the sunglasses, he added them to the pile of his personal things. “Time got away from me. Meetings with those jackasses at the bank, a financing snafu that could hold up the entire Macadam project, and then more problems with a plumbing subcontractor. I didn’t have a second to breathe, let alone call and—” He stopped himself, shoved his hair from his eyes, and offered her a rueful smile. “I’m sorry. I should have phoned.”

      “Amen.”

      He held up his hands as if in surrender. “Won’t happen again.”

      She didn’t believe him for a second, and it must’ve shown in her expression because his grin widened and he made an exaggerated cross over his chest. “Cross my heart and hope to die.”

      “Yeah, right. Okay, okay, I forgive you. This time, but I gotta go. Already late for the meeting.” She grabbed her purse and tried to brush by him.

      “Wait.”

      She looked up into his teasing eyes, so damned seductive with their tiny striations of blue in the gray irises.

      “I have to apologize for one more thing.”

      “And what is that?” Her blood pressure was already elevating.

      “This.” He pulled on her arm, yanked her to him, and suddenly kissed her. A deep, hot kiss. Surprised, Kristen gasped, and he took advantage of her open mouth, his lips molding to hers, his tongue touching and exploring.

      She reacted instinctively, her stupid, wayward body beginning to melt, her bloodstream surging, her heart pounding a staccato rhythm. You don’t want this, you don’t, her mind was screaming at her, but her body, so long without a man’s touch, so anxious for the feel, taste, and smell of him, responded eagerly. Heat skittered up her spine, spreading across the back of her neck. Her knees threatened to buckle. She dropped her purse on the floor. It landed with a soft clunk.

      “Oh, no!”

      Lissa’s disgusted voice pierced through the haze of desire, and Kristen pulled back from Ross as if she’d been yanked by an invisible wire. Glancing past him, she spied her daughter, nose wrinkled as if she’d smelled something rotten, staring at her.

      Lissa turned and swept down the hallway and quickly into her room. The door banged shut.

      Kristen felt her cheeks flushing. She took one step after Lissa, then stopped. “You handle this,” she said tightly.

      Ross, damn him, was grinning like a Cheshire cat. “I will.”

      “Good.”

      “It was just a kiss, Kris. A nice one. A very nice one. But just a kiss.” He slid his eyes toward the hallway where Lissa had disappeared. “We are grown up and married.”

      Kristen groaned, more at herself than anything else.

      “It’s not like we were ‘doing it’ here on the kitchen floor.” Unfortunately Kristen’s mind recalled a time when they had done it on the kitchen floor. Ross seemed to pick up on her thoughts, because he laughed and his eyes twinkled in the way that really got to her. “You’re just mad ’cuz you liked it.”

      She made a strangled sound but couldn’t deny it. “Yeah, all right, I liked it. I didn’t want it, but okay, it was…nice.” She picked up her purse again and grabbed her laptop. “Doesn’t mean it’ll ever happen again.”

      “Keep telling yourself that,” he said as she walked out the door and pulled it shut harder than she’d planned. What was it about that man that made her so crazy?

      She decided she didn’t have time to think about it. Not right now. Not when she was on her way to Ricardo’s. Tucked inside one pocket of her computer case was the mutilated picture of Jake and her at the dance. In another compartment was the tape. Though she had a small cassette recorder with her, the one she used while interviewing, she didn’t intend to play the tape unless she had to.

      Ross rapped softly on his daughter’s bedroom door, but before Lissa could shout out “Leave me alone,” he pushed it open and stepped inside the chaos that was Lissa’s room. Not quite a pigsty, it was still messy as hell. She was flopped on her bed, cell phone to her ear.

      “I don’t want to talk to you,” she said, placing a hand over the receiver.

      “Tough.”

      “Dad. No. Not now.”

      “Yep, Lissa, now. Hang up.”

      She shook her head and he heard a voice, a male voice, saying something.

      “Either you hang it up or I will.”

      “Oh, puh-leez.”

      “I’m serious.” He took a step forward.

      “I’ll call you back,” she said quickly. “In a few minutes.” Then she hung up. Turning rebellious eyes up at him she said, “Satisfied?”

      “Nope.”

      “Oh…shit. You don’t even live here anymore.”

      “I’m working on that. Clean up your language.”

      “It’s just words, Dad.” She looked about to let fly with a blue