Betrayal Of Trust. Tracey V. Bateman

      “Then you’re going to have to stop behaving like a reporter. I don’t like being interrogated—especially where my family is concerned.”

      “I am a reporter. Remember?”

      “Funny, and I thought you were an old friend.”

      The waiter appeared with their food, effectively cutting off Raven’s reply. For the moment. Matthew turned an expectant gaze back to her. “Do you want to ask the blessing or should I?”

      Alarm shot through Raven. Matthew frowned, obviously confused by her hesitation. ‘Everything okay?”

      “Uh—yeah,” she said. “You pray.”

      He did so, then picked up the conversation where they’d left off. “Well?” he asked. “Are you here as an old friend or as a reporter?”

      “I didn’t realize it was taboo for ‘old friends’ to ask about family, Matthew. Or is your personal life only off limits to some old friends?” It had taken her the five minutes the waiter was beside their table to come up with the proper response, and she couldn’t help but silently bless the server for coming to her rescue. Her words nailed him with their intended effect.

      “Forgive me,” he said. “I tend to live with a bit of an edge lately. Suspicion is my middle name.”

      “Listen, I understand. I’m not one to discuss my personal life much either. I just thought…” She gathered a deep breath just before hammering in the nail. “I just thought you wanted us to be friends again.”

      Matthew couldn’t put his finger on exactly why he didn’t trust Raven. Perhaps because she was a reporter, perhaps because she’d suddenly shown up out of nowhere. Perhaps because she had broken his heart and left a gaping wound to remind him not to trust her.

      Friends. She was offering friendship when he wanted so much more. He wanted her love, her adoration, her devotion. He wanted her heart and body—in a pure and holy union before God.

      Friendship wouldn’t do. He’d rather never see Raven again than be forced into a lesser relationship.

      On the other hand, perhaps some time on a friendship basis with her would give her a chance to realize she still loved him. And Matthew knew she still cared. He could read it in her eyes, had felt it in the rapid pulse at the base of her wrist. Perhaps he could finally get an answer—once and for all—as to the reason she had walked away from their love.

      “Friends, huh? You’re right. All of my friends know about my daughter. So why should you be any different?”

      “Well, look. If you don’t want to tell me, you don’t have to. We haven’t seen each other in a very long time. You might not want to become reacquainted.”

      There it was again. That feeling she was playing him. Would she be so callous as to use his feelings for her just to bring home a story?

      “I want to tell you about Jamie.”

      “Jamie, huh? Named after your dad.” She smiled. “That means you’ve had her since she was a baby.”

      “How do you figure that?”

      “You named her. I can’t see you adopting an older child and changing her name.”

      Matthew grinned. “Always thinking deductively, aren’t you?”

      A shrug lifted slender shoulders. “Comes with the job.”

      “All right. Yes. I took her home from the hospital and she’s been my daughter since the day she was born.”

      “What of her birth parents?”

      The question was to be expected. Still Matthew hesitated.

      “Not something you want to talk about?” Raven asked, her gorgeous brown eyes fixed on him, almost daring him to close the subject and prove he didn’t trust her.

      “Her mother is my sister.”

      “Casey?”

      “Yes.”

      “She wasn’t married, I take it.”

      “No, she wasn’t. The baby’s father sweet-talked her out of her entire trust fund then beat her half to death when she wised up and tried to leave him—by then she was pregnant. It’s amazing she didn’t lose the baby.”

      “Oh, Matthew. I’m so sorry to hear that. How is she now?”

      “Honestly? She’s brain-damaged. Mentally she’s about Jamie’s age.”

      “He beat her that badly? Did he go to jail for it?”

      “He went to jail for other things.”

      “I’m guessing the judge revoked his parental rights?”

      “A judge didn’t have to. Ray gave up his parental rights more than willingly. Signed Jamie over to me legally.”

      “How is it that the press didn’t make a big deal about this? Jamie has to be around six or seven at least.”

      “She’s eight. And the reason no one knows about her is because I’ve purposely kept a low profile. Remember we’re just wrapping up the primary season. If I had continued on to the general election, I’m sure it would have come up.”

      She clamped her lips together as though purposely keeping her mouth shut. But Matthew saw the unasked questions lingering in her eyes. He didn’t blame her. He supposed she instinctively formed the right questions in her mind. And that’s what made her so good at her job. But reporter or no, to her credit she didn’t pry.

      “So tell me about your family. How’s your dad?”

      Raven’s face clouded.

      “What is it? Is he all right?”

      “Oh, just a little high blood pressure and a fiancée who doesn’t help it.” She gave him a dubious grin. “Other than that, he’s all right.”

      “Then why the long face?”

      “Long face?”

      “During our…previous acquaintance…your face lit up like a light show any time you mentioned your dad. The wonderful and wise Mac Mahoney. No one measured up, and, quite frankly, I was a little jealous.”

      A throaty laugh lifted into the air between them. “Believe me, Mac is still wonderful and wise. But let’s just say I’m a little wiser as well.”

      “That’s nice and cryptic of you.”

      She shrugged, her face hardening. “Not cryptic, just not a topic open for discussion.”

      “I see. You want your ‘friends’ to open up their family drama, but you’re not willing to do the same. Typical.”

      “Oh, please. Don’t try to turn this around on me.”

      “Would you like dessert?” The waiter’s sudden appearance gave Matthew a start.

      “No, thank you,” Raven snapped. “I’d like the check please.”

      “I’d like the check,” Matthew corrected, eyeing the waiter sternly.

      “Don’t you dare give it to him!”

      “Shall I split it between you?” the waiter asked, his expression that of a deer caught in headlights.

      “Yes, we’ll go Dutch.”

      Matthew released an exasperated sigh. “Fine,” he said to the waiter. “Split the check.”

      Smoke curled into the air from the cigarette clenched between his lips. He leaned against his car and watched the couple coming out of the restaurant across the street. Brief panic grabbed his stomach as the man hesitated, glanced toward him.

      In a fit of