Georgia Meets Her Groom. Elizabeth Bevarly

the man said in a voice that chilled Jack’s blood. With that one word he had managed a greeting, an insult and a threat. It made no sense, but Jack became immediately defensive, his fingers curling reflexively into fists.

      “Georgia,” the man repeated in much the same voice. “Why didn’t you show me your report card last night?”

      She came to a halt precisely one foot in front of her father. Jack would never have done that. He always made it a point to keep out of swinging distance.

      When she didn’t reply, her father pushed himself away from the car to tower over her. “Why, Georgia?”

      Without looking up, she replied so quietly that Jack had to strain to hear her. “You weren’t home.”

      “You knew I was working late. Why didn’t you leave it on the table the way I instructed?”

      She glanced up once very quickly, then dropped her head in submission again. “I—I’m sorry, Daddy. I—I forgot.”

      “You forgot.”

      She nodded silently.

      “Well, I didn’t forget. And just for your information, between the mattress and box springs is a terrible hiding place. It was the first place I looked.”

      His voice oozed disdain, and Georgia flinched as if he had slapped her.

      “You got a B, Georgia. A B!” His voice surged from condemnation to contempt in one syllable. “In chemistry, for God’s sake! How the hell are you going to get into a university like MIT with grades like that?”

      Jack couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Her old man was upset because she’d received a better grade than he could ever have hoped for, in a class he wasn’t even allowed to take because of his lousy academic record. What was the guy—nuts?

      “I’m sorry, Daddy, I—”

      “You’re sorry,” her father jeered. “I’ll say you’re sorry. A sorry excuse for a human being. If you ever get another grade like this one on your report card, I swear I’ll...”

      To Jack, the unuttered threat sounded a lot scarier than the graphic warnings he received from his foster father on a regular basis. He shook his head silently. Grown-ups were such jerks. He started to get into his car, but when he heard Georgia’s father start up again, he turned around, wondering why the old guy couldn’t drop the subject.

      “I’ve had it with you, Georgia. You’d better straighten up and fly right, because what do you think will happen to you if you don’t get into college? Certainly you won’t get married. Look at you—what man would want you? And I won’t have you being a burden on me for the rest of my life.”

      As her father berated her, Georgia simply stood still with her head bowed and listened. Jack, on the other hand, grew angrier and angrier with every word the man spoke. Before he realized his intention, he was marching over to stand behind her. Then, without a word, he cupped his hands over her shoulders and gently pushed her aside, stepping in front of her to shield her.

      Where Georgia’s father had been looking down to shout at her, he was forced to tilt his head back to look at Jack. For one tense moment, no one said a word. Finally, the older man broke the silence.

      “Who the hell are you?”

      Jack twisted his mouth into a sneer, an expression that always preceded the first punch he threw in a fight. “Name’s Jack McCormick. Who the hell are you?”

      Georgia’s father was clearly taken aback. “I’m Gregory Lavender, Georgia’s father. Now step aside.”

      Jack shook his head slowly. “Georgia and I have plans.”

      Gregory Lavender narrowed his eyes in outrage. “Now, you listen to me—”

      “No, you listen to me.” Jack cut him off, tilting his head down toward Gregory Lavender’s with the express purpose of getting in the guy’s face. “You wanna whale into somebody, you try whaling into me and see what it gets you. But leave Georgia alone. She hasn’t done anything wrong.”

      The old man poked a finger against Jack’s breastbone—hard. “This is none your business, boy.”

      Jack effortlessly shoved the finger away. And although his gaze remained fixed on Gregory Lavender’s, he directed his next words to the man’s daughter, dismissing the man himself. “Come on, Georgia, let’s go.”

      He took her hand and tugged gently, urging her toward his car. But she didn’t follow him. When he turned around to look at her, she was staring at him with huge, disbelieving eyes, her lower lip trembling with utter terror.

      “Georgia?” he said softly. “You coming?”

      She clasped her books tightly to her chest, her knuckles almost white where they gripped her binder. With one quick glance at her father, she took a slow step toward Jack. Then another. Then another.

      “Georgia...” her father warned her.

      “I won’t be late, Daddy,” she said in a quivering voice. “I’ll be home in plenty of time for supper, I promise.”

      “Georgia, we are not fin—”

      “Hey, old man, she told you she’d be home in time for supper,” Jack interrupted as he led Georgia away, his steps, unlike hers, never faltering. “What’s the problem?”

      He was amazed that Georgia’s father didn’t respond to his taunt, didn’t suppress the small act of rebellion on the spot. He hoped she wouldn’t be in for a rough time when she got home. But for now, he’d helped her win this one battle, and in doing so had given himself a little boost, too.

      From now on, he thought, Gregory Lavender would know that his daughter had a champion to rally whenever she felt threatened by dragons. And maybe, just maybe, that would make a difference in her life. And hell, who knew? he thought further. Maybe it would make a difference in Jack’s life, too.

      He opened the passenger door of his car and helped her in, then went around to seat himself behind the wheel. Gunning the engine in the way teenage boys do, he turned to her and smiled.

      “Hi,” he said.

      “Hi, yourself,” she rejoined.

      His smile broadened. “I’m Jack McCormick.”

      “I know,” she replied with a shaky smile. “I’ve always...”

      Her voice trailed off and she shrugged anxiously, pushing her glasses up onto the bridge of her nose with her index finger. Innocently, and not a little awkwardly, she lifted her hand to cup his jaw, rubbing her thumb gently across his cheekbone where his skin was still tender beneath the bruise.

      “I know,” she repeated quietly. “I’m pleased to meet you.”

      One

      Jack McCormick sat behind his big, executive, mahogany desk, staring blindly at his big, executive mahogany-paneled office. A crisp white sheet of stationery and a torn envelope marked Confidential sat neglected on the blotter before him, the tidy black letterhead on both stating, among other things, Roxanne Matheny Investigations, Inc. He had read the letter four times already. But he could still hardly believe what it said.

      Scarcely thinking about what he was doing, he tugged open the top right-hand drawer of his desk and extracted a battered baseball that was more innards than out. He curled his fingers comfortably over the worn leather and rubber, palming the sphere with affection the way he would a lover’s breast. It was the only thing he owned that had been with him forever. All else had been lost at some point along the way. Until now.

      He gazed at the letter again, his eyes feasting on the message it bore. They’d found him. Finally. Before he’d even had a chance to look for them.

      A soft rap of knuckles on his office door brought Jack