Sarah's Secrets. Lisa Childs

me. Confidentiality rules with a client—”

      He shook his head, the dark-golden hair flirting with his shirt collar. “Not this client. I’m not doing this job for money.”

      For love. He didn’t have to say it; the words were etched in the worry lines bracketing his mouth and eyes. “It is personal,” he added.

      “I didn’t mean to pry.” And she was aghast at her lack of manners. She’d made a vow long ago always to respect the privacy of others. And hope they respected hers.

      His light-brown eyes swirled with indiscernible emotions. “You’re not prying. In fact, I plan to tell you all about it. I have to tell you all about it. Later.”

      She shivered. “I don’t understand…”

      “You will.”

      A bead of cold sweat rolled down between her breasts. She couldn’t handle anything else right now. Opening her mouth to demand answers, she glanced around at the interested faces of the other ice cream parlor patrons. Then she swallowed her questions.

      They didn’t need to hear anything else. They already knew too much about her life. Her teenage pregnancy. Her adopted brother’s crime. Her marriage to a wealthy older man.

      They knew enough to resent her. Perhaps enough to send her a threatening letter in order to shake up her composure. But did they resent her enough to harm her child?

      ROYCE RUBBED his knuckles over his aching side. Too much ice cream? He doubted it. He’d hardly managed a few licks between watching Sarah and her son. And the townspeople.

      While friends surrounded Jeremy, people hung back from his mother as if glass walls separated her from the rest of the world. Maybe she was a snob. He figured she looked down her pert little nose at him, but she didn’t seem to disparage any of those around her. Although a cool smile played around her mouth, she didn’t meet anyone’s eyes.

      She almost acted as if she were ashamed. Of what? Of her marriage to an older guy? Of inheriting his money? How much money? Enough to make her son a prime target for a kidnapper?

      He wished he could accept he had nothing to do with the threat against her son. But he’d stopped believing in coincidences long ago.

      He glanced around, meeting the curious gazes of the people around them and searching beyond. The hair lifted on the nape of his neck. He knew someone was watching them, someone other than the parents of the other children.

      But nobody would be foolhardy enough to attempt to abduct the boy with half of the town to witness and interfere. And as popular as the kid was, he traveled nowhere without his friends. He was probably safest in public, but in private…

      “Jeremy, it’s time to go,” Sarah said, stopping a few feet from her son.

      “Mom…”

      “Jeremy, we have a guest.”

      The boy flashed a smile at Royce. “Mr. Graham, I’d like you to meet my friends…”

      Young faces swam before Royce’s eyes. Despite the cooling breeze, sweat beaded on his brow. These lively faces melded with images from the past. Staring eyes in dead faces… He jerked back a step. “I—I’d like to, but I have to make a call.”

      The lie came easily but prompted him to remember Dylan. He should let the sheriff know they’d stopped off before heading back to Sarah’s. And maybe he should get those directions.

      He dragged his cell phone out of his jeans pocket. “I’ll head back to the SUV while you say a quick goodbye.”

      Sarah’s dark-gray eyes widened, and she took a step toward him. He lifted a hand and gestured with his head toward her son. She nodded and turned back to Jeremy. Whatever concern she’d felt for him had been replaced with a mother’s worry for her son.

      He didn’t care. He wouldn’t know what to do with someone’s concern. The only one who’d ever really cared about him lay in a coma.

      He rubbed his free hand over his unshaven jaw. He had to get Sarah back to Milwaukee, to a dying man’s bedside. But how would he get her away from Winter Falls?

      Because they’d been later than the rest of the team to the ice cream parlor, he’d had to park the Avalanche around the block. He started toward the silver SUV, his finger hovering on the buttons of the cell phone. He’d neglected to get Dylan’s number. Did this little town even use 911?

      Underneath the carriage of the SUV a shadow fell across the pavement. Someone crouched on the other side. Waiting for what?

      He slipped the phone back into his pocket and slowed his stride. Stealthy steps carried him around the short pickup box on the back of the SUV.

      A sweatshirt hood concealed the face of the person who crouched near the rear tire, his back to Royce. Royce widened his stance on the asphalt. He had just reached his arm to wrap around the would-be attacker’s neck when a hand came up.

      The blade of a knife flashed, reflecting the afternoon sun. Had Royce’s approach been reflected in the shiny metal of the SUV?

      He braced for an attack.

      Chapter Three

      Royce clutched at the wrist of the hand that held the knife, ramming the knuckles against the side of the truck box.

      Curses filled the air, some his. Then the knife clattered across the asphalt.

      A high-pitched yelp of pain drowned out his curses. He lifted the would-be attacker, flinging his body against the SUV. Then he dragged back the sweatshirt hood.

      Bleached-out hair stood up in spikes, and tears trailed down peachfuzz-covered cheeks. A teenage kid? “What the hell were you doing with that knife?”

      The kid trembled. “I—I—”

      Royce glanced down, noting the small gash in the tread of the rear tire. “Slashing my tires?”

      “You hurt my hand!” The kid’s voice hitched in a sob.

      “I’d call us even then. Why my tires? You don’t even know me.”

      A warning pain tightened Royce’s gut. He clutched the kid’s sweatshirt, shaking him a bit. Something rustled in the pocket. Royce reached in and drew out a ripped half of a hundred-dollar bill. “Who gave you this?”

      Tears dripped off the kid’s quivering chin. “I don’t know, man. Someone slipped it under the bathroom stall. Told me to slash all the tires of the silver Avalanche and I’d get the other half.”

      “Where? What bathroom?”

      “At the ice cream parlor.”

      God, he’d left Sarah and Jeremy alone. From this side of the block, he couldn’t make out the lawn of the parlor. He dropped the kid, letting him sag against the box and vaulted around the SUV. Rubber soles pounding on the cement, he ran down the sidewalk, pushing aside people leaving the gathering spot on their way back to their vehicles.

      “Someone call the police!” he shouted.

      He searched the crowd around the parlor for a flash of red and gold, desperate for a sight of Sarah and Jeremy.

      “Sarah!”

      “Royce, what’s going on?” Concern deepened the gray of her wide eyes.

      “Where’s Jeremy?”

      “The bathroom—”

      He clutched her shoulders, nearly shaking her. “Where is it?”

      “Around the side—”

      He followed the direction in which she swung her arm, tearing around the corner of the brick parlor. He skidded to a halt at the bathroom’s open door. Small clouds of smoke billowed past him. He paused on the threshold, his shadow falling across a small group of pre-teen boys.